sprawled out on the concrete floor fulllength. One of the other officers kicked him in the side.
"Get up, nigger," the policeman yelled at him. "Where's all your fancy talk now, nigger?" He kicked him again as Prince struggled to his feet.
Chinaman received the same kind of treatment as he got out of the car. The policemen followed them up the stairs into the station, beating them across the shoulders with their nightsticks. The beating stopped when they came in sight of the desk sergeant.
Both men were quickly fingerprinted, then they were made to leave all their personal belongings at the desk. Each time an officer wanted one of them, they were roughly handled. The only time the handcuffs had been removed was during the fingerprinting.
"What about these cuffs?" Prince asked. "We ain't done a goddamn thing, so it ain't no need to treat us as though we just robbed a fuckin' bank."
"Just keep your mouth quiet," the desk sergeant warned. "Unless you want something that will really give you something to bitch about."
"I want you to see that that tall black boy gets a chance to enjoy our penthouse while he's here," Gazier remarked offhandedly. "Yes sirree, I think that's just what our little smart nigger needs. A taste of the hole will really bring him to an awakening."
The thin, rednecked turnkey smiled and glanced towards the desk sergeant for confirmation. The sergeant had the last word on where prisoners would be locked up.
The sergeant nodded his head in agreement with the order. "You take that old Jones boy out of the hole and tell him for me, if he starts some more shit back in the bullpen I'll personally come back there and kick all the black off his ass."
Chinaman glanced quickly at Prince. Deep down inside he was thankful as hell that it wasn't him being put in the hole. He knew that there was room for only one person in the hole at a time, so he would miss that part of the ride.
The policemen standing around the lobby stared at the two men coldly as they were led past. Most of the officers knew only that these were the men arrested for trying to start an organization that would fight for Negro rights. Many of them were angered by the thought of men they considered their inferiors trying to be equal.
After following the turnkey down a narrow corridor, the two prisoners stopped and waited patiently as he unlocked a large steel door.
"You find you an empty cell and lock up," the turnkey ordered. "I'll come back a little later and remove those cuffs if you don't make no noise." He slammed the door behind Chinaman.
Prince stared around curiously as they went down some steps and entered the basement. The smell of musty clothes and unflushed toilets filled his nostrils as they stopped in front of a small steel door.
The turnkey opened the door and stepped back. An elderly Negro with gray hair and an alcoholic's grin came out. "Thank you, cap'n," he said with a toothless grin.
"We lettin' you out now, boy, but you start that goddamn hollering again, I'll bring you back down here and throw the fuckin' key away. You understand me, boy?"
The old man nodded his head. Saliva ran out of his mouth, and the left side of his face was covered with stale vomit. His clothes had the odor of urine; it appeared as if someone had used him as a receptacle for body waste.
The turnkey held his nose. "You go stand on the goddamn steps, boy, and don't leave. I'll take you back up when I finish here." He turned to Prince. "Boy, you get them clothes off, hear?"
Prince held up his handcuffed hands. "How the fuck you expect me to do it, peckerwood? I know you don't think I'm Houdini!"
The guard removed his blackjack from his back pocket. "You listen, nigger, and listen good. You don't need your goddamn hands loose to wiggle out of them pants. Now, I want to see your black ass shining, quick like, you understand?"
Prince stared at him bitterly. There was an urge to hurt, to kill, inside of him, but he knew it was useless to rebel.
"Get up, nigger," the policeman yelled at him. "Where's all your fancy talk now, nigger?" He kicked him again as Prince struggled to his feet.
Chinaman received the same kind of treatment as he got out of the car. The policemen followed them up the stairs into the station, beating them across the shoulders with their nightsticks. The beating stopped when they came in sight of the desk sergeant.
Both men were quickly fingerprinted, then they were made to leave all their personal belongings at the desk. Each time an officer wanted one of them, they were roughly handled. The only time the handcuffs had been removed was during the fingerprinting.
"What about these cuffs?" Prince asked. "We ain't done a goddamn thing, so it ain't no need to treat us as though we just robbed a fuckin' bank."
"Just keep your mouth quiet," the desk sergeant warned. "Unless you want something that will really give you something to bitch about."
"I want you to see that that tall black boy gets a chance to enjoy our penthouse while he's here," Gazier remarked offhandedly. "Yes sirree, I think that's just what our little smart nigger needs. A taste of the hole will really bring him to an awakening."
The thin, rednecked turnkey smiled and glanced towards the desk sergeant for confirmation. The sergeant had the last word on where prisoners would be locked up.
The sergeant nodded his head in agreement with the order. "You take that old Jones boy out of the hole and tell him for me, if he starts some more shit back in the bullpen I'll personally come back there and kick all the black off his ass."
Chinaman glanced quickly at Prince. Deep down inside he was thankful as hell that it wasn't him being put in the hole. He knew that there was room for only one person in the hole at a time, so he would miss that part of the ride.
The policemen standing around the lobby stared at the two men coldly as they were led past. Most of the officers knew only that these were the men arrested for trying to start an organization that would fight for Negro rights. Many of them were angered by the thought of men they considered their inferiors trying to be equal.
After following the turnkey down a narrow corridor, the two prisoners stopped and waited patiently as he unlocked a large steel door.
"You find you an empty cell and lock up," the turnkey ordered. "I'll come back a little later and remove those cuffs if you don't make no noise." He slammed the door behind Chinaman.
Prince stared around curiously as they went down some steps and entered the basement. The smell of musty clothes and unflushed toilets filled his nostrils as they stopped in front of a small steel door.
The turnkey opened the door and stepped back. An elderly Negro with gray hair and an alcoholic's grin came out. "Thank you, cap'n," he said with a toothless grin.
"We lettin' you out now, boy, but you start that goddamn hollering again, I'll bring you back down here and throw the fuckin' key away. You understand me, boy?"
The old man nodded his head. Saliva ran out of his mouth, and the left side of his face was covered with stale vomit. His clothes had the odor of urine; it appeared as if someone had used him as a receptacle for body waste.
The turnkey held his nose. "You go stand on the goddamn steps, boy, and don't leave. I'll take you back up when I finish here." He turned to Prince. "Boy, you get them clothes off, hear?"
Prince held up his handcuffed hands. "How the fuck you expect me to do it, peckerwood? I know you don't think I'm Houdini!"
The guard removed his blackjack from his back pocket. "You listen, nigger, and listen good. You don't need your goddamn hands loose to wiggle out of them pants. Now, I want to see your black ass shining, quick like, you understand?"
Prince stared at him bitterly. There was an urge to hurt, to kill, inside of him, but he knew it was useless to rebel.
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