Detained

"Come on, the exit is over here!"

As Megan leads us up the subway stairs I realize that I have never gotten off at this stop before, even though it is my second year in college. This part of town does not have a good reputation. Not a place where three nice and innocent college girls would normally want to get off. In particularly not on a Friday evening, at this hour.

Then again, we are fugitives. Escaping a lame college party full of lame college boys with long hungry eyes. They don't get to me. None of them make me feel anything. But I want to feel something, other than myself. Meg is from this town, her half-brother is a construction worker, and hangs with a very different crew. She suggested we go to this party with them that she knows about, and I was all over the idea. I need to meet another kind of people. Wild, masculine, unspoiled. That is what I need. It must be. Otherwise, I just don't know.

We emerge from the bowels of the subway, onto a dimly lit two-lane street. To the left of us is a stereotype landscape of seedy bars, pimped cruising cars, whores, dealers and drunkards. To the right, something that looks like an abandoned industrial zone. Claire hesitates as Megan leads us to the right.

"Are you sure it is this way?"

"Yes, I know my way round here."

"But it doesn't even look like a residential area?"

"They do it in some old industrial building. It is about to be renovated. Or maybe torn down to build something else, I am not sure. Dave is on the team, and he helped organize it."

"Can you just do that?"

"I guess they cleared it with the owners. Look, I told you it is not your usual college type of party. Are you up for it, or what?"

"Of course we are up for it!" I say briskly, not wanting to risk Claire starting to pull us out of it.

"OK, listen then. This crowd can be a bit rough, and your mothers are not here, so you'll have to take care of yourselves. Don't take any pills or powders that anyone offers you, especially not if it is for free. Only drink from cans that you opened yourself and held on to. And don't get one-on-one with any of the guys unless you are ready for whatever."

"Of course Meg, we are grown-ups. We know how to take care of ourselves." Her attitude annoys me a bit, like I was some kind of sissy girl.

"Sure, Rachel. It's just.. I mean, if anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you!"

As we speak, my mother actually shows up in the back of my mind, cool, intelligent, distant. She asks me in that slightly sarcastic voice if holding on to my beer to avoid getting drugged is really my idea of having a good time. I shrug it off. She is not here. That is the whole fucking point.

"Is Dave gonna be there?" Claire asks.

"He might not make it. He has to help out a friend with something that just came up. But they will let us in, don't worry. They know we are coming."

Megan leads us in between two temporary metal fences, to a large concrete building, knocks on a solid, featureless metal door. It opens slightly, party music seeping out from somewhere inside. A bulky muscular guy with black heavy-metal t-shirt, crew-cut and tattoos is peering suspiciously out into the night.

"What is it?"

Megan takes the lead. "We are here to party! We are friends of Dave."

"There is no Dave here!"

"Dave Gallagher! Friend of Ricky."

The guy's face lights up.

"Ah, that Dave! Then you are his little sister? And those are your little friends? Yes, we already heard a lot about you. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. Unless you want us to do it for you!" He opens the door wider with a grin that does not make me feel entirely comfortable.

We get into a relatively small and dirty room, with some tables where people have put their bags and clothes. Meg and Claire hold onto their handbags, and I have my stuff in a chic little leather rucksack, that I can wear even while dancing. The late spring is warm, and we have no overcoats either. Claire is wearing a fluffy white dress, decently hiding her soft feminine curves. Maybe a bit too much college girl? Meg perhaps a bit closer to home, with her long black tights and black top just short enough to show off her navel stone.

I envy her firm, slim figure. After long deliberations I have decided to wear my tight-fitting light-blue jeans, to show off my carefully cultivated bubble butt, even though it is still bigger than I would like. On top I have a loose white silk shirt, with just enough transparency that one can make out the contour of my black push-up underneath. Challenging, or too much college girl? We will see.

We go through another door, into a much larger room where the actual party is going on. At first I just see a good, slightly chaotic party, lots of guys and a few girls dancing, drinking, talking. Only gradually do I figure the layout of things. The light is from some bright, powerful industrial lamps, free-standing on tripod poles. Cold, bright, white light, casting dark shadows. A quite impressive sound system pumps out an incoherent mix of music, with drill rap and speed metal battling for supremacy. I make out the faint glow of tube amps in the rack, who uses those nowadays? The long bar is made of plywood boards laid over sawbucks, with frames of beer and soda cans stacked up underneath. Although there are quite a lot of people here, the room is still bigger than the party, I cannot make out its boundaries.

