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Veto and Bat watched Pincher from the top of a parking structure across the street from the Rampart Division. Bat said, “We fucked him up.”
Veto studied Pincher through the binoculars. Pincher's eyes were almost swollen shut. “He looks exhausted.”
Bat said, “It was a smart move not to see Pincher at the hospital. If we would have snuck him any more dope he'd have too much to say in there to Sawyer.”
“He won't be able to articulate shit after getting spun in the cycle we put him through. Now we just have to find out where he stands with Sawyer and keep spinning him in circles.”
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Lieutenant Sawyer watched Pincher enter the office. He looked haggard.
“Take a seat detective. I need you to turn in your badge and gun. Your blood tested positive for heroin and meth. Do you want to start telling me the truth? It might save your career.”
Pincher looked down at the table and tried to force his brain to work. A solution to this problem didn't seem possible. What can I do? I feel so dark and lonely, how did this happen?
“Tell the truth Pincher. You'll feel better and then I can help you.”
Pincher felt the tears roll down his battered face and said, “Those gangsters I chased must have drugged me while I was unconscious. I've never used drugs in my life!”
“I don't believe you!”
“It’s the truth!”
“Pincher you are as of this moment on paid leave while I investigate this matter. I have a strong feeling you are going to be in jail when I'm done. You have one last chance for me to help you but you have to come clean.”
“I've done nothing wrong.”
Pincher walked next to the 20 foot fortress-like cement wall that hid the detective's vehicles and undercover units and thought, would Sawyer really help me if I had come clean with the truth? What if he looks at my past with the investigation I barely made it through in Orange County and looks at me like a bad person. He did say he thought I'd be in jail at the end of his investigation. Maybe he'll help me anyway?
Veto was the first to see Pincher through the window walking to the door. “Here he comes, I'm gone.”
Veto ran to the Hummer listening to Bat through an ear bud.
“You're clear. Nobody is following Pincher.”
Every 10 seconds Veto heard, “CLEAR!”
Veto caught up to Pincher at the gate. He was punching in a code to get to his car.
“Pincher get in!”
Pincher looked at the Hummer and saw the tinted passenger window slide down and Veto's face leaning down. He looked back at the path he'd traveled and got in the passenger seat. “Why didn't you return my calls? I thought you were my friend.”
Veto pulled away from the Division and circled into the underground parking lot.
“Friend, you are hot as a firecracker. We had to wait. What happened with Sawyer?”
“I am at this moment on paid leave and under investigation. My blood tested positive for drugs.”
Pincher explained the details and watched Veto listen like he really cared.
Veto took in every detail to problem solve and said, “We’ll get an attorney on retainer. I have the best firm in L.A you can work with. That way you won't have to deal with Sawyer's interviews, your attorney will. He is treating you like a criminal when he should be treating you like a hero. My attorney will file a suit against Sawyer and the county for defamation of character in that they are trying to impact your earning power. Just stick to your story that the Black crack dealers must have drugged you while you were unconscious. That was brilliant on your part. The news is making you a hero.”
Pincher thought, Veto really is a good friend. He kept me from getting killed and now is helping me with an attorney. He watched Veto pull a small container from his shirt pocket. He brought it to his right nostril and snorted and closed his eyes against the pain for a second. When he opened them a tear ran down his cheek. Pincher remembered how that felt and asked, “Can I have one?”
Veto nodded his head and made sure the snifter had a lot of speed in it and handed it over. He watched Pincher snort the too much for a rookie amount of speed and felt bad inside his soul for manipulating the detective and then flew through that stop sign. “Pincher do you want me to take you to my attorney's office to get you some protection?”
Pincher squeezed against the burning nostril pain and the burst of pleasure giving chemicals his reptilian brain answered with and looked at Veto. “Take me there. Do you have any more of that up-town?”
Veto went back into his shirt pocket and pulled out a sealed balloon and handed it over. “This life is a trip huh? Did you know that in Mexico it’s legal to have an ounce of what I just gave you but it is illegal to sell it or take it to sporting events?”
Pincher studied Veto to see if he was kidding. It didn't look like it. “You’re bull-shitting me!”
Veto kept his poker face knowing what he just said was hard to believe, but true currently. “It’s the truth; ask your new attorney if you don't believe me. Mexico is smart enough to understand that the more you try to make something like a drug illegal the more power you give it.”
Veto pulled out of the underground parking lot and drove a few streets down to the law offices. “Go in there and ask for Anthony Berrera and tell him Veto sent you. You’re in the car Pincher.”
Pincher tasted the last bit of speed and asked, “Can you give me a little more of that shit?”
“I don't have any more on me but what I gave you should last you a week so don't go to crazy on it like you did last time.”
“How do I get a hold of you Veto?”
“I can't take a chance on you calling me anymore from your phone. Like I said, you are hot as a firecracker. Do you want this phone for a while?”
