to Lou’s right buzzed and they were ushered inside by a stone-faced armed guard. Lou startled when the heavy door slammed behind them and the cannonlike sound echoed eerily down a long stretch of empty corridor. Their footfalls snapped against the linoleum tile, creating a mournful tattoo.
Their next stop was the locker room area, where they were instructed to remove and lock up all personal effects—wallets, jewelry, pens, keys. A second guard, equally as somber as the first, escorted them through another heavy door that clanged shut with the finality of a thunderclap. They passed through the metal detector without incident and followed the guard along a warren of corridors that eventually brought them to the visitor center.
“That was fun,” Lou said to Cap, realizing his palms had gone clammy and his pulse had ticked up several notches.
“I never get used to this,” Cap said, “but it’s a good reminder of where I could have ended up.”
“Amen,” Lou said.
Lou took his assigned seat on a long bench with partitions on either side of him. Cap got placed somewhere to Lou’s right, perhaps five or six partitioned spaces away. There were eight or nine other visitors here, their conversations subdued. Handprints marring the thick Plexiglas were the echoes of the devastated and desperate loved ones who had cried into the black phone Lou would soon use to speak with McHugh.
The one good thing about this jaunt to jail was that it made Lou forget about the hugely disappointing encounter with Detective Chris Bryzinski. The man’s lack of enthusiasm was very high on Lou’s list of irritants. Maybe after he finally brought himself to listen to the striking conversation between the high-ranking congressman and the young marine, Bryzinski would call Lou with a little more energy. And with luck, once that happened, the icy atmosphere between Lou and Sarah Cooper would begin to thaw.
A loud buzzer pulled Lou’s attention toward the door and Gary McHugh’s somber entrance. The flamboyant physician looked absolutely miserable in his orange prison jumpsuit. He had clearly lost weight, and his usually buoyant complexion had gone sallow. McHugh slumped into his chair as he and Lou picked up the wall-mounted phones.
“Thanks for coming, Lou,” Gary said, his voice rife with torment. “It’s great to see a friendly face. Any face, for that matter.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Not so good. I keep telling people I didn’t do it, Lou, and nobody will believe me.”
“You’ll get your day in court,” Lou said. “But you’ve got to stay strong.”
“Yeah, stay strong. Not so easy here. Lou, this place is a nightmare. We get the same thing to eat every day. Every blasted day. It’s dirty and overcrowded. There’s no decent exercise yard. You don’t get a single second of privacy. Not a second. You can’t even take a dump here without somebody whistling at you. And the gangs—the gangs run the place, and they are really bad. If I have any positive news to report, it’s that after listening to one guy after another blame alcohol or drugs for the mess he’s in, I’ve begun to realize that if I ever get the chance, I need to put more effort into my recovery.”
“That’s great to hear you say. See if you can get your hands on any AA literature.”
“I’ll try, but I’m really terrified speaking up about anything.”
“We’re working on that,” Lou said.
Lou knew that McHugh’s being a doctor did not help matters at all. In fact, the inmates were certain he could get drugs, which only heightened the enmity toward him in a number of quarters when he couldn’t deliver. There was little or no sympathy for him in jail, just as there was little compassion in the press or hospitals for most of the other PWO clients. They had been given the Great American Dream, elusive to so many, and through their appetites, their lust, their passion for excess, or their psychiatric illness, they had destroyed
Their next stop was the locker room area, where they were instructed to remove and lock up all personal effects—wallets, jewelry, pens, keys. A second guard, equally as somber as the first, escorted them through another heavy door that clanged shut with the finality of a thunderclap. They passed through the metal detector without incident and followed the guard along a warren of corridors that eventually brought them to the visitor center.
“That was fun,” Lou said to Cap, realizing his palms had gone clammy and his pulse had ticked up several notches.
“I never get used to this,” Cap said, “but it’s a good reminder of where I could have ended up.”
“Amen,” Lou said.
Lou took his assigned seat on a long bench with partitions on either side of him. Cap got placed somewhere to Lou’s right, perhaps five or six partitioned spaces away. There were eight or nine other visitors here, their conversations subdued. Handprints marring the thick Plexiglas were the echoes of the devastated and desperate loved ones who had cried into the black phone Lou would soon use to speak with McHugh.
The one good thing about this jaunt to jail was that it made Lou forget about the hugely disappointing encounter with Detective Chris Bryzinski. The man’s lack of enthusiasm was very high on Lou’s list of irritants. Maybe after he finally brought himself to listen to the striking conversation between the high-ranking congressman and the young marine, Bryzinski would call Lou with a little more energy. And with luck, once that happened, the icy atmosphere between Lou and Sarah Cooper would begin to thaw.
A loud buzzer pulled Lou’s attention toward the door and Gary McHugh’s somber entrance. The flamboyant physician looked absolutely miserable in his orange prison jumpsuit. He had clearly lost weight, and his usually buoyant complexion had gone sallow. McHugh slumped into his chair as he and Lou picked up the wall-mounted phones.
“Thanks for coming, Lou,” Gary said, his voice rife with torment. “It’s great to see a friendly face. Any face, for that matter.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Not so good. I keep telling people I didn’t do it, Lou, and nobody will believe me.”
“You’ll get your day in court,” Lou said. “But you’ve got to stay strong.”
“Yeah, stay strong. Not so easy here. Lou, this place is a nightmare. We get the same thing to eat every day. Every blasted day. It’s dirty and overcrowded. There’s no decent exercise yard. You don’t get a single second of privacy. Not a second. You can’t even take a dump here without somebody whistling at you. And the gangs—the gangs run the place, and they are really bad. If I have any positive news to report, it’s that after listening to one guy after another blame alcohol or drugs for the mess he’s in, I’ve begun to realize that if I ever get the chance, I need to put more effort into my recovery.”
“That’s great to hear you say. See if you can get your hands on any AA literature.”
“I’ll try, but I’m really terrified speaking up about anything.”
“We’re working on that,” Lou said.
Lou knew that McHugh’s being a doctor did not help matters at all. In fact, the inmates were certain he could get drugs, which only heightened the enmity toward him in a number of quarters when he couldn’t deliver. There was little or no sympathy for him in jail, just as there was little compassion in the press or hospitals for most of the other PWO clients. They had been given the Great American Dream, elusive to so many, and through their appetites, their lust, their passion for excess, or their psychiatric illness, they had destroyed
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