“I’ve got a spare in the trunk.”
I slowed my roll and studied Annette right in her eyes. They looked extremely worried. Her sudden lack of faith in me was making this harder. “Baby if you believe in me I can do this.”
I watched Annette’s eyes get softer. I felt mine soften. Then, I started to wonder again, what am I going to do? My worry was contagious. Annette started biting on her finger nail. She asked, “Where should we go today?”
“To the church.”
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Julie, the shelter employee who had the most experience, who did the initial intake interviews, watched B.J crawl through the laundry room window. He landed on the ground and then pulled Annette’s legs into his arms and set her on the ground. They both walked away and blended into pedestrians walking on the Coast Hwy.
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I drove to the church trying to make sense out of an insane world. I knew Annette needed me to make sense out of this life with words, but I didn’t have any. She was biting on her nails again and I felt the pressure squeezing in. She felt me looking at her vulnerable state and looked into my eyes. “Your parole officer could find you at the church if the shelter tells her which one.”
We were a few streets away from our church and I saw the cross on top of it. I took off my beloved necklace with the giant silver cross. I put it on Annette. She immediately put the chain in her mouth and bit while holding the cross in both hands. She looked at me with her big beautiful eyes and I noticed the chain was way too long for her tiny, exquisite neck and my heart melted. I told her, “We’ve got today.”
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Pastor Steve sat in a circle with three other men for the Prison-Homeless Outreach and was the last to pray.
“Father God, Sovereign Lord, we come to You as servants seeking Your guidance for tomorrows trip into prison to bring Your Word. We ask that you seal our lips to just listen to the prisoners when necessary and loosen our tongues boldly with Your love on Your time. We ask that You open hearts with the grand key only You hold to soften hearts and breath Your Spirit into them from the inside out until they are crying out for You Lord. In Jesus precious name. Amen.”
The four men with hands clasped in a circle lifted their heads. Pastor Steve was the first to notice two people walk by. The rest of the men followed Steve to the door. Out in the hallway they stared at a man wearing pinstriped pants, white tank top and a pinstriped fedora pulled low. He was over 200 lbs standing next to a girl in a skirt at less than 100 lbs. They were standing next to a painting on the wall. Pastor Bill said, “That’s B.J and Annette.”
I set my laptop bag on the ground and pulled the best piece of art I’d received from prison thus far. It was a depiction of God over evil. I saw in it the Guardian Angel Michael the Protector flying down from God to rescue Annette and I from the ways of this world. The intricate shading made Michael’s heavenly wings push the evil off us with so much force that our running bodies were being turned toward God. You could see us both holding our crosses but our eyes were fuzzy with tears in a blur. We were being pulled heavenward. The piece was signed, THE VOICELESS. I held the piece against the wall next to the other painting. I noticed a group of men.
Pastor Steve stood behind B.J looking at the piece of art. He knew it was prison art. It was done in pencil and pen. He affectionately squeezed B.J’s arm and said, “You look like a body builder son. How much do you bench press, 400 lbs?”
“I don’t work with weights, just my body weight.”
Pastor Bill said, “They don’t have weights in California’s state prisons anymore. B.J have you been to Pelican Bay?”
I looked at the men. I’d never seen any of them before. I asked the man who asked if I’d been to the Bay, “You writing a book or something?”
He said, “No but I heard you did while in prison.”
I looked at the men. They were all nodding their heads in encouragement. Annette had made sure the whole church was talking about my novel. I looked into each of the four men’s eyes. I didn’t see any judgment. Just smile lines. I said, “The prisoners need better art supplies and instructional writing material so they can learn how to write scripts faster then I did.”
The men introduced themselves and we all went into the Prison-Homeless Outreach room. We sat on chairs in a small circle and I pulled everything out of my laptop bag. I showed them the trail of letters that came with the piece of art that depicted God over evil. I read other letters to the men. Many of the prisoners wondered how I knew they happened to be writing scripts. I explained to the pastors that while writing my novel in prison it would have helped to have had instructional writing guides. Other letters asked me how I planned to sell their art. I told the pastors that my vision was to get churches and local galleries invested in taking donations on pieces of art from the inmates and establishing a trust fund. Each inmate would donate a small percentage to the Make a Wish Foundation to help kids and give back to society and the rest of the trust would be for the inmate to take care of his family from behind prison walls to give the inmate self worth, an identity away from crime and new roots. As I finished explaining my vision tears slid down my cheeks and fell on some of the prison letters. I fingered through the 40 pages of California prison inmate addresses that covered over 30 prisons and decided to hand it over. “Take this list and do more with it than I can.”
Pastor Bill Fingered through the 40 pages and said, “It looks like you sent around 500 letters to prisoners and I see you chose the hardest core prisons. Why are you choosing those prisons?”
“Because if we reach those prisoners, the gang leaders and the most zealous, and convert their lives, from the inside out, the effect will run down to the youngsters going down the wrong path.”
Pastor Steve said, “I just finished praying for that in a different way.”
