The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“When’s arraignment?”

“In the morning.”

“I’m not planning on being here in the morning.”

“We got Cream of Wheat and sausage and coffee for breakfast. It’s pretty good.”

The trusty pushed the cart down the corridor.

“Come back here!” Saber shouted. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” He pressed his head to the bars, then gripped them with both hands and tried to shake them.

“Relax,” one of the Mexicans said. “You got to be cool. Don’t be shouting at the trusties. They’ll spit in your food.”

“I got news for them. I ain’t eating it.”

“That ain’t smart,” the Mexican said. “You got to get in step, man. You’re in jail.”

“Thanks for telling me that.”

I put my hand on Saber’s shoulder. “Your dad or mine will be here soon.”

I was wrong. The hours passed and the electric lights went on in the corridor, then at 11:01 P.M. they went off with a klatch all at once, dropping the building into darkness except for the fire exits and a guard box by the main gate.

At seven A.M. the trusty was back with a cauldron of Cream of Wheat and an aluminum bucket of sausages and a huge pot of coffee. One hour later we went to arraignment on a long wrist chain. My father was among a handful of spectators in the courtroom. Saber’s was not. We were charged with breaking and entering and destruction and theft of private property. Our bail was set at five hundred dollars, a great amount back then.

My father had brought cash. Saber kept craning his neck, looking at the entrance to the courtroom. Mr. Bledsoe never arrived. It took a half hour for me to be processed back on the street. Saber was issued jailhouse denims and told to change for transfer to a unit upstairs. I could see the fear and hurt in his eyes. “Your dad is probably putting the money together,” I said.

“No, he’s not. He’s drunk. He doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry, Saber. Don’t mouth off to these guys. No matter what they say or do.”

“I can do this standing on my hands.” He missed an eyelet as he buttoned his denim shirt, as though his fingers had gone numb.

I lowered my voice. “Be careful about what you say to everybody, got it? There are no secrets in a place like this.”

“So maybe I’ll make some new friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the way things worked out. I’m here. You’re going home. I told you they were out to get us. I was half right.”

Outside, in the freshness of the morning and the sound of traffic amid Houston’s tall buildings, I walked with my father toward his car while Saber was put in lockdown with mainline cons.

“Did you do it?” my father said.

“No, sir.”

“Your word on that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about Saber?”

“He wouldn’t kill Mr. Krauser’s dog. I’m sure of that.”

“I talked with this fellow Hopkins, the one who arrested you all. He said the SPCA man thought the dog was fed sleeping pills, not poison.”

“How could he tell?”