Read Online Do Not Pass Go by Kirkpatrick Hill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kirkpatrick Hill
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âIâll have plenty of time to do my homework,â Deetsaid. He was pretty sure there wouldnât be enough time at all.
âWhat about the girls? Theyâll be home an hour before you get here.â
âMaybe Sally would let them come there for an hour.â
So Mom called Sally, who said sheâd be glad to have the girls after school for an hour and to tell Deet that sheâd teach him how to cook.
TEN
The next day after school Deet got off the school bus at the theater. His stomach had been tight all day, thinking about what he had to do. He had a copy of the visiting schedule in his pocket, which he had checked at least three times on the bus, he was so worried about being late.
Deet had never been on the street where the jail was. He crunched past house after respectable house, the old folksâ home, a soccer field. A beautiful dog stood on the sidewalk, gravely offering his head to be stroked. Deet bent and gently smoothed the fur on the top of his head. He felt a sudden sorrow for the dog. Being a dog was a lot like being a prisoner. You had to do what you were told, didnât you?
It seemed heâd been walking forever, when he turned a corner and saw it. It was just getting dark, soDeetâs first view of the prison was in a gloomy half light that made it look ominous and chilling. Like a prison movie.
The jail was a big concrete building, and all around it was a chain-link fence, and all around the top of the fence was barbed wire, wrapped in loops. It looked just like the stockades in war movies where prisoners of war were being kept.
Stalag 17
. There were even huge searchlights on a towerlike thing.
It didnât look real. What did he or Dad or anyone else in his family have to do with this movie set?
Deet stopped in the parking lot and stared at the prison, his hands jammed in his parka pockets. He tried to imagine Dad inside there, kept in by all the fences and barbed wire. His mouth felt dry.
Three guards in black uniforms were standing on the front porch, stiff-legged, smoking in jerky puffs because it was so cold. They were all out of shape, bulges of fat hanging over their wide black belts. No gun holsters.
What kind of person becomes a prison guard? (What do you do for a living, sir? Oh, my job is to keep peoplelocked up.) Guards were probably ignorant sorts of people, who smacked their kids around, probably all had fleshy lips and small, mean eyes. People who enjoyed their power over others, like mean teachers who liked to boss little kids around.
Deet walked behind the guards, who didnât give him a glance, and opened the entrance door. He was in a small entranceway. Overhead were vicious-looking little camera eyes and speakers trained down on the people who would gather there. Big Brother is watching you.
Notices and rules were posted everywhere, VISITORS MUST ARRIVE AT THE PROPER TIME. NO ONE WILL BE ADMITTED AFTER THE DOORS ARE LOCKED. VISITORS MUST NOT BRING KNIVES, GUNS, OR CONTRABAND SUBSTANCES INTO THE JAIL .
No
kidding
.
A sign directed him to a button that he could push to enter.
A buzzer sounded and Deet could hear the locks on the door click. He pulled the door open and stepped inside the waiting room, his mouth still dry. He stoppeda minute to look around for the registration book Mom had told him about.
The room looked like any public place, shiny white vinyl tiles, fluorescent lights, tan cork bulletin boards filled with notices of some sort. Impersonal, ugly, cold.
There were three doors, two for the bathrooms and another that was behind an arch, a sort of gateway with no gate. A copy machine sat between the two bathroom doors, a water fountain to the right of it. One shabby-looking wooden bench had its back to the copier, and there was a coatrack and a set of dented, short metal lockers in the corner. The paint on the lockers was chipped and dirty.
There was another room behind a glass partition. The floors in there were
âIâll have plenty of time to do my homework,â Deetsaid. He was pretty sure there wouldnât be enough time at all.
âWhat about the girls? Theyâll be home an hour before you get here.â
âMaybe Sally would let them come there for an hour.â
So Mom called Sally, who said sheâd be glad to have the girls after school for an hour and to tell Deet that sheâd teach him how to cook.
TEN
The next day after school Deet got off the school bus at the theater. His stomach had been tight all day, thinking about what he had to do. He had a copy of the visiting schedule in his pocket, which he had checked at least three times on the bus, he was so worried about being late.
Deet had never been on the street where the jail was. He crunched past house after respectable house, the old folksâ home, a soccer field. A beautiful dog stood on the sidewalk, gravely offering his head to be stroked. Deet bent and gently smoothed the fur on the top of his head. He felt a sudden sorrow for the dog. Being a dog was a lot like being a prisoner. You had to do what you were told, didnât you?
It seemed heâd been walking forever, when he turned a corner and saw it. It was just getting dark, soDeetâs first view of the prison was in a gloomy half light that made it look ominous and chilling. Like a prison movie.
The jail was a big concrete building, and all around it was a chain-link fence, and all around the top of the fence was barbed wire, wrapped in loops. It looked just like the stockades in war movies where prisoners of war were being kept.
Stalag 17
. There were even huge searchlights on a towerlike thing.
It didnât look real. What did he or Dad or anyone else in his family have to do with this movie set?
Deet stopped in the parking lot and stared at the prison, his hands jammed in his parka pockets. He tried to imagine Dad inside there, kept in by all the fences and barbed wire. His mouth felt dry.
Three guards in black uniforms were standing on the front porch, stiff-legged, smoking in jerky puffs because it was so cold. They were all out of shape, bulges of fat hanging over their wide black belts. No gun holsters.
What kind of person becomes a prison guard? (What do you do for a living, sir? Oh, my job is to keep peoplelocked up.) Guards were probably ignorant sorts of people, who smacked their kids around, probably all had fleshy lips and small, mean eyes. People who enjoyed their power over others, like mean teachers who liked to boss little kids around.
Deet walked behind the guards, who didnât give him a glance, and opened the entrance door. He was in a small entranceway. Overhead were vicious-looking little camera eyes and speakers trained down on the people who would gather there. Big Brother is watching you.
Notices and rules were posted everywhere, VISITORS MUST ARRIVE AT THE PROPER TIME. NO ONE WILL BE ADMITTED AFTER THE DOORS ARE LOCKED. VISITORS MUST NOT BRING KNIVES, GUNS, OR CONTRABAND SUBSTANCES INTO THE JAIL .
No
kidding
.
A sign directed him to a button that he could push to enter.
A buzzer sounded and Deet could hear the locks on the door click. He pulled the door open and stepped inside the waiting room, his mouth still dry. He stoppeda minute to look around for the registration book Mom had told him about.
The room looked like any public place, shiny white vinyl tiles, fluorescent lights, tan cork bulletin boards filled with notices of some sort. Impersonal, ugly, cold.
There were three doors, two for the bathrooms and another that was behind an arch, a sort of gateway with no gate. A copy machine sat between the two bathroom doors, a water fountain to the right of it. One shabby-looking wooden bench had its back to the copier, and there was a coatrack and a set of dented, short metal lockers in the corner. The paint on the lockers was chipped and dirty.
There was another room behind a glass partition. The floors in there were
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