Baxter McGill woke up on a bench in the Beach 9th Street Playground in Far Rockaway, Queens. Far Rockaway was at the very end of the A Train subway line, and at the very edge of New York City.

Baxter was wearing a tracksuit, and a pair of sneakers.

‘No sleeping in the park’ - said a uniformed police officer, standing over where Baxter was laying down.

Baxter blinked his eyes, and stared up at the policeman. Baxter’s head was shaven, and he looked disorientated.

‘Where am I?’ - said Baxter, trying to push himself up.

‘Somewhere where you should be sleeping, now move along’ - said the policeman.

Baxter pushed himself up, and sat and looked around.

‘Now on your feet, buddy’ - said the cop.

Baxter tried to stand, but he swayed and then fell back down.

‘Okay’ - said the cop, and he pulled Baxter up, and spun him around. The cop put a pair of handcuffs on Baxter, and then spoke into his radio.

‘Dispatch, This is car 24 - I got a D&D at Beach 9th Street Playground, bringing him in’

‘Roger car 24’ - said a voice over the radio, and the cop pulled Baxter away.

Baxter’s legs were like jelly, and he stumbled and fell - and the cop kept having to pull him up. When they got to the patrol car, the cop's partner was sitting in the driver’s seat drinking coffee from a paper cup.

The cop holding Baxter’s arm opened the rear door of the car, and pushed Baxter in. He then walked around to the passenger’s side, and climbed in. They then drove the short distance to the 101st precinct of the New York City Police dept.

Baxter sat in the back of the patrol car, and his head swam. He didn’t know where he was - and he had no memory of getting there. Baxter couldn’t remember anything - his head seemed like it was made of mush and he vomited in the back of the patrol car.

‘Whoa!’ - shouted the cop who had arrested him - ‘What the fuck youse doing youse crazy mother fucking crack head!’

The driver put down his window - ‘That fucking stinks!’

The patrol car arrived at the 101st precinct, and the two cops roughly pulled Baxter from the back of the car - punching him in the ribs a few times - ‘We gonna fucking get you for puking in the car, you fucking prick!’

He was taken into central booking, where the desk sergeant - a grizzled and stern looking man - was processing perpetrators. Baxter joined the line - and was held up by the two cops. His head lolled backwards, and he passed in and out of consciousness. Baxter was dragged before the booking sergeant.

‘What’s the charge?’ - said the booking sergeant, poised with a pen over a form.

‘Vagrancy, public intoxication, resisting arrest, damage to police dept property’ - said one of the cops.

The booking sergeant quickly wrote down the charges - ‘Name?’

‘He aint got no ID on him sarge, and he's too out of it to get anything out of him’

‘Name?’ - said the booking sergeant sternly to Baxter.

Baxter’s head lolled forward, and he vomited again over the booking sergeant's desk and hands.

‘JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!’ - shouted the booking sargeant, stepping back and holding his hands up in disgust.

The other arrested people in the line behind Baxter cheered - the cops all shook their heads in disgust.

‘THROW THIS GODDAMN SACK OF FUCKING SHIT IN THE GODDAMN DRUNK TANK!’ - shouted the booking sargeant, and Baxter was dragged away to more cheers from those waiting to be processed.

Baxter was dragged down a hallway lined with cells until they stopped outside of the last one. A cop opened the door to the cell, and Baxter was dragged in and dumped on the floor. He was kicked in the ribs and one of the cops who had been dragging him said ‘ ‘Gonna add assaulting a police officer to the fucking charges now, you degenerate fucking scumbag!’

The cops left and the cell door was slammed shut and locked. Baxter lay on the floor of the cell, his hands still cuffed behind him. Baxter’s face lay in a puddle of urine mixed with vomit - and there was a strong smell of feces and grime.

Baxter’s head swum - he didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know where he was or what was going on. He had visions of a place - an apartment he thought. He could see a woman and he could see…but then Baxter McGill blacked out.

***

When Baxter McGill awoke, he was in the back of a van. He was handcuffed and there were other prisoners inside the van. Baxter’s clothes were soaked in urine and vomit - and one of the other prisoners was shouting at him.

‘Y’alls a fuckin disgustin smellin fucked up cunt!’ - the man shouted a Baxter - ‘Why we’s gotta be in the fuckin van with dis fuckin disgustin smellin piece of shit?’

