Upon Release From Prison

by Glenn Langohr

  Annette started asking questions. “Shane, how have you been? Have you been to Ocotillo Wells with your dune buggy lately? Have you seen...?

  Shane's attention looked like it was getting spun in circles and it got worse with the sound of his door bell and a follow up knock. He looked at the guy with the speed pipe in his hand and I knew he relied on him to watch his dope and belongings.

  Shane walked by me to answer the front door. He came back to the bedroom and quickly manipulated from the speed on the mirror. He used a business card as a shovel to weigh up what looked like a fifty. He made the delivery and the same thing happened two more times. The pile on the mirror was getting smaller. I studied the stashed bag under the clutter and wondered how much it weighed and estimated its worth at a thousand dollars. Should I snatch it before Annette and I got triggered to use his dope so we don't have to start the process underneath him.

  Shane must have felt my energy. He tried to take the initiative. “Hey bro I don't know you so I need you to wait outside in the car. You can leave Annette here and she'll see you in a while.”

  I stared at Shane for what seemed like more than a minute. My mind raced with prospects. To do what, rob him? Robbery is a felonious strike, but possession of his dope would be seizing an illegal commodity. The law doesn't have that violation on the books yet. Shane got closer and I popped up and the thing at the top of my head was no longer a brain, just an impulse message sender. I had so much adrenaline charged energy that when I shoved Shane with both hands and the power of my lower body behind me he left his feet and bounced off the side of his entertainment center. While he was hitting the ground I was snatching his somewhat stashed speed. I clamped it in my right hand and looked at the point man still holding the speed pipe. I was too ambitious with my window of free time and tried to scoop up the remainder of the pile of dope on the mirror. I looked for something to put it in and ran out of time. The speed pipe point man yelled, “What are you doing?”

  Shane was on his feet and made a critical mistake. He shoved Annette. She had been standing in between us to give me room. Now she was flying into the bug eyed crew on the bed. I snapped and skipped forward to blast Shane with a left hand that kept jabbing. The first blow landed square, a nose shot. The other ones were glancing shots because Shane was going backward. I had time again and grabbed Annette who had already popped off the bed to assist if necessary. I put her in front of me and headed for the front door. My conscience stopped me right there. I didn't want the dope more than I wanted it. I walked back to Shane's room right as his head popped out. His nose was leaking blood everywhere and I saw a golf ball sized lump swelling over shocked eyes. He ducked back into his room and I went into the bathroom right next to it. I stuck my right hand into the toilet and used my left hand to rip it to shreds and left it there floating.

  We ran to our car and I realized something significant. I didn't have to run. I stopped. Annette got to the passenger door and stared at me. I calmly told her, “I want to talk to Shane and iron this out.”

  Annette looked confused. “Right now?”

  I parked in front of Shane's in a compromise with Annette. I had explained that Shane needed another checking for putting his hands on her and she explained that I jacked his dope and I explained that I flushed it so we are legal.

  I kept honking and Shane sent out his point man that never put the pipe down until now. Annette waved him to the car. He hesitated, swiveled his head in all directions like he was now really keeping point and lurched our way. At Annette's window he said, “Dude I think I've heard of you. You used to go by “Rider” and used to run this half the county and you smashed a bunch of people. I hear stories about you all the time.”

  Annette said, “Most of that is fiction, keep mouth shut about this and it won't come true.”

  I said, “Hey stud do me a favor. Go get Annette's clothes in her plastic shelves. They're in his attic. Hurry up please we're in a hurry to go no where.”

  We drove to Laguna Beach and posted underneath the cove we had made love on so many times while at the shelter. Annette was excited from the fight I was in.

  “Why did you throw the dope away? I could have sold it for a thousand bucks and got us off the streets!”

