When you get off the bus at Folsom, you’re lined up under a pavilion in front of the Program Office. Then you come into R&R (Receiving and Release), are stripped out, and given a bedroll. They tell you to go up some stairs and have a seat on the benches until your name is called. These benches are on top of the captains’ and lieutenants’ offices. They’re like bleachers looking onto the yard and there are sharks of all colors there, looking for who is getting off the bus. Lucky for me I see a homie from Carlsbad, Gato (Gilbert Alcarez).
I yell, “Gato, what’s up, homie?”
He looked at me and did a double take. He says, “Nite Owl?”
I said, “Yeah, Big Homie, it’s me.”
He asked me if I was okay and how much time did I have. I told him three years and he says, “Okay, I’ll let everyone know you’re here.”
After he’s gone, they call my name and I go into the office. Sitting behind the desk are a couple of heavyset cops with big mustaches. One is a captain and the other is a lieutenant. They ask my name and number, and when I told them, they asked me who I run with. Growing up, I was always told if a cop asks you if you run with a gang, you deny it. So I don’t know how to answer these two. The captain looks at me like I’m retarded and asks, “North or South?” I shrug my shoulders and he just puts on this dramatic sigh and says, “Look, I’m going to house you. Do you want to get a cell on the mainline or should I put you in PC [protective custody]?” I say mainline. So he asks me, “Where you from?” I told him San Diego.
Then he says, “Okay. This is the South. See how easy that is. Building 2, Fish Row cell 523.” And out I go. When I leave the office, I’m met outside by my homeboy Wizard from Logan Heights and my Big Homeboy Juanon Flores. Juanon was a gangster too and he was doing twentysomething years for robberies and had been down about eight years already. The homeboy had juice in the yard, which I would find out real quick. Anyhow, we all hug and they ask me where I’m going. I tell them what cell and they say, “Okay, don’t trip, we’ll be getting at you.”
So they walk me to my building and Fish Row is up on the fifth tier, so it’s five flights of stairs. Ain’t no elevators here. Once I find my cell, I find it’s already occupied by someone, so I come in and the dude is a short stocky guy from LA. He’s from a barrio called Fifth and Hill, which was mostly Hondurans and Salvadorans. In fact, this was before they had MS-13. Anyway, he introduces himself as Marciano and I introduce myself. The cells are small—five by eight feet—and there are two bunks, a toilet, and a sink and that’s it. He’s got the bottom bunk, first come first served, so I set myself up on the top bunk and settle in.
He asked me where I came from and I told him Chino. Then he asked how much time did I have and I told him three years. Then he says, “You look real young. How old are you?” So I say I’m twenty years old. He shakes his head and says, “You’re just a youngster.” But he said it in a derogatory way. I noticed the dismissive tone but I didn’t make any comment.
Then he told me he just got out of the SHU and that he was back in prison for two years for stabbing someone. I told him that was cool with me and I asked what the SHU was like. I let him go on about what it’s like in the hole. I spent time in Palm Hall, so I’m pacifying him, giving him that old “I respect you because you’re older and have been around,” but in the back of my mind, I’m thinking the guy is a little too arrogant for my taste. So his story is going in one ear and out the other.
First impressions are always the biggest influence. Then comes instinct, that gut feeling. Prison is the best educator when it comes to “street smarts.” When I first came to the joint, the homies always said, “Look, listen, and learn. Keep your mouth shut, don’t volunteer your opinion unless asked, and never raise your hand for something unless it is personal.” These were survival skills. If you paid enough attention, then you made the right call.
Anyhow, after Marciano gave me his attitude, we went to sleep. The next morning we got ready for breakfast and they released us for chow. As we’re walking down the tier, I hear my name called out. “Nite Owl.” I turn around and it’s an older homie from Shelltown, Bobby Colmenaro. He catches up to me and says, “What’s up, fool? How long you been here?” We knew each other from the county jail and I was good friends with some of his homeboys from my juvenile days. When you’re in prison, you only have two sides, the North and the South. The Hispanics will hang out with people from their area because they have a lot more in common. Anyhow, we go to breakfast and come back, then the processing starts. You see the nurse, psych, case manager. While I’m sitting there on the benches waiting my turn, I meet a couple of dudes from Orange County. Chapo from Stanton and Eddie Munster from Santa Ana. We talk about how good the breakfast was and Eddie, “Monstro,” asks me how old I am. I told him I was twenty and that I’d turn twenty-one in February. They both say, “Damn, you’re young. What are you doing here?”
