The inmates, the Mexicans and Blacks didn’t come anywhere close to getting down and laying in the prone position because that would mean certain death and the odds of getting hit with live rounds were a better life bet.
The inmates in cells inside the buildings felt the death tension and heard the continual order to “GET DOWN!” through the speakers, coupled with the noises of warriors in battle, the sound of block guns booming, the continual order, “GET DOWN”, and then the live rounds being fired, and the chaos kept going.
On the yard, the main tower guard for the entire yard, an ex-military sharp shooter, didn’t want to kill inmates so he fired from the block guns over and over and watched while the deputies emerged from every building, and then other yards, to help the deputies already on the yard. Canisters of tear gas were being thrown by his partner next to him and every other building’s tower guards, along with guards on the yard. It was getting harder to see through the haze of tear gas rising like a fog over a cemetery. The inmates were not getting down. They were at war through the fog in an already darkened ugly sky. Clusters of grouped 5 on 1 death fights were happening all over the yard. Every Mexican seemed to have a homemade weapon in each hand; some of the blacks did also. In many sections inmates lay on the ground knocked unconscious while getting stabbed and stomped repeatedly. The gun tower guard picked up the rifle for live rounds, still not wanting to kill, but the inmates were out of control and the deputies on the ground were nowhere near able to stop them. He felt his adrenaline surge and his protective nature abhorred what he was seeing. Down below, 150 feet away, laid the unconscious body of a black man. His blue jean state jacket had blood pouring out leaving an even darker stain as 4 Mexicans kneeled over the body slamming weapons in and out, with another standing and stomping the beanie covered head into the ground. A handful of guards surrounded the attack yelling to “GET DOWN!” to no avail. They weren’t stopping, they were intent on killing. He had to stop it, the animals down below were possessed and he fired a live round at one of the Mexicans. A head shot. The Mexican crumpled to the ground and the other 4 finally lay down. The guards closed in and zip-tied the four inmates. The tower guard looked elsewhere. Madness continued… no one was getting down. On and on the blood bath continued and live rounds knocked patches of inmates to the prone position for zip-tied confinement. A few minutes into the deadly war, it appeared that it was over, with all the inmates down on the ground, flat on their stomachs, and then, the Mexicans popped back up and went back to war on the lying flat Black inmates. They weren’t done. More live rounds fired, another cluster down and zip tied, and it kept on going. Eventually, after nearly 15 minutes of hell, the guards regained control and the sounds of helicopters filled the airwaves and underneath the haze medical units placed inmates on stretchers.
The news media had a field day with the statistics of death and injured and the makings of a deadly race war brewing. One sagacious news writer for the L.A Times mentioned it might be the result of a territory war the Black gangs had imposed for control of certain streets in south central L.A a few years earlier. All 36 California prisons went on lockdown immediately to try and quell a forest fire of death from erupting.
CHAPTER—24 Topo’s dream– He wakes up to a postcard from lockdownpublishing.com
L’il Man finished his Navy-Seal exercise routine, cleaned the cell and began making lunch. He got out of the way for Topo to do his routine and used his sheet metal bunk to prepare the feast. What used to be a power cord for a T.V was now a water heater. The cord was plugged into the wall and the end of it now had a metal belt buckle sizzling inside a bowl of water that got over 200 degrees. The boiling bowl of water emitted a humming noise while lunch was prepared.
L’il man cut state baloney with a plastic spoon through the baloney wrapper and dumped it into another bowl of top ramen soup and added dried refried beans on top. He poured the boiling water over the top and waited 10 minutes. Then added Srirachi hot sauce, mayo, mustard and pork rinds added flavor. He wrapped the mix with tortillas for burritos.
Topo finished his routine just as L’il man wrapped the last burrito. L’il man watched Topo’s 53 year old body crouch down on the concrete floor so his mouth was level with the opening at the bottom of the cell door. He announced, “Dispenser on the tierra: Puppet, quires comida? Goofy...Quires? Lonely Boy... Quires? Vincent...Are you hungry brother?”
For the next 30 minutes Topo sent fishing line flying like a rodeo expert with two burritos per cell to fill the bellies of the hungry and it filled his soul with a tiny ray of purpose. At the end, only one burrito remained.
