I went to the bookshelf and picked up a book, without even really looking to see what it was. I wanted it more for camouflage than anything else, so that I could sit at the table and pretend to read while I was checking out what was happening around me. I took it with me and sat down, and then glanced at the title. It was called The Winter Storm, and was about a man who was falsely accused of a crime he didn’t commit.
Suddenly, I wanted to read it, so I sat down and turned to the opening pages. The book was interesting, and was written from the point of view of the man’s attorney. It went into great detail about the criminal justice system, and how easily someone who is completely innocent can be caught up within that system. Without a credible alibi, the slightest circumstantial evidence can be enough to convict someone of even the most heinous crimes. As I read the book, I wondered if I were about to live through such a situation.
I became so engrossed in the book that I wasn’t paying attention to anything around me, so it wasn’t until I turned the last page that I noticed how quiet it had become in the room. I glanced up to see more than a dozen people staring at me, and I felt the hackles on the back of my neck begin to rise.
No one said anything at first, but then a tall, gray-haired man walked over toward me. “Hey, man,” he said. “What are you doing, just looking at the pictures?”
At first, I didn’t have a clue what he was saying, but then he pointed at the book that was still lying in front of me. I looked down at it, then glanced back up at him before it dawned on me what he was asking. “No, I was reading,” I said.
A dozen voices started talking at once, and all of them were saying basically the same thing, that there was no way I was actually reading the book. I had no idea what they were talking about. Why should it be such a surprise that someone had read a book? I looked around the room, and saw Gunner staring at me from the other side. I raised my eyebrows at him, hoping he might give me some idea of what was going on, but he just glanced up at the big clock on the day room wall.
I followed his gaze, and that’s when it hit me. I had noticed the clock when I came out of my cell, and saw that it was 2:05 PM. Now, after I had sat and read a book with a hundred and seventy-seven pages in it, the clock said 2:17 PM. Only twelve minutes had passed.
I thought fast, and decided that it would be better to fit in than stand out. I held up the book, looked at the first guy who had asked me about it, and said, “I just skimmed through it. I found out a long time ago, you can pretty well get the whole story just by skimming it as you go along. I’m too lazy to read the whole book, but I can skim one in just a few minutes. It’s like reading a short version, or a comic book version.”
The hubbub died down, though it took a few minutes. I noticed a couple of other guys going over and picking up books, and flipping through them the way they must have thought I was doing it. One of them looked up at me a couple of minutes later, and smiled. “Yeah, dude, that works,” he said.
I put the book back on the bookshelf, and didn’t bother to take another one. I turned around and saw that the television closest to me was running some kind of science fiction movie, so I just sat there and watched it. When that movie ended, another came on, something about the war in Afghanistan, so I watched that one, too.
By the time that movie ended, I noticed people lining up by the door. A glance at the clock told me that it was probably dinnertime, so I walked over to get into line with everyone else. It seemed like everyone at the front of the line was black, while all the white guys were in the back and the few Hispanics seemed to be tucked into the middle. I fell in at the back of the line, and then sensed someone stepping up behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw Gunner standing there.
“Shouldn’t you be up at the front?” I asked, but he scowled at me.
“Remember I told you about gangs? That’s the Black Guerrilla Family up front there, and I don’t want nothing to do with them. I just hang out at the back, and ride solo. Just like I told you.”
I started to say something more, but he made a slashing motion across his throat and then pushed me to turn around. I gathered that he didn’t want to be seen talking to me, so I ignored him as the line slowly snaked toward the door, and the food trays that were being passed inside. When I got mine, I headed back to the table I’d been sitting at, but there were three black men sitting there. I looked around, but there were no empty tables left. I saw one table with several white men, and one of them, a guy with blonde hair, was waving at me to come on over, so I did.
“Saw your picture on TV,” he said. “You the guy who killed the deputy last night, right?”
“That’s what they’re saying,” I said, “but I don’t think I did it.”
The men around the table started laughing, and the one who had spoken to me stared at me. “You don’t think you did it? Hell, man, if you don’t know, nobody does.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “As far as I know, I just woke up in the basement of a burning house last night, and happened to find a dead guy in the living room as I was trying to get out. Other than that, I don’t even know who I am, or how I came to be there or anything.”
The blonde-haired man laughed even louder. “You’re going for an amnesia defense? Dude, give it up. Juries never fall for that; it’s been tried a million times.”
I shrugged. I thought about explaining the story to them, about how it was the truth, but then thought better. This wouldn’t be a good way to fit in. So I simply left it hanging and turned my attention toward my tray. They had given us spaghetti and meatballs. I wasn’t terribly hungry, but I decided it would be better to eat and keep up my strength, so I stuck my plastic fork in and began twirling it.
“Well,” the blonde man said, “I’m Charlie, and this skinny kid beside me here is Mike. You need anything, we’re the guys to talk to. We’re Dirty White Boys, and I’m the shot caller, here. Anybody gives you any problems, all you gotta do is let me know, we’ll take care of it. You need to come ride with us, we take care of our own.”
