By Robmacz
After being told that he had no right to a phone call Tom turned around and looked at his cell. It reminded him of the cell he was in only a few days before, a bed, a wash basin and toilet, but nothing else. The one main difference was that there was a solid wall separating him from the cells either side and he could only look out of the bars and see a short corridor that led to the area where Charlie’s desk was. Only one of the other cells was occupied and that was by a drunk. Tom could smell the drink and sick coming from his cell, which was not helped by the heat of the place. It seemed as though this was the only part of the terminal building without air conditioning.
Tom spent the rest of the day and night in the cell. No one came to collect him. His only interaction was being brought some food and drink. This consisted of a sandwich and some water in the evening and a sandwich and some coffee for breakfast. For the rest of the time he was alone with his thoughts. He tried to make sense of what had happened to him, but couldn’t. He was sure that once the US Marshals arrived they would sort this out and he would be free to go.
