In the morning, I was served a little bit of white bread, and a cup of coffee. It was the first time I ate in more than 12 hours. It really felt good, despite of the poor quality.
Three cops were waiting for me while I ate, to take me to another roadtrip (what a waste of taxpayers' money!). Two men and one ugly woman (fat, virile demeanour). The jailguards didn't give me my stuff. They told me I was coming later to get them back.
The cops put me in the car, and we rode back from Floriana to Sliema police station. I had a discussion with the “female” (sort-of) cop. She told me I shouldn't have done what I did. I explained to her that I didn't have the smallest amount of money to buy food, and that my boss was a thief, the one that should be in jail. She wouldn't have it: as most cops, she was interested much more about power and order than about justice. I told it was easy for her, with her regular wages, to say that kind of things. Since she didn't have the minimum amount of fairness and compassion, I stopped there the conversation. No point talking to sick people.
Usually, female cops are fat, ugly, manly, and have never had any success with men in their young age. For this reason, they tend to be frustrated, and they have a thirst for revenge over men. They are pathetic. But in a sense, they deserve our pity as much as our disgust.
In the way to Sliema police station, we followed an old man driving slowly in his pick-up truck. He looked like some kind of farmer, and not a very bright man. He looked tired (it was morning). His pick-up truck blocked the way of our patrol car for half a minute or so. They pressed the horn. He didn't do anything. That was enough for the cops to get pissed off, to shout at him, to stop him, and to fine him. The poor man looked as if he did not understand what was happening to him. Once more, a cop showing off his “authority”. Sick bastards.
Technically speaking, the driver had committed an illegality. He had driven for too long in the passover lane. But he had not endangered anyone, and his error was a minor one. The cop could easily have been lenient, if he wasn't a dick.
We finally arrived at Sliema. Once again, I asked them a lawyer, or a call to my embassy. Denied. They put me in a cell. There was no air conditioning. It was very warm. The cell was kind of “in the open” (if you can say so of a jail!...), looking to an open-air space inside the police station. Again, a battery of questions. Some idiot even asked me how much money I owed. I told me this was not his business. I stayed there one hour or so.
On that occasion, I saw for the first time the head of the police station, with whoom I had spoken the night before. Once again, I told him to charge me or to release me. That bothered him.
They brought me some Ice-Tea, and some sandwich. It felt good. I had a great ironic laugh with myself. That “experience” with the police had at least had the advantage of filling my empty stomach (the eason for which I started my protest in the first place).
Suddenly, while I was expecting and prepared to spend another day in jail, the best moment of my kidnapping arrived – the time of my Victory over the Forces of Evil and Darkness. The Sergeant-in-charge came to my cell. Alone. He had a strange look on his face. He looked like a kid who has just been punished by his father. He opened my cell and told me: “We are going to release you”. I put an ironic smile on my face. He must have seen it...
The “journey” was not over, though. All my stuff (clothes, wallet, mobile phone, and so on) was still in Floriana Police Headquarteres, where I had spent the night. I asked them to take me there. They told me they would do so. But they were in no hurry at all... They were happy to let me wait there as an idiot, for more than an hour.
From then on, everything looked a bit surreal. They asked me if I wanted to rest in my cell, while we waited for somebody that could take me to Floriana. I said yes, to their amazement and laughter. I went to the cell on my own and relaxed a little bit. They didn't close the cell. So at the time I was just having a little nap in the police station. ;-) I was no more a prisoner. I had a laugh at this banana republic-style police force.
After some time, I got bored, so I decided to move around. I wandered through the police station half-naked. I discovered the bathroom, the kitchen, the stairs, the hallway, and satiated my curiosity about this place of Evil. But I was an embarassment to them. People could see me in my short clothes... For this reason, at some point two guys gently asked me to move out of the hallway. But at the time I was very happy at this place. I teased them, asking them if they had some police shirt that I could wear... I moved away, to shut them up, then 5 minutes later I came back.
Another set of cops was in the reception. I stayed there. They would talk about me in maltese, with angry looks in their faces (the kind of look you do when you think “I wish I could beat you”). Interestingly (to understand the type of people they are), they said many times “Auschwitz, Auschwitz” when looking at me. I suppose they were not wishing me good things... Fortunately, there are no railroads in Malta, or they would have sent me to the gas chambers.
COP 455 arrived. While I was spending the night in jail, he had gone home to sleep. He was now starting a new shift. Seeing I was still in their “care”, he had a laugh and cracked a joke with his colleagues. Not to be one step behind, I told some cop I wanted to make a complaint against COP 455, for abuse of power. It was funny to observe the old man (who was listening) throw smoke by the ears. Of course, as I expected, nobody moved to write my complaint. But my point was made.
Finally, the Sergeant arrived, and after dragging his feet, he took me in the car and we went to Floriana.
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