Jeri lay on the hard cot with her back against the concrete wall. The stained mattress matched the dankness of the holding cell, with only a single toilet in the corner she couldn't imagine ever using.
She glanced at the other inmates, and though not looking dangerous, she was nervous about turning her back on the other women. On the far wall, a younger woman with short-cropped red hair, smeared mascara, and wearing a pink blouse torn at the shoulder was sleeping off a night of alcohol or drugs. Two prostitutes with over-teased hair and heavy makeup were sitting on a center cot, jabbering away like this was a tea party.
"Ms. Wilson," the guard was rattling the bars taking Jeri from her thoughts.
She stood slowly not sure what it could be now.
"Your attorney is here."
An attorney had been appointed to represent her because she did not have any money. This had to be a misunderstanding that would be rectified quickly.
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