  “That would have started a process that would end with me in prison for more than ten years. I've already done ten and am a writer now. God blessed me with the inspiration to write and I don't want to flush that down the toilet. I learned while I was writing that drug money and other illegal money is doomed because it pulls you from Truth and screws up your conscience to the point where you start rationalizing things until you’re lost.”

  I was looking into Annette's eyes and my heart kept pouring out. “Plus I love you and feel responsible to make good decisions for us. You are newly sober and my actions would have cost your sobriety. You are someone's daughter. You are someone's sister. You are someone's mommy.”

  Annette looked into B.J.'s deep green eyes and tried to get rid of the urges to get high. She remembered all of the stories about B.J's past about how he was the man who always had the best speed in multiple flavors along with the bomb pot. That speed would have helped me lose the weight I seem to be gaining due to this sober thing! “B.J I have to tell you a few things about me. I have abandonment issues, trust issues and I'm anorexic. I wish you would have kept that speed.”

  I studied Annette. She looked scared letting me see her so deeply. I remembered how Karen Carpenter had been anorexic and had been so affected by people saying she was fat. Annette was to skinny already! “Sweetheart, as far as the trust issues, I have never cheated on a girlfriend. I'm a momma's boy who always tells the Truth to those I love because I can't live with myself any other way. I am going to need you to believe that and believe in me for us to work. As far as your anorexia, you are the sexiest girl I have ever seen and it’s as much who you are inside and how you view the world as it is the bone structure God blessed you with from the tip of your toes to the tips of your hair! The arch of your foot drives me crazy, your ankles drive me crazy, your legs drive me crazy and the way you can kick them out so far with how limber you are is turning me into a horny freak! Baby you need to gain some weight to fill your ass in to get even more delicious looking, if that is even possible.”

  Annette was glowing from my authentic description of how I looked at her. I decided to change the subject so her thought process would change. “Do you think the people at Shane's house are going to run my name all over town?”

  “They will. They all have big mouths and you gave them a lot to talk about. You just smashed another speed dealer with one hand and your fedora stayed on your head the whole time.”

  For the rest of the afternoon we walked the beaches in Laguna Beach. I saw a vision of my protest against the California Prison Union in downtown Laguna and saw exit strategies if I had to flee. Old habits die hard.

  CHAPTER—10 EAST LA

  Detective Pincher drove 55 miles an hour past the elementary school while talking on his cell phone. “Hey Veto! I love this shit! I did it all though, hook me up with some more!”

  “YOU DID ALL OF IT?”

  “FUCK YEAH I DID! IT WAS ONLY TWO MORE SQUIRTS!”

  Veto followed detective Pincher’s vehicle with the G.P.S tracking device on the monitor like a video game. Chuco laughed like a little kid playing the video game Grand Theft Auto.

  Veto said, “That stuff I gave you I am going to refer to as the Up-town supplements. It was supposed to last you a couple of days. It’s not like those other supplements I refer to as down-town-Judy-brown. You won’t be sleeping tonight and you are going to want a hooker. Do you want me to hook you up with Crystal. She’s at a hotel in Santa Monica.”

  “Call her for me then.”

  Veto hung up the phone and remembered how when Pincher had seen the Hollywood Madam Crystal and a few of her employees, his lascivious nature was as evident as a horny dog trying to hump a stranger’s leg. Veto realized what the Asia
ns were the first to key in on; a strong man’s weakness is through his dick.

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  Pincher drove the streets of east L.A and thought; this drug speed is the Alpha and the Omega! It feels like I can see deeper into life and can do anything I set my mind to. Another thought formed…why am I always policing these streets in east L.A? It’s far more dangerous than and not as beautiful as Santa Monica just a few miles away. Pincher saw Damian step out of the Hummer and remembered last year. How he had chased the Hummer to kill B.J and Damian in an organized shootout for getting their message out on C.N.N that brought light to the lies the California Prison Union used to keep the 3 strike law, prop 66 from removing two felonies from the list that would give non-violent offenders relief. He wondered, what were the crimes that were going to change? It had something to do with a petty theft charge and certain residential burglaries. As far as I’m concerned we should just throw them all away and lose the keys. He remembered the article also mentioned where Damon lived, right around the corner. Pincher drove into the neighborhood and Damon just happened to pull into his driveway...

