I Knew You Were Trouble: Accidents Happen Read Online Free
Author: M. X. Potter
granted.
'It wasn't my fault' I told myself as I stood. "This is really stupid," I said under my breath, to myself as I entered my car. "I'm a fucking idiot," I reminded myself, out loud, as I pulled into the County lock up.
"I would like to post bail for Adeline Morrison," I told the clerk at the gated window. The waiting room, if that is what it was, was filled with plastic chairs they must have sourced from the DMV. They were lined up in two rows, as if there would be a lot of people waiting. I was the sole person. The clerk pointed to a door off to the side and pushed a button under his counter. A buzzer sounded, the lock clicked and I opened the door without instruction. Cattle are trained in such ways.
Like a bank, a row of teller positions, each with a 'next window' sign, were lined up along a counter. Only one position was open, but no clerk was waiting. I walked up and waited. So much for the cordial phone conversation I had earlier. My opinion of the lock up lowered greatly. It was a few minutes before a small woman with gray hair sauntered up.
"May I help?" the woman asked. My grandmother used to do up her hair like hers. All curly and shaped perfectly round. I suspected she spent a large portion of her government paycheck on maintaining it.
"I would like to post bail for Adeline Morrison," I repeated for her benefit. The woman reached below the counter, without looking, and retrieved a form. She typed in a few things on a keyboard and nodded. Then I heard a laser printer behind her kick up. She handed me a pen and pushed the form to me.
"Fill in everything above this line." She pointed at a thick black line about three quarters down the page. She retrieved the paper from the printer and returned to me. "It is three thousand -- cash, money order or credit card." My heart took a little jump. I had been thinking a few hundred. I tried not to look shocked as the woman stared at me. I should have asked while I was on the phone.
"Of course," I responded as I retrieved my wallet from my back pocket. I handed her my credit card while trying to hold my hand steady. This was a truly stupid idea.
"There is a five percent non-refundable service charge on credit cards," she informed me. I noticed she took the card before she told me. I did quick math in my head, fifteen... no, one hundred fifty dollars, and I didn't even know if Adeline would skip on the three thousand to boot. I was a complete fool.
I filled out the form as the woman ran my card. My hand was shaking, and my left eye had a twitch that didn't seem to want to stop. Name, address, phone number and relation to the imprisoned. I was not sure what to put on the relation line. 'Friend' seemed inappropriate since I had clearly told her I wasn't. Certainly not 'family.' 'Acquaintance' seemed the most likely. Then I smiled and wrote 'victim.' Screw it.
I had to sign at the bottom to attest that I understood the bond would be forfeited if Adeline failed to show at any of her appointed court appearances. I was committed, so I signed. The lady returned, had me sign a charge receipt, stapled it and the paper from the printer to my form. She took an official stamp, inked the bottom of the form and signed it. She lifted the form and looked at the sheet from the printer.
"Please take a chair in the waiting room." She pointed to the door I had entered. "Ms. Morrison will be with you shortly." She turned and walked to a small room where another clerk was busy with a pile of papers. That was the quickest three thousand I had ever spent. I returned to the waiting room and sat on one of the plastic chairs.
It was twenty minutes before a buzzer sounded, and a door farther down the room opened. Adeline exited slowly, her eyes red, her blonde hair disheveled. She had not slept well. I stood and began to worry about what I would say. I had no good answers for why I would stupidly help her.
"You paid my bail?" She had
'It wasn't my fault' I told myself as I stood. "This is really stupid," I said under my breath, to myself as I entered my car. "I'm a fucking idiot," I reminded myself, out loud, as I pulled into the County lock up.
"I would like to post bail for Adeline Morrison," I told the clerk at the gated window. The waiting room, if that is what it was, was filled with plastic chairs they must have sourced from the DMV. They were lined up in two rows, as if there would be a lot of people waiting. I was the sole person. The clerk pointed to a door off to the side and pushed a button under his counter. A buzzer sounded, the lock clicked and I opened the door without instruction. Cattle are trained in such ways.
Like a bank, a row of teller positions, each with a 'next window' sign, were lined up along a counter. Only one position was open, but no clerk was waiting. I walked up and waited. So much for the cordial phone conversation I had earlier. My opinion of the lock up lowered greatly. It was a few minutes before a small woman with gray hair sauntered up.
"May I help?" the woman asked. My grandmother used to do up her hair like hers. All curly and shaped perfectly round. I suspected she spent a large portion of her government paycheck on maintaining it.
"I would like to post bail for Adeline Morrison," I repeated for her benefit. The woman reached below the counter, without looking, and retrieved a form. She typed in a few things on a keyboard and nodded. Then I heard a laser printer behind her kick up. She handed me a pen and pushed the form to me.
"Fill in everything above this line." She pointed at a thick black line about three quarters down the page. She retrieved the paper from the printer and returned to me. "It is three thousand -- cash, money order or credit card." My heart took a little jump. I had been thinking a few hundred. I tried not to look shocked as the woman stared at me. I should have asked while I was on the phone.
"Of course," I responded as I retrieved my wallet from my back pocket. I handed her my credit card while trying to hold my hand steady. This was a truly stupid idea.
"There is a five percent non-refundable service charge on credit cards," she informed me. I noticed she took the card before she told me. I did quick math in my head, fifteen... no, one hundred fifty dollars, and I didn't even know if Adeline would skip on the three thousand to boot. I was a complete fool.
I filled out the form as the woman ran my card. My hand was shaking, and my left eye had a twitch that didn't seem to want to stop. Name, address, phone number and relation to the imprisoned. I was not sure what to put on the relation line. 'Friend' seemed inappropriate since I had clearly told her I wasn't. Certainly not 'family.' 'Acquaintance' seemed the most likely. Then I smiled and wrote 'victim.' Screw it.
I had to sign at the bottom to attest that I understood the bond would be forfeited if Adeline failed to show at any of her appointed court appearances. I was committed, so I signed. The lady returned, had me sign a charge receipt, stapled it and the paper from the printer to my form. She took an official stamp, inked the bottom of the form and signed it. She lifted the form and looked at the sheet from the printer.
"Please take a chair in the waiting room." She pointed to the door I had entered. "Ms. Morrison will be with you shortly." She turned and walked to a small room where another clerk was busy with a pile of papers. That was the quickest three thousand I had ever spent. I returned to the waiting room and sat on one of the plastic chairs.
It was twenty minutes before a buzzer sounded, and a door farther down the room opened. Adeline exited slowly, her eyes red, her blonde hair disheveled. She had not slept well. I stood and began to worry about what I would say. I had no good answers for why I would stupidly help her.
"You paid my bail?" She had
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