Rembering the phrase ’It’s a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there,’ as he walked into the county jail visitors center, Jack thought, It’s a terrible place to visit and I’d rather die than live here.
He and Madison had realized it would look suspicious if he didn’t visit her in jail.
Not going during his first week of classes was explainable, but not even visiting on the weekend would seem suspicious, given their relationship.
So, here he was, on a fine Sunday morning, entering the gates of hell. Or hell’s visitor center, anyway.
The place was bleak. Grey concrete walls, grey steel doors, dirty wire sh windows. And the other people in the little waiting room all looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.
When he got to the sign-in counter, the overweight man behind it said, "ID. Prisoner na," in a tone that managed to be bored, nacing, and condescending all at the sa ti.
Jack handed the man his ID and said, "Madison Kavanagh."
After typing on his keyboard for a while, the man handed back Jack’s ID, then handed him a form and said, "Sign here."
After signing the form, the man told Jack to wait. So, Jack sat in one of the old scratched up plastic and tal chairs, and waited. And waited. And waited. Two hours later, he heard his na called.
"Jack Waldron," said a bored and nacing voice. "Step forward."
He looked up to see a large male prison guard standing in the doorway to a small room connected to the waiting room. It was a won’s prison, but they had male guards working so of the exterior security.
He got up and walked towards the guard. He was not looking forward to this next part.
As he approached, the guard stepped backwards into the room and let Jack pass, then closed the door.
The room was small, windowless, with nothing but a tal table bolted to the concrete floor, a door opposite the one he’d entered, and on the table was a small black tray.
The guard pointed to the plastic tray and said, "Keys, wallet, phone."
Jack had learned from Madison that visitors were required to relinquish everything but their clothes when visiting a prisoner. So, not wanting the guards to get their grubby little fingers on any of his stuff, he left everything in his Land cruiser, even the keys.
He’d temporarily enabled finger print based entry on his vehicle so he could leave his keys inside it. The only thing he had on him was his ID.
He tossed his ID into the tray but said nothing.
"I said, keys, wallet, phone!" growled the guard.
"I didn’t bring my keys, wallet, or phone," replied Jack. "Just my ID."
"Arms out!" demanded the guard, glaring at him, probably assuming Jack was trying to sneak sothing into the prison.
Jack held his arms out to either side of him, but remained silent.
The guard frisked him roughly and very thoroughly. It was even more invasive than that ti in his first lottery sim.
If it hadn’t been for the practice he’d gained from enduring those cops, this experience would have been unbearable. As it was, it was intensely uncomfortable, and Jack was seriously considering a little "black magic" payback.
The guard finished his intensely intimate search, then stepped back.
In a far more friendly tone, the guard said, "You’re clean. No hard feelings, bud. Usually, when people toss just their ID into the tray, they’re hiding sothing."
Okay, maybe he’d let it slide. It seed like the guard wasn’t being a dick, just to be a dick.
"Why would they even try if they know they’re gonna be searched?" asked Jack.
"Second ti visitors know the drill, but many first-ti visitors try sothing."
Then the guard turned and headed for a second door. "Follow ," he said.
Down a hall, around a corner, and down another hall lined with doors. The guard stopped at one of the doors, then grabbed his radio microphone and said, "Open visitor entrance five."
There was a buzz, and the guard pushed the door open, then turned to Jack. "Wait inside. They’ll bring her in shortly."
Jack entered the room. Across from him was another tal door. There were windows on all four walls giving views of the rooms on either side, as well as the hallways connected to each door.
And in the center of the room was a tal table and two tal chairs, each bolted to the concrete floor. There was a tal loop welded to the center of the table.
He sat in the tal chair and waited.
A few minutes later, he saw Madison being led by a female guard. They stopped by the door across from him.
There was a buzz, and the door opened. Madison, with hands cuffed in front of her, entered, followed by the guard.
She smiled at Jack but didn’t say anything as the guard pushed her into the chair opposite Jack and locked her cuffs onto the tal loop in the center of the table.
"No funny business," warned the guard as she exited the room.
Who would want to try having sex while guards stared at you? He thought.
Jack patted Madison’s hands then said, "Hey, how you holding up?"
The room wasn’t supposed to be monitored, but they were not taking any chances and had decided to touch on a few topics to make their eting believable.
"I’m doing okay. My cellmate was really annoying at first, but things improved recently, so it’s not as bad."
They had talked for a few minutes, nothing consequential, when a man entered the room on his right. The man had a briefcase with him, and Jack assud he was a lawyer eting his client. Only lawyers were allowed to bring items into the visiting rooms with them.
When guards brought an attractive woman in her mid to late twenties into the room, Madison said, "Hey, I know her."
"Really?" he asked. Did she an she knew her from this jail, or from sowhere else?
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