American Criminal

by Shawn William Davis

  “No problem, Cellie. We’re straight.”

  “I’m going to join the Skinheads.”

  “Come again?” James asked, standing. “How do you expect to pull that off after putting two of their best enforcers in the infirmary?”

  “I take it you know what happened to me earlier today?”

  “Word got around. I’m sorry Cellie,” Sean said, pausing in the center of the cell.

  “Okay, so you understand my motives in destroying the Skinheads,” Ray said. “They all deserve to die for what happened.”

  “They want to kill you. How do you expect to join them?” James said, returning to his seat and tapping his foot anxiously on the floor.

  “I’m going to tell you once and hope that you believe me,” Burnside said, glaring at his cellmate with a furious intensity. “In the last few hours, I’ve made some important connections in this hellhole. As crazy as it sounds, I just met with the Warden and the Internal Affairs Chief of the prison. In exchange for a future transfer to a medium security facility, I agreed to help them with their gang problem. The Warden wants the Skinheads taken out. I’m not just talking about the leader. I’m talking about all of them. Taken out,” Burnside said, emphasizing the last two words for dramatic effect. “Events are now in motion to do it.”

  “A meeting with the Warden? You can’t be serious!” James exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I wasn’t born yesterday. The Warden doesn’t meet with prisoners. The only time he met with any of us was a few years back when he was trying to get the gang problem under control. He met with all the gang leaders to try to work out a truce. Needless to say, it didn’t work. The only reason I know this is because the leader of my gang met with him.”

  “Did he ever describe the layout of the Warden’s office?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “If I know the layout, that means I’m not lying to you. Right?” Burnside said.

  “Okay. What is it?” James asked.

  “The hallway outside the Warden’s office is wood paneled. There are Classical paintings on the walls and potted plants on fancy tables. Inside the office, there are more paintings. There’s an entrance to a private conference room directly behind the Warden’s desk.”

  “Okay, so you’ve been there. That doesn’t mean you made a deal with the Warden to take down the gang. Why would he choose you?”

  “Think about it. The Warden needs someone who wants payback against the Skinheads. Who wants payback more than a guy who just got raped by the fuckers?”

  “I still don’t see how the Skinheads are going to let you join their gang after what you did to their best enforcers.”

  “The Warden already has an agent infiltrated into a top position in the gang. He’s going to convince them to take me,” Ray said.

  “I don’t like the sound of it. If you join them, you’re siding with my gang’s enemy,” James said.

  “I’m joining them, so I can destroy them. The best way to do it is from the inside.”

  “That’s some pretty heavy shit, Cellie. How can I believe you? How do I know you’re not pulling my chain?”

  “I know it’s a lot to swallow, but it’s true. Events are now in progress that will bring about the complete destruction of the Skinheads,” Burnside said. “My behavior over the next few weeks is going to be extremely offensive to you and to other members of your gang. I’m going to make a pretense of hating your guts. You and anyone else with black skin. I need you to understand that