Chapter 7
Suddenly, I remembered what Gunner had told me about gangs. “You mean a gang? I—I don’t want to be part of a gang.”
Charlie laughed again. “What’s your name, kid?” he asked.
“Sal.”
“Well, Sal, use your head, man. You see all these niggas in here? White boys like us need to stick close to our own kind. Way too easy to get your head knocked off in here.”
I sat there for a moment, just trying to decide what to do. I was pretty sure Gunner was right, and being in a gang would be a mistake, but I didn’t really have any idea what to expect if I turned them down. Charlie was laughing and smiling, but there was something sinister in the way he was talking to me.
“Look, Charlie, I appreciate it,” I said, “but seriously, I’m—I’m gonna roll solo.”
The smile and laughter disappeared instantly, and the temperature at the table dropped by ten degrees. All of the men at the table were looking at me, and Charlie and Mike were openly glaring. I looked at each of them for just a second, then picked up my tray and began to walk away.
I saw Gunner sitting at a table by himself, and took a chance. I walked over to that table, and sat at the opposite end, carefully ignoring him. I set my tray and cup down, and began eating, keeping my eyes on the food in front of me.
“Hey, dip shit,” I heard, and I glanced up without thinking. At the table across from me, three very large black men were getting up and walking my way. “This is the black section,” one of them said, “can’t no white motherfucker be sitting here. You need to get yo ass up and move.”
I looked back at my tray and started to pick it up, then glanced around to see where else I might go. I got to my feet and started to go back to the table with Charlie and the others, but suddenly another man took the seat I had used. I turned, intending to go and sit where that man had gotten up, but someone else jumped onto that seat.
; It dawned on me that I wasn’t going to be allowed to sit anywhere, and if I couldn’t move into the space where other whites were sitting, then I suspected things were about to get very, very bad.
“What you gonna do, dip shit? Where you gonna go? Ain’t even yo own wants you sittin’ with ‘em, you sure as shit ain’t good enough to sit with none of us.” He looked over at Charlie. “This pussy one of yours, DWB?”
Charlie shook his head. “Independent,” he said. “Wants to ride on his own.”
The big black man who had been talking to me turned his face my direction again, and it was covered with a big, wide smile. My primal instincts immediately kicked in, my heart started racing, and I knew I was in big trouble.
He moved like a striking snake, so fast that I barely had time to realize he had moved at all, but then it was as if everything slowed down. His right fist, probably as big as a good-sized ham, came at my face as if propelled by a rocket, and I merely dropped my tray and leaned backward out of its way, thrusting my knees and pelvis forward to keep my balance. The punch went past my face, and he lost his balance, stumbling right past me.
He recovered quickly, though, and spun to swing at me with his left. Once again, I leaned, but this time to my right, and the back of my left hand came up to push his fist away from me. He was thrown off balance again, and I caught him around the throat as he went past, then kicked my right knee into the back of his left leg. He flipped over in a backward somersault, and landed with a booming thud face down on the floor behind me.
I didn’t have time to celebrate, because the other two lunged at me as soon as he hit the tiles. Each of them was swinging wildly, and I was ducking and blocking, moving so fast that I startled even myself. The world felt as if it were in slow motion, and somehow, I knew exactly what I was doing without having to think about it. Like riding a bike. You don’t need to think about balancing, you just do it.
A half dozen more black men jumped to their feet, all of them rushing toward me, but as each one threw a punch or kick, I was able to block it or dodge it with minimal impact. Eventually, due to the sheer number of fists and legs coming my way, I got tagged. Once in the ribs, which stung and caused me to wince, and once in the eye, which split a tiny gash into my brow. Twice, however, I was able to maneuver myself so that punches thrown at me connected with their own compatriots. I couldn’t help but smile when this happened, and there were definitely some chuckles from the crowd watching.
I was ducking and dodging, but it wasn’t enough. All I seemed to be doing was further enraging my assailants. I needed to go on the offensive.
I needed to end this.
I began looking for openings to throw punches of my own. The first opening came after ducking a fist that was aimed at my head. I ducked through it, and allowed my natural momentum to carry me into a mammoth blow that knocked the man out cold. Everyone froze for a second, looking as the crumpled heap on the floor, and then turned back to me. They allowed their blind rage to dictate how they fought. The angrier they become, the more wild, and open, they became.
I found that I was easily able to generate a huge amount of power with my strikes. Like a trained professional, I used my body perfectly to generate the maximum amount of force, while still maintaining my balance and defense. Most of the men could only handle one or two of my well-placed shots, and the others probably wished they were out cold too.
Of the dozen or so that had attacked me, only two were still on their feet when the buzzer went off and the guards came rushing in, billy clubs in hand. Everyone hit the floor instantly, and I figured I should do the same. I dropped onto my face, but it was too late. I had been seen, probably even recorded on video, and the guards snatched me up by my arms.
They didn’t hit me, and when I looked at their faces, I saw that they were in shock. They were looking around at the men on the floor, the ones I’d put there, and then looking at me. One of them shook his head, then looked me in the eye and asked, “How in the hell did you do that?”
