“So the guy goes home, and when he goes to bed for the night he stays in his clothes. The tarot card, the one he got from the fortune teller’s sister, The Tower, he stuffs it in the breast pocket of his shirt. And then he goes to sleep.”
“He sleepwalk again?” Maggie had opened the freezer, retrieved a carton of ice cream, placed it on the counter.
Charlie rubbed his right thumb against his middle finger. “Uh-huh. Guy wakes up next mornin’, and he’s on this hard cot. Ceiling above him is gray, an’ there’s this light bulb hangin’ down from it, not even covered with a light shade. He looks up, an’ in front of the bed, he sees these bars. Guy’s in a prison cell, and the door’s locked.”
“Uh-oh!” Maggie had spooned ice cream into two bowls, was now putting the carton back into the freezer. “Cops pick him up for jaywalkin’ again?”
“Tha’s what the guy thinks. He gets up from the bed, goes to the bars, calls Hello. Guys in cells around him yell at him to shut his mouth, but a minute later a guard comes up. He slides a tray of food under the door, says he’ll let the lawyer know he’s awake. Guy says, Didn’t know you needed a lawyer for a jaywalking charge, but the guard looks at him real strange, like he wants to say something but knows he can’t, so he jus’ walks away.
“Guy eats his food, and goes through in his mind everything he’d done the day ‘fore. When he thinks about the tarot card, he checks his breast pocket — it’s not there. Minute later the guard comes back, unlocks the door, says his lawyer’s ready to see him.”