  “Damon…let me see some I.D. I am going to have to search your vehicle.”

  Damon had his back to Pincher. He had just stepped out of the Hummer without a shirt on returning from the gym. Shirtless and shredded to the core, prison ink flowed like a banner covering chest, shoulders and back like a protective shield. At 6’3, Damon’s chest extended far further than average and constantly flexed from so many disciplined prison workouts and as he turned he immediately recognized the detective. “Pincher what the fuck’r you doing in a Rampart division narcotic task force uniform trolling in Santa Monica? This area is too high end for you. Beat it lame.”

  Pincher placed the cuffs on and said, “I just followed you from the dope man you left at the park in east L.A.”

  Pincher tossed Damon’s property out of the Hummer while rifling through it hungry for dope to steal. He got his dig on and a pile of Damon’s belongings littered the driveway. Ten minutes of empty searching later, Pincher’s sweat dripped from every pore on his body and he wiped both arms on the seat and at the same time pulled out his brown sticky heroin. He thought… I don’t want to plant all of it in his vehicle; I want an issue for later to relax.

  He didn’t see Internal Affairs agent Maltobano pull up a 100 feet behind in a black Mercedes.

  “Damon it looks like you don’t want to stay out of prison. I found a 20 of heroin, or as you people call it, down-town-Judy brown, in your center console so now it’s time for you to go down town and fight a possession charge. You’re not a 3 striker are you?”

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  CHAPTER—11

  Veto watched Pincher’s vehicle flashing on the screen navigating the streets of Santa Monica and remembered something. “That’s that one dude’s house on the corner. What’s his name? I remember, Damon Smith. We met him at that self help group that day in Brentwood where all the chicks and movie people were.”

  They listened to detective Pincher call in the drug arrest and Damon Smith’s name on the police airwaves.

  Chuco stopped watching the screen and asked, “How do you know who Damon is? Should we help him out with Pincher?”

  “Fuck yeah we should give that White man an assist. That boy did back to back 16 month S.H.U terms at Pelican Bay in Crescent City.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He was on the Roll Call list I got from Topo. He was in B-pod cell 88. His cellie was Vincent Prestolli. They caught their S.H.U’s and went to the hole for whacking a couple of child molesters at Chino central in Sycamore on the west side. I don’t remember the exact dates.”

  “Fuck big hommie, you do your homework!”

  Right then the phone rang that only a select few knew about. Veto looked at Chuco with a knowing look that conveyed the message, we just put the gangster’s name on the airwaves and he calls.

  Chuco nodded his head seriously and said, “One of Topo’s rules and regulations are its protocol for me to answer the phone as the youngster to learn how to screen calls, keep vital information off the airwaves and get to the vital information. It’s your job to keep point on the residence and school me with an iron fist. Chuco answered the phone, “Bueno bueno.”

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  Topo stood holding one of the two prison pay phones right next to the empty metal cage the size of a phone booth that prisoners were stored in after a fight. Topo looked up toward the tower and read the sign in red letters. WARNING! NO WARNING SHOTS FIRED IN THIS AREA! WARDEN

  Topo looked past the sign and at the gun tower. Aceves was standing there staring and holding his rifle through the grilled opening. The rifle was pointed at the ground angled to hit him on a ricochet. Topo watched the other tower guard at the control buttons also staring, get on the phone and assumed he was going to tell the investigative unit to record his phone call. Topo yelled up at Aceves holding the rifle aimed inches away, “Watch where you’re aiming that thing! It doesn’t look like you got enough sleep last night!”

  Into the state prison phone Topo said, “Como se siente?” How are you feeling in prison slang.

