Page 90 - Maj 2020 PDF

door and a key is put into the lock; in walks the old Mr. Albrecht. He is a small,

curvaceous creature who almost disappears in his black uniform. He is looking
dusty and dirty in the office’s sharp neon light

Mr. Albrecht doesn’t greet any of them, but stops at Simmons’ desk and reads

what he has written down over his shoulders.
“Well, this must be the last one for today. I’ll give him cell no. 217 in the A block,

it’s cleaned up now, after that negro that was transferred yesterday," he says in a

monotonous voice while still looking at the papers on the desk.
“Yes, yes, that's fine. Get him underway. He can sleep in the hospital wear

tonight and then we have to see if the day-team can find some real prison clothes
for him tomorrow. He won't be here for very long, as he is a minor and needs to

be transferred to Burbleton Heights as soon as they have the capacity."

Simmons nods to Janokovic as a sign to make him rise. Simmons gets up as well
and walks over to a metal cabinet, opens it up and takes out one of the many

identical packages that are ready in the closet. He puts the package on the table

in front of him, and for the first time in the twenty minutes Janokovic has stayed
in the office, he looks at the old Albrecht. He’s a grey man with tired eyes sitting

tight in his ravaged face. His small, lifeless moustache moves as he speaks in an
almost feminine voice:

"Please go, here's your stuff, your toothbrush and toothpaste, two pairs of

underpants, a blanket and clean bed linen, which is changed once every fourteen
days. Here’s a set of plastic cutlery which includes a knife and a fork and a plastic

mug."

Janokovic collects the stuff and tries to get up from his chair, but the pain in his
spine holds him back.

"Ohh!" He whines, holding his back.

The two men look at him, as they just now realized that it’s a human being
sitting in front of them and not just a "Brighton terrorist", which the press has

already declared him to be.

"May I ask for a glass of water?" He says in a low voice, clenching his eyes in
pain.

The old Albrecht gaits over to a cupboard that sits above a small sink in the
office, where there is also an old coffee machine that looks like it have never