We talk until our names are called, then about lunchtime we head back to our cells. After lunch, I’m laying on my bunk when this dude comes to my cell. He’s pushing a broom and he asks, “Who’s Nite Owl?” I say me, and he looks at me and asks, do you have any homeboys here? I say my homeboy Juanon. He says, “Okay. Hold on.” And he goes back down the tier and in about five minutes comes back with a box. And it’s a nice-sized box, because he has to hold it with both arms and it’s filled to the top. He says, “Juanon sent you this.”
He hands me sweatshirts and bottoms, thermals, a beanie, socks, books, magazines, soup, coffee, sugar, tuna, candy bars, packs of Camel cigarettes, a can of Bugler tobacco, soap, shampoo, deodorant, and hair grease. I mean, basically everything I need to stay comfortable. I ask him, “Do you want anything? A pack of smokes?”
He says, “Nah. I’m all good. You enjoy.” Then he takes a bundle out of his mouth and hands it to me.
I ask him what it is and he says, “I don’t know. It’s yours.”
If he had said he knew what it was, then that would mean he went through it; that’s taboo. You don’t go through someone else’s shit no matter what it is. Because if it’s tampered with, you’re responsible. So I tell him, let me check it out and I’ll get at you. He says, “Don’t trip. Your homie took care of me.”
Well, I’m set. And I have some weed too. So I tell my cellie Marciano, let’s smoke one. We smoke a pin joint and have some coffee. I ask him, “If I give you a joint, will you let my homeboy Bobby come smoke one with me, and you smoke one with his cellie?” My cellie agrees, so at dinner I tell Bobby and he says, “Hell, yeah!” So when we get back to Fish Row, Bobby runs to his cell for his toothbrush and comes back to my cell. We smoke one and start joking around. Bobby is a real character. We become really good friends later and end up running around a little on the streets, but that’s in the nineties. Anyhow, I shoot Monstro a book because he asked if I had any reading material and I shoot him some cigarettes and a joint. Me and Bobby stay up pretty late telling “war stories” and joking.
The next day after breakfast, we switched back and my cellie Marciano comes home. I can tell that he’s really upset, so I ask him what’s up. He says, “Don’t ever ask me to do that again. That dude was stupid and he doesn’t even speak Spanish.” I just brushed it off. I know this dude has some kind of “macho complex,” so I don’t pay any attention. So I get into one of my books. I love to read. Well, a couple of days go by and my cellie isn’t talking to me. I told Bobby about my cellie being pissed off, but Bobby just says, “Fuck that dude. We’ll be on the mainline in a couple of days, so it doesn’t matter.”
About a day later, my cellie takes a mirror and looks up and down the tier to see if there’s anyone out there. Then he turns to me and says, “Hey, cellie, you got a minute?” So I climb down off my bunk and say, “What’s up?” He says, “You haven’t said anything to me in a couple of days. You got a problem with me?” Well, here it comes. I knew this dude thought he was a badass or whatever, but the last t
hing I’m gonna do is let him bully me. I don’t care what he thinks he is. I tell him, “Look, you came back from the homeboy’s cell all bent out of shape, then you weren’t speaking to me. So I just let it go. But I’m not bashful. If you had talked to me, I would have talked back, but I don’t have a problem with you. Do you have a problem with me?”
Then he gets in my face and says, “Yeah, I do, morro.” Which means “youngster” in Spanish.
Marciano got in my face and I let him have it. I pretty much had him and the guy was all up against the bunk holding on. I could see he was bleeding from a cut above his eye. And he’s not fighting back. But then I notice that my T-shirt is wet and I look down and it is covered in blood. I look at his hands and he’s holding a razor blade. So I grab him by the elbow and he slices my forearm. I then put him in a wrist hold and start kneeing him in the ribs. He manages to cut me again, on the thigh. So now we’re locked. I’m holding him by the wrist and my other arm’s around his neck.
