The Racketeer Page 0,103

scratches on his arms and hands. "Can you get me something to eat, Reed? I'm starving. They served lunch an hour ago, shit so nasty you can't imagine, and before I could take a bite one of my cellies decided he needed it more than me."

I say, "Sorry, Nathan. I'll see if Rashford can bribe one of the guards."

He mumbles, "Please."

"Do you want me to call someone back home?" I ask.

He shakes his head no. "Who? The only person I halfway trust is the guy who runs my bar, and I think he's stealing. I'm cut off from my family, and they wouldn't help anyway. How can they? They don't know where Jamaica is. Not sure I can find it on the map."

"Rashford thinks they might charge me as an accomplice, so I might be joining you back there."

He shakes his head. "You might survive because you're black and you're in good shape. A skinny white boy ain't got a chance. As soon as I walked into the cell, this big dude says he really likes my Nikes. Gone. Next guy wants to borrow some money, and since I don't have any money he wants me to promise to get some real soon. This leads to the first fight, which involved at least three of these thugs beating the shit out of me. I remember hearing a guard laughing, saying something about a white boy who can't fight too good. My spot on the concrete floor is right next to the toilet, which is nothing but an open hole, like an outhouse. The smell will make you gag and puke. If I move an inch or two, then I'm on somebody else's turf and there's a fight. There's no air-conditioning and it's like an oven. Fifteen men in a tight space, all sweating and hungry and thirsty and no one can sleep. I cannot imagine what tonight will be like. Please, Reed, get me outta here."

"I'll try, Nathan, but there's a good chance these guys might try to nail me too."

"Just do something. Please."

"Look, Nathan, this is all my fault, okay? That means nothing at this point, but I had no way of knowing we were flying into a storm. The stupid pilots should've told us about the weather before we took off, or they should've landed somewhere on U.S. soil, or they should've had more fuel on the airplane. We'll sue the bastards when we get home, okay?"

"Whatever."

"Nathan, I'll do anything I can to get you out of here, but my ass is still on the line too. It's gonna come down to money. This is nothing but a shakedown, a grab for money by a bunch of cops who know how to play the game. Hell, they wrote the rules. Rashford says they'll squeeze the owner of the jet and pocket a handsome bribe. They'll throw a bone our way and see how much cash we can scrape together. Now that they know we have a lawyer, he thinks they'll contact him pretty soon. They prefer to work their little bribery schemes before the case gets into court. After that, you got formal charges and judges watching everything. You understand all this, Nathan?"

"I guess. I just can't believe this, Reed. This time yesterday I was at my bar, having a beer with a cute girl, bragging about flying to Miami for the weekend. Now look at me - thrown into a filthy jail cell with a bunch of Jamaicans, and they're all lined up waiting to kick my ass. You're right, Reed, this is all your fault. You and your ridiculous movie. I should've never listened to you."

"I'm sorry, Nathan. Believe me, I'm so sorry."

"You should be. Just do something, Reed, and hurry. I can't last much longer back there."
Chapter 36
Rashford gives me a ride to my hotel and, at the last minute, graciously extends an invitation to dinner. He says his wife is an excellent cook and they would be delighted to have such an accomplished filmmaker in their home. Though I am tempted, primarily because I have nothing to do for the next eighteen hours, I beg off with the lame excuse of feeling bad and needing sleep. I'm living a lie, and the last thing I need is a long dinner conversation about my life, my work, and my past. I suspect there will be serious people following my trail, sniffing for clues, and a stray word here or there could come back to haunt