The van arrived at Rikers Island - a huge prison complex located on an island on the East River between Queens and the Bronx. The rear doors of the van opened, and the man who had been shouting at Baxter now turned his attention to the prison guards - ‘Its fuckin inhumane, locking a brother up with that foul smelling piece of shit!’ - he was saying. The guards were going through the motions, and herding the new intake of prisoners out of the van and towards the holding pens. Baxter could now stand, but he was wobbly on his feet. A guard told him to keep moving, and pushed him and he fell to the ground. Another guard came over, and the two guards dragged Baxter to the holding pens and he was dragged in and then left on the floor. Baxter shivered in the cold air as he lay on the floor of the holding pen. The charges against Baxter - or John Doe as he was now known - had been upgraded to assaulting a police officer - so he was now considered a violent and dangerous offender. After laying on the ground and shivering and sweating for what seemed like an eternity, some guards came to the holding pen and pulled him to his feet. He was taken to the processing area, and he was stripped naked and then hosed down. His clothes were placed in a biohazard bag and sent for incineration. He was given prison overalls, and then fingerprinted and photographed, and then taken to the maximum security remand wing of the jail. The remand wing was used for prisoners who haven't seen a judge yet - and haven’t officially been charged with a crime.

Baxter was placed in a cell, and he had his cuffs removed. On the bed was a metal tray with a carton of milk, a scoop of pasta salad, a scoop of tuna, and a slice of white bread. The door to the cell slammed behind him, and Baxter McGill stared ahead of him, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

***

At 7:20 that morning Cheryl had awoken, and noticed straight away that Baxter wasn’t in the bed beside her. She put on a gown, and then went to check the guest bedroom. Cheryl headed down the stairs and went to the kitchen, where Manuela was preparing Cheryl’s protein smoothie.

‘Good morning Miss Cheryl’ - said Manuela, smiling as she cut strawberries.

‘Have you seen Mr. Baxter this morning?’ - said Cheryl, standing in the door frame.

‘No Miss Cheryl, I no see Mr. Baxter’

Cheryl turned, and went to the library, and then the lounge, and then to the mini-museum.

‘Baxter?’ - said Cheryl, banging on the door. Cheryl waited, and listened. She tried the door handle, but it was locked.

‘BAXTER!’ - she shouted, banging on the door again and trying the handle again. There was no response.

Cheryl walked to the apartment foyer, and picked up the phone and dialed the building lobby. The doorman, Bernie, answered the phone. Bernie was just getting ready to finish his 12 hour shift. Cheryl asked Bernie if he had seen Baxter - and Bernie replied that he had seen Mr. McGill leave last night, with a suitcase - and that Mr. McGill had not returned. Cheryl asked if Bernie was sure, and Bernie said that he was quite sure, and then asked if everything was alright. Cheryl thanked Bernie, and then hung up.

Cheryl then called Baxter’s phone - and an automated female voice informed her that the number she was dialing was not available, and that she should try again later.

Cheryl raced up the stairs and back to their bedroom. She opened Baxter’s closets in their dressing room, and everything was still hanging - no suits or shirts or pants or jackets were missing. Cheryl checked the underwear draws, and everything appeared to still be there. No shoes were missing from the collection of English brogues neatly arranged on shelves in the dressing room.

Has he left me? - Cheryl thought. Had he left me because of what happened at the Marazzis. It had just been girl talk - she had been talking to Cinza, and Cinza had asked how things were with Baxter and she had made a comment about everything being okay, except for the lack of sex. Cinza had laughed, and she had said that Baxter should read Giancarlo’s book - and that was that, or so she thought. And then she had the message, inviting them for the dinner party - that horrendous dinner party. Baxter had refused to discuss that dinner party with Cheryl, and every attempt she made to apologize - Baxter would shut her down. But then last night, he had said he had been thinking about what Giancarlo had said, about connecting with his inner primitive self and selling that fucking childish collection of fucking Mr. Amazing junk. Or was he just saying that to make her feel good - so that he could slip out of the house. The next she would hear of him would be a letter from his lawyer, stating that he wanted a divorce. He was probably in a hotel right now, getting ready for work. He would move on - he would hate her for that dinner party, and the embarrassment that Giancarlo and Cheryl had inflicted on him.

Cheryl sobbed, and she walked from the dressing room to the bed and lay down and cried even more.

Cheryl called Baxter’s sister - and told her that Baxter hadn’t been home and had left with a suitcase. Baxter’s sister told Cheryl to call the police, and to register a missing person’s complaint. At 8:40 AM Cheryl called the police, and informed them that Baxter McGill had disappeared, and that she was worried. The police said they would send over a car later on - and that there was probably nothing to worry about and if Mr. McGill were to reappear, to let them know.

At 9:30 AM Trica, Ambrose Pollard’s secretary, called the apartment looking for Baxter. Cheryl lied, and said that Baxter had come down with a viral infection and was resting, and unavailable. At 9:42 AM Ambrose Pollard called the apartment. He wanted Cheryl to pass on his wishes for a speedy recovery for Baxter, and to remind Baxter of the US treasury bond auction that would be happening tomorrow. Ambrose was cheerful, and pleasant enough - but there was an implicit message; Ambrose Pollard and Pierce and Peirce expected Baxter McGill to be back at his desk soonest.