Just then the cop bangs on the bars and yells, “Fish Row, prepare for chow.” Oh, shit! This is how I’m going to start my time at Folsom Prison. I can just see it now. The cop has to unlock each cell, then go back and slide the bar. In my head he’s gonna get to our cell and see us and all the blood and set off the alarm. The gunner on the catwalk is right in front of our cell. He’s gonna shoot us. I’m tripping, so I tell Marciano, “Look, I don’t want to get caught. Throw that shit out the cell and we will clean up and deal with this after lunch.” He says, “Fuck that. You’re gonna keep fighting if I throw this out.” So I promise him I’ll stop and he tosses the blade out the bars.
I get to the mirror and check my face and I’ve got a nice slice from my ear to under my chin. I take off my T-shirt and start washing up. I get the blood off me, then I snatch the sheet off my bed and start cleaning all the blood off the floor and walls. I flush the sheet and T-shirt down the toilet. I put toilet paper on my neck wound and forearm. The cop comes by our cell and unlocks our door but doesn’t notice anything. My cellie has a lump and a cut above his eye and a fat lip, but other than that, he’s cool.
The cop yells, “Fish Row, step out for chow,” and racks the bar. We come out and my cellie is gone. I wait for Bobby but I don’t say anything. We go down to the chow hall and get our food. Me and Bobby are at the same table but I don’t see my cellie. Eddie Munster is one table over and he’s calling me, “Hey, youngster.” So I turn to look at him and he asks me do I have a cigarette for him. That’s when I hear Bobby behind me say, “What the fuck happened to your face?” I tell him, “Nothing. I cut myself shaving.” He says, “Yeah, right. That was your cellie, huh?” I tell him yeah, but I say I got it covered and for him not to trip. Bobby is pissed off and starts looking around. “Where is that motherfucker?” he says.
We get up from the table and I give Monstro his cigarette. Then Bobby tells me, “Fuck that, homie. We’re gonna kill that motherfucker.” He stops and grabs my chin and looks at my face and asks if I’m okay and do I want to go to the hospital. I tell him that I’m good and all I want is to just kick that dude’s ass. Bobby laughs and says we’re going to do a lot more than that. He tells me that when we get to the tier, “I’m gonna knock that fool out. Then I’ll grab his arms and you grab his legs and we’re going to throw him off the tier. That’s five stories up. There’s no doubt what’s going to happen after that.”
Bobby is moving fast and I’m just trying to keep up. When we get to the fifth tier, Bobby stops in front of my cell and says, “Be ready, little homie.” We wait a couple of minutes and then here comes Marciano. But he’s not alone. He’s with another guy, who has his shirt off and is covered with tattoos. The guy has a push broom.
So Bobby tells me, “We get the guy with the push broom first.”
Bobby squares off, but the dude with the push broom puts up his hands and says, “Whoa, whoa. Hold up. Who got in a fight?”
Bobby tells him nobody got in a fight. “That motherfucker cut my little homie.”
The guy says, “I know, I know. Let me check it out.” So I show him my face, then I show them my arm and thigh. Bobby is pissed. He grabs Marciano, and the other guy tells him, “Look, the carnals already know about this, so that’s why they had me come down here and tell you to leave it alone for now. They’ll talk to you when you come out.”
Bobby is still hot. He keeps his hold on Marciano and puts a finger in his face and tells him, “This ain’t over, son of a bitch. It’s on, punk.” Bobby tells me to get my stuff and that I’m coming with him.
“Fuck that,” I tell him. “I’m not going to let this punk run me out of my cell.”
Bobby puts his arm around me and says, “Stay down, little homie. You sure you going to be all right?” I say yeah I’ll be okay. So he tells me to stay on my toes and that he’ll see me in the morning. Then Bobby tells Marciano, “You better not do anything stupid, puto.”
Bobby hugs me, and Marciano and I go in our cell just as the cop racks the bar. We wait for the cop to come lock our door, then I get up and say, “What’s up?”
Marciano says, “You heard what they said; we can’t do anything. We have to stay cool until we get off Fish Row.” Then he says, “Look, that slice on your arm was meant for you, not your barrio.”
