Page 6 of Dirty Judge

“Why?”

“Because you’re officially under arrest.”

“For what?”

“You have the right to remain silent.” He pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt loop. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

His words went over my head, and I was tempted to run away in hopes of ending what had to be a nightmare.

“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “What exactly did I do?”

“I’ll explain it on the drive to the jail.” He opened my door. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

Jail?I froze, completely stunned by what was happening.

“I’m legally required to take you into custody,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “It’s still early morning, so with luck, you can get through central booking and see a judge for your arraignment by lunch.”

“But I’m not a criminal…”

“Right now, technically you are.” He motioned for me to step out. “Grab your things.”

My heart raced as I turned off the engine and pulled out the keys. I grabbed my phone and joined the officer in the rain.

“Turn around so I can place you in handcuffs,” he said.

“I’m not going to run.” I could barely hear myself. “I swear.”

“You’d be surprised how many times I hear that.” He gently spun me around, and the next thing I felt was cold metal clamping down on my wrists.

“Alright, step toward my patrol car, please.”

“Wait a minute.” I looked over my shoulder. “What happens tomycar?”

“Nothing to worry about.” He shrugged. “It’ll be towed to the impound lot and you can pay to get it out.”

“Okay, please wait.” I stopped walking and turned around to face him. “Can you not do this?”

“Not do my job?”

“Not arrest me for traffic tickets.” I pleaded. “Like, they’re just meter maids and parking stuff, right?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Turn around and keep walking.”

“What about a trade?” I asked, trying one last time. “I’m a really good writer and I can?—”

“If you don’t turn around right now and start walking to my car, I’m going to add ‘resisting arrest’ to your charges.”

I immediately turned around.

“Save whatever you have to say for the judge,” he said. “He’s the one who can give you mercy.”

My fingers trembled as I walked down a long gray hallway at Central Booking.

The officer who arrested me was long gone now, leaving me with a new female officer who’d simply demanded that I “keep walking forward.”

We stopped in front of a door where the words “INMATE INTAKE” screamed in bright red.

“Spread your legs for me, please,” she said from behind. “I need to pat you down one final time for any contraband.”