It was the same room as last week. Jack, Sergeant Jones and the Captain were sitting around the table drinking beer. When Barb entered, they all looked at her as if they had already seen her naked. And, of course, they had!
“Shuck off the coat and show us what you, got, slut.” said Jack.
Barb did so and was greeted by wolf-whistles. Why they hell do men think that rude sound is a compliment, she asked in her mind?
“We’s has a slightly different job for you tonight, bitch,” said the Captain, slurring his words like the week before. He must already have been drinking, she thought. “You’re going to be a fashion model!”
“I’d rather not, sir,” Barb demurred.
“Not up to you, Barbie” snapped Jones. “You do what your told or you and your family get hurt. Is that clear?’
“Yes,” said Barb softly, nodding her head.
“Les’ go,” said the Captain, rising unsteadily to his feet. The three men hustled Barb through a low door in the wall leading to a dark hall. Jack bolted the door behind them. After a few yards, they went down a long flight of stairs. Stone steps and peeling plaster gave an impression of age. At the bottom was a heavy barred door with a rusted, hand lettered sign overhead. It read, “Cells for Damned Yankees.”
Jones took out a large ring of keys and unlocked the door with a big bolt key.
As they passed through into a dim and even older passageway, Jones explained.
“The police station was built on top of the county jail, built in the 1820’s. Most people don’t even remember this is here. We won’t be disturbed”