Veto pulled out another cell phone and watched Pincher accept it with a smile. He was hooked- hook, line and sinker. ------
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CHAPTER—20 LEVEL 4 PRISON
Topo stared out the cell like a vigilant eagle searching for survival. He noticed Felipe was still at his cell door doing the same thing. Aceves in the gun tower started subtlety bouncing from one foot to the other on his toes. It was a sign Topo never missed. “They are about to run showers.”
L’il man didn’t stop drawing. “Aceves is doing his toe dance?”
“Yes sir, he’s dancing. We’ve got 6 cells to shower in the first group before we see the second group to see if Felipe is going to do his retaliation dance to the sun god.”
Every resident in building 6 paying attention to the signs heard the second one. An audible click tapped through the speakers the gun tower control guard turned on. Then, he tapped his microphone as another preparation for an announcement.
Intuitively Topo’s attention went to cell 101. The black monster in that cell was allegedly a well known shot caller for the bloods who used to reside in San Diego. He went by Pyro-Maniac. He was an ex basketball player that should have played pro had it not been for a murder charge that bordered on self defense depending on the perspective of the defending attorney and prosecutor. At 40 years old, the 6’9 inch 260 pound built up like a muscle and fitness model could still be seen holding down the prison basketball court toma-hocking slam dunks with so much leaping ability his head reached the height of the 10 foot rim and sometimes did hit the backboard a foot lower. Now, he was psyching himself up in an obvious manner by bouncing on his toes from one foot to the other and taking in huge gulps of air while stretching out his neck by rotating his head from side to side.
Topo aired the info to his cellie. “That black gorilla monster Pyro in cell 101 is fittin to fuck someone up!”
L’il man laughed at how his cellie tried to use black slang when talking about the Black race.
&nbs
p; As soon as the words left Topo’s lips Pyro turned toward his cellie and mahem took center stage in the 8-foot by 6-foot arena.
The entire building in unit 6 reverberated with the sound of large loud men throwing all manner of punches, knees, grappling throws, and then the sound of bodies bouncing off walls. By the sounds made, one person was winning.
Topo watched Aceves acknowledge the noise and then calmly train his gun in the direction of the cell fight. He didn’t hurry with a decision. He lowered the gun and started laughing and got the other tower guard’s attention. After watching for another 30 seconds, the control tower guard at the microphone aired the decision. “Stop horse-playin and I won’t hit the alarm and bring the block gun, pepper spray and all day wait in a phone booth for disciplinary action, along with a trip to the hole.”
Pyro, the victor in the cell battle, yelled out his cell, “Get this nigga out of my house! He can’t pay his rent and he farts in my cell like it’s his!”
The tower at the microphone pushed a button on the control board that popped cell 101’s door open.
Pyro’s cellie tried to duck under a palm slap to the back of his head and was unsuccessful. The beat down smaller black man ran out of the cell for his life in terror with the whole building at their doors watching.
Pyro made the scene last by throwing some of the ex resident’s property out the open door, finishing with bed linens, prison mat and cosmetics.
Aceves waited and watched until Pyro shut the cell door enclosing him behind the barricade. Then he walked down the stairs and through the vestibule and into the interior of the building. He walked to cell 101 shaking his head without an ounce of compassion for the pathetic looking beaten down man shaking in fear from nearly losing his life. At Pyro’s cell door he asked loud enough for the entire building to hear in a voice and manner that belied friendship with the dangerous inmate. “What really happened Pyro?”
“Aceves…That nigga farted in my cell all day and night like something crawled up in his ass and died. I aint never smelt anything like it. I tolt that nigga to put that ass up next to the cell door and fan that shit out of my house or sit that ass on the toilet tight while flushing that stanky smell out of my air space like any dignified self respectin nigga but he wasn’t willin to undergo Pyro’s cell training. So give me another cellie. This time take your time and give me someone with mo money and dignity. I’m gonna hold out hope you bring me O.J Simpson.”
Vincent Prestolli in his cell said to his cellie, “Yellin, Tellin and Smellin.”
One of the blacks from a cell nearby yelled, “Pyro put the smash down on his cellie. His head looks like its deformed nigga. Ya I can see Pryo’s boot print on the side of his face!”
The black inmate on the other end of the conversation from the other side of the building yelled out asking, “Is the nigga bleedin?”
“Fuck ya the niggas’ bleeding. We talking a straight Pryo beat down. His nose is crushed, one eye looks like it aint ever gonna open and there is a pool of blood where that nigga is sittin. Looks like Aceves aint even goin to call the medic. That’s a cold prison guard. He’s locking that nigga in a phone booth.”
Aceves put the beaten down inmate in the iron cage and walked back through the vestibule. Building 6 heard the audible click of a door popping and Aceves climbed the stairs back to the tower. He talked to the control guard for a few minutes.
Topo, watching everything, said, “I’m betting they run showers and forget about the paperwork.”
Still drawing, L’il man said, “I’m betting with the house on that one.”
