Part 10
It doesn’t take long before the situation in the ballroom turns very ugly. Sheila stands first, Sheila Conners and paces towards the older black detective riding herd on these mommas and their offspring. But before Sheila and her tattoos arrive she’s joined by the stringy ex Marine, Samantha Smith. Sam is rangy, skinny and tough looking to Sheila’s plump rough biker chick cum 7-11 appearance. They surround Detective Conyers and both speak almost simultaneously, shouting about missed deadlines, blown pageants and let’s get this show on the road, oh hells yeah! I’m close enough to the front to hear the exchange, seeing Roger Conyers spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture, hearing the most calming blandishments come from his mouth. I understand fully why the HPD has sent him down, to be the soothing effect in a jarring situation. His words and gestures aren’t enough for either Sam or Sheila, Sheila roughly grabs his elbow and shouts something about who’s going to reimburse her fucking money for this fucking pageant if they don’t get a fucking chance to fucking compete. Sam stands aside, arms akimbo and nods and mutters, “Uhu” in a bored voice as Conyers explains again that the first priority is finding out where Atlanta Bledsoe is. Samantha says in a angry voice that their plan isn’t good enough, her and Rayvyn didn’t come here to sit on their asses in a ballroom, and she started to push Conyers hard on his chest. The look of shock on his face is almost comical except that in that instance the air shifts suddenly and the angry intensity I felt earlier boils over into a reality.
Many of the moms leap up, leaving purses, gaudy costumes and crying children as they swarm forward to scream at and pummel Detective Roger Conyers. For the first time I’m afraid. No good can possibly come of this. Giselle grabs my arm hard, burying her face into my shoulder as I look back and try to assess how many people have remained in their seats. Not many, myself and Giselle, Butt Ugly Mr. Steve, the other Mr. Steve, the judges and a handful of others. The rapper in particular looks confused, I‘m betting this is nothing like what he anticipated by agreeing to judge a childrens beauty pageant. I can almost read his thoughts, he’s thinking how bizarre white folks are. Butt Ugly Mr. Steve just shakes his head sadly as we watch the world’s largest pageant moms brawl. I can just imagine how this is going to play out on the Houston evening news, the headline surely thought up by some wag and it goes something like “Beauty Pageant Gets Ugly As Moms Riot” I shudder, stand, pulling Giselle with me and we move backwards in the room, all the way back to where Butt Ugly Mr. Steve is sitting with Jooniper. Jooniper is crying along with many of the other kids.
The cops have gone mad, as mad as the pageant moms, wading into the roiling crowd to slap cuffs on and drag off as many women as possible. They line up the cuffed offenders against a far wall as another of them shouts into his walkie talkie that a 10-108 is occurring and that all officers should report to the ballroom with cuffs and pepper spray asap. I’m glad that we’ve moved to the back of the room as the new arrivals show no compunction whipping out canisters of pepper spray to blast the moms with. The arid scent drifts back to where we’re sitting and I have to admit it makes me squeeze out a few tears. The police officers continue cuffing and hauling aside women, but women who are crying and gasping from the pepper spray. I see that pageant director Leslie Leehanna’s wig is askew and her makeup has smeared into a dripping wet fright mask.
By the time it’s all over Detective Conyers is on his knees crying from the spray as the sergeant in charge is reading off the Miranda rights to the roughly 50 plus moms cuffed against the far wall. They’re being charged with a whole laundry list of crimes, from assaulting a police officer to malicious mischief to public nuisance. The funniest charge of all is child endangerment. I don’t know how they’re going to make that stick but I get the feeling that the cops are sick of dealing with these whiny bitches and they’re going to throw the book at them while they can. Someone else gets on the horn and calls for an ambulance for the obviously injured Conyers while someone else calls for a paddy wagon to haul the moms downtown in. A third officer calls for a fleet of folks from CPS to come for intakes on the crying children left behind. The rest of us stay frozen in our seats, mortified by the behavior of the others and afraid to draw attention to ourselves in any way lest we too end up in the back of a squad car facing a pile of legal charges.
No one says a word as paramedics haul away Detective Conyers and the women are led out in a line for transport. It’s only when CPS arrives that we start to wonder what will happen, bunching together in the back and whispering among ourselves. The two Mr. Steves are eating this scandal up like it’s an ice cream sundae sprinkled with nuts and cherries. “Man, I just want to get the hell out of here..” I hear the rapper judge mumble beneath his breath. I nod because I feel the same way. What happens to us?
Agent Naquin and Detective Hull show up, watching as the uniformed officers and CPS workers sort through the kids and start hauling them away. We freeze guiltily, we few remaining, as Naquin levels his deadly serious gaze on all of us. “We would like all of you to return to your rooms here in the hotel immediately. Officers will escort you one by one.. except for you Miz Arceneux, we’re reserved a room here for you and an officer is going to help you and Miz Gilbeaux pack up your suite and relocate you here..” Before he can finish talking about his plans a shout interrupts Naquin. A shout from just behind the stage, coming through the doors leading out behind the hotel, “We found her..” Naquin’s eyebrows nearly shoot off his face in surprise and he chokes out, “Status?” as the young officer shouts back, “Henry John”
I don’t need to look at the cops faces to figure out what this means. Many years ago I’d dated a cop, helping him study for his sergeants exam right down to helping him review his police codes. A Henry John is a homicide involving a child. As I’m remembering this a young rookie rushes into the room bearing the body of Atlanta Bledsoe with her beauty dress pushed up around her waist and blood smearing her legs and lower torso. The knotted sash from her dress is dug deeply into the flesh around her throat, her face a strange shade of dark. One of the female judges screams before fainting at this ghastly sight. I can feel that next to me Giselle is choking, trying desperately not to puke. Sobs all around at the reality of what’s happened to Atlanta. The few children remaining scream in horror for their mommies.
