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Angel & Ebony…

In the beginning of this prison journey, I was regularly bused back and forth between the Wayne County Jail (Detroit) and the federal courthouse.  One early morning, I was placed in a near-vacant holding cell by the sheriff’s deputies as one of them knew me from my 17-yrs as a criminal defense investigator visiting clients.

American GulagThe alternative was being held in the larger common cell packed cheek to jowl with prisoners, most could barely be described as socially “habilitated.”

Jails are the worst. There’s no rational control. Groups of these jailhouse bumbaclots regularly played the booty game of threat and intimidation.  Prison tends to sort that silliness out. 

Fortuna-001As I was thanking Fortuna, my personal Goddess, I couldn’t help but notice that I had been placed in a cell with two quite feminine-looking prisoners.  They called themselves Angel and Ebony.  They were either female or pretty damn close to it. I think the deps, able to observe all the holding cells from their own central area, were curious as to my response. Hey, no complaints from me.

They had their street clothes on with short dresses and high heels–the whole get-up.  Angel sat on the edge of the commode with crossed legs, quite fetching, and Ebony sat against the wall.  They were both smoking and chatting up a storm.

Another prisoner soon placed in the cell with us was some juvenile jack-a-nape who just stood in the corner, stroking himself, staring at the girls. He finally went for the full-monte, took out his whackadoodle, and started beating off.  I was impressed that the girls simply ignored him.

There was a large holding-cell across the way packed with some 70-or-so prisoners.  Those who weren’t screaming at each other were at the bars glaring at the girls.  I bid the ladies an initial good morning, but otherwise left them to their own personal space.

Angel, posturing for the audience and occasionally looking toward me, finally said, “Well, aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ahh, excuse me?” was the only bright thing I could think to say.

“You want to know if they’re real,” she said, inhaling her more than adequate chest to full size.

Well, I thought, I’ll bite, and replied, “It did sort of occur to me…”

Reaching down, Angel pulled out her blouse, and gave the scene all her glory.  The place erupted into screaming chaos.  Once the deps figured out what was going on, they simply ignored it. Their processing, in, out and those being transported to court continued.

Having my full attention, Angel became more gregarious.  The girls, explaining their situation, had booked into a luxury suite at the Renaissance and threw a party on a fraudulent credit card and ID. Angel said she was impersonating some rock star. I have no idea who.

Someone she had neglected to invite–“that bitch”–ratted her out to hotel management.  End of story.  Apparently, they usually get away with it. The problem with the jail, they explained, is that since they both have had a fairly complete gender change (I can only imagine the rest…), they were placed in a cell on the women’s side.

BlindJusticeNot wishing to be with “those bitches” (Angel seemed to have a lot of bitches in her life), they got into a fight and the deputies had to remove them.  But where to put them?  (I learned later that they were taken back to court and released on personal bond.)

Now, normally, that would be the end of the story.  But a couple of years later I walked into the TV room in the prison I was at and see Angel on TV being interviewed at another prison by some talk show host.  Apparently, she was arguing for her hormone shots…whatever.

Watching the show for a moment, and without thinking, I said, “Hey!  I know her!”

Everyone turned to look at me.   “Ahh, I mean…”

Dr. Publico (Nick Medvecky, PsyD), July 2010…

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One Response
  1. This is the kind of article that makes your blog over the top GOOD.

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