At 2:48 PM the doorman, Art, called up and said that two policemen were here to see Cheryl. Cherly told Art to send them up, and she went to the bathroom and washed her face. Manuela let the policemen in, and escorted them to the living room. The policemen marveled at the size and grandeur of the apartment - like they were walking through a museum. Cheryl walked into the living room, and the two policemen were staring at the high ceiling and the marble fireplace and the views from the giant bay windows overlooking Park Avenue below.

‘Thank you for coming’ - said Cheryl

Both the policemen spun around.

‘This is quite a place you got here, Mrs. McGill’ - said the first policeman.

‘I ain't never been in a apartment like this before’ - said the other policeman.

‘This room is bigger than my whole place’ - said the first policeman.

Cheryl smiled an uneasy smile, and sat on the plush Italian sofa. The sofas sat either side of the fireplace, and had a large glass coffee table between them - stacked with large books and a large wooden bowl filled with lemons.

‘Would you like any tea, or coffee?’ - said Cheryl.

‘No, we are fine thank you Mrs. McGill’ - said the first policeman, and both the policemen sat down opposite Cheryl.

‘So Mr. McGill - no sign of him yet?’ - said the second policeman.

‘No, and I am becoming quite worried’ - said Cheryl

‘Has Mr. McGill done this before?’ - asked the first policeman, now holding a notebook and a pen.

‘Done what?’ - said Cheryl, her face confused.

‘You know - like gone missing. Disappeared before?’ - said the first policeman.

‘No, never’ - said Cheryl.

The policeman made some notes.

‘Any history of mental illness?’ - said the second policeman.

‘No’

The first policeman continued making notes.

‘Any problems you might know about - any problems at work or with money?’ - said the second policeman.

‘No’

‘And what about at home - you and Mr. McGill having any problems?’ - said the first policeman, looking up from his notes.

Cheryl hesitated for a moment - and thought of the Marazzi dinner party and the tension between them since that dinner party. Cheryl thought she should answer honestly, but she didn’t - ‘No, no problems’

The first policeman made some more notes.

‘And when was the last time you saw Mr. McGill?’ - said the second policeman.

Cheryl told the policemen about Baxter leaving the apartment last night, and how he was planning on selling his Mr. Amazing collection and was meeting a buyer to show him some samples of the collection. The first policeman continued to make notes.

‘And this collection - was it valuable?’ - said the second policeman.

Cheryl shrugged - to her it was just junk - ‘I guess so’

‘And where was it Mr. McGill said he was meeting this buyer?’

‘New Jersey’ - said Cheryl.

More note taking.

‘Now Mrs. McGill - we cannot file a missing persons report until after 24 hours’ - said the first policeman - ‘But until then, I will put a note in the system - and if anything pops up then we will let you know straight away. Now the chances are, Mr. McGill is going to be okay - in nearly every single one of these case the missing person turns up and they are fine’

Cheryl smiled.

‘Chances are Mr. McGill maybe just needed some time to himself - and when he is ready he will come back and everything will be okay’

Cheryl smiled again, but a single tear rolled from her eye. The two policemen glanced at each other, and they all sat in silence for a moment.

The two policemen stood, and so did Cheryl.

‘We will be in contact’ - said the first policeman, and then the two of them left the living room and headed to the lobby, and then they left.

Cheryl sat down again, and dialed Baxter’s phone. The same female voice told her that the number she was dialing was unavailable, and that she should try again later. Cheryl sobbed and Manuela made her some tea.

***

Baxter lay on the bed in the cell - and stared at the ceiling. His head was feeling clearer and he had stopped crying. He could see a building - an apartment building and he was walking in through the door under a red canopy. There was a man, dressed in a smart uniform - a long dark blue jacket with gold buttons and a peaked cap. The man was smiling at him - and the man said “Good Evening Mr. McGill” - and he walked to the elevator, and the doors opened, and he pressed the button on the elevator and then the doors opened and he was walking down a hallway and then he was placing a key in a lock and he was opening the door and he was in a foyer, and he was taking off his coat and then there was a woman and she was smiling at him and she said “How was work, darling?’ - and he kissed her and they spoke and then he was in the kitchen and there was another woman, and she was cooking and she said - “Do you want a drink before dinner Mr. Baxter?” - and he said yes please and…

He sat up, and placed his hands on his shaven head. This is me - these are my memories. My name is Baxter. Baxter McGill.

He leaped up and started bangin on the cell door - shouting for someone to come. After shouting and banging for about 20 minutes a flap in the cell door opened.

‘I know who I am’ - he said to the guard who was looking in.

‘Congratulations’ - said the guard - ‘Now shut the fuck up!’