“What are you doing you idiot!!!” Detective Margarite Hull roars at the rookie, “You’re supposed to leave the body where it’s found so we can process the crime scene. You’re destroying the entire crime scene you fucking moron!” As she’s shouting the rookie has laid the child’s corpse right on the stage, beneath the glittering lights and gaily bedecked stage decorations. She shouts again, “Everyone out, everyone not law enforcement out right now.” We comply as Agent Naquin steers us to the lobby to await our escorts to the rooms.
Many of the moms leap up, leaving purses, gaudy costumes and crying children as they swarm forward to scream at and pummel Detective Roger Conyers. For the first time I’m afraid. No good can possibly come of this. Giselle grabs my arm hard, burying her face into my shoulder as I look back and try to assess how many people have remained in their seats. Not many, myself and Giselle, Butt Ugly Mr. Steve, the other Mr. Steve, the judges and a handful of others. The rapper in particular looks confused, I‘m betting this is nothing like what he anticipated by agreeing to judge a childrens beauty pageant. I can almost read his thoughts, he’s thinking how bizarre white folks are. Butt Ugly Mr. Steve just shakes his head sadly as we watch the world’s largest pageant moms brawl. I can just imagine how this is going to play out on the Houston evening news, the headline surely thought up by some wag and it goes something like “Beauty Pageant Gets Ugly As Moms Riot” I shudder, stand, pulling Giselle with me and we move backwards in the room, all the way back to where Butt Ugly Mr. Steve is sitting with Jooniper. Jooniper is crying along with many of the other kids.
The cops have gone mad, as mad as the pageant moms, wading into the roiling crowd to slap cuffs on and drag off as many women as possible. They line up the cuffed offenders against a far wall as another of them shouts into his walkie talkie that a 10-108 is occurring and that all officers should report to the ballroom with cuffs and pepper spray asap. I’m glad that we’ve moved to the back of the room as the new arrivals show no compunction whipping out canisters of pepper spray to blast the moms with. The arid scent drifts back to where we’re sitting and I have to admit it makes me squeeze out a few tears. The police officers continue cuffing and hauling aside women, but women who are crying and gasping from the pepper spray. I see that pageant director Leslie Leehanna’s wig is askew and her makeup has smeared into a dripping wet fright mask.
By the time it’s all over Detective Conyers is on his knees crying from the spray as the sergeant in charge is reading off the Miranda rights to the roughly 50 plus moms cuffed against the far wall. They’re being charged with a whole laundry list of crimes, from assaulting a police officer to malicious mischief to public nuisance. The funniest charge of all is child endangerment. I don’t know how they’re going to make that stick but I get the feeling that the cops are sick of dealing with these whiny bitches and they’re going to throw the book at them while they can. Someone else gets on the horn and calls for an ambulance for the obviously injured Conyers while someone else calls for a paddy wagon to haul the moms downtown in. A third officer calls for a fleet of folks from CPS to come for intakes on the crying children left behind. The rest of us stay frozen in our seats, mortified by the behavior of the others and afraid to draw attention to ourselves in any way lest we too end up in the back of a squad car facing a pile of legal charges.
No one says a word as paramedics haul away Detective Conyers and the women are led out in a line for transport. It’s only when CPS arrives that we start to wonder what will happen, bunching together in the back and whispering among ourselves. The two Mr. Steves are eating this scandal up like it’s an ice cream sundae sprinkled with nuts and cherries. “Man, I just want to get the hell out of here..” I hear the rapper judge mumble beneath his breath. I nod because I feel the same way. What happens to us?
Agent Naquin and Detective Hull show up, watching as the uniformed officers and CPS workers sort through the kids and start hauling them away. We freeze guiltily, we few remaining, as Naquin levels his deadly serious gaze on all of us. “We would like all of you to return to your rooms here in the hotel immediately. Officers will escort you one by one.. except for you Miz Arceneux, we’re reserved a room here for you and an officer is going to help you and Miz Gilbeaux pack up your suite and relocate you here..” Before he can finish talking about his plans a shout interrupts Naquin. A shout from just behind the stage, coming through the doors leading out behind the hotel, “We found her..” Naquin’s eyebrows nearly shoot off his face in surprise and he chokes out, “Status?” as the young officer shouts back, “Henry John”
I don’t need to look at the cops faces to figure out what this means. Many years ago I’d dated a cop, helping him study for his sergeants exam right down to helping him review his police codes. A Henry John is a homicide involving a child. As I’m remembering this a young rookie rushes into the room bearing the body of Atlanta Bledsoe with her beauty dress pushed up around her waist and blood smearing her legs and lower torso. The knotted sash from her dress is dug deeply into the flesh around her throat, her face a strange shade of dark. One of the female judges screams before fainting at this ghastly sight. I can feel that next to me Giselle is choking, trying desperately not to puke. Sobs all around at the reality of what’s happened to Atlanta. The few children remaining scream in horror for their mommies.
“What are you doing you idiot!!!” Detective Margarite Hull roars at the rookie, “You’re supposed to leave the body where it’s found so we can process the crime scene. You’re destroying the entire crime scene you fucking moron!” As she’s shouting the rookie has laid the child’s corpse right on the stage, beneath the glittering lights and gaily bedecked stage decorations. She shouts again, “Everyone out, everyone not law enforcement out right now.” We comply as Agent Naquin steers us to the lobby to await our escorts to the rooms.
posted by Blues In The Night | 8:53 AM
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