PELICAN BAY RIOT, page 9
Termite knew he was outgunned and felt the tension radiating off Cyclone and Stranger. Stranger knew that Cyclone had asserted that he had the keys to the yard and was calling shots. He also knew that Cyclone had squeezed in on Termite for a cut of his dope. Having more experience, he knew that it was put up or shut up time and stopped walking. Both Termite and Cyclone were caught off guard and kept walking a few paces then stopped, both with confused looks on their faces, they turned to look at Stranger. Stranger said, “Termite from this point on a third of the dope you bring in goes to the house.” Termite nodded his head he was fine with that and thought about it, Stranger just left the biggest mobsters in southern California at Palm Hall in Chino prison where they’re waiting for a bus ride to the Pelican Bay SHU. I don't want to get on their bad side. Cyclone stared at Stranger with so much uncomfortable energy flooding through his veins he felt himself shaking, on the edge of aiming that force against Stranger just to get it over with.
Chapter 20
I told Blockhead, "Thanks for telling us, go get Jason." Stranger, Termite and Cyclone stopped on the track right in front of us.
I got up and walked just close enough to the 3 Mexicans and stood 10 feet away and felt their energy and zeroed in on Cyclone. His hands were balled up in fist and they were shaking. I watched Stranger's eyes drop and notice just after I did and he avoided the fight by cutting the tension with me as the distraction. He said, "What's up B.J?"
I realized if I hadn't gotten up they would have been going at it in a fight over their internal power struggle, but it was too late, maybe not, I answered, "You guys look busy. Let me talk to you when you’re done."
It was in that moment I picked Stranger to fight if diplomacy broke down and peace wasn't possible. The energy vibrating off Cyclone was familiar to me, it said, my childhood was so wrong that I would rather die than not live up to my own expectations. Cyclone finally looked at me. His dark brown eyes were void but there was an internal dialogue going through his brain that could change them back into rage in a nanosecond. Stranger knew he'd just avoided a trip to the hole, temporarily, and played another move to distract Cyclone. "Cyclone do you want to talk to B.J?"
Cyclone's mind flooded with impulses unsure of what to do..."No."
Stranger knew the best move was to get into action before the tension hit a crescendo again so he waved at B.J to have the talk with him. Stranger’s eyes never left Cyclone and he tried to continue to command the situation. He nodded at Cyclone and said, “I’ll get at you when I’m done.”
I watched Stranger take a few steps into the yard for privacy leaving Cyclone and Termite on the track. He’d been doing this all his life and it showed but it was all posturing. He wasn’t a made guy yet. I positioned myself so I was facing the gun tower with Stranger in between and with Damon sitting on the curb to the right. To keep my vantage point the way I wanted there was a gap of 10 feet between Stranger and me.
Stranger was still waiting for Cyclone and Termite to leave and walk the track but they were still standing there like they didn’t know what to do. I broke through Stranger’s lack of attention on me by saying loud enough for Damon, Cyclone and Termite to hear, “Stranger are you who I talk to for the Mexicans? I want to make sure you know what has already been established between our 2 races as to our drug policy.”
Stranger’s face flashed toward me. All the tension from his power struggle with Cyclone was now facing me head on. His dark brown eyes creased into a frown, angry soldier. He took a step toward me to close the gap, postured and asked in a quiet voice meant for us, “Do you always talk so loud?”
I glanced at the gun tower, he was watching, then I smiled to break the tension and said in a quiet voice, “I had something worked out with L’il Bird before he left and I need you to get at him to verify it but take my word for it now and implement it, 180 dollar of the shelf dope policy. I heard Lefty owes Termite 550 dollars.”
Stranger looked confused, like I was speaking a foreign language.
I didn’t hesitate to help him understand. “Come on Stranger, you’ve been around, drug debts get out of hand without a policy, 180 off the shelf max. That way dope feigns can’t cause our 2 races problems.”
Cyclone and Termite finally walked away. Stranger’s eyes followed their path along the track until they were under the gun tower and then he looked back at me. “I know what you mean but I have to get at L’il Bird in the hole first.”
That was going to take too long. I needed Stranger to run the yard with an iron fist for the Mexicans to keep this problem with drug debts from delivering chaos before it was too late. All my instincts were screaming it’s already too late! I only saw a few options that would work. Stranger would have to back up the drug debt policy so all the Mexicans understood it and respected it, which would help Stranger also, in that it would organize it so he was in charge of all the drug transactions and be able to get his third of all Mexican dope smuggled in, and the second part of the problem would be having Blockhead and Jason deal with Lefty. In all of California’s 33 state prisons, there was an unwritten rule that blood paid a drug debt clear if it was through a stabbing.
It didn’t look like Stranger was up to the challenge. I urged him in the right direction, “Come on hommie, you know what’s up. We have to handle our business faster than that. Why don’t you take my word for it while you get at L’il Bird to confirm it and I’ll deal with it on my end by getting as much of the 180 dollars from Lefty before he gets dealt with?”