I deliberately separate from Meg and Claire, to move around on my own, taking in the party and its people. Lots and lots of guys in black jeans and t-shirts. The fewer girls are busty, loud, impulsive, their dress code seems to be short, tight jeans and crop-tops. The guys have groping eyes, I can almost physically feel them crawling over me as I move around. I get various suggestions, some of them very direct, and a few guys even try to feel me up. It doesn't get to me the way I hoped. I just feel tense, stifled, by this kind of attention. Way out of my comfort zone. I guess I need to relax, get into the mood, open up to this new and unexplored crowd. In other words, I need some alcohol.

I make my way to the long bar, quickly get the attention of a barman.

"Beer, soda, coke or method?"

Coke? Method? I hope it does not mean what I think it means.

"Beer!" I say, putting a dollar bill on the counter. Meg instructed us to bring cash, this is not the kind of place where they take cards. He gets up a can of Coors, I grab it from him to open it myself. He holds up his hands towards me. "Whoa!"

"Sorry. Just habit." I say it, as if I am used to wilder parties than this. As I take a good sip of the beer, a woman comes up to the bar besides me. She is tall, maybe four or five inches above me, dressed in a one-piece motorcycle outfit, and wearing a helmet on her elbow. Thin black-and-red leather curving tightly around her broad hips, her well-rounded bottom. Her eyes are green, almost shining under her pitch-black hair, which is braided in a single tail down her neck.

She unzips the suit, cringe its upper half down so it hangs loosely from her waist. Underneath she is wearing a short army-green crop top, containing her big firm breasts. I can just make out the nipples. For some reason she fascinates me and fixates my attention.

"Beer!" she says to the bartender, putting her helmet on the plywood. He promptly hands her a can. No money are exchanged, either she has a bill, or she is just connected. She takes a long sip of the can. Then she turns towards me, her sudden attention makes me a little bit jittery.

"Now what do we have here? What is such a cute little girl doing at a party like this?"

Although it maybe sounds a bit condescending, I cannot help but smile at having that worn-out pickup line thrown by another girl.

"Well, right now I am trying to get into party mood." For some reason I want to keep cool, make an impression on her.

"You don't look like the usual clientele around here?"

"I got invited by a friend."

"Oh yeah? Who is it?"

"Well, friends-friend actually. Ricky, I don't recall his last name."

"Ah, Ricky, yeah." Her face is neutral, but I get the feeling she is holding back some disapproval. Maybe it was not such a good idea to mention that name to her.

"So, do you eat sausage or clam?"

I am not very street-wise, but I am intelligent, and I can figure out what she means. The question stirs me a bit. I struggle to keep my cool.

"Depends on the quality!"

"Oh yeah? Well, we should get to know each other. There is way too much sausage around here for my taste." She downs the rest of her beer in one go.

"But now I gotta go say hi to some people. See you on the dance floor, sweetie!"

She walks away from the bar, the upper half of her outfit dangling from her waist, hiding that bottom. I stare after her, then turn around, take another sip of my beer. Dancing. Yeah, that's an idea. I stare out into the crowd, its abundance of pumped muscle, tattoos, crew-cuts. Drugs are visibly going around, joints, pills, powders, people can be seen smoking or sniffing in the corners, or even at the bar. A guy comes up next to me, starts making a pass.

"How about it, girl, you up for something?" How subtle.

"Some dancing perhaps?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"If you like!" It is clear he had hoped for something more outright. Oh well, I down the rest of my beer, and we head out.

The dance floor is wild and crazy, speed metal seems to have won over for now. Way too many guys. Some headbanging or moshing, others dancing with the few girls, always cutting in between each other. Impossible to dance with the same guy for more than a short while. I throw myself into it, chaos and wild moves. I am OK at dancing, and I like it, even if it is sketchy and disordered like here. I begin to feel a bit more comfortable, maybe also because I don't have to put up with the same guy for too long.

