Free Corrosion by Jon Bassoff Page A

just like a field trip, except we were going to the courthouse to get our charges read.
    It was a twenty-minute drive. Nobody spoke. The courthouse stood in the shadows of a giant grain elevator. It was a menacing old concrete building that looked to have been converted from a hospital of some kind. We were led into the backside of the building and into another holding cell. This one here not much different from the one in the jail, except smaller and danker.
    After a short wait, we were summoned, and the deputies marched us into a tiny courtroom two at a time. It was there that a plump old man with a rumpled suit, raggedly sheered hair, and oversized glasses approached me and patted me on the shoulder. Name’s Desmond Harris, he said. I’ll be representing you, understand? Try my best to get you out on bail, understand?
    Bail?
    You’re a war hero. You’re not a threat to society. You’re the savior of society. Get you out on bail, hear me?
    The judge looked like all judges do. Balding gray hair. Glasses resting on the tip of his nose. An expression of sternness or smugness. He called my name and Mr. Harris grabbed my arm and led me in front of the judge. The judge spent a few moments studying my file. He looked at me over his glasses, his lips curled into a frown.
    Mr. Downs, he said. Are you aware of the charges brought against you?
    I nodded my head and said I was.
    You don’t need to make a plea at this time.
    I understand.
    Your preliminary hearing is scheduled for Monday, December 2nd.
    At that moment, my lawyer put up his finger. Your Honor, he said. We move to have my client free on bail. He does not have any prior offenses, not even a traffic ticket. He is veteran of the Iraq war. He served with distinction.
    A soldier, huh?
    I nodded my head. Yes, sir. 1st Battalion, 7th Regiment, 1st Division. Stationed in Mosul.
    The judge watched me for a few moments and then nodded his head slowly. We owe you a debt of gratitude, he said.
    Thank you, sir.
    I hope you didn’t do the things they said you done.
    No, sir. I didn’t.
    Under the circumstances, the judge said, considering the lack of priors and valor in which he served, bail is set for $750,000. He slammed the gavel down. Next case.
    The other lawyer, a slick-looking fellow with bright white teeth and a bright red tie, didn’t like this resolution. Your Honor, he said. I think you should reconsider. He’s charged with first-degree murder.
    The judge took off his glasses and glared at the shyster. Only charged, he said. I’ve made my decision. $750,000.
    My lawyer said something to me that I didn’t understand. I was supposed to be thankful. $750,000? That meant, what $75,000 to a bail bondsman? It was as good as no bail. The sheriff’s deputies marched me back to the courthouse holding area. It wouldn’t be long now. They’d delouse me, wash me down, issue me a jail uniform, a towel, a bedroll, and then lead me back to that steel cage…
    * * *
    The next few nights, I died a million deaths. Hanging from a gnarled branch of a chestnut tree. Submerging slowly into a scum-covered pond. Bleeding profusely from jagged wounds on my wrists…
    Then early the next morning, as I lay on my cot staring at the cracks in the cement ceiling, a long shadow spread across my cell. I could hear those keys jangling again, then the thwunk of the steel door opening. I sat up. A barrel-chested, baby-faced guard stood in the doorway gripping his billy club tightly. Joseph Downs? he said.
    I rose to my feet. Yes, sir.
    Come with me.
    He grabbed me by the arm and we walked through the corridor. Where are we going? I said.
    You’ve been bailed out, he said.
    Bailed out?
    Yes, sir.
    Who bailed me out?
    He didn’t answer.
    We reached the front desk. The cop behind the desk asked me to sign a paper before pulling out a bag with my clothes and belongings. He gave me another paper, which had the date of my next court appearance. And that was it. I was free to go. I reached into the