The slice he was talking about happened to cut through a tattoo I have with my neighborhood and he’s worried my homeboys will take it as disrespect to the hood. Then he says, “I give you my word I’m not going to do anything. Do you give me yours?” So we shook hands and settled in.
The next day after breakfast a cop comes by and tells both of us to pack up. We’re heading for the mainline. I’m kind of nervous. I mean, you hear so many stories about Folsom and I know these dudes don’t play.
15
I Want to Kill Him
Folsom is no longer like it was in my day. In fact, I don’t even think it’s a real prison anymore. I heard it was a tourist attraction with actors playing the part of convicts. Anyhow, we get downstairs and Chapo from Stanton and Eddie Munster are down there. I don’t see Bobby anywhere, so I’m kind of just standing there alone when Chapo comes up to me.
He says, “Hey, little homie, the Big Homie Monstro heard about what happened between you and your cellie. In fact, we seen his eye.” He kind of chuckled at that and then says, “Whatever happened in your cell stays there. Don’t bring any of that shit out on the line because the homies aren’t having it.” Well, two big revelations are made here. First, Eddie Monstro is a brother! Who knew? Second, they think it was just a cell fight.
So I tell him, “Hey, Chapo. Tell Monstro I got nothing but respect for the Big Homie, but I can’t let this go. That dude cut my face. I’m going to be scarred for life.”
This was true. I still have that battle wound.
He says, “What are you talking about?”
So I show him and it’s funny how everyone I showed this fresh wound to would just wince and ask was I okay. I show him my forearm and thigh and run down how the whole thing happened.
He says, “Hold on. The homie didn’t know all that, so wait here.”
He goes over and starts telling Monstro. By this time they’re moving us from 2 Building to the laundry. We walk through 5 Building, which is a trip. This is the oldest part of the prison. It’s literally all granite rocks, and doors made from steel perforated with inch-wide round holes. It’s where the old hangman’s gallows used to be. We walk out of the building and cross the yard, past the chapel, and go between 1 Building and the chapel—an area known as blood alley. Then we enter the laundry room. By this time, Chapo had told Monstro what happened between me and Marciano.
Chapo says, “The homie didn’t know that fool cut you. He wants to talk to you.” So I walk over to Monstro and he says, “I told Chapo to tell you to let that shit die on Fish Row. But he said you told him, ‘Chale, what’s up?’”
So I gave Monstro
the rundown and showed all my cuts. And after, he says, “So what do you want to do?”
I said, “Pay him back.”
Monstro looks at Chapo and says, “This youngster has got nuts. Not only did he not run to the cops, but he also doesn’t go to the hospital to get stiches. And now he wants to pay this dude back.” They start laughing and Monstro asks me, “What you gonna do, little young buck? You gonna kill him?”
I puff up all five feet seven inches of my frame and tell him, “Yeah. If I can.”
Monstro gets serious and tells me, “Okay. Look, when we get done here, we’re going to our housing unit. They’re going to ask you do you want to stay in your cell or go to the yard. Tell them go to the yard and don’t show anyone else these cuts. I’ll find you and we’ll talk, okay?”
After we get issued our clothes and our bedding from the laundry, they take us to our units. I’m put in 3 Building on the fourth tier. And guess who is housed right down the tier from me. Yup! It’s Marciano. Anyhow, the cops ask me if I want to go to the yard or stay in my cell. I say go outside. It’s a trip because there’s only one way in or out and that’s through 5 Building unless you’re in the chow hall. Anyhow, when I get outside, I see all kinds of homeboys from San Diego. There’s about fifteen or twenty dudes there and I know most of them.
They’re all fucking with me, saying shit like, “What you doing in the big house, fool? Don’t you belong in Juvenile Hall?”
All that hazing comes to a halt all of a sudden when Monstro and Chapo come calling and I have to take a walk with them. We go over to the bleachers in front of 1 Building and Monstro introduces me to two guys. A tall, slim older guy who talks in a whisper and a shorter, athletic-looking guy who is friendly looking.
Monstro says, “This is Kilroy and the homie Alfie. Tell them what happened and show them your cuts.” So I go through all that again and they say, “So what you want to do?” I look at Monstro and he nods his head.
Confessions of a Cartel Hit Man Page 13