Pastor Bill said, “B.J we could start a charitable foundation and make you a director. If you go to college and develop a business plan our church will pay you a your wife to live on…”
My cell phone vibrated. It was Screwball. “That would take more time than I have.”
Annette and I walked to the car. The men followed us out.
“B.J let us help you.”
“Only God can help me now.”
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Julie watched B.J pull out of the church parking lot. She walked to the men watching him drive away.
“Were B.J and Annette donating their time to this church?”
Pastor Bill said, “They sure were. They were helping the orphans.”
Pastor Bill watched Juilie’s strong 60 year old face get even stronger. “Good Lord we kicked them out of the shelter for nothing and now B.J has a warrant out for his arrest with parole.”
Pastor Steve from the Prison-Homeless Outreach decided to call the parole officer. He thought, I should be able to fix that warrant with some diplomacy. After all, B.J was working. The church made the mistake and didn’t call the shelter to verify. The parole department will understand.
Pastor Bill and Julie watched the Pastor tap the phone number with a determined look on his face.
“Is this Benny Johnson’s parole officer?”
“Yes it is! Where is he?”
Pastor Bill and Julie listened to both sides of the conversation.
Pastor Bill thought, B.J’s parole officer sounds aggressive.
Julie thought, that lady doesn’t sound reasonable.
Pastor Steve responded, “I don’t know where B.J is but I was hoping to clear up this problem. It’s more of a misunderstanding than a problem.”
“This isn’t a misunderstanding! Who are you to B.J?”
Bill whispered, “Don’t identify yourself.”
Pastor Steve gave the other P
astor an over confident look of faith and responded slowly, “This is Pastor Steve Hagy from Calvary. Our church employed B.J and Annette. They were helping the orphans but our church didn’t call the shelter to let them know they had a job. They got kicked out.”
The parole officer cut the Pastor off. “How do you spell your full name? I also need the address of Calvary…Is this Annette you mentioned B.J’s girlfriend?”
Pastor Steve gave the thumbs up to Pastor Bill and Julie leaned over and said into the phone, “So you will lift the warrant?”
“No! B.J should have called me immediately after he got kicked out for a change of address! He is going to prison for a violation and you, the Calvary Church, the shelter and this Annette are all going to be subpoenaed by the state against B.J.”
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CHAPTER—26
I drove away and talked to Screwball on the phone. He told me Damon Smith was in the L.A county jail fighting a drug charge and was asking me to visit. I got Damon’s booking number and Annette looked up the visiting information. She pulled it up on my cell phone and read.
“He’s in the Maximum Security Gang-Unit. It says the Twin Towers facility is built on 10 acres with buildings that contain just less than 1.5 million square feet. The Towers have been constructed using the efficient Panoptic design. What’s that?”
I knew the Panoptic design intimately from doing time in it in the county jails and prisons. So many different cells it was hard to take count. I also knew from reading, the Panoptic design was developed by the philosopher Sir Samuel Bentham to try to insure that prisoners were observed at all times from every angle. It was supposed to insure complete control by the jail guards. I explained. “It’s set up so that cells face a central tower in a slight circle to avoid blind spots. There is a window in the back of the cell and at the front of the cell to light up the inmate. There is a walkway behind the cells that guards walk through to absolutely surround them. It’s not perfect. One cell in each unit, usually next to the shower has a slight blind spot from the control tower.”
“Can the inmates see the guards in the control tower?”
“No. They are behind blacked out tint.”
“Can the inmates get around all of that security?”
“Of course. Most of the guards don’t know sign language so inmates communicate in secret. Then they play the most basic of war games, distraction. The old fake left go right. They set something up on one end to get attention that way and handle business on the other side. It gets much deeper.”
“Who really controls the jail?”
“The inmates. Think about it. The guards work an 8 hour shift and go home. The inmates work a 24 hour shift and have to survive interior politics that kill 7 days a week. The other half of the unit we are going to see Damon in is for medical. The poor inmates that can’t handle the mental pressure break and go on medication.”
I thought about how the harder the system tried to maintain control, the harder the captives fought back to maintain the power and control edge. The system was just building bigger monsters.
Annette said, “It says visiting is until 7 pm. How are you going to pull this off with a warrant out for your arrest? Won’t they take you into custody?”
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CHAPTER—27
Maltobano couldn’t sleep. He thought about April in his bed. He was awake on the couch going over what happened and wondered what he was going to say to the Director in the morning.
“Maltobano you really fucked up! When you saw April running from Pincher’s what should you have done?”
“Called 911 and report the incident to follow protocol and keep my investigation pristine and uncontaminated.”
“Your next mistake was driving her to Veto’s house. We’re far from pristine. The investigation is corrupted.”
Director Bonafino studied Maltobano for a few seconds and asked, “What should you have done?”
“I should have called you immediately instead of taking April to my house.”
Director Bonafino nodded his head. “My wife, the director of the Hope House for Abused Women would have taken her off your hands.”
“I got lost in my emotions.”
“Were you thinking about your mom’s abuse?”
