Upon Release From Prison

by Glenn Langohr

  Behind Patrick Healy from the back seat of the news van the video-camera-man watched the police officers run in front of the slow moving vehicle as it crept through the intersection and yelled, “We are going live in 3...2...1...”

  Patrick Healy couldn’t believe his good fortune. The action was unfolding right in front of the camera. “This is Patrick Healy with Channel 4 news in downtown Laguna Beach where a peaceful anti-prison-union protest is erupting into chaos...”

  Annette saw the police officers following the two detectives running across the street toward B.J and thought, I have to do something. She grabbed the arm of a walking protester from the F.A.C.T.S Organization and forced the man with the sign to stop causing a log jam of protesters with some spilling wider into the sand.

  I kept my eyes locked on who I now realized I knew, the good detective, Maltobano, from my past. He had chased me many times before. The heavy traffic gave me an opportunity. The channel 4 news van and a UPS truck offered the blind spot.

  As planned, I took the fedora brim off my head and placed it on the head of Veto’s relative standing next to me dressed exactly the same way I was and sprinted behind our two lines of protesters. I looked up the Coast Hwy past the Toy Store hoping not to see officers closing in from that direction. My vision wasn’t clear enough to see through bobbing heads and automobiles for sure. I got to Annette and stopped for a quick hug staring that way. It was clear.

  I tried to tear away from my beloved but she held on. I heard and felt her mouth whisper right into my ear. “I’m pregnant.”

  I tried again to tear away from her to escape to freedom and my already racing mind raced even faster with thoughts, she picked a great time to tell me, she probably wants me busted so I can’t get hurt or in worse trouble, why won’t she let go? I have to make money to afford this, how can I do this? I finally pulled away and looked into those treasured beautiful eyes and said from my heart, “God I hope it’s a little girl ballerina like you.”

  I heard my wife say, “I hope it’s a little boy just like you...”

  It took all of my physical strength to overcome my emotional struggle and pull away. My eyes were locked on Annette’s and I ran into a group of protestors and felt my neck snap hard against them at an unnatural angle. The shock of the impact woke me back up into adrenal mode and I turned and ran like a gazelle. Protesters and beach goers were in my way but as I darted in and out of them I knew they were my blind spot to safety. I ran into the sand for a second and back to a concrete walkway that took me behind the Toy Store. At the last second I made a mistake. Against my instincts I looked back through the frenzied throng right as Maltobano looked my way and caught me mid-stride looking back.

  Patrick Healy and the news crew watched in amazement at the unfolding mayhem right in front of the van. A dozen police officers converged on a man wearing a fedora and tackled him to the ground. Patrick Healy caught the action with live words for the channel 4 network.

  “The police just tackled one of the protesters right in front of us! I don’t know if it is the leader of the anti-prison protest but the subdued man is lying in the prone position with over a dozen deputies kneeling and standing on him to place on the cuffs.”

  Patrick Healy realized the detained man wasn’t B.J. The sign under– SEEKING TRUTH– was empty. The man underneath the Law was under the second sign. Patrick Healy noticed a plain clothed detective who was the first to realize the same thing.

  I ran behind the toy store and felt the immediate security the large building gave me. Mentally I assessed the nearly 70 yards of space Maltobano was from me and looked for ways to increase that space. In front of me the corner of the store ended and the sidewalk narrowed along the Coast Hwy and I darted in and out of walker-shoppers saying, “Excuse me-my bad” any time I bumped one. The Coast Hwy turned a slow slope in front of me and offered the blind spot from the downtown protest I needed to get to the underground parking lot. The traffic jam made it easy to race across. Crossing the Hwy I stole a glance and relief washed over me, only 10 yards of traffic and the corner of the Toy Store. The deputies hadn’t made it yet. No squad cars. I raced around the back of the parking garage and took the stairs missing every second one running as light as possible. Down at the bottom of three floors my pumping heart calmed further seeing Damon’s black Hummer in the corner. Damon’s smoked black tinted windows were all up except on the driver door. That window was partially down and I saw his eyes just above, heard the “click” of the trunk pop and his door swung open. I made it to the trunk just as Damon got there. In the back cargo area a 6 foot by 3 foot speaker box was lifted for me to climb under. Damon pushed the speaker box down and I felt it squeezing in on me like a coffin. He had to give it a final push and I exhaled my breath and heard one of the two, “clicks” secure me in. The second one didn’t secure but I was already panicked from the buried alive feeling. I yelled, “Just go!”

  I felt Damon’s body enter the Hummer and heard his door close and felt the vehicle back out. I breathed through my nose and felt my chest squeeze against the speaker box.

  Annette watched B.J turn the corner and disappear behind the Toy Store with agonizing finality. She heard the action behind her and turned to face it.

  “Get down!! Stop resisting!! Benny Johnson you are under arrest!! Stop resisting!! Stop resisting!!”

  Annette ran to Veto’s relative just as Patrick Healy jumped from the news van with microphone extended.

  “This is Patrick Healy with channel 4 can I talk to anyone about this anti-prison protest?”

