Heroine: California Dreamin' (16 page)

“What kind of wimps are you? You don’t help me, you don’t care about the law and you side with criminals. Shame on you.” That last sentence I yelled in German. I was so enraged that I wouldn’t have brought that sentence over my lips in English.

“Calm down,” called out a female voice from the group of officers who stared at me with evil eyes.” “We all work diligently here and observe the law. What do you want?”

“I want to make my phone call I’m entitled to, that’s what I want.” I was still yelling. My fists were clenched and my hair hung uncombed down my face.

Only when the older woman in a dark uniform had asked the sergeant what had happened and whether she could help I became aware that she had addressed me also in German. She clearly spoke with a Hessian accent although it was quite Americanized. Perhaps she was once stationed with the Air Force in Germany? That somebody would speak here in my mother tongue – well, it wasn’t my mother’s language but at least the language I grew up with – that calmed me down.

The two of them communicated shortly and then the situation became less tense. I received my purse because the lieutenant, which was her rank, explained to the sergeant that I might not be able to use the station’s phone since I came from a different country. The sergeant ordered all others out of the office and I picked up my cell phone. Under Daniel’s number I only reached his mailbox where I recorded hastily my message:

“Darling, horrible things have happened. I’ been arrested and now I am being kept at the police station in Prado. Please get me out of here ASAP. I love you.”

The female officer who had joined us – she now talked in German with me and with the sergeant in English – offered to translate the questioning. She had moved to California with her husband from Frankfurt some odd thirty years ago, she explained to me. After her kids had grown up she went back to school and then found a job with the police force. By now she had climbed up to the rank of a lieutenant.

Up to now I was convinced that my English was good enough to master questions and problems. I indeed had made horrible mistakes when I filled out the questionnaires and my statements to the course of events were in part contradictory and confusing as it turned out when she re-translated them. Slowly I understood that in fact I had talked myself into this precarious situation. If I had only insisted on an interpreter! The sergeant finally agreed to have most of my statements corrected. Only with the point ‘Criminal Record’ she remained unwavering.

“Ms. Noula does understand our language well enough to be able to answer that question correctly”, she stated stubbornly.

“We know that she was prosecuted for prostitution and she didn’t tell us that. We have proof for that.” My interpreter turned pale because so far she was unaware of that.

“I’m only responsible for administrative duties,” she said quietly. “I can’t interfere with the officers from the criminal investigation. Jesus, child, what have you done?” she asked in German somewhat saddened.

“It was not my fault. It was … you know … I didn’t take any money for it … we only had fun and somebody had taken pictures of it while we were at it …” I stammered crying. My nerves were ready to rip and I couldn’t withstand the pressure any longer.

“Now, but one will indict you. They are rather strict here about things like that”, she replied regretfully. I felt that she sought some distance to me.

“But what about the kidnappers? They abducted me and they shot a friend of mine. Why aren’t they indicted?” I cried now uncontrollably in German. She turned again to the sergeant and repeated what I had said. The sergeant looked at me in disgust but talked to the lieutenant.

“Today, we’ve heard from her only some fairy tales. First her husband called that his wife had been kidnapped and was held captive in a motel. We immediately informed the FBI and went out with five cars. When we found her she sat jokingly with two men at a table having breakfast. The officers said that she could have gotten up at any time and ask any of the restaurant’s patrons for help. We also questioned the two guys rather thoroughly. They stated that Ms. Noula had come along out of her free will and she was supposed to get five hundred dollars for her services.” She cleared her throat.

“Then she accused the men having committed a murder in the temple behind Watsonville. We know that, once in a while, rather, let’s say strange rituals have been celebrated in the afore-mentioned temple”, she cleared her throat again, “where young women play, how should I say, a central part. Something like Jesus companion Magdalena or so. But so far all of that had been kept within a framework of legality and there were no complaints whatsoever. The colleagues in Watsonville know the parish council well and they were beside themselves that Ms. Noula brought forward such malicious accusations against respected citizens and tax payers.” She talked about murdering Diego.

“We drove with a team to the temple and searched everything thoroughly, no stone unturned. Nothing. No dead body, no indication of violence. Then I dispatched officers again to question again witnesses in the motel. There were quite a lot of people who witnessed that Ms. Noula came out of the hotel room with one of her companions joking with him – no signs of force. She followed that man to the terrace without any signs of force.” The sergeant looked me into the eyes for a long time. I tried to protest.

“But what is the story on Soto’s gun? One round must be missing. And Andrew?” I gasped.

