No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella Read Online Free PDF Page A

first sober Thanksgiving. To celebrate, she planned to
go to the California Institute for Women at Corona as part of an AA
panel. CIW would have been her next destination if things hadn't
changed.
    She'd spent the previous year's Thanksgiving holiday
at the county jail, Sybil Brand Institute, awaiting trial for various
and sundry drug-related charges. In her old life, everything was
drug-related. If she'd been busted for jaywalking, you could bet that
she was crossing the street to score some dope, get high, or turn a
trick to get some money to buy dope.
    Last year's incarceration had been her longest
ever—over a month.
    A diesel-powered black-and-white sheriff's bus
spewing black smoke pulled in front of her as she took the exit for
the Santa Monica Courthouse complex. It reminded her of her many
trips from jail to court, her only forays into the world during that
long month. They called the bus "The Gray Goose." She
didn't know why She only knew that it was dirty inside and
partitioned with steel grating. The larger rear portion of the
bus—where the seats were arranged like church pews—was where they
put the men. The women sat on long bench seats lining the sides in
the front. Separate, but equal. The bus always seemed to appear next
to her when her thoughts turned down dangerous paths. Another of
those eerie coincidences that made her feel like God had taken a
personal interest in her case. He used the hulking, black-and-white
vehicles like a page mark in her life to remind her that whatever was
going on, it could always be worse.
    As she pulled into the parking lot, she thought about
the body in the truck, the booted foot, the shattered windshield. If
it was Sleaze, what would become of his kid? With Karen dead, Asia
was an orphan. Maybe.
    Stay in the moment , she told herself. Park. Turn off the car. Breathe in and out.
    The lot was full of cop cars. Munch didn't lock her
car. If it wasn't safe there, then the hell with it. She passed the
large rusting sculpture of nautical chains on the lawn in front of
the court building. The police station was on the other side of the
court building. They kept the prisoners on the first floor. Milk was
served with the meals, which Munch preferred to the bitter black
coffee offered in Van Nuys. But unlike Van Nuys, Santa Monica had a
no smoking rule. That had seemed like cruel and unusual punishment to
her during her brief incarcerations here.
    Never again, she thought.
    She entered the court building, pushed through the
door to the probation department, and gave her name at the front
desk. The woman seated there told her to go right in.
    ‘ You know the way?" the woman asked.
    "Yeah," Munch said. "I've been here
before." She walked the hallway in her dreams. Some nights, the
hallway had no end and she was in the wrong building and running late
and if she didn't find the correct cubicle soon her probation would
be violated and she would be sent back to Sybil Brand. She'd wake
with the sheets twisted around her legs.
    Wiping her hands on her pants, she checked the clock.
She was still ten minutes early, she noted, no need to panic. She
headed toward her probation officers cubicle.
    Mrs. Scott glanced up as Munch entered. "I'll be
right with you," she said as she reached for a rubber Stamp,
inked it on a pad of red ink, and brought it down sharply on the
papers in front of her. Munch saw that the stamped letters read
VIOLATION. The older woman put the stamp and paperwork aside,
straightened the lapel of her navy blue blazer, and then opened
Munch's file.
    "How are you, Miranda?" she asked. Mrs.
Scott was the only one who ever used that name with her.
    'Tm here."
    The thin orange line of the PO's lips turned down at
the corners and the crease between her eyes grew deeper.
    "How are you?" Munch asked.
    "Let's stay on track, shall we?" Mrs. Scott
said.
    "Are you still working?"
    "I brought my pay stubs," Munch said,
reaching into her shirt pocket. Of course she was still working.