  Sawyer looked down at the lying flat body and realized the difference. “Turn him over!”

  The beaten down stepped on kneeled on handcuffed relative of Veto yelled, “Get the fuck off me!” as he was forcefully turned toward Sawyer.

  “That’s not B.J!”

  Sawyer looked right at Annette and yelled, “Where’s B.J?”

  Annette looked at Patrick Healy, then the detective, and said, “Who told you B.J was here? I set this protest up.”

  Sawyer responded, “Bullshit. I just saw him through binoculars standing under the seeking truth sign.”

  Annette stared into his eyes and didn’t say a word.

  Sawyer broke eye contact and looked into the eyes of an officer standing above the still handcuffed detainee and said, “Arrest her.”

  Maltobano ran into the protesters and couldn’t get around the spilling everywhere bodies. They were all looking back at the police riot. He ran back toward Sawyer and heard him tell deputies to arrest Annette. He quickly pulled Sawyer aside and whispered into his ear, “Don’t arrest her. We need her for bait. B.J will die trying to get to her.”

  Sawyer yelled, “Don’t arrest her…Just yet.”

  Annette looked at the Coast Hwy and heard the throaty sound of Damon’s Hummer. Damon had the driver window partially down to his eyes. She saw his hand slide out the just open space. He had his thumb sticking in the air.

  She realized Patrick Healy was an opportunity and stepped toward him while watching the Hummer turn at the Canyon Road. “B.J. is helping prisoners all over California find a better way by channeling their creativity into stories and art. He wrote a novel the prison union will be against because it opens eyes and brings awareness to some of their flaws.”

  Annette looked away from the camera and found Sawyer. She looked into his eyes and said, “Roll Call demands social change until our criminal justice system realizes that prisons breed gangs and violence and then spits out displaced alienated souls back into the community. Like Oprah once said, it takes a community to raise children. B.J wants our justice system to forget about their 99% conviction rate and the tough on crime stances that get them elected and find ways for the community to utilize churches and job placement programs to help the transition for non-violent released prisoners. It’s time for the law to protect and serve not divide and conquer.”

  Patrick Healy brought the microphone to his chin and nodded his head. “Yo
u heard the message this anti-prison protest wants a voice for here in Laguna. What is your name and how are you connected?”

  Annette looked back into the camera. “I’m Annette, B.J’s wife.”

  Patrick Healy asked, “Can you give me any examples for this social change everyone here is demanding?”

  Annette thought about it and remembered conversations with B.J. “Nevada offers prisoners sanitation employment upon release. They acclimate back into the community picking up everyone’s trash but they find out they can survive, pay bills, raise families, contribute and fit into society. They don’t feel as desperate, alone and isolated. In Nevada released prisoners don’t fall back into crime and gangs as often. They have the lowest recidivism in the U.S.”

  Patrick Healy nodded his head with emotion. “I haven’t heard about that program in Nevada but it makes wise sense.”

  Hundreds of people packed as close to Annette as possible. They were hanging on her every word. Some yelled, “That’s right!”

  Annette smiled beautifully for the camera. She felt comfortable being who she was. “Nobody hears the good news because it doesn’t sell. It’s like we are addicted to bad news.”

  Patrick Healy felt he had enough from the protesters perspective and shifted toward the detectives. “Do you have a response to their message?”

  Sawyer looked at Maltobano. He was unwilling to step forward. Sawyer did. “That is a great idea but certain criminals don’t deserve so many chances to hurt people and then blame it on society or their parents.”

  Annette looked at him and smiled like she had waited for this opportunity to put into words what she believed in deeply, “I agree with you that people who prey on the weak, like sexual predators- shouldn’t get released- but stop judging everyone who looks like they just got out of prison, or look lost from a life of survival gone bad. In California this year over 1,300 new laws were passed! Most of them with pork laden attachments to help themselves, so what about the rest of us without government jobs, are we the enemy?”

  The Laguna crowd went wild.

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  I felt every bump on the road, every tap on the gas, and every tap on the brakes. Mentally I calculated exactly where we were along our path from my cocoon-coffin under the huge speaker. My claustrophobia was squeezing in tighter. I couldn’t breathe through my mouth and barely through my nose. I knew if I panicked any harder I’d hyperventilate. The right hand turn I felt the Hummer take left me imagining we just passed Annette. I only had a couple miles of Canyon road. I’d either get revealed at the checkpoint or make it. I just needed release. I closed my eyes and commanded myself to breathe through my nose slowly- I calmed down and felt my heart stop pounding against my chest as hard…Until the Hummer slowed, then stopped. Another car length forward and stop…Another car length forward and stop…Another car length forward and stop…

  I heard a deputy telling the vehicle in front of us, “Pop the trunk” I felt the Hummer pull forward and heard, “Anyone else in the vehicle? Lower all your windows and pop the trunk.”

  I took one deep breath through my nose and held it so I wouldn’t move it with my chest. Both of my hands had wrapped speaker wire around them to remove as much of the slack as possible. I heard the back of the Hummer’s door opening and then the deputy, “What’s up with this speaker? Why is it lifted up?”

