THE CLAN GATHERS

These are just teasers. Introducing new characters. Remember where we left Karen? Well…

From the entrance room we were hurried up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was an immense barn of a room. It ran the entire length of the building. Instead of cells, iron beds lined the back wall.  Along the far wall were three open toilets and several cracked and rusted basins. The bars in the women’s windows didn’t seem as formidable as the bars in the men’s cell downstairs. We were the weaker sex after all. Then I remembered those husky skiers.

Not to worry, sergeant, I thought, if the bars on our prison were made of silly putty you’d never catch a member of our team breaking out. those girls would sit on their bunks with their hands primly folded until hell froze over if someone in authority told them to.

I loved them for that.

As for that pair of school teachers, I’d not have been a bit surprised if they hack saws hidden about their person. If they wanted out, petite and fragile as the darling creatures were, they’d have got out. If I were a National guardsman, and I caught sight of that pair, I’d get the hell out of their way. Fast.

And I loved them for that.

We heard the van start-up on the way back to town to pick up the others. I walked to the barred windows and peered out, just to see what it felt like. What a pretty morning. The sun was beginning to pop above the trees on the palm strew golf course and the ocean side was as blue as the early morning sky.

There was no dividing line at the horizon. I felt sorry for all those free-swinging golfers out there in the open air, they were out there all alone.

We were together. In the slammer. Finger-printed. Arrested. Mugged.

Criminals. All of us.

There were quite a number of us gathered at the windows now. when the second van-load of prisoners arrived all of us cheered. Downstairs somebody started to sing; we’d lost Jake, but not Old Black Joe. As the rest of the girls filed up the stairs, we all joined in.

When Ty arrived, natty in his blue-dyed boots and blue polo shirt, the Wailua Hilton was rocking. Just after Ty arrived two yellow church buses drove up. The clan was gathering.

The school teachers and the skiers were practicing a bumpy hula in the middle of the room and everyone not dancing was hanging on the bars singing.

We were so  noisy even the golfers across the highway paused to listen.

Ty looked up and waved. I couldn’t tell whether the expression on his face was a grin or a grimace, but either way it didn’t dull my spirits one bit. I kept right on singing, “I wanna go back to my little grass shack in Kealekekua Hawaii…

*

Ty had arranged bail for all of us, put up the money himself, and even arranged transportation.

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