I don't know how long I dance, but suddenly motorcycle girl is there. She has dropped off the leather, dancing in her top and a pair of short black tights, showing off a magnificent body. She pulls me in close, then sends me into a spinning twirl. We begin to dance, big swinging moves, carve out a space for ourselves in the crowd. She is good. I suddenly feel upbeat, this is real dancing! Every time she pulls me in, I revel in the warmth and strength of her body. It feels a bit kinky to think that she maybe objectifies me, judges me as a potential sex partner. Oddly, I feel completely comfortable now.

And then she is gone too, replaced by some new guy in black heavy-metal t-shirt, and wild, uncontrolled moves. I try to follow, out of interest, still a bit upbeat. The music stops for a few seconds, and I realize he is sky-high on something, eyes glazed, swimming.

"Girl... I just gotta.. do you!"

I freeze over on the inside. The music starts again, I spin away from him, and he is gone, way too stoned to follow. But the incident has killed my mood, and I weave out of the dancing crowd, move over to Claire and Meg who are huddling together next to the bar.

"How about it Rachel?" Meg asks as I approach.

"Cool! Gotta love the dance floor."

"You know, Dave put together the sound system for them."

"Oh really? Where did he get those tube amps?"

"Girl, you got the weirdest interests! I have no clue. But I'll ask him, for sure."

"Never mind. How about you Claire, how do you like it?"

"Well, it's definitely not a college party!"

"Yeah, thank god!"

"Who was that girl you were dancing with?"

"Don't know, just someone I met in the bar."

"You're showing new sides of yourself tonight."

"Yeah, you just watch out baby!"

We chatter on like that. It feels so stupid. I clearly sense that we are all uncomfortable, but none of us want to admit it. Who are we trying to fool? Each other? Ourselves? Right next to me some guy sniffs coke straight off the plywood bar. I just turn away. Another guy slaps Claire's butt in passing. She completely ignores it. At college she would have gone for his throat. But not here. At this place we are strangers in a strange land.

Suddenly we notice some kind of ruffle, or commotion, over in the other end of the room, where the entrance is. With the noise and sharp, flickering light, I cannot make out exactly what it is. A brawl? Quite likely in this crowd, I guess. Then the people around us begin to move, collectively, in the same overall direction, away from whatever is going on. The music is still playing, but I can make out shouts and cries of "Run!", "Get out!".

I hesitate for a few seconds, unsure what this is all about. Then I get the idea it could be some gang thing, with all those drugs going around. If they are going to do a shootout or smash up the place, I don't want to be part of it.

"Let's go!" I shout, and begin to move in the general direction of the crowd. Claire and Meg hesitantly follow me. The room is emptying before us, through some back door that I can just make out in the fringe field of the farthest lamp post. I pick up my pace, follow the others outside. In the moonlight I can see them going through a hole in a fence, then running down a dark alley between two buildings. Behind us some guy is shouting "Stop! Hold it!" I still don't know what is going on, guess the simplest solution is to get out of it and away. I pick up my pace further.

We run down the alley, turn left like the fleeing shadows before us, then reach a T-junction between the buildings. We are now so far behind I don't know where the others went. On a hunch I turn right, round another corner, then stop dead. A solid brick wall is in front of us, featureless concrete buildings to the sides. Cul-de-sac! Behind us they shout again, closer, this time it is a woman's voice.

"Stop! Police! Hold it right there!"

I freeze up. Goddammit, we have been running away from the police! What an idiot I am. We have done nothing wrong, but I guess running away from them is an offense in itself. Isn't it? I know nothing, for all my cool manners I am just a dumb little college girl.

"You are under arrest, all of you. Lie down on your bellies. Spread out your arms and legs. No sudden movements!"

It is still the policewoman speaking. We lie down, slowly, in disbelief. I can hear her come up to me, sense her kneeling besides me, then some clicking metallic sound. Handcuffs, OMG! She grabs my left arm, twists it abruptly down over my back, tightens cold steel around my wrist. I voluntarily move the other arm down besides it, so she doesn't have to twist that too.

"That's a good girl!"

She clicks the other cuff on me, I try to move my arms apart, feel the restraint. It sends a rush of nervous excitement through me and, oddly, also a kind of relief. I am detained, in custody. I no longer have to decide whether and where to run, or anything else for that matter. It feels almost relaxing.

I hear her smacking the cuffs on the other girls while she reads us the text that we have the right to remain silent and all that shit. Meg's face is pale, frozen, Claire's lips are trembling. The woman and her male companion get us up on our feet, and lead us out on the street, through a flurry of uniforms, police party lights, and black-dressed guys in handcuffs. They throw us into the back of a police car, lock the doors, and drive us to the station.