L’il man cut the burrito in two and thought about Topo. His reputation started growing at 18 when a hard-hitting rival street gang openly put a hit out on him. He immediately entered the enemy’s territory and executed the hit man whose mouth spoke his name. From there young Topo went to the gang’s 60 year old shot caller and brokered peace between the two gangs. His reputation grew exponentially with his ability to solve problems thereafter. The most curious part of Topo’s reputation was he openly admitted he was Christian. That had sent an invisible line through the underground structure among his people. Some openly tipped their hat in tribute to his authenticity, some sat on the fence secretly rooting for him and the other half rooted against him with thoughts that he shouldn’t try to serve two masters. At times, when schemers from the half voiced dissension among the ranks it hadn’t worked out well for them. Topo had simplified his response that he read from only 2 books, the Bible first and foremost and Sun Tzu’s, Art of War.
Before eating, Topo opened his Bible to Psalm 139. After the reading L’il man asked, “How have you held on to your faith in this life?”
“I was baptized with the Holy Spirit at 2 and God is the one holding on to me, His resistant child.”
L’il Man thought about the dreams Topo had been having for the last week. “When are you going to tell me about the dreams?”
“As soon as I understand them, if I try to explain them I won’t be able to see them as clearly. I’m about to start flying in them.”
L’il man watched him prepare for his nap. Topo said, “I’ll be back in the cell for mail call.”
The dream came immediately after he let go. From tan concrete, to green gun towers, to birds flying over the electric fence surrounding the prison, to giant green trees...everything stopped at the nest of a Bald Eagle as resistance got in the way. The resistance came from the subconscious. Chuco’s baby face flashed by at 2 years old. Topo remembered Chuco’s mother holding him with precious care as the preacher poured water over his head. That image flashed by and guilt took over. Why did I send Chuco on that mission? Because I had decided that he was already locked into a street life. What about his future? I have to help him have one! The resistance overwhelmed and Topo lost the vision of his dream. His leg kicked. He felt a tear sliding down his cheek. He was back in the cell. Lying on his bunk, then, he removed his will from the dream and as he let go, he was again at the top of a redwood tree in the eagle’s nest. The subconscious imagined a nest made of twigs until talons holding them was attained. Feeling them squeezing on twigs…Squeezing, Holding, Tight, Tighter. Now, seeing like an eagle. Now, perceiving like an eagle. And then blindness again. Topo squeezed against the nest with talons firmly locked to avoid being back in the cell again. It worked. The blindness turned into a flashing cornucopia of recent life decisions. It started with having to hide the whole truth from his cellie L’il Man. I had to make him and the others think I put a red light on Felipe’s need to avenge his people on the other side of the border. If I would have given him a green light to spill his enemies blood all of the Mexicans from the other side of the border would have been on lock down from Felipe’s vengeance for months, maybe years, depending on the prison investigation and decision. Then, if this problem we are having with the blacks, that is out of my control, becomes a bigger problem, which it is going to, with only part of the Mexicans off lock-down, I would be
held responsible for any deaths or serious injuries by those warriors left standing, looking at younger brothers who had been outnumbered, injured and bleeding and being put on gurneys. They would have looked at me like I should have decreed an edict not to let Felipe handle his vengeance yet. Topo held on with his talons against the resistance to figure it all out to maintain his perch 600 feet in the air. Mollified that he’d done all he could at the time, he looked at all the green tree tops with wonder. Hundreds of trees, green leaves, brown branches, the wind blowing, the trees leaning, the leaves falling, and other birds flying...Another Eagle landed a tree away. He stood on his perch studying the area with pieces of meat held firmly by talons. The Eagle’s eyes darted in every direction like he was securing the area. Topo’s Eagle eyes watched the other Eagle seem to understand something, something not right. On instinct, the other Eagle stared right at Topo. Topo stared right into the Eagle’s eyes and felt his wings open up slowly and a screech fly from his mouth. Comforted, the other Eagle turned his attention to