By now, Cyclone and Termite were all the way down the track by 5 building and circling it past our White table. I noticed Damon was watching them. Stranger nodded his head as if he agreed with me but said, “Nope, I need that 550 dollars lefty owes and if you had that 180 dollar policy worked out with L’il Bird I will consider implementing that policy then, when I find that out. It’s my yard for the Mexicans now, L’il Bird is gone.”
Chapter 21
Our afternoon got worse after Stranger walked away. Damon and I watched Cyclone pass our White table on the other side of the yard, then walk the distance to the Mexican table about 40 feet away where he had an intense conversation with his San Bernardino homeboys, who all became much more vigilant. A stack of 4 of their bodies sat together on top of the table staring at the yard and watching everything, while Termite walked into the grass toward the handball court where he unburied a weapon.
Damon asked, “Do you think he’ll stab Stranger?” “Nope, I think his homeboys will talk him out of it. It isn’t often there is a Termite on the yard who can get this much dope. Even if he isn’t the shot caller, he still has Termite under the wing.”
Blockhead walked up with Jason. Lefty was nowhere to be seen. I let Damon handle the conversation but stood next to him. “What the fuck Jason?” Jason looked at the ground. There was nothing he could do or anything he could say. He was smart enough not to bullshit. “I fucked up, what do you want me to do?”
Before we went back into the building for yard Damon and I put our heads together and decided on a strategy. We both knew that to give in to the Mexicans and pay the 550 dollars would set the wrong precedence and enable more of the same. Lefty didn’t have the money and our best plan was to seize all of his belongings that included a TV, walkman and clothes, total worth in prison currency, 150 dollars. The rest of the plan was complicated but I simplified it in a written message Jason was to pass out to every White cell.
Chapter 22
The next morning was a scorcher, and it was our turn for yard. Now that the yard was off lockdown the walk through the building and vestibule to get to the yard was crowded. Bodies of every skin color rushed their way out to get to desired locations on the yard, almost everyone had a plan, including me.
When we made it out the vestibule I noticed that our building was opening first and Damon and I were the only ones wearing denim jackets buttoned up tight over denim jeans over boots. Every other inmate was in casual clothes from their packages like shorts and tank tops and tennis shoes. If the guards and gun tower were paying attention, this was the first sign. Damon went toward 1 building just to the right and I walked to our White table in front of 5 building.
I walked past 3 building right as the vestibule door opened and a sea of inmates came charging out, in a hurry to get to the work out bars, a card game or some other plan, like look for dope. I walked past 4 building and the same thing happened. I got to our table and stared at 5 building where Stranger would be coming out. The vestibule door hadn’t opened yet; the intake building always took longer to release.
I sat on top of the table and thought about my first priority. Scott had been sent to the chow hall to send word in to the Whites working inside. By now the yard had over 400 bodies out and I couldn’t see Scott through the sea of larger bodies. I did see Damon walking with Jason and both of them carried a negative energy, even worse than it should have been. Damon got to the table and said, “Lefty overdosed last night.” I never took my eyes off the yard toward the chow hall; I had to find Scott. This couldn’t go down until I found him. The action sped up and there wasn’t time to think. The vestibule door to building 5 opened.
As expected Stranger walked through the vestibule door first and just the way he walked offended me. I got off the table and walked toward him but so did a couple of Mexicans from their table. I thought quick and realized it would work out better if I let them talk to him first. It would give me a chance to let Scott catch up to the plan. I stood off to the side and pretended to stretch on the edge of the track so I wouldn’t be so obvious and gave myself an angle to study the yard.
Scott was at the chow hall having a hard time getting someone’s attention inside. Now that the yard was off lockdown the kitchen workers had a lot more work to do and the timing was different. Finally someone heard the pounding on the outside door and the note was smuggled in to the right person.
The 2 Mexicans were done with Stranger and I let them walk past me and cut Stranger off. “Hey stud I need to talk to you.”
Stranger looked too sure of himself, like things were working out for him as the shot caller, and he tried to brush me off like I was an insignificant problem he’d already resolved. He looked at me like a peon and said; “Not now B.J I have to handle some shit.”
I usually don’t give someone I’d decided was an enemy combatant a chance but I felt my rage boiling and knew he didn’t have a chance either way so I did what I rarely do, talk, “You need to handle this dope policy, last chance.”
I was 6 feet away from Stranger and looked for Scott and found him. He was walking toward the White table as fast as he could and about 100 feet away. Close enough. Stranger looked shocked. Like it was too hard for him to believe I wasn’t bending to his will.
