As I was driven to the Hartford Police Station for booking and processing, I felt like I was in a dream...but I knew I wasn't asleep. I was in uncharted waters...totally unfamiliar territory...and I didn't like the total loss of control I was feeling. I had never been arrested before...and I was experiencing a smorgasborg of feelings...most of them very disconcerting. I was unsure about what was going to happen next...and although I had played this possible scenario out in my mind many times over the years I had been dealing...and how I would respond to it if it ever actually happened...I was totally unprepared for how different it felt from my imaginary mental projections. This was the real event...and I realized very quickly that there was no way to adequately prepare for this. I had been involved in the drug business long enough to have seen many friends go through what I was now experiencing...and the one lesson that I had learned quickly was...that cooperating with the police wasn't an option. I was still involved primarily with lifelong friends...and fellow musicians...and at no time did giving any of them up to the police as a way of trying to avoid my own consequences ever cross my mind.
I was booked, fingerprinted and then brought back to the office of the detectives who had busted me, for questioning. The first thing they chose to do was to run a chemical test on the cocaine I had been caught with...and as the vial with the chemical agent for the test turned a very deep blue color (normally, a "positive" test result for the presence of cocaine produces a light blue color) ...the head detective looked at me with a grin and said..."you really are from out of town aren't you?" I knew he was sarcastically but triumphantly commenting on the amazing purity of the cocaine I had been caught with (it was a very good batch, by any standards...ether-washed Peruvian cocaine...something that had become very scarce, as cocaine had grown in popularity). He started to tell me that I could help myself a great deal if I was willing to give him the name of my supplier...or I could just spend the next fifteen years in prison...it made no difference to him...but with the amount and quality of the product I had been caught red-handed with...already pre-packaged by me, and ready for sale...he made it very clear that the jail time was a certainty if I didn't cooperate. I made up some bullshit story that I didn't know my drug connection's last name...but that his first name was Carlos...but I had no way to contact him...because he would always find me. It was complete fiction...and I think the detective had no trouble recognizing that...because he said..."I hope you enjoy prison life...but if you change your mind after sitting in a cell for a little while...ask for me". He then got up...and left the room. A few minutes later, a uniformed officer came in and led me downstairs to the Morgan Street Jail...a notoriously unpleasant place...and I was thrown into a cage with about twenty other people who were there because they had been arrested for various other offenses that night. I was totally out of my element...wearing leather stage clothes, and in a holding tank with some pretty unsavory characters. I tried to keep to myself..but after an hour or two...a black guy who obviously recognized the situation for exactly what it was...came up to me and started to push me saying..."give me your money." I tried to tell him I didn't have any, which was true...all of my personal belongings had been confiscated and were being searched...but I had been allowed to keep my wristwatch...which he promptly demanded from me. I resisted..but after a few quick blows to my head...I gave him what he wanted. About five minutes later...a Police guard who heard the commotion came up and asked me if I was OK...and had anyone done anything to me. I knew enough to say "Nah, I'm OK...everything is OK"...and the guard left. For the rest of the night I was left alone. I guess I had passed some kind of jailhouse test...and had surprised a number of my black cellmates with my response...because a few of them even ended up getting on the case of the guy who hit me...saying to him "that was really fucked up, man."
That was probably the longest night of my life. I had plenty of time to think about the repercussions I would soon experience as a result of this arrest. I wondered if my long held belief that I would now be arrested for my Mom's murder would become a reality. I wondered how the arrest would affect my relationship with my Dad. I wondered how it would affect my business relationship with my drug connections. I wondered about the fifteen years of prison time I had been told was now a certainty...and if that was really to be my future. I wondered about my friends, my dog, my house, and my life as I knew it...and I wondered about how all of those things would be affected. I wondered about the album that was almost finished...and how this event was certain to affect that project. I wondered how this had even happened. I was furious with myself for being so careless...and for unnecessarily carrying around such a large quantity of drugs. Although burglaries and thefts had forced me into that routine...I now felt (for the very first time...and too late) that a theft was a lot better than being busted. And I wondered how anyone who I thought might be able to help me to get bonded out of jail would even find out about where I was...or even know about the arrest. It had happened in a different city from where I lived...over thirty miles away...and since I had never been arrested before, I knew that none of my friends or family would be looking for me in a jail in Hartford. The only person who could have told anyone about what had just happened was Jay...and he was sitting a few feet away from me...in the same cage. It was indeed...a very long night. As morning broke, some of the other guys who had been locked up with me started to get bailed out. One of the black guys who had spoken up after I had lied to the guard...came up to me just before he was sprung and asked me if I wanted him to call anyone for me...when he got out. I was amazed at the request...and although I wasn't sure if he actually would follow through as I watched him getting ready to be released...I told him my home phone number...and told him to ask for "Don"...and that my name was Michael. He promised me he would call as soon as he got out. As I watched him go...I realized I had no way to know if that was true...or how long I'd be in jail...and suddenly...I realized just how really long fifteen years in prison could actually be...and in my heart...I knew that wasn't something I would be able to do...and survive. As I realized all of these things...I knew that nothing would ever be the same as it had been for me. I was definitely now in...uncharted waters.
