The Haircut Story Site

Speeding - part 1: Robert by thadeusz

For technical reasons, this fictional story had to be posted in several parts. Read all of them in order. The first one, this one, does not contain a description of a haircut. Apologies to the community
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I was a good student and during my last year of College, my advisor suggested that I should go on and get a PhD. He helped me finding a good University. Until then, I had studied in a small College on the East Coast, but my advisor helped getting a scholarship for an excellent University on the West Coast where I wanted to study law and become a great lawyer. Money was not a real problem. My parents had died in a plane accident while they were on their way back from a great holiday trip in South Africa and they had left me with the money of their insurances. It was not dreadfully much, but enough to get me through College and Graduate School. My father had also left me a wonderful car, a French car with all kind of interesting accessories, but also a car you could not find anymore in the USA.

My name is Peter Rohmert and I was 21 at the start of this adventure. I had relatively long curly hair, very dark but not very long on the sides with some very long lock on the top of my head. In fact, I had short hair as a young boy. One day, I saw the movie "Rebel without a cause" with James Dean. I felt this described very well my situation after my parents death and I wanted to have the same haircut as the actor, except that my hair was nearly black and did not adapt well to James Dean style. So I settled for long locks (but not unduly locks) which I kept as wild as possible and with which I liked to play while studying. I was very proud of that haircut and I took great care to keep it in such a way that it looked in disorder. But I also grew a moustache and a beard. I kept great care of my nice moustache and of my thin collar-like beard, and I trimmed them regularly. I was, and still am, rather tall: 6 feet, 2 inches to be precise. I don’t wear glasses.

My main problem was my car. I had kept my father’s car in perfect shape and I had used it during my College years to attract girls. I wanted to continue doing so. I first thought selling it and buying an new one in California, but I rapidly discovered that I would not be able to find the same type of car, with all the accessories that intrigued and thus attracted the girls I wanted to have. So I decided to drive this car across the continent. It would take lots of time, but I had enough time between College graduation and the start of my Graduate studies in my new University. The only point was that I did not want to make all the driving alone, so I did what we always did in College: I posted an announcement with my phone number, saying that I was looking for a partner to drive to the West Coast. I added that a small amount would be given to the "assistant driver" for his expenses during the trip from East to West.

I rapidly received a phone call from a certain Robert Bonen who told me that he was also a student, in his junior year, but that he had no money left. He thus wanted to go and join his family in New Mexico and asked me if I considered this a fair deal. His hair was dark as night and he had managed to look like Elvis Presley. As credentials he showed me his student ID and his driver licence. We had a few beers together and I accepted him as companion on my long trip. We met several times before the departure and became friends.

The day after my graduation, we left the East for the West Coast. Everything went well during days. Then one day, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Robert was driving and I noticed that he was speeding. I knew they did not like that in the county where we were, so I told him: "Slow down, you are speeding".
But he did not slow down. A police car started to chase us and Robert chose to speed up, which was obviously a mistake. I reacted by ordering him: "Stop immediately, it’s the police."

It was the police and they stopped us as was to be expected. A young policeman with a long truncheon hanging on his belt came to us. He asked for Robert’s driving license and for the papers of the car. He then noticed that Robert was not the owner of the car and I told him that I was. He looked at both of us and simply said:
"Get out of this car, you are both under arrest. We consider here speeding as a serious crime."
I told him: "Officer, you cannot arrest me. I was not driving. I didn’t do anything unlawful."
"You were in that care, you are under arrest" repeated the young policeman with a shivering voice as if he was not at all sure of his authority.
"Officer, you will give us a ticket and I’ll pay in cash despite the fact that I was not driving, so we can go further."
"Now you are both under arrest, so keep quiet."
There was another policeman in the police car. He came to help the young one and told him:
"A double arrest on your first day, your father will be pleased. As Sheriff he likes arrests for speeding."
While the young policeman pointed his gun towards us, the older one handcuffed both of us, hands in our back. He then pushed us in the back of their car and he started to drive towards the police station.