  Chuco answered, “Dakaius!” 100% in prison slang.

  Topo asked, “Did you send my reading material on ‘End Times’? Get to the red phone by the next hour.”

  Chuco said, “It’s on its way.”

  Staring at Aceves staring at him and still holding the rifle inches away Topo asked, “Is your older brother posted up watching and schooling you?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good, put him on the phone please.”

  Veto put the phone to his ear. “Como-se-siente-carnad?” Prison slang for how you doing brother?

  “Dakaius. What’s the word big bird?” Code for we are talking in bird form.

  “The word is we have a raven in the back pocket.”

  Topo had instructed that in their slang a raven meant law enforcement. An eagle meant their side. Topo asked, “Who did this raven play high school ball with?”

  “The east L.A Matadors.”

  Topo thought about the Matadors. That was the team mascot of a high school right down the street from the Rampart Division Sheriffs station. Topo knew that when he asked what kind of skill set this player had he’d find out the level of law enforcement. A lineman meant the lowest level, just a Sheriff. A receiver or a running back meant a Task Force Agent for Gangs, Narcotics, Robbery or Homicide. A quarterback meant a D.E.A. or F.B.I. agent. “What level of skill are we talking about?”

  A wide receiver with legs, I’m talking Terrell Owens. This guy has a long reach and we can play him deep into the play book.”

  Topo digested the information and intuitively thought it’s probably a Narcotic Detective addicted to those same narcotics he or she was sworn to keep off the streets. Either that or a Detective getting corrupted by a hooker…

  Topo looked up at the gun tower. Both prison guards were staring at him. “Have your little brother feed the other bird I send more information on that.”

  Veto knew the other bird he was going to send was probably going to be someone housed in a cell near Topo. It was usually a smart White man Topo respected. That thought made Veto wonder if he should help Damon Smith out with some leverage for the drug bust he just witnessed. He asked, “One more thing. What if I could help out that surfer school by the beach we are so fond of with our Raven in a trade for some future players?”

  Topo knew that a reference to surfers by the beach meant White people. Veto must have an important White man he could help with the corrupted Law Enforcement Official. He thought…I have to help our own loved ones first and foremost. Maybe down the road when we have got all of the mileage we can out of the bull, and he is almost dead, then we can leave a White man next to the dying bull for appearances…<
br />
  “Don’t feed hungry neighbors before feeding your own hungry family carnad.”

  “You’re right brother it was an impulsive thought.’

  “I bet this is all happening in front of you really fast. Your mind is in a blur and reacting. Take your time and prepare things with analytic precision before you hit buttons. That is why you check in with me and I check in with others. In here all we have is time to prepare!”

  Topo looked at Aceves in the tower. He had two fingers up showing two minutes left of the phone call.

  Topo said, “Speaking of others to check in with and birds. You know the bald eagles nest up high to protect their young and their lineage.”

  Veto knew that meant their was word from either Pelican Bay or a Federal Facility 7 floors underground in Colorado where the known shot callers sat on a shelf figuring out how to get their percentage from the streets.

  Topo continued, “Remember that gangster rap group N.W.A with Easy E? The group that sang that song, ‘The boys in the hood are always hard, and ‘Fuck the Police’.”

  Veto knew that was code for the problems they were having with the Blacks for control of certain L.A streets.

  Topo continued, “Shit is about to hit the fan. When you see Pelican Bay riot it will come south like dominoes falling. It might last a couple years to a decade.”

  Veto said, “I figured it was coming. What do you want me to do?”

  Topo looked up at the tower guards. Both were looking at him and Aceves holding the rifle inches away said, “You have thirty seconds.”

  Topo nodded okay and spoke into the phone staring at the prison guard. “Hold down the fort but send your brother to me directly on a prison bus with some of my pension. I’ve got some deep poetry I’m about to send you direct. Love, loyalty and honor my family, enjoy the rest of your day.”