Chapter 1
Ashland was petrified. There he was in the middle of the night in some dirty ally just standing there in some slutty, whore’s outfit. How was this going to look to anyone with half a brain? What would happen if he was arrested? Surely they would discover his identity. ‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Ashland said to himself. He was intoxicated and on drugs too, even though he wasn’t rolling any longer, nor was he as buzzed from the wine; clearly, he was impaired. Being out in the night air had a sobering effect, as did having a bright light from a cop shinning on his trembling frame alone in the middle of the ally.
“Don’t move,” a voice commanded—this time from the darkness of the night and not from the loud speaker. Ashland could see the door open of the patrol car and a dark figure immerged. “Put your hands behind your back and walk towards the car,” the voice commanded.
Ashland did as he was told. He locked his fingers together behind his butt and walked to the car. His shoulders were pulled back and his cups were high on his chest making his fake breasts look pronounced and his upper-body look petite. His legs were still weak from the excitement earlier and the adrenaline wasn’t helping to smooth his coordination. He did his best to walk a straight line to the officer’s car.
When he reached the nose of the car, the officer issued another command, “Now turn to your left and spread your legs.” Ashland complied once more, but turned to the right. With a more stern sound to his voice, like a father scolding their children, he repeated, “I said to turn to your left and spread your legs.” He could hear the officer shut his door and approach him from behind. Suddenly he felt the officer grab his small wrists and clasp a pair of handcuffs in place.
‘Fuck,’ Ashland thought. He wanted to cry, but he was more concerned than depressed at his situation.
“Walk,” the officer instructed, as he guided Ashland to the side of the black Charger’s front quarter panel. He pressed Ashland against the vehicle. “Spread em,” he commanded, as he kicked the inside of Ashland’s heals apart. “What are you doing out here? You working?” Ashland just shook his head. “Oh really? No huh? Well, we’ll see about that.” His forearm pressed against Ashland’s back—causing him to fall forward on the hood of the car. Ashland twisted to prevent an impact. “Don’t move. If you resist me, you’ll regret it,” he warned.
The officer unzipped Ashland’s purse and dumped the possessions on the hood of the car. Out fell a bunch of condoms, a wad of money, her sister’s ID and her lip sticks. “Well looky what we have here young lady,” he continued. By the sound of his voice, it was clear that he was older—probably in his fifties or sixties. “I would say that this evidence leads me to believe you’re a whore. Are you are whore young lady?” Again Ashland just shook his head. He grabbed the ID. “Let’s see here—Ashley Alvares. Well Ms Alvares, let’s see if you have any priors. If you do then I believe you will be coming with me down to the station for prostitution.” Ashland’s heart just dropped in his chest. He was panicking. The officer got on his radio, “Yea dispatch, that 10-66 is a possible 10-50 or 10-51 along with a 647b. Requesting a 10-29a on Ashley Alvares, Adam-Sam-Henry-Lincoln-Edward-Yellow Adam-Lincoln-Victor-Adam-Robert-Edward-Sam. D-O-B of …. over.” He addressed Ashland once more, “Well, young lady. We are going to see if you have any priors. My guess is that you do. I’m also guessing you are holding, so you hold really still while I pat you down.” Ashland just nodded in compliance.
Ashland was freaking out. What if his sister hag prior arrests? What was going to happen to him? He didn’t have any drugs on him—only in him. What if he has to do a sobriety test or do a blood draw? ‘I’m so fucked. Prostitution and public intoxication!’ Ashland was spinning. “Fuck me!” He just blurted it out—a thought that escaped his mind.
“Oh I’m sure you would like that,” the officer replied to the indirect comment. “Wouldn’t you? Just hold still.”
The officer began to pat Ashland down—patting and squeezing his body. His minidress and stockings weren’t capable of hiding anything, but that didn’t stop the officer from doing his duty. He pat Ashland all over—first starting at his waist then moving up his torso then back down his waist to his hips. He pat and squeezed his hips and ass—clearly more than necessary. He moved to each leg—running his hands from the top of Ashland’s thighs all the way to his ankles then back up his thigh all the way to the soft flesh between his legs. Ashland shuttered from the touch.
“Turn around,” he barked, as he grabbed Ashland by his arm—lifting him off the hood of the car. Ashland turned around and opened his eyes. The officer wasn’t older at all. He was a young, white man in his late twenties with a portly shape to him. His face and neck was round—jiggling as he talked—and shaved like a babies butt making him look much younger. He had a piggish look with a shorter and stocky build and a protruding gut, so much so, that if Ashland had been in any other situation he might have made fun of him—called him piggy. Ashland was shorter than him, but not in Ashley’s four-inch heals; Ashland was slightly looking down at him now. His voice had seemed so powerful, but looking at him then, the fear of a dark, powerful officer diminished. He looked like a man who was likely teased as a child—who carried the cop chip-of-authority on their shoulder. Ashland saw his name tag—Officer Burt. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and Ashland complied—breathing the scent of cum and wine into the man’s piggish nose. “I smell ETOH! You’ve been drinking?”
“A little wine,” Ashland muttered. It was the first thing he said to him.
“Oh yea. How much wine, and don’t tell me just two glasses because I hear that bullshit all the time,” he barked.
“Just a bottle,” Ashland confessed, while looking down, as if caught like a child.
The officer peeled up Ashland’s eyes and shined a light in them. Ecstasy is more of a hallucinogen and a stimulant, which slightly offsets the depressive nature of alcohol, so he found Ashland’s pupils only mildly dilated. “Open up your mouth again,” he ordered. “Move your tongue to the right.” Ashland complied. “Now to the left.” He was searching for drugs. Just then dispatch responded.
“Unit 69.”
“Go for 69,” he responded.
“Be advised the suspect is 10-29f for 11350 and 11351. Suggest 10-19 and 10-96 over.”
He responded, “Negative on the 10-96 dispatch. 10-15 at this time. 10-21a by 02:30 over.” The officer smiled at Ashland, as if so satisfied with himself for his catch. “Well young lady. It appears you will be going down to the station with me after all. It appears like you have a warrant for your arrest for a prior felony—possession and possession with the intent to sell.” Ashland was freaking out; he was petrified. He was just frozen in disbelief. What was he going to do?