The guard closed the flap, and Baxter cried - he knew who he was. His name was Baxter McGill, and he lived in the American Deco Building, on Park Avenue. He was engaged to Cheryl - and he worked at Pierce and Pierce on Wall Street in the derivatives trading division, on the 54th floor. But how where was he now - how did he end up here, in this cell. Where was this cell? And why was he in it?

He began banging on the cell door again - and shouting. Another 20 minutes passed and then the flap opened.

‘I want to speak to my lawyer!’ - demanded Baxter.

‘You wanna speak to your lawyer?’ - chuckled the guard.

‘Yes, his name is Jack Brooks - he is a partner at Dunning, Sponget, and Leach - I demand my right to make a phone call!’

The guard huffed - and then slammed shut the flap. Baxter continued to bang on the cell door and shout. About ten minutes later the flap opened again, and the guard told Baxter to turn around, and he was handcuffed. The cell door was opened and Baxter was led to a room which had a telephone on a stainless steel table. It was 5:48 PM - and Baxter was uncuffed and pushed into a seat.

‘One call - and make it quick!’ - said the guard, and he left the room.

Baxter picked up the phone, and dialed Jack’s office number. The call was answered by Jack’s secretary.

‘This is Baxter McGill - I need to speak to Jack urgently’

The secretary told Baxter that Jack was in a meeting, and couldn’t be disturbed.

‘GET JACK ON THE PHONE, NOW!’ - screamed Baxter.

He was put on hold, and then he heard a click and then a voice - ‘Baxter?’

‘Jack - I am in trouble. I have been arrested and I am in some prison’ - he blurted out.

‘What?’ - said Jack, his voice incredulous.

‘Listen Jack - you have to come and get me out. I am in prison - I am at…’ - Baxter looked at the wall, and saw a notice from the Rikers Island Prison Authority - ‘I am at Rikers Island prison - I don’t know what I have done but I am locked up Jack. You have to come and get me out - please Jack!’

‘This doesn’t make any sense’ - said Jack.

‘I know it doesn’t - please Jack, come and get me out!’ - Baxter was now crying.

‘Does Cheryl know about this?’ - said Jack, lighting a cigarette.

‘I don’t know - I cannot remember anything’

‘Okay - and what are the charges?’ - said Jack.

‘I don’t know’ - sobbed Baxter.

‘Okay - sit tight Baxter, the cavalry is on the way’

‘Thank you Jack’ - sobbed Baxter, and then the line went dead. Baxter slowly removed the handset from his ear, and then gently placed it back on the phone. He sat for a moment in silence - and then the door opened and the guard told him to stand and put his hands behind his back. Baxter was cuffed, and then led back to the cell and the cuffs were removed and the door slammed behind him. The flap opened - ‘No more calls, and no more shouting and banging - or else we will restrain you, you understand?’

Baxter nodded, and the flap slammed shut. Baxter walked to the bed, and sat and held his shaven head in his hands and cried.

***

The phone rang in the apartment - and Cheryl lurched at lightning speed and picked it up - ‘Hello?’

‘Oh, hello Cheryl - this is Jack. Jack Brooks from Dunning, Sponget, and Leach - I am Baxter’s lawyer’

‘Hello Jack’ - said Cheryl, her heart sinking. She was now expecting Jack to say that Baxter would be filing for divorce, and that Baxter wanted to do this as amicably as possible.

‘Have you heard from Baxter at all?’ - said Jack, lighting a cigarette.

‘What is this about, Jack?’ - said Cheryl.

‘Well, I have just had the most peculiar call from Baxter…’ - stared Jack, but Cheryl cut him off.

‘You have spoken to Baxter, where is he?’

‘Well, that’s the thing - he called me and claims to be locked up on Riker Island, in the prison’

‘Oh my god!’ - said Cheryl, tears flowing from her eyes.

‘Do you know anything about this Cheryl - it just seems so…so improbable’

Cheryl went on to tell Jack about Baxter not coming home last night - and that she had called the police to make a missing persons report and that the police couldn’t do anything until 24 hours had passed. Jack listened, and puffed his cigarette and scratched his chin.

‘Okay - so it looks like Baxter got himself into a bit of bother last night, Cheryl’ - said Jack after Cheryl had finished recounting the events of the day - ‘Now it is too late to get anything done today, but first thing tomorrow morning I will be at Riker Island and I will speak to Baxter and the authorities and find out what is going on’

‘Thank you Jack’ - said Cheryl, tears of joy running down her face.

‘Now I want you to relax - and I also want you to say nothing about any of this to anyone, do you understand?’

Cheryl agreed.

‘Now I will have Baxter home in no time at all - I just need you to sit tight and I will call you tomorrow when I know something’

Cheryl thanked Jack, and then hung up the phone. Cheryl continued to cry - tears of relief and tears of joy and tears of fear. Jack lit another cigarette, and then called an acquaintance - Lester O’Brien - who was one of the top criminal law attorneys at PC&D, a major criminal law firm in New York.