The Archangel Drones by Joe Nobody Page B

and red, the tortured joint was the size of a mature grapefruit. “That’s why he’s out,” one of them commented. “That has to hurt like hell.”
    About then the registered nurse arrived with another aide and a toolbox-sized container of basic medical supplies. The team quickly set about its business, cleaning and bandaging the head wound and elevating Jacob’s upper body.
    It took longer than usual for the EMTs to arrive, a major accident on I-10 involving two semis and a car full of vacationers had pulled several ambulances to the scene.
    And then there was the delay waiting for a deputy to accompany the prisoner.
    Over 90 minutes after being delivered to the jail, Jacob Chase was on his way to the emergency room, IV in his arm, ice pack on his knee, and bandages wrapping his head.
    The ambulance was less than three blocks away when the jailer strolled back to the booking area and noticed Jacob’s packet sitting on the counter. “Shit,” he hissed, picking up the thin folder, “This should have gone with that kid.”

    Central Hospital ER was one of the few left open in the entire area. One by one, the major facilities in the nation’s fourth largest city had closed their emergency rooms, the deluge of uninsured patients making such accommodations unprofitable.
    Much like the jail, the massive facility was always functioning at near capacity… in a state of barely controlled chaos.
    The Houston Fire and Rescue ambulance that had responded to the jail’s call had to wait in line, the six unloading bays all occupied by other emergency vehicles. Despite the fact that this was a weekday and not even the chickens were yet awake, the facility was running with a shortage of emergency beds. The weekend shifts were marked by total ER gridlock.
    Finally able to pull forward and unload their patient, the two fireman wheeled Jacob’s stretcher into one of the few empty waiting rooms. Leaving the bored cop to sit in a lonely looking, plastic chair, the two EMTs returned to the main nurse’s station, both dreading the upcoming paperwork.
    “Where’s the patient’s packet?”
    “I thought you had it?”
    “Shit! I guess we’ll just have to register him as a John Doe until his file catches up with him,” shrugged the team’s senior member.

Chapter 3
     
    Peelian Principle
    Police headquarters should be centrally located and easily accessible by the public.
     
    “We have no one at this facility by the name of Jacob Chase,” came the annoyed response. “I suggest you try the local precinct’s lockup.”
    “I’ve already contacted them, the Northside facility, and everyone else I can dial, ma’am. No one can find my son. Did the arresting officers just take him out to an empty field and dump his body?” resonated the frustrated voice of a desperate father.
    “Sir, are you making a criminal accusation against a law enforcement officer? If so, I can transfer you to the public affairs office.”
    “I just want to know where my son is, ma’am. Pardon me for being a little over the top, but wouldn’t you be acting the same way if your child were missing?”
    “My computer screen says he’s not here, sir. That’s the only information I can access.”
    “Thank you,” Gabe replied, even though he didn’t mean it.
    After the call was disconnected, the jail operator glared at her co-worker. “Why do white people always think their children are innocent and being abused by the big, bad county jail? I get so tired of it. It’s as if they think their pale, little asses never commit any crime or do anything wrong. Like they should be treated special or something just because of their color.”
    The co-worker laughed. “Guess what,” she said mimicking a game show host delivering the big prize, “Your suburban, middle-class teenager is a criminal! You are about to enter a whole new world called the criminal justice system. Soon you’ll discover what half of the black and Latino parents already understand.