his baby Eagles and fed them. Topo watched the little mouths crying out for food with their beaks tilted upward to gobble pieces of flesh. The father Eagle finished his feeding duty. He screeched out a call and heard a strained screech come back in return, and then, the noise of wings flying hard. On instinct, Topo felt his vision pulled toward the flying noise. A beautiful Eagle held a mouse in both talons and flew majestic, higher and higher. The female Eagle landed in the nest next to her mate. The mate done feeding now, now scanning the area to secure the perimeter, satisfied with the security, gave his mate his attention. He leaned his proud feathered frame against her frame from behind and used his beak on the back of her neck. She busied herself with her baby Eagles and flapped her wings to push her mate off. He didn’t seem to mind and turned and studied the area. Then, he jumped and his wings flapped twice for the only momentum needed to find the wind direction and soar with its power. Topo did the same thing. He jumped and felt his wings moving on instinct and found the wind. The feeling was Holy. It was Pure. Pure what? Pure Truth… Topo felt his subconscious get in the way as he asked, then where am I flying? Am I flying south? Am I flying toward the ocean? Questioning the Purity of Truth made flying harder. That made the tree tops look foreboding. Descending toward them, losing control, forgetting how to fly, Topo realized he was flying south, toward the ocean, on a Predestined Path. The greens of the trees zooming dangerously close only took stretching his wings to find the wind to soar above them again. The effortlessness brought Clarity. Deep in the subconscious-Deeper in the subconscious-Deeper yet-Deeper-Clarity… Purity…-TRUTH. Topo heard a voice inside his head. YOU DON’T HAVE TO KNOW WHY IT IS TRUE, JUST THAT IT IS TRUE. –Topo screeched–But how do I know it’s true if I don’t understand it?–The voice–YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND MY WAYS, YOU ARE BUT A GRAIN OF SAND I CREATED, JUST ANOTHER ONE OF MY THOUGHTS...Topo screeched out–But how do I know which way to turn, what decisions to make?–The voice–SEEK MY GUIDANCE AND I WILL GIVE IT, KNOCK AND THE DOOR SHALL BE OPENED...The voice stopped and Topo felt the ocean. The lighter colors of blue sky above the ocean became visible above the still extending forest until all the colors of the sky blended into the ocean water. The wind beneath Topo’s wings got stronger. The shades of blue sky blended into lighter shades of blue downward into the ocean’s crashing white foam and met black and brown rocks covered with green moss. The wind blew harder. He felt it getting Stronger and Colder. It turned into Turbulence. Topo felt his wings make adjustments to the wind until it became natural to lean in every direction the wind took him. Above the ocean now, Topo headed south. He leaned toward the rocky cliff-line and saw Pelicans flying below. They were flying in a V-shaped formation only 100 feet above the water. Following the leader, the Pelicans dropped softly into the ocean next to a kelp bed floating on the shifting ocean. The younger Pelicans floated and bobbed with the rising and falling water watching their mommas and poppas fly back into the sky. The elders flying above circled the water looking for a meal. Then, one of the Pelicans dove beak first straight down into the water to pop up seconds later with a beak full of sustenance. From 600 feet in the air Topo saw the strong fish swimming right before the Pelicans beak opened and closed on it to snatch it from the water and fly it in the sky to the children. Topo felt the wind blowing downward and felt his wings squeeze tighter and dove lower. He was flying Faster. Lower yet. Lower than the black-brown rocky cliff-line to just above the water. Topo felt the spray of ocean and passed under the Golden Gate Bridge...Passing Santa Cruz...Passing Big Sur...The white caps on the ocean blurred into southern California...Back in familiar territory. The pressure squeezed in with the memories. The memories were like a leash. The leash was holding and yanking, determined not to let go. Then, the sky filled with color. The many shades of blue started turning red into orange and back into red as the pressure increased. Then, the sky got darker. The many shades of red were turning burnt orange and holding on before being enveloped in blackness. The inky blackness seeped in until everything was black. Blinded… In the inky blackness Topo had to fly on instinct. He had to feel the wind direction and adjust to it until he understood he was flying upward. Fear crept in. I can’t see. I can’t see! The dream stopped being. No more bird form. No more