Microstory 1912: Henhouse, Outhouse, and Doghouse

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Fugitive Agent: Thank you all for coming to this meeting. I promise that we won’t take up too much of your time, but we do have a few questions regarding this recent jailbreak of yours, which is—let’s see—the fourth this year? Whew, that sounds like a lot? Does that sound like a lot to you, Fugitive Agent 2? That sounds like a lot. Let me check the area stats. Yeah, that’s a lot. Okay, so. Who’s to blame here? [...] No takers?

Fugitive Agent 2: I don’t think they heard you.

Fugitive Agent: Didn’t hear me? Is that right, folks? Did you not hear me? Well, if this station hired a bunch of deaf people, maybe we need to run a clean sweep. Do you agr—

Senior Guard: That will not be necessary. We heard you just fine.

Fugitive Agent: It won’t—let’s see—Senior Guard? Are you taking responsibility?

Senior Guard: I didn’t say that.

Fugitive Agent: Well, one of your men was on duty on the night in question, correct?

Senior Guard: He was, but we were understaffed. Street Proctor arrested a fifth detainee, which overbooked our cell in terms of guards.

Fugitive Agent: Proctors can’t make arrests.

Street Proctor: I didn’t arrest anyone. You can check the records. Police Officer 11 is the arresting officer of record.

Police Officer 11: I am? I wasn’t even there. I was off work for the last two days.

Fugitive Agent: Street Proctor, did you falsify records?

Street Proctor: No, I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t. He probably was here. It was probably him who falsified the records. Like you said, I can’t make arrests, and everyone knows that, so even if I tried, the so-called detainee, who I supposably arrested should have refused, but he didn’t even argue against me. I mean, because I didn’t even try, because I can’t arrest people. I don’t even have handcuffs. Look.

Fugitive Agent: Yes, I wanted to ask about the last person who was placed in the jail cell. He claimed to be a parole officer, and even presented a badge? Evidently it was this that he used to escort the other four men out of this building without so much as picking a lock. Senior Parole Officer, care to comment?

Senior Parole Officer: All of my men are accounted for. If this man really was on the job, he was from a different station, and since there aren’t any records of his arrival, I can say nothing more about it.

Fugitive Agent: Thank you, Senior Parole Officer; the only man here whose words I believe to be actually true. Speaking of which, now that we know that it was Street Proctor who tried to arrest this mysterious parole officer, I assume it was you, Senior Proctor, who received him? [...] You may as well be honest; the order of events is pretty obvious here. Lying now isn’t gonna save your job.

Senior Proctor: I received him, yes. I interrogated him for a few minutes, then asked my subordinate to detain him. But I didn’t know that an officer didn’t make the arrest.

Street Proctor: Bullshit! You’re a liar!

Fugitive Agent: Settle down, now. I still have more questions. I wanna know who else knew about it. Senior Police Officer, what was your involvement in this mess?

Microstory 1911: Shift Laws

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Senior Guard: Jail Guard, could you come into my office?

Jail Guard: Yeah, boss?

Senior Guard: I noticed that the male jail cell is empty at the moment.

Jail Guard: Oh, you’re right. It is, isn’t it?

Senior Guard: Why do you think that is?

Jail Guard: Looks like they broke out, sir. Happens about once a year.

Senior Guard: True. Care to hazard a guess as to the number one way detainees and inmates find themselves capable of breaking out of whatever lock up facility they’re in?

Jail Guard: Bad craftsmanship?

Senior Guard: Help from the inside. You were posted at that cell earlier today.

Jail Guard: I suppose I was. I did have to go out for coffee.

Senior Guard: How long were you gone?

Jail Guard: Only about ninety minutes.

Senior Guard: [...]

Jail Guard: I didn’t help them escape. I just didn’t watch them.

Senior Guard: Of course. Were you aware that the law states that at least two guards are required to be posted at a holding site where five or more detainees are being held?

Jail Guard: I think I did know that. Does that mean you erred?

Senior Guard: It does not. My roster is sound. It was a proctor who brought in the fifth detainee, which means it would have been the proctor department’s responsibility to supply your backup. Just for confirmation, did they fulfill this requirement?

Jail Guard: They did not. I was alone.

Senior Guard: And you are allowed to leave for food, beverage, and personal hygiene reasons once every two hours, correct?

Jail Guard: Correct. That is also the law.

Senior Guard: When you left for coffee, and...personal hygiene reasons, had it been two hours since your last break?