Maltobano covered his eyes. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
Director Bonafino had compassion. “Your mom is in heaven still loving you son.”
Maltobano’s tears flowed harder. Then, he heard two woman’s heels walking from the room next door.
April and Mrs. Bonafino were holding hands crying, looking right at Maltobano.
April said, “Thanks for helping me Maltobano.”
She lifted her and Mrs. Bonafino’s clasped hand and said, “She is letting me stay with her at the Hope House. I’m going to help other women who have been abused. Can I call you to hear your voice before I go to sleep?”
Maltobano looked at Director Bonafino for guidance. The director nodded his head once.
Maltobano said, “I’d like that. Hearing your voice will help me sleep.”
The Director smiled at his wife and the two men watched the women walk toward Hope. The Director looked back into Maltobano’s eyes and said, “Time for you to get back to work son.”
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Maltobano watched Veto drop an overstuffed basket in the driveway to answer his phone. It looked like he was at the end of the process of moving belongings to another safe house…A couple minutes later he followed him from a distance. Veto stopped at a home near the top of the San Gabriel Valley. An hour later he drove to the L.A county jail.
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CHAPTER—28
The L.A county jail Twin Towers was like an ant pile packed with motion. I felt the energy radiating and my ingrained survival tactics from 20 years of street and prison warfare took over. I parked the car in as close to a blind spot as I could toward the exit in case I had to flee from the jail. I left my phone with Annette.
I looked for men in the parking lot who resembled me enough to use their I.D. Anyone from 30-40 years old with brown hair and blue or green eyes would work. I saw an obvious criminal. He was standing next to a Crown Vic that had once been an undercover cop car. The car was torn up now that a criminal wasn’t taking care of it. The kicker was the Arizona license plate. Upon closer inspection, he was a White man that fit my description enough. He was standing next to a Mexican lady. I stopped at the car and rested my hand on the police issue spotlight. The shock value on both of their faces was enjoyable. I cut through the chase. “I need an assist. I need to borrow your I.D to visit my homeboy.”
The ‘trying to hide he was a criminal’ asked me who I was. I told him point blank. He didn’t know me. I worked on the lady and found out where she grew up. Then, I found the neighborhood. I explained the history of that neighborhood, the shot callers and warriors who made the neighborhood grand, then the level four prisons where some had made a name for themselves, the interior politics and then some of the treaties we’d formed to deal with rules and regulations. When I was done the lady said, “Give him your I.D Darren.”
I walked toward visiting with the Mexican lady. Darren stayed by the car but said, “B.J you shouldn’t wear that Fedora brim. You look like a gangster.”
I made it through the visiting line and waited for a booth. An hour later I was called to booth 14. I studied the layout. Visitors walked up a flight of stairs and found their booth number above a Plexiglas window. Each booth had a hard chair and a phone connected to the Plexiglas. I looked through it. The jail guards were down below, behind the inmates, inside the control booth. I wondered how they monitored the visit. They couldn’t see
the inmates, only their backs. They must have video. I looked up and found a number of cameras. They were set up at an angle to monitor the inmates. Not the visitors. The guards were relying on the phones to monitor the visitors.
A tall healthy Mexican wearing the same silver cross I had made his way to the booth next to me, booth 13. He looked familiar. Maybe I’d seen him in one of the prisons where I’d done time? Maybe he just had the same body language so many of us carry. He realized I was studying him. He stuck out his hand and said, “Veto.”
I shook his hand and said, “B.J.”
We both looked through the Plexiglas and saw inmates walk through a door from the inside of the jail. I noticed Damon walking with other inmates. They all had excited looks on their faces like getting out of a cage for a visit was like a trip to Disneyland.
I couldn’t help but say, “Damon.”
Veto couldn’t help but say, “Chuco.”
Now Veto looked at me like he might know me from times past. I looked at him while we both picked up the visiting phone and wiped the end we were going to speak through with our shirts simultaneously. Veto said, “Small world.”
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Annette saw a white Mercedes pull into the visiting parking lot. She noticed the man as he drove by. He was around 50 years old with a receding hairline. Something seemed weird. The man drove slowly, like he was studying every car, like he was law enforcement. He wheeled the Mercedes in a full circle and paused at the front of visiting, then finished the circle and parked 10 feet in front of Annette. Annette thought, he drove the same way B.J did.
The man got out of the Mercedes. He was watchful, and then focused. Annette lifted the Orange County Register to cover her face just as the man looked. After a pause, he went into the trunk. Annette watched him from the side of the newspaper. She noticed two things. First, the paper she held in her hands had a picture of B.J’s novel, Roll Call, and second, the man in the Mercedes had brought a brown leather duffel bag back into the car and was busy using the visor mirror. She watched the man reach into the duffel bag and use the mirror to apply something to his eyebrows, then, his nose, then, his hair. After almost 5 minutes, he stepped out. He looked like a different man. His hair was fuller and he had thick coke bottle spectacles covering his eyes. Annette lifted the newspaper again, then, as the man turned, she watched him run toward the Twin Tower’s visiting.
Upon Release From Prison Page 12