I didn’t wait for a response and rushed him. Instead of trying to knock him out with a punch, I used my right knee in an upper thrust into his right leg where I had the most leverage and was still able to fire a bomb of a right hand. It bounced off his forehead because he shuffled backward to not go down from my knee chop but I was on top of him raining down punches and crowding in on him until we were both on the ground. I leveraged myself on top of him and hammered punches into his face a few times until he bucked me off. I landed with my hands in front of me and popped back up and got to him before he made it all the way up and timed a kick to his face that sent him back to the ground. I charged him again but was met by other Mexicans. A sea of Mexican bodies had launched themselves from their table and everywhere else. I was barely able to see peripherally. My punches were the only thing clearing the way and Mexicans were coming at me from the side for cheap shots and their blows were landing but I only heard the thumps and didn’t feel them from the effects of adrenaline.
I saw Damon and remembered the plan. I punched both of my fists as straight and fast as I could. Damon ended up right where he was supposed to be and for a second we had our backs locked against each other impossible to surround, then shuffled backwards until we felt the side of the building behind us. I heard all the usual sounds; the alarm, the block guns, the orders from guards, “GET DOWN! GET DOWN!” and I felt my second wind, more adrenaline and the need to help Scott take over my being. I felt my vision adjust with my back safe and I was distributing punches and knocking the smaller Mexicans down.
Damon was doing the same thing next to me and we had enough space to see Scott 50 feet away. He was too small for the Mexicans and I saw one smash his head from behind and he crumpled to the ground with over 20 Mexicans stomping and kicking from every angle against his entire body. I ran and punched my way there and felt pepper spray as I passed prison guards but bulldozed onward. I got to Scott and started getting pummeled by Mexicans but still lifted him to his feet and dragged him toward the opening to the building where more guards were and fell down. After a few breaths I realized it was over and looked for Damon. He had followed me to Scott halfway and was lying on the ground painted orange from the pepper spray. I saw it dripping off his bullet head and almost laughed through my own pain. I looked at Scott’s scared face, it was swollen and bleeding but he’d be okay. I looked to our White table and saw Blockhead and Jason drenched in orange and found a bunch of other White inmates lying on their stomachs with their hands under them ready to pop back up if the Mexicans did. The D Yard gate opened and an army of other prison guards from the other yards finally made it and for the first time I was glad to see them.
Chapter 23
The army of prison guards stepped on or kneeled on White and Mexican inmates until the cuffs were placed on every wrist. I knew they would sort out who the actual combatants were in the Hole. I was lifted to my feet and met Damon and the others as we were corralled into a pile and escorted to the D Yard gate. It looked like all the Whites were okay other than some cuts and bruises.
On the walk to the Hole we passed the Warden. He was shaking his head at me and lifted both his arms in the air as if to ask, what happened?
I looked down at the ground. What could I say? These are the prison days of our lives. As I got to within 10 feet I smiled and said, “Fuckin drug addicts.”
GLADIATOR
Chapter 1
I had to put pen to paper and write my beautiful wife. It wasn't easy to write and not think about her at the same time. Questions riddled my brain like a tornado with, is she OK? Does she still live at the same address? Is she still going to church? WHY HAVEN'T I RECEIVED A LETTER FROM HER?
I got a letter from her a month ago saying she was being evicted, she couldn't afford the rent without me. We were paying 1,400 a month for a studio apartment in Laguna Beach, California and both working, her at Macy's in dresses and me as a waiter at a Bistro, we were both going to church and everything was great, until I got violated for parole for not reporting a change of address fast enough. I started writing.
My beautiful wife: I pray this reaches you in God's Hands. It sucks here without you, but it would suck anywhere without you! Please write me and let me know you're OK, if you get this...I love you more than words can express and treasure you and our memories and look forward to those yet to come. 90 more days, hang on! Your always faithful loving husband...
Chapter 2
My cell mate Damon was watching me agonize over the letter and knew I'd be done quick, unable to allow my heart to feel like a sponge getting squeezed dry. We had to be calloused. Emotions couldn't play a part in this part of our life, there wasn't room for it. Much like a Marine on duty in hostile enemy territory, surviving life in a California level 4 prison wasn't the place for missing a loved one where calculated killers roamed the cell block and gun tower guards with rifles staged gladiator wars and fired unholy justice. The pressure was relentless.
"She's alright. You have a gorgeous, strong willed wife who is loyal and loves you like no other. How could she not, you're a freak of nature. Don't let your mind tell you otherwise."
I studied Damon standing 2 feet away from my bottom bunk. At 6'3 and 230 lbs of shredded muscle from 20 years worth of California prison race war training, tattoos covered his body. His stomach had his nickname in block letters, ROTT, his chest was covered with a banner of prison ink displaying a gambling scene with an Ace of Spades flying off a table, and there was some more ink spilling over his shoulders. The most endearing thing about him visually as a friend from the beach in Orange County, California and these California prisons we kept meeting in, was the way his big, bald, shaped like a bullet head, sat on the rest of his long lanky frame. Underneath his bullet head his forehead creased into wrinkles and pale blue eyes were lasers of scrutiny. The whole package always made me laugh.
"I know she'll always be down for me, but my mind isn't right, I've always felt like a needy insecure orphan. I just hope she's alright and isn't getting lost without me."