flying. Topo’s eyes adjusted and he found himself in Old Town San Diego gangland. He found himself standing in the middle of a thousand street gangsters, sheltered in obscurity, holding a meeting. Topo knew the discussion involved orders to go into Mexico to secure the new alliance. It was to secure the Southern California arm for Power and Control. The 1000 street gangsters walked through Topo as if he were invisible. They all walked through him. All marched with determined, Grim faces. Their orders: to invade and conquer, to control the pipeline spewing drugs, spewing disease, spewing lies, spewing death. The chaos of the Drug War–Corruption–Deception–Greed. Topo stood firm. Rooted to the ground. Holding fast to Truth as he understood it. Blocking the evilness trying to seep in. Trying to infect. Insidious. Seeking Truth. Needing Truth. Praying for Truth. Topo felt his body leave the ground. Back in bird form. It was dark but getting lighter. Rays of light seemed to push the darkness away. Rays of light came in to pierce the darkness. The darkness was afraid of the light. The darkness was a lie. The light the Truth. Topo flew harder into the light. It was hard. The harder he tried, the closer to the ground he fell. It was fear making it harder. Why am I forgetting how to fly? It got worse. Falling back toward the ground a number of black crows surrounded Topo. More black birds. They chased. They surrounded. They circled. Topo was falling back toward the ground, then, he felt a screech fly our of his mouth and everything clicked into place. He flew effortlessly higher. Higher still. Higher yet. The black crows couldn’t fly as high.
L’il Man studied Topo. He was flat on his back with his blue bandanna tied halfway over his eyes. His eyelids were fluttering. L’il Man had just received mail from the guard and thought, Topo never sleeps past the noise of mail being delivered. L’il Man said, “TOPO!”
Topo opened his eyes… Back in the cell.
L’il Man said, “You got some mail from B.J at LOCK DOWN PUBLISHING.”
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CHAPTER—25
Annette and I heard my parole officer get in her car and drive away. I felt my face turning into a grim determined mask, again, my forehead, my eyes, and my jaw, all in absolute concentration mode again. My thoughts were running wild, again. I have a warrant out for my arrest, again. I’m going back to prison, yet again.
I tried to control my thoughts in an attempt to form a strategy. If I’m going back to prison I need to make money, now, right now. I need to make money for security. Security to insure I can take care of Annette. I need to make money but do it so well that I can pick the perfect spot to turn myself in for a minor violation. Hopefully only 90–180 days. She could wait that long...Right? I found myself reacting impulsively. Like an animal. I crawled away from our sleeping quarters in the bac
k of the garage to an opening that went under the shelter.
Annette whispered, “What are you doing?”
“I’m securing another entry and exit point.”
Annette said, “Use this flashlight.”
I caught the flashlight and tried to smile through my confused mask. I remembered how each night Annette had used the flashlight to make sure our bed was clear of spiders.
I panned the flashlight under the shelter’s wooden structure supported by stilts; it allowed narrow passages to crawl through until each path reached the front of the shelter. I began crawling. I felt my knees hitting soft dirt, it was getting moist. In front of me spiders scurried, bugs crawled, and rodents ran. I made it to the end of the passage where I met a section of wood the size of a large dog door. I felt the wood. It was rotted and soft. It was easy to cut into and I went to work. I carved a 3 foot by 4 foot hole for the next 20 minutes. My mind slowed and my thoughts went to turning myself in. But what about the novel I wrote for 6 plus years? What about the prison protest and the prisoner-outreach I was promising inmates? Should I turn myself in, make money, or follow my vision?
I pushed the rotted wood and it gave along the lines I’d carved. Light shined through and it fell partially open. I could push it all the way through when necessary and fit through. It would put me on the Coast Hwy. I wedged the piece of wood back into place and crawled back to Annette.
Annette studied B.J and thought, he looks so focused its borderline scary. I love him more than I have ever loved but can I handle this? “B.J, where are we going to sleep tonight?”
“Here.”
“Even with your parole officer lurking?”
“We stay here until the wheels fall of the car.”
Annette thought, he’s not even asking me what I think. “What happens if the wheels fall off?”
Upon Release From Prison Page 11