Streets {4}

The next four hours were just one long, extended nightmare. The one courtesy done to Ben was that between the time he was dragged out of the hotel bedroom by police and when he was led away from the building in handcuffs, someone tossed him a coat to wear. John, his former client, was being taken away beside him with what seemed like a bit more more respect and dignity. Naked beneath the stranger's jacket, Ben shivered in extreme humiliation. What could make this moment any worse?1

Ah, of course, the press. The moment the cop holding him, a tall and stony faced woman, pulled open the doors of the hotel lobby, a hundred camera flashes assaulted Ben's eyes. They were mostly photographing John, who held a hand over his eyes as he walked, but some crowded around Ben.
Oddly enough, no one asked him any questions, like he thought reporters would do. One talked into a recorder, gushing, "--found tonight having an affair with an underage boy--"2

"I'm not underage." Ben protested, bewildered. This prompted the cop holding his wrists to start reading the boy his rights.3

"Watch your head." She said with some kindness as she hustled him into the police car and pulled away.4

He had glimpsed the cop's nametag--Wendy H. Milgram. "Officer Milgram? Why are there a bunch of reporters everywhere? It was just a prostitution bust."5

"You have the right to remain silent, honey, I'd take the hint."6

Ben rolled his eyes. "Come on, just tell me what's happening." The fear and confusion were being replaced by impatience. He wanted his clothes back; he had left the money in his damn jeans pocket.7

"Well, off the record," Wendy turned half around. "Do you know who that client of yours was?"8

"No." Ben's heart raced. John had seemed a bit familiar, a bit out of place in the dark downtown streets. "Is he some kind of celebrity or something?"
Wendy laughed. "Honey, he's the governer."9

Ben gasped, unable to breathe without effort. This wasn't good. This was going to become some huge scandal, and he was right in the middle. He found he was suddenly close to tears-- it made his voice shake as he said, "How did you catch us?"10

"That room is notorious for attracting high-end hookers. It was bugged." She spun the wheel. "All right, we're here."11

His appearance at the courtroom only took a second. When the judge called his case that of a minor, he considered pretending he was, indeed, to young to be tried as an adult. But he knew that the senator would then be charged with having sex with a child in addition to soliciting prostitution, and he didn't want to do that to someone who had been kind to him. Ben cleared his throat and choked on the words, "Your Honor? I'm not a minor. I--I know I don't look it, but I...I'm eighteen."12

The old judge paused, like a great machine grinding to a stop, then nodded. "Your honesty is noted. Baliff, please run and tell the DA that, thank you. Now then, to the single count of prostitution, do you know how you're going to plead?"13

Ben knew he had no case. "Guilty. Um. Your Honor."14

"Very well, bail is set at five thousand, you will be escorted to a holding cell to await trial."15

Ben had to laugh at his bail. Utterly impossible. He was printed, photo'd and given a grey uniform that hung off him in folds. When he finally got to lay down on the matress on the floor of his cell, it was four o clock in the morning. He couldn't sleep, so he just cried. It was a pass-time of his whenever insomnia struck, and contrary to what he'd seen in movies, no one in the adjacent cells ridiculed him for his tears. Then again, he was good at staying quiet.16