Jail Guard: *frowns* No, it had only been about an hour.

Senior Guard: No. No, look at this, see? You logged your break at 17:00 earlier this evening. I have it right here on the records. Those are your initials, aren’t they?

Jail Guard: Impossible, sir. I eat my dinner at exactly 18:00. I’m on a particular diet.

Senior Guard: Yeah, I remember, but something was different about today. You were so hungry, you took a break at 17:00, and then at 19:15, you needed another break, and since you were alone, you had to leave the detainees alone. And that’s not your fault. It’s not my fault either. It’s the proctor department’s fault. Do we understand each other?

Jail Guard: I think so, sir.

Senior Guard: *sighs* I know you have trouble remembering things sometimes, so when the fugitive department questions you regarding this matter, just tell them that you do not recall, and ask them to defer to the records, because you may not know much, but you know that the records are one hundred percent accurate. Okay?

Jail Guard: Okay, I think I can do that.

Senior Guard: Perfect. Now go finish your shift. They won’t come until tomorrow.

Microstory 1910: Detained

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Street Proctor: Here you are, boys, fresh meat! And look, he’s a cop! Have fun!

Detainee 1: Is that true? Were you a cop?

Leonard: I was—I am—a parole officer. It was my job to keep guys like you out of jail after you left. I’m trying to get back to that life.

Detainee 1: I see. *stands up*

Leonard: Look, I’m not here to fight.

Detainee 1: Me neither. My parole officer kept me out for ten years before she was murdered. I’m in here because I found the dirty cop who did her in, and put him in the ground. I just wanna shake your hand.

Detainee 2: Heh. They probably thought that we would kill you for wearing that badge.

Detainee 3: They’re proctors. Proctors are morons. All they do is observe and report.

Leonard: Observe and report? He arrested me when I told him that I was homeless.

Detainee 2: Yeah, he’s technically not allowed to do that.

Detainee 1: Cops are cops. Since when do they care what the law says? Present company excluded, of course.

Leonard: I’ve barely been here an hour, and I already don’t understand this world.

Detainee 2: What’s to understand? Everyone’s corrupt. That’s all you need to know.

Leonard: *whispering to himself* I gotta get outta here.

Detainee 3: I’m in.

Leonard: Huh? I don’t mean out of jail. I can’t break any more laws. I just mean this area. I’m far from home, and I want to get back to my family.

Detainee 1: It’s not illegal to break out of jail.

Leonard: It’s not? These laws really are weird.

Detainee 1: The only catch is if you get caught, you’ll go back to jail to await trial, and they will probably use your attempted escape against you. Though it will not technically be a charge, the judge will rule based on his personal feelings on the matter. Obviously most of them frown upon it, so if we’re doing this, let’s not get caught.

Detainee 3: Oh, but if you physically harm someone in the process, that can be an added charge. The good news is, as you’ve already seen, the police at this particular station are incredibly incompetent...easily embarrassed. We should be able to slip past.

Detainee 2: Yeah, and they won’t want to open an investigation, or initiate a pursuit, because that makes them look bad. They’re liable to wipe us from the system, and hope that no one else finds out.

Detainee 3: Plus his badge.

Detainee 2: Oh yeah, you have that badge. I don’t recognize it, but if you’re clever, they won’t notice. We’ll just wanna wait until a shift change, so no one will recognize you.

Detainee 1: So how about it, paroler? You wanna break out of here?

Detainee 4: I got somethin’ to say.

Detainee 3: Detainee 4, you’re awake.

Detainee 4: I heard every word, and I have one question. What do we do about him?

Jail Guard: I hate proctors too. Anyway, I need some more coffee. Don’t you go breakin’ out while I’m gone, ya hear? It’ll probably take me about an hour.

Microstory 1909: An Officer Arrested

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Senior Proctor: Street Proctor, why did you arrest that man in there?

Street Proctor: He told me that he was homeless. My hands were tied. Ha, now his hands are tied.

Senior Proctor: Did you happen to search his person before you brought him in?

Street Proctor: Of course I did.

Senior Proctor: So you noticed that he was carrying this badge?

Street Proctor: I...of course I did. I didn’t think anything of it. It looks fake. I don’t recognize that design.

Senior Proctor: I don’t either, but feel how heavy it is.

Street Proctor: That doesn’t make it real.