  Then Damon’s voice said calmly, “Still working on it. It’s tied down with wires.”

  I felt the speaker being pulled on and held…It didn’t budge an inch. A couple seconds of agony later and the sound of the door thumping closed and, “Carry on.”

  The Hummer sped up. I didn’t know if I was breathing. Beads of sweat slid down my face and got in my eyes and it didn’t bother me for some reason. I was floating on the edge of being unconscious, then nothing.

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  “B.J! Get out we made it!”

  I felt my chest straining against something and then started coughing. Someone was yelling at me. I focused my eyes. Damon. It all came back to me. I asked, “What’s happening with Annette and the protest?”

  “It looked like she was holding an interview with Patrick Healy but the detectives were on her like glue.”

  That didn’t matter. I had to get to her. Nobody would stop me. Nobody could stop me. “I need to see her.”

  “Impossible brother.”

  “Nothing is impossible. Your brain tells you what is possible not mine.”

  “I knew this would happen.”

  “I need another car. Mine is burnt.”

  “One step ahead of ya. My fiance’s Ford Festiva is parked at the Chamber of Commerce across the street from the protest.”

  “Thanks for the assist.”

  I followed Damon to his door. He climbed into the Hummer and buckled. He started the car and turned to me and dropped a backpack in my hands and looked into my eyes. “We should play some chess.”

  I smiled at the memory. The last time we played chess we organized some important issues in our lives and found a way to end the game without being surprised by the outcome. “I need to identify the major pieces and territory on the board first.”

  I ran into the hills thinking about the chess game of my life. What were the issues? How was I going to assign a value to each of them? What and where was the territory on the board? Where were the paths for my strategies and where would they lead?

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  CHAPTER—34

  Topo woke with the sounds of shift change in the penitentiary. Every morning at 4 AM the iron clanking noise of the vestibule opening and closing signified a shift walking out the door to their freedom while another shift came through to put in work.

  He climbed out of bed and folded up his mat in a tight roll and set it at the head of the bunk. Just before getting on his knees to pray, he noticed his cellie’s latest piece of art in pencil.

  On his knees to his God, nothing came to mind. This wasn’t unusual. Most of the time nothing significant came so he went into, “Our Father who art in Heaven…”

  Getting up from his knees, he felt comfort and lighter in spirit and studied the art above his now stirring cellie. L’il man’s art depiction was a masterful piece of shading. It lay next to him at the end of his bunk by his feet next to a picture of him and his mom as a 5 year old boy. In the picture his face was so happy and full of hope. You could see it in his eyes. They were lit up like lamps and were a part of his enormous smile underneath. The piece of art next to it started by mirroring that little boy, then through reverse pencil shading the boy’s face sucked toward the next scene. Prison bars held a captive behind them. Behind the bars a man’s face stared back. The man’s eyes were void of hope, replaced by beacons of frustration. Underneath the right eye a tear-drop tattoo represented the pain that had been transformed into anger. The shaved head above creased into a frown that held a captive spirit desperate for the lost hope. The pencil shading reversed again. The face behind bars was sucked through into the next scene. A man’s face that had aged well under silver hair combed straight back and features that were sharpened and honed with thoughtful creases stared back. Topo saw in the face wisdom that hope springs eternal with enough faith…

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  CHAPTER—35

  Benjamin got off the state prison bus and entered the prison he’d left for the trip to LA for his appeal. He sat on a hard slab inside a holding cell and pondered on the denial of the appeal. He realized he was glad to be back to the prison he’d left because the emptiness of the denial was too great. There was nowhere to turn to escape it…Seeing familiar faces like Topo’s and L’il man’s…And even seeing those funny white faces, Vincent and D
amaged would help…

  After 4 hours of the hard slab staring out the cell a security escort deputy arrived. He said, “You ready to go home Benjamin?”

  Back in the cell, after talking to his cell mate, he stood on his toilet to talk to Topo in the cell next door through the vent.

  “Topo I need a favor.”

  Topo asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to authorize something.”

  “What?”

  “While in L.A dealing with my appeal I got a visit from a family member and learned my brother Juan Tejada, our original pilot for smuggling before he turned his life to God, was murdered by the Mexico City Diablo. Diablo sucked him in by promising the best medical help possible for his cancer dying daughter Dyna and then used his pilot services and then took a bullet in his head for a payment. His beautiful daughter Dyna died also. Angel Tejada, our brother has a line on Diablo. We need vengeance.”

  Topo felt his spirit in conflict. He wanted blood also but he felt the path of his dream and another way of life through art and writing…He asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Authorize the mission and help accomplish it.”

  Topo thought about it. He knew Bat would love to take out Diablo. He hated the evil smuggler with pure hate but again felt the spiritual conflict. He said, “I won’t authorize it but you can talk to Veto about it and bring up Bat.”

  Benjamin was familiar with Topo’s riddles and laughed, “That is the same thing as authorizing it brother.”

  Topo said, “No it isn’t. What you do with Veto is between you two. My cellie and I are turning ourselves into movie script writers and artists.”