Topo laughed that he was the one with the keys, the house, the authority, the decision maker, the shot caller. After the laugh he thought seriously, I’m a Mexican mafia shot caller since 1982 when we had all the rules and regulations with an iron fist. It’s not quite like that anymore but I haven’t changed with the times. Topo gave his little brother for life the next bet he was waiting for. “I’m betting a case of top ramen soup that Felipe and his cellie Chapo are going to get their money on Sinaloa’s ex cartel boss.”
“L’il man responded, “I’ll take that bet. There is no way Felipe would risk the ramifications of not heeding your red light decision.”
Topo thought, what a loyal soldier I have for a cellie. “Felipe came to me with permission to kill the ex-Sinaloa boss for killing all those women and children and then blaming the Michoacán cartel. His uncle Ernesto is the boss of his cartel in Michoacán. He is bound by Mexican honor to kill that piece of shit.”
Felipe stared at Aceves in the gun tower while also watching two of the three building’s showers. He gave his cellie Chapo the play by play. “The blacks in the shower next to Topo’s cell are almost done. The whites on the other side are taking their time though. We’ve got more than five minutes until we give Ponce his blood bath.”
Chapo sat on his bunk with two prison-made razor blade shanks. He thought, these are the easiest weapons to make in here and the most lethal. His thoughts went to Ponce out-loud. “How could the Sinaloa cartel allow Ponce to run their program so dishonorably? I wonder if their next chief will be so evil.”
Felipe had been considering the same thing for the last year since finding out of Ponce’s arrest in Riverside. He gave his philosophy. “The honor in smuggling has evaporated. It’s all turning into the devil’s playground. The master of all lies and deception is Satan so it makes sense that El Diablo would join with another cartel practicing witchcraft. I’m betting their next leader will be even worse. I can understand why Ponce did what he did. He and his smuggling counterparts had too many wives they treated horribly and beat and that is after they let them know about their entire drug smuggling tunnels into the U.S. Then they realized that they knew about the Mexican military being involved in escorting a billion dollar load across. I sent Topo a detailed letter explaining an alliance my uncle Ernesto is setting up between our cartel and Sinaloa’s new leader.”
Felipe watched the black inmates. They were done with their showers and were talking to other black inmates through the side of closed cell doors. They were passing books and other things while the whites were drying off in their shower. Felipe said, “It’s time to get our money brother.”
Felipe heard the tapping noise reverberate through the intercom and time seemed too slow. The gun tower’s hand rose and fell. The white inmates walking in state boots walked in slow motion like they were walking on the moon. The black inmates talked, gestured and moved their hands to black inmates on the other side of closed cell doors at half speed. Then, the tower guard sped up everything.
“NEXT GROUP! NEXT GROUP! CELL 107-113 STAND BY!”
Chapo stood next to Felipe and handed him one of two of the razor shanks. Each razor was snugly fit in a chopped in half hollowed out bic pen. The razor had been squeezed into the hollowed part, half in, half out, plenty of room to cut a jugular.
Felipe and Chapo held their shower bags containing cosmetics hanging from their shoulders with both hands holding towels concealing trouble underneath.
Felipe watched Ponce and his cellie Tito come out of their cell. They walked to the middle showers, next to Topo’s cell. Tito stepped into the shower. He turned the water on and let it run over his face.
Topo watched Felipe and Chapo step out of their cell. He knew Felipe’s intentions by the absolute focus radiating from his body with every fiber. Topo told L’il man. “Felipe is going to kill Ponce. I’m going to help him.” Topo leaned his mouth to the side of his cell and called, “Ponce! Hey holmes let me talk to you for a second.”
Ponce, still holding his shower gear, walked to Topo’s cell and leaned to the side of it to hear Topo clearly. That’s all it took.
Felipe, charged with adrenaline and the power of silence, knew on an intimate level not many men reached, that Topo knew his intentions and was helping him fulfill his destiny.
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CHAPTER—21 LAGUNA BEACH-- B.J. and Annette-----
Annette sat on her towel wearing a white Brazilian-cut bikini soaking in the late summer sun. She was laying on her back with her elbows propped up enough to watch the surf. Guys young and old and a few women walking the beach turned to look at her gorgeous porcelain body. She thought about the last few days.
B.J had solved the problem of where to sleep temporarily. He had said it was his fault the shelter kicked them out and then found a way to sleep there unbeknownst to anyone at the shelter. The shelter consisted of four floors. The bottom floor consisted of a garage for storage, a food storage room, a laundry room and clothing room residents of Laguna donated into aptly named Nordstrom’s. He decided the garage would make a nice tuck in for the night and found three different ways to get in. One was to lift up on the corner of the garage door and slide through the narrow opening. That worked but was too loud and dangerous so he cut the lock and replaced it with another lock and left the spare key still attached. The other entrance was through a window to the laundry room. That night the left key worked and B.J used the spare to open it after the new night shift made rounds. It was easy to get into the garage.
Annette looked at B.J resting on his stomach facing the other way with his elbows planted and his hands under his propped up chin staring toward Laguna Beach’s downtown shops. “What are you studying baby? You’re missing the waves.”
Upon Release From Prison Page 9