Senior Proctor: I think it’s real to him, and I’m interested to find out where he got it, and why he has it. Don’t you? He didn’t identify himself as a parole officer, did he? Why do you think that is? It may have saved him some trouble.

Street Proctor: I have no idea. I probably would have left him alone if he had.

Senior Proctor: Let’s go in there and have a chat.

Street Proctor: His biometric results aren’t in yet.

Senior Proctor: I have a feeling they’re not going to find him in the system. *Opens door* Good evening. My name is Senior Proctor. Can you tell me what your name is?

Parole Officer: Miazga. Leonard Miazga.

Senior Proctor: It’s nice to meet you, Officer Miazga. You are an officer, correct?

Leonard Miazga: I am. I work for the Kansas City Metro Corps Department of Corrections as a parole officer for non-violent crimes.

Senior Proctor: Wow, that’s a mouthful. If you have steady work, why do you not have a permanent residential address?

Leonard: I choose to exercise my right to remain silent.

Senior Proctor: *laughs* What? Your right to remain silent? Never heard of it. Have you, Street Proctor?

Street Proctor: Can’t say that I have, boss.

Senior Proctor: I’ve never heard of the Kansas City Metro Corps either.

Street Proctor: Me neither.

Senior Proctor: Look, I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to pull here with this piece of junk badge, and your made up stories about being an officer of the court—

Street Proctor: I don’t either.

Senior Proctor: That’s enough, Street Proctor. Anyway, Mr. Miazga, my subordinate was right when he told you that he had no choice but to arrest you. If you have nowhere to live, you live in a jail cell. That’s the law. Understand?

Leonard: I understand.

Senior Proctor: Good.

Leonard: I understand that this country created no laws protecting suspected law-breakers, nor any meant to promote a sense of due process or fairness in justice.

Senior Proctor: Get him out of here. Pin that badge on him, and threaten his life if he tries to take it off. Let the other criminals in there decide how they feel about it.

Microstory 1908: Proctor, Proctor, Help Me, Help Me

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My Parole Officer: Hello, hi. I’m glad I found you. I seem to be lost. Could you point me in the direction of Kansas City?

Street Proctor: Never heard of it.

Parole Officer: Oh. What is the city we’re in called?

Proctor: Kansas City, Missouri.

Parole Officer: That’s what I said.

Proctor: No. You just said Kansas City. There is no such thing. It would be like calling this country America when it’s the United States of America.

Parole Officer: Okay, well, it’s not the same thing. People call it that all the time, and there’s not usually any ambiguity. You should have assumed what I meant.

Proctor: You’re already here in Kansas City Missouri. Why would you ask to go somewhere when you’re already there? I figured you were trying to talk about something else. It would be like asking for a glass of water while you’re holding a glass of water.

Parole Officer: Umm...

Proctor: If you’ll excuse me, I’m on patrol.

Parole Officer: You’re not moving.

Proctor: That’s why I always get myself assigned a corner. I can see my entire day’s jurisdiction without having to move.

Parole Officer: Something’s wrong here. Who is the President of the United States?

Proctor: The president? There is no such thing. You can have a president of a neighborhood, maybe, but perhaps you mean the National Commander?

Parole Officer: Yeah, sure. Who is the National Commander?

Proctor: Commander Apostle Virtue.

Parole Officer: Apostle Virtue. That’s their real name?

Proctor: Of course it is. Why?

Parole Officer: Yeah, this is definitely the wrong world.

Proctor: What was that?

Parole Officer: Nothing. Never mind. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m homeless, and I don’t have any money. Is there perhaps a shelter nearby, or somewhere else I could stay to get out of the elements.

Proctor: Is that a joke? Please tell me that you’re joking.

Parole Officer: I wish I was, but I’m afraid I’m not where I should be, and I need some help. I know the law, I shouldn’t sleep out on the streets, but I don’t know where I can go. I’m obviously very unfamiliar with this area. I’ve traveled from far away.

Proctor: Oh my God. Why did it have to be my corner? Months without incident, and then you show up to make things more complicated. The paperwork, the paperwork...

Parole Officer: I don’t think that’s necessary. Just tell me where I can go. I’ll get there myself, even if it’s far. I don’t mind walking.

Proctor: No, I have to arrest you.

Parole Officer: What? Hey, watch it! Why exactly are you handcuffing me?

Proctor: Homelessness is illegal. You could have gotten away with it, and stayed hidden, but you went and confessed to me. Now I have no choice. Don’t resist.