I shrugged. “Karate?” I said.
Other guards were picking up the men who had attacked me, and they began marching us all toward the door, but then, another guard stepped into the room. He held up a hand to stop them, then pointed at me. “I watched this whole thing,” he said, “and that man did nothing but defend himself. Let him go.”
The guards holding my arms let go instantly, and one of them said, “Yes, Sir, Lieutenant.” I looked at the Lieutenant, and was surprised when he nodded at me.
“You’re the one Sheriff Branson brought in last night, right? Sal Jones?”
I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Huh,” he said. “You don’t look like an ass kicker, but obviously you are. Think you can refrain from getting in any more fights today?”
“Sir, I didn’t even want this one,” I said. “I’ll do my best, I can promise you that.”
The lieutenant nodded, and I saw a hint of a smile. He told the other guards to take the men who had attacked me to something he called “the shoe,” then pointed at me. “You might want to get yourself another tray,” he said. “I think one of those guys is wearing your other one.” He turned around and walked out of the room, and I just stood there, shocked that I wasn’t being dragged off somewhere, myself.
I felt a trickle on my face, and reached up to find a light stream of blood. My eye was still pulsing from the fight, and the sweat mixed with the blood and ran down my face. I did my best to wipe it away and hoped it would heal on its own. I didn’t want to have to get stitches, but after a few dabs with my shirt, it seemed to stop.
Just then, someone started clapping, and I glanced around to see that it was Gunner. A moment later, quite a few of the others in the place were applauding, as well, though I noticed that none of Charlie’s group joined in, and most of the black guys were busy looking at their own trays. I went to the serving line, and the inmates who were working behind it quickly made me another tray, staring at me with wide eyes as they did so.
When I turned around from getting my tray, I looked for somewhere to sit again, and saw Gunner motion for me to come over to where I had been sitting at his table before. I walked that direction, and started to sit on the other end of the table as I had done earlier, but he called to me to come on down by him. I went to his end, and sat across from him.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I was just about to get to my feet and try to talk that shit down when you went all Bruce Lee on their asses. That was pretty wild, Sal. You say you don’t remember nothin’; did you know you could kick ass like that?”
I shook my head. “I still don’t know what happened,” I said. “It all just happened so fast, and then it seemed like everything slowed down, so I could see everything they were doing crystal-clear. That made it easy to either duck or block, and when I realized they weren’t going to stop, then I just decided I better put up a fight.”
“Well, I don’t think they’re going to try you again right away, but you just made enemies out of the Black Guerrilla Family. Watch your back—naw, screw that, watch everywhere. They gonna be out to shank you.”
I furrowed my brow inquisitively.
“That means stab you,” he added.
That’s what I feared. I sighed dramatically. “Awesome. Nothing like having a prison gang out to kill you your first day in jail.”
Gunner grinned and rolled his eyes. “About that reading thing,” he said. “You say you don’t remember nothing before last night, but then you told Alex over there that you learned how to skim a book a long time ago. Wanna explain that?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the gray-haired man, who was apparently Alex, then turned back to Gunner. “Want the truth?” I asked, and he nodded. “I guess I learned how to be a speed reader, sometime, because I read the whole book. Everybody was making such a fuss, though, I figured it was better to just blow it off, so I made up that bit about skimming it.”
Gunner was nodding. “That’s exactly what I tho
ught,” he said. “When I saw you turning the pages so quick, I noticed your eyes were flying back and forth. It looked to me like you were really reading it.”
A moment passed. “You’re a strange motherfucker, Sal,” he added.
I nodded. “Yup.”
And don’t I know it…
Chapter 8
INTERLUDE TWO
Sometimes, when you’re working hard on something eighteen or twenty hours a day, you just have to get away from it now and then. I worked and worked, designing circuit after circuit, building special tools that were operated by computer, to build the miniaturized electronics I needed. The UPS trucks were delivering things to me almost daily, new components and parts that I was ordering online, or having specially built at different places around the world. The idea was to make sure no one could figure out quite what I was doing, so I farmed all the fabrication out to different places, spreading it as much as possible to try to keep any two of them from discussing what they were making for me. Slowly, it was all coming together, but the stress would get to me sometimes.
It was usually at night, and that’s when I would slip out to the bar. There was one not too far away, and I could get to it without having to go through town, just by following back roads. That was good, since I probably wasn’t driving too well when I left there sometimes.
At the bar, I would manage to relax a bit. The bartender and I, while not exactly friends, certainly got to know each other. That poor man probably heard more of my complaints and frustrations than anyone else in my life, and he managed to take it all without even once getting annoyed.
“Oh, you just wait,” I would say, waving my glass in the air. “You just wait, what I’m doing—what I’m doing will make your life so much easier, you just won’t believe it. In fact, it will make everybody’s life easier. I mean, just imagine, just imagine if you could just sit back and never lift a finger, and still have everything you need to do get done. Now, wouldn’t that be sweet?”
Thriller: I Am Sal - A Mystifying Crime Thriller (Thriller, Crime Thriller, Murder Mystery Book 1) Page 4