“Ah so, the gun”, she continued in a bored tone of voice. “We did examine the gun also. No shot had been fired from that gun for an eternity. Mr. Soto Vernandez has no prior convictions and he has a permit to carry the gun in public. There is nothing recorded in the register in Los Angeles that the gun was ever used. I called this Andrew guy. Mr. Vernandez was so kind to tell me his phone number. This is not only a respected citizen and tax payer in Los Angeles but he’s also a candidate for the next congressional election. He confirmed that he had a brief encounter with this woman last night and he told us what they had talked about. They talked about the design of a service which she would be hosting. Then he flew back to Los Angeles by plane. I asked the colleagues there to stop by the airline and check the information. They confirmed that they had flown him to Watsonville in the evening and later that night back to Los Angeles. There are still some other indications that we have checked but this is enough now. Miss, you have presented us today with one lie after another. I will now have you handed over to the sheriff’s department.”

“What does that mean,” I asked filled with fear.

“That means that you are now going to jail. Then the justice department can start dealing with you,” she snarled.

“But my husband will be here shortly to pick me up!” I complained. Why wasn’t he actually here already? After all it was already evening.

“Your husband can see you tomorrow morning before the courts. The judge will set you probably free on bail anyway. It depends who’s presiding”, she commented dryly.

“Until then we’ll hold you over.”

I turned my head to the lieutenant,

“All that is not true, it is not happening. Tell me that I’m dreaming.” She shook her head in sadness.

“The sergeant just follows the law. That’s the way it goes in this country. But tomorrow you’ll be set free.” She accompanied me outside when I was led away. The two cops, a man and a woman had to put handcuffs on me again and then drag me to the car – my legs wouldn’t carry me any longer. After they put me onto the black bench in the car the lieutenant once more bent down to me and put a pack of cigarettes into my hand.

“Here, take that. It will make things easier.”

“But I don’t smoke”, I replied in surprise.

“That is good so. But it is helpful in jail, something like money. After delivery make sure that the officer will hand you back the cigarettes. Just insist on it.” With a motherly gesture she pushed my uncombed hair out of my face and then she disappeared.

A few minutes later the cops lifted me out of the vehicle and accompanied me to a large gray building that looked like a storage facility. Accompanied by even more women guards we went through steel bar doors, other doors and up and down stairs. I was like in trance and unable to comprehend the situation. At one point I was asked for my name, finger prints were taken and photos where my eye was photographed separately and then I stood in a chamber before a counter where they had laid out prison clothing. My nightmare had become reality.  I retreated all the way back inside me and reacted like a robot. I undressed like a clumsy puppet when I was told to do so and I allowed a female officer to examine me; equipped with protective gloves she explored all my body cavities. Then I put on white underwear and the red and white striped prison suit. Once more I awakened shortly to life after I had signed a piece of paper.

My cigarettes. The officer behind the counter growled reluctantly. I insisted. She went to the long rows of lockers and opened one. Then she banged the pack of cigarettes onto the counter top.

“Where to?” asked another police officer who had entered the room.

“U-Pad, not sentenced”, the other retorted. “Watch where she’s going. She’s fixed.” She’s probably seen the needle point from the injection in the afternoon. Now I was not only a ho but also a drug addict. ‘
Fits a murderess quite well’,
announced the noxious voice in my head again.

Steel bar doors again, then I was pushed into a windowless room that was illuminated with a bright light. Behind me a metal door was slammed closed and a key shrieked in the lock. I was locked up. When I looked up I saw that I was not alone. The narrow cell held six beds piled on top on one another, three each on one wall. Five of them were occupied. On the front side there was a toilet and a sink stuck out from the wall.

Four faces of women who were significantly older than I was. They all looked at me with cold stares. Another woman with black hair sat on one of the lowered beds with her knees to the chin; she had her face lowered so that the curls covered her face. There was incredible noise in this cell tract but also a horrible stench. I stopped breathing in. How can one live here at all?

One of the women rolled from her bunk and approached me. She was fat and at least half a head taller than me. Strands of her black hair stuck to her sweaty face. Both lower arms that were at least as thick as my lower legs carried tattoos. Her skin color was indefinable – somewhere between gray and brown. I got scared and looked at her with eyes wide open.