There, we were shown to the Sheriff by the proud young police officer who had arrested us. He hesitated between "Sheriff" and "Pa" when addressing his boss. We were booked and I realized that my picture and my name were now in a federal database of "persons having problems with the law". Then the Sheriff started to give his orders:
"Boys, you will be Judged for what you did. The Judge does not take cases of traffic violations except on Monday, you will thus have to stay here during 5 days. I don’t want to have problems with you, so you are going to enter without objection your detainee uniform. So undress and throw your clothes in a box. You will get them back when you come out of jail."
I reacted to that: "Sheriff, I was not driving, I am innocent."
"You’ll tell that to the Judge, now I place you under arrest."
I looked at Robert, meaning "all that is your fault" but he kept his head down. Each of us received an infamous orange prison uniform. It was a one piece jumpsuit with a zipper from collar to waist, and no other opening, so you had more or less to slide into it, holding the upper part with both hands and then to put on the upper part. The one I received was not new and had the words "Police detainee" on the back and the letters "PD" on each leg, all that in thick black letters. We had been allowed to keep our undies but not our shoes, because of the "dangerous" shoelaces. The shoes and socks were replaced by heavy orange plastic clogs to be worn without socks. I tried this uniform and to my surprise I discovered that it was made in cotton and was comfortable. I thought that it was a new experience and that on Monday I would get rid of it.
Suddenly the young policeman shouted while pointing at me:
"Pa, this man is dangerous. He resisted arrest."
"Sheriff", I objected, "I did nothing of the kind, I simply said that there was no reason to arrest me since I was not driving".
"Pa, Sheriff, he threatened me."
"Is that true ?" asked the Sheriff to the older policeman.
But this one replied:
"I was too far at the beginning, so I did not hear nor see the details."
"Well", concluded the Sheriff, "we have here the words of a foreign suspect opposed to those of Junior, a sworn-in young policeman of our county. We will take the necessary precautions and let the Judge decide."
The Sheriff turned then towards the older policeman and shouted: "John, give an FS to this detainee and put these two new ones in separate cells."
I did not know what an FS was, but I was soon to discover what this "FS" meant "Full Shackle" and that it was not at all comfortable.

The older policeman took us to a hallway where all the cells were. He pushed Robert inside one of them and locked the door. He then got hold of me from the back. A third policeman, John, took my wrists, pulled them brutally so that they were in front of me. The older guy was still holding me while Junior pointed his gun at me. John handcuffed me that way, which I had not expected. The older policeman pushed me and forced me to kneel on a small bench placed along the wall and he turned my head so that I was now facing the wall. I did not want to, but the young policeman, Junior, was also there with his gun. Once I had complied and was kneeling, the third policeman, John, placed shackles on my ankles. He also placed a chain on my waist, which he fixed in my back. Junior was still there saying all kind of stupid things with the nervous and quivering voice of an excited adolescent: his first day at work and his first arrest.

The older policeman continued by fastening a chain linking the chain on my ankles to my waist chain, and similarly for the handcuffs. This was done in such a way that all my moves were very limited. The older policeman spoke then for the first time:
"Stand up, boy"
The young policeman was shouting joyfully. John the policeman who had shackled and handcuffed me, took me then to a cell but before he locked the door, he asked me:
"Boy, do you want to piss ?"
I had never heard a policeman speak in such a vulgar way, certainly not when addressing me. In any case, I did not need to go to the toilet and I said so.
"Boy, think twice. Look at you with your FS. Can you piss all by yourself ?"
I had to admit that this was not the case and that I wanted to take precautions. The policeman helped me kindly, even if his language was vulgar. In fact he simply undid my waist chain and my handcuffs on one wrist. That enabled me to take out of the jumpsuit what had to be temporarily taken outside and to do what was suggested. During all that time, my guard was looking at me. After that John, the policeman, attached again all my chains and handcuff and said:
"If you need to go when nobody is there to help, simply piss in your jumpsuit, it will not be the first time."
He then left my cell and locked the door from the outside.

I was in a state of shock. It was the first time I had been shackled and handcuffed. It was also the first time I had been put in a cell. I realized that I did not only lose my liberty in general, but more specifically that I was denied what now appeared as an essential little freedom: the right to go whenever I wanted and alone to the toilet. I sat in a corner of my cell and tried to put some order in my thoughts, remembering that I was innocent and "assumed innocent until proven guilty."

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