Trump Goes to Jail

“Maria, get up,” Juan shook his wife’s shoulder gently. “You’ve got to see this.”

“Huh? What is it?” Maria had worked all night. She’d only been asleep for a few hours, and she was groggy. “What’s wrong?”

“They’ve arrested Trump!” Juan handed her a bathrobe as she got out of bed. “It's on the news. You've got to see this. They've got police cars and Secret Service guys all standing outside the jail.”

It took Maria a few minutes to shuffle out to the living room. KTVW Univision Arizona was blaring wall-to-wall coverage. “Turn it down, cariño. It’s too loud.”

Juan clicked the button on the remote until Maria nodded. On the screen were two long columns of police cars, red and blue lights flashing, surrounding another long line of black limousines with black-tinted windows. A scrum of news reporters jostled for position behind a line of angry-looking police officers.

“Look at that!” The Univision cameras had turned to focus on a tight knot of severe men in dark suits. Juan couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the men were obviously agitated and pointing toward the large crowd, which was slowly starting to build outside the police barricade. These were from Donald Trump’s Secret Service detail, and they looked nervous. “You can see their guns.”

Maria gasped. Now fully awake, she hugged her knees and leaned towards the TV set. “Where is he? I don’t see him.”

Juan peered closely at the screen, “I don’t see him either. He must still be in one of those cars.”

The Univision announcer spoke as the live-action shots continued streaming, “…announced today that former President Donald Trump will be booked into the…”

The phone rang. Juan checked the number. It was his son, Carlos. He answered the call, “Hola, Carlos. Qué pasa?”

“Are you watching this, Dad?” His son sounded irate. With a curse, he asked, “Can you believe this?”

“Hey, watch your language.” Juan scolded. I’ve got Mama right here. Juan switched the speaker on.

“Hi Mom,” Carlos said sheepishly, “sorry about that.”

Maria turned her attention away from the TV. “Oh mijo! Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Carlos began. “But I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Are you watching this?”

“Yes, we're watching it,” Juan confirmed.

Maria and Juan turned back to the TV. More protestors had arrived. People were running around chaotically, and there didn’t seem to be any organization to it. More police were getting out of their cars and reinforcing the barricade between the protestors and the door to the jail.

“…How will the Secret Service protect Trump now that he is to be incarcerated?” The Univision announcer asked his guest. Both men were inset in a small video box while the live stream continued to play on the big screen.

“I can tell you for sure that they will be inside the jail with the President twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for as long as this travesty continues,” said the guest. “Secret Service protection is afforded to every President for life. There will not be another ‘Epstein incident’ on their watch.”

The Univision announcer seemed unconvinced, “Don’t you think that even a President, who has been convicted of felony crimes, forfeits all rights to Secret Service protection?”

Juan never heard the answer to that question. At that moment, a dozen dark-suited men converged on a single black limousine, and though the camera angle was bad, Juan could tell that Donald Trump was stepping out of the car.

The security detail surrounded him as he made his way across the short distance from the vehicle to the jail’s entrance. The crowd grew deathly quiet as the tight formation surged their principle towards the building.

Then the Secret Service team stopped, with hands folded across their bodies. They scanned the crowd as Donald Trump turned to make a statement to the nearby reporters.

The press erupted in an orgy of shouted questions. Juan couldn’t make out what they were saying beyond things like, “Mr. President! Mr. President! Is it true that…” and “Do you intend to terminate your campaign?”

Before Trump could answer any questions, a thunderous chant broke out of the crowd, “USA! USA! USA!”

Trump smiled, and like the consummate showman he was, he waited patiently until the chant dampened and he was able to speak.

Finally, the crowd quieted enough to be heard. “Today, the Biden Department of Justice has crossed the Rubicon,” Trump announced boldly. “Never before in the history of our Republic have the instruments of American power been sent to silence a political rival…”

“Do you intend to continue your campaign?” a reporter shouted over him.

Trump held up a single finger, “Nothing can stop this great MAGA movement! It’s the greatest political movement in American history. Remember, they’re not just jailing me. They’re jailing you. I will continue to run my campaign from behind these prison bars. I will be your Nelson Mandela!”

The roar that erupted from the crowd rattled the camera shot.

“Die in prison!” someone screamed, followed by shouts and a frenzied mass of movement in the crowd.

A Univision reporter on the scene appeared. She seemed to be concentrating intently on what was happening behind her. “It appears that there is some sort of fight breaking out in the crowd… no, several fights… are you catching this, Jose?” She called to her cameraman.

She turned to face the camera. “We’ve got protestors and counter-protestors engaging with each other!” Her breathing came in panting gasps as she maneuvered to a position where her cameraman could get a better shot. “Look there!” she pointed.

The camera wheeled, and a group of black-clad youths with their faces covered by masks struggled with a burly man holding an American flag. Both sides were punching and kicking as the police tried to force their way through the crowd towards them.

Suddenly, the sound of explosions popping along with the distinctive colored trails of firework sparks appeared on the screen.

The camera panned back to the wide view, and the Univision announcer warned the reporter to “Get out of there!”

As he watched, Juan saw the Secret Service detail, guns drawn, hustle the former President of the United States into the relative security of the prison.