Samantha – The Prank, Part 2

Originally posted on February 13, 2017 by Gordon Savage

Samantha had never been this frightened. The police were taking them to jail and the sentence could be six months.

As soon as he started driving, the tall policeman commented to the other, “I don’t see any reason to bother a magistrate at this hour, do you? I mean we have them dead to rights.”

The other guy considered for a minute. “You’re right. It can wait till morning.”

It only took a few minutes to drive to the police station. They unstrapped us and had us get out of the cruiser. The tall guy grabbed me by the upper arm, and the other one did the same with Renee.

I was terrified but under control. Renee was crying. “Please, it was just a prank. No one was hurt.”

They removed the handcuffs. We were fingerprinted, photographed, and relieved of our purses and the stuff in our pockets. Then they sat us each down at a phone and said, “Make your call. I’d suggest to your parents.”

This was worse than the ride over. I had been terrified before, but now I had to talk to my family and tell them I was under arrest. Trembling, I dialed our number. Naturally Father answered. “Admiral Pederson.”

I broke down. My tears started flowing, and I choked up. I was so scared I forgot to call him Father. “… Daddy … Renee and I are in jail. … Please come and get us out.”

“What!” I had to jerk the phone away from my ear. He was so loud I could hear him with the phone in front of me. “You’re in jail?”

I was tongue-tied. “I … We … Uh …” I was scared to death and couldn’t get out anything meaningful.

After a few seconds Father’s voice came back, quieter, deadly calm, and strangely resigned. “Tell me where you are.”

I put my hand over the mouth piece and turned to the tall cop. “Where are we?”

“Tell him you’re across I-64 from the municipal airport.”

I did.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t do anything to get in more trouble.” He hung up.

I put the phone down, still shaking.

Renee had finished her call as well. The older policeman led us through a locked door into a long corridor. There were two cushioned benches along one wall. A woman sat on one of them. The first thing I noticed was her bright red lipstick. She was wearing a black leather mini – make that micro – skirt, a bright pink top that exposed a bare midriff, knee high black boots, and black tights. Her bored expression brightened noticeably when she saw us.

The other bench was occupied by a disheveled man who appeared to be asleep, including a loud snore, so we had no choice but to sit next to the woman if we didn’t want to stand. She slid over and patted the bench next to her. “Hi, girls. They picked you up too, huh?”

As I sat, she looked me over thoroughly. “You girls are awfully young to be doing tricks. Take my advice and get out of the business now.”

I could feel my neck getting warm. I was blushing. She thought we were hookers! That meant she probably was one herself.

“So, how’d they catch you? They got me with an undercover cop.”

I was tempted to explain why we were there, but I didn’t see any point. I put my elbows on my knees and buried my face in my hands. Then I heard the man slurring, “My, my.”

When I craned my neck to see him, he was sitting up with a dazed expression. He continued his slurred speech. “They get younger every year. Sorry, girls I’m out of cash.”

Talk about adding insult to injury.

He swayed to his feet, and mumbled, “Where’s the restroom around here?” He turned and staggered down the hall away from us. When he reached the end of the hall, he opened a barred door and disappeared from sight. It took me a second to realize he had gone into a holding cell. In a moment I heard a zipper and then liquid flowing into a toilet. For some reason I was embarrassed for him.

He wobbled back and dropped onto his bench. “So we’re in jail? It’s better than lying in the street.” His speech was still slurred. He lay back down on the bench, and seconds later he was snoring again.

“Well, that was interesting,” the woman said. “You meet all kinds of characters in lock-up. If you have to keep doing johns, at least be careful.” She pointed to a scar on her left cheek. “I got this from a john who was arrested with me. He knocked me down while they were separating all of us into boy/girl cells. Of course, I have to be thankful he did it. The cops cleaned me up and let me go because of it.”

It seemed like hours later the locked door opened. The cop stood there and called, “Renee Williams, your parents are here. You’re going home.”

She jumped up and started for the door. Then she stopped and gave me an anguished smile. She mouthed, “Sorry, Sam,” and rushed to the door.

Great! Where were my parents?

The woman gave me a wide-eyed stare and said, “Parents? You’re not one of us?” She smiled. “Believe me, you don’t want to get into the business.”

We waited in silence for what felt like an hour. When the door finally opened, I jumped to my feet. The cop stayed there for seconds before he spoke. “Samantha Pederson. It’s your turn.”

I looked at the woman. “Good luck.” It was all I could think of to say. I headed for the door.

Father was there. He looked unemotional as I came out. I was so relieved that I ran to him and hugged him, forgetting how I wanted to punish him. “You are exceedingly lucky,” he said. “They won’t charge you … this time … but let it happen again … Honey, what were you thinking?”

“It was just a prank.” I stepped back. “Can I go home now?” Then I saw Mom waiting on the other side of the room.

He continued to watch me impassively. “You understand how much trouble you’re in at home? We’ll discuss your punishment on the way home. Now let’s get your stuff.”

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