I am in the right side, tightly squeezed up against Meg, we both sit awkwardly with our cuffed hands behind our backs. She is nervous, trembling.

"My dad's gonna kill me, my dad's gonna kill me!"

She repeats it over and over. I try to calm her down.

"Relax Meg! We haven't done anything. They will just check us out, then we are off!"

"We tried to avoid arrest! Why did you make us run away, Rachel?"

Her tone is a mix of accusation and mild panic. It annoys me.

"Knock it off Meg! Each of us made our own choices!" She says no more, but continues to look angrily at me. Behind her, I see a tear roll down Claire's cheek. I am irritated by Meg's attitude, maybe because I can't quite get my head around the jittery excitement that I feel myself. I guess it is natural to feel a bit agitated when you have just been arrested by the police, but somehow it doesn't feel like I would have expected it should feel.

At the station they check our identities, then take us into a room and sit us down on small plastic chairs, still in handcuffs. The policeman empties our bags onto a table, and begins a careful inspection of all items. The woman questions us. She has put away the riot gear, and is dressed in a short-sleeved uniform shirt, visibly rounded by her bosom. Her arms are bulky, strong, her medium blonde hair curls down over her shoulders. I guess she must be in her early thirties, but hard to tell exactly. I cannot take my eyes off her, and I have an uncanny feeling of ogling her in the same way that those guys at the party were ogling me.

"So, girls, what were you doing at that party?"

We are quiet for a few seconds, then Megan takes the lead.

"We were.. well, partying. I am not exactly sure what you mean, ma'am?"

"You don't look like the typical members of this crowd. You are college girls, right?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"So why this party?"

"College parties are boring! We wanted something.. more!"

"More drugs?"

"We don't do drugs!" Meg's answer is maybe a bit too abrupt, even though it is true, more or less.

"Did you notice there were drugs going around?"

"We didn't see anything!"

"Mm-hm! Are you aware that it is illegal, not to mention dangerous, to throw parties in condemned buildings?"

"We.. er.. we assumed it was cleared with the owners."

"I see. Tell me then, if you are these nice and well-behaved little college girls, who see no evil, even if you are in it to your knees, why was it that you thought you should run away from us?"

Although my eyes are still locked on the policewoman, I feel Meg's stare in my side, and I realize this one has to be on me.

"It was my fault, ma'am! I.. we didn't know what was going on. I mean, that it was police. I got the idea that it could be some gang thing. I didn't want to be caught in some crossfire. So I ran, and I got the others to run too. I am really sorry ma'am!"

"Gangs around here mostly do drugs. If you saw no drugs, why did you suspect it was a gang thing?"

Now she is scrutinizing me intensely. Her eyes are beautiful, symmetric brown almonds. I tremble under her stare. She has the air of a cat playing with a mouse. Being the mouse, I have no choice but to play the game.

"I.. I did see some guy sniffing coke, so I reckoned something was going around. Maybe the others didn't see him."

"And would you be able to identify this guy?" Another mouse-trap. Wonder how many they arrested?

"No, ma'am. He had his back to me. I didn't see his face."

"Of course you didn't!" she says derisively. Then she turns her attention back towards Megan.

"How did you know about this party? It wasn't exactly advertised on Facebook."

Meg is uncomfortable, but this one is on her.

"I.. my brother.. he knows some of the guys. And I had been bitching about these college parties, so he suggested we go to this."

"Was your brother there?"

"No.. he was not there, but I think he helped set up some stuff. Like the music and things."

"What's the name of your brother?"

Megan's voice is low, she is clearly not comfortable about bringing Dave into it.

"His name is Dave. But he's not doing drugs or anything, I swear!"

She is noting something down.

"Dave Richardson, that is?"

"No. Gallagher. He is only my half-brother."

"I see." She scribbles some more. Over to the left Claire begins to cry.

"Please ma'am, let us go! We didn't do nothing!" But the woman ignores her, turning instead her attention to her colleague. He is done searching our stuff, and quietly shakes his head. They exchange glances. I am stifled in my seat, my pulse racing away. It is all too obvious what will happen now. They didn't find what they were looking for in our bags, so now they must search us!