“Look at that, what kind of sweetheart do we have here?” she mumbled in some strange accent through her thin lips. She stepped up to me and inspected me closer. The breath from her mouth was terrible and when she opened her mouth for a moment to give me a grin I saw the reason for it. Her remaining front teeth were decayed to some black foul stumps. When I kept silent because I couldn’t speak for fear she barked at me:

“Ah, feel too noble to talk to us, eh? But just wait I will teach you some manners.” She punched me with her fist into the stomach area. Not that hard that I would collapse but hard enough to throw me against the steel door. In terror I lifted my hands and whined:

“Please don’t hit me. It’s not my fault that I’m here.” Roaring laughter echoed through the narrow room. The women, with the exception of the small black-haired one who still sat there motionless with her head lowered, spluttered childishly holding their bellies in amusement. What was so funny about my remark? After all my vis-à-vis seemed to calm down a bit. Her eyes were not as squinted as before and she grinned broadly. Her foul dental stumps made her look like a laughing skull. I trembled.

“Well, aren’t you a noble one”, she grunted in her awful accent.

“Such noble language. Pretend you are something better. Only for the dandies or so. And we are giving blow jobs to junkies, eh?” I became just aware of the fact that in my fear I had employed Oxford English style as we had learned it in school. I hurried up to undo that and in my best American I told them that I was truly innocent but nobody would believe me. The laughter extended to a roar. They didn’t believe me either!

“Heh, don’t try rattling our chains. We all here are whores, you understand. You are not better as this dirt here only because you’re getting fucked by senators.” With her hand she pointed behind herself.

“Don’t you believe you’re something better! In a few years you’ll also be standing on some street corner and you’ll be working for anything they give you. Then you’ll be happy if you get the money together for a
‘schmeck’
.” Her sentences were hardly legible, every second word was
‘fuck’
or
‘shit’
and I had to make an effort to fit her curses together. But I did understand that with
‘schmeck’
she was referring to a shot of heroin. Bruce had once told me about that when he reported about his research in the drug scene of Los Angeles. I kind of found it funny because the word sounded so typically German. But now it drove tears to my eyes. Everybody here considered me to be a drug addicted whore!

“Why do you say that to me?” I asked tearfully. Within the last thirty six hours I had hardly an opportunity to sleep. My nerves were on the edge, I was close to a panic attack. But at the same time I was wide awake. The crazy situation in which I found myself had my alarm system going full throttle for many hours.

“Stop causing trouble”, she barked at me. “What do you have on you? You must have smuggled something in here?” I tried to understand between her many curse words. She pushed me again and was going to hit me again. I lifted my hands in defense and begged:

“Wait, wait. I’ve got something.” I pulled the pack of cigarettes from my purse and held them out to her with trembling hands. She snorted reluctantly but finally accepted the pack.

“Well at least something. Don’t you have anything else?” I shook my head.

“She didn’t let me keep anything else.” She opened the pack of cigarettes and plugged one into her mouth before she offered one to the others. Except for the little black-haired one. Thank goodness one of the co-prisoners had saved a lighter otherwise I might have received more beatings as the mastress of this room assured me in her nagging way. But after a few draws she became peaceful and finally grabbed my arm.

“You may lay down now. My name is Estrella. What’s your name?” she pointed to the empty bunk. I stretched out on it after I had introduced myself.

“After all you know your manners.” She turned cursing to the little one with her lowered head and kicked the poor thing harshly; the girl tolerated it silently.

“Now you take this as an example, you fucking whore. The next time you’ll have something on you or you’ll getting another beating from me.” When her victim lifted her head shortly I saw that she had a black eye. The skin on her cheeks was busted and her lips swollen thick. Who had done this to her? I looked up to Estrella in horror.

“Well that happens if you don’t play along”, she grunted. “Beside that she doesn’t belong to us.”

It was a dreadful night. When the lights went out I had learned that all of them in this room were drug addicted whores that were arrested while working. I was considered to be one of them since the guard had announced me accordingly. They didn’t believe my story and I stopped speaking about it after they had repeatedly laughed at me. The toilet in the corner was not only continuously occupied by one of the women but it was also so filthy that I hardly dared to sit on it. But no matter what I had to learn to live with it.

Though I was physically at the end of my rope I couldn’t fall asleep at once. The black-haired one whose name I was not given was beaten once more by the other women after the lights went out. She cried but so quietly that the guards couldn’t hear it and nobody came to rescue her. It was horrible and it drove tears to my eyes for a long time after.
‘Welcome to hell’
swooped through my head. My biggest problem was that I felt totally helpless and left alone. I would have liked to help the poor woman but I was so scared and intimidated that I crawled under the thin and musty blanket and turned my back. Only late that night I fell asleep totally exhausted.

A hideous sound of a siren woke me up. On the corridor women produced some noise, grill doors were opened and the inmates streamed out into the corridor. So, it wasn’t an alarm it was the time to get up. When I stepped out a bit later I found myself in a large room that formed the center of several cells. Many women stood in line along a counter where they obviously served breakfast. Scared I buckled down behind Estrella because I didn’t want to take any risk after my experiences from last night. But the atmosphere was peaceful, the female guards and, to my surprise, also a few men ran among the women in the red-white uniforms without haste – I somewhat relaxed.

The food was astonishingly good. I had anticipated some inedible grub. Instead they served omelet and toast together with pancakes and plenty of fruit as well as coffee and orange juice. As hungry as I was I loaded up my plate and shoveled the food greedy into my body. That helped. The ghosts from last night left me and I felt that I was still alive, though in between I had the feeling that I am dead already. The clock showed it was shortly after six in the morning.

“Be happy that you are here and not in the State Prison”, Estrella mumbled beside me with her mouth full. By now she had accepted my presence. She was about to shove a load of pancakes with maple syrup into her mouth where some syrup dripped from her mouth left and right. We sat on some round plates that were affixed to a long metallic table and that, with some imagination, could be called chairs.

“There they have breakfast or what they call breakfast already at four o’clock in the morning and the gangs and the guards make your life living hell.” After I had made it safe through the night I wanted to try to understand what was going down here. Perhaps I had to survive here for a longer period of time. On the other hand the sergeant had said that my husband would get me out of here by posting bail. But what would happen if Daniel would not show up in court at all? This thought came so suddenly that my stomach cramped up and I was unable to swallow another bite.

Perhaps his plane had crashed? Or he was up and gone with his Irish-Chinese female boss and left me all to myself? Angst suffocated my mind and the questions I had prepared in my head disappeared behind a veil of shredded thoughts.

Shortly thereafter and with wobbly knees I stalked back to my cell that was locked again behind us. The little black-haired one had disappeared. I asked Estrella where she had gone.

“She didn’t belong to us. Her race is kept in the block opposite from us. The guards made the mistake to land her with us.” She giggled. I thought I didn’t understand her right because I still needed to find the right context between all of her cursing. Therefore I asked her in disbelief if she had indeed just referred to
‘race’
.

“Of course”, she retorted with curses.
“She belongs to the Neta. I am Aryan. You may soon join us in that. We had great fun with the Neta, didn’t we?” she grinned at me. I was shocked once more. The poorest sods of this society did not stick together but rather fought one another on top of that. I laid down again and wanted to sleep. The exertions of the last two days really took their toll on me now. Despite the nightmarish situation I began to feel safe in the confinement of this cell. Estrella seemed to like me and I felt that she would protect me.

But shortly after I had closed my eyes and started to dream the metal door would open again with an awful buzzing sound and two female guards would call my name. I had to step out of the cell and remain standing there after they had locked the cell again behind me.

My other inmates called out obscene comments into the room behind me while I didn’t understand all of them. My command of the language wasn’t that good and this time I was happy about it. Several women were waiting now in the corridor and at a time we were put in shackles in addition to a belt to which they could fasten the handcuffs. I didn’t know any of the other inmates. But we were all under the guards’ supervision so I was nervous but not scared any longer. One of the guards ordered us to line up. We would drive to the court house now, she explained, and see the presiding judge there. We set off in single file and came to a gate after we had passed through several grill doors. A white bus with barred windows was waiting there with engine running. One after the other we got onto the bus. It was a short trip again. The bus drove around a large beautiful building. It resembled a style between classic Doric and Bauhaus. For a short moment I glanced at an inscription above the portal - in classic writing it said:
‘County Courthouse’
. Moments later we reached an inner courtyard that wasn’t very impressive. There were police cars parked everywhere and from a flat building with a blue roof I heard an unpleasant humming when we got out of the bus still tied together with chains. The accompanying guards then shooed us through an automated gate.

A gruff policeman in an olive-colored shirt with broad shoulders and freshly shaven skull received us and directed us into a room that held several cages made of metal lined up on the wall. They took off the chains that had tied us together. Each one of the women had to enter one of the kennels without releasing us from our handcuffs. But we could sit down on a wooden board. Then we began to wait. Nobody said anything.
‘Caged chicken’
I thought defiantly. We sat there with hanging heads. I stared through the wire mesh at the coated-in-black shoes of our guards. Then I dozed off. I suddenly woke up when somebody smacked me on my shoulder. The clock on the wall indicated it was shortly after nine o’clock. The cage door stood open. I had napped for another two hours and felt like totally exhausted. One after another we shuffled through a door into the courtroom. There we had to sit down on a narrow uncomfortable wooden bench. For a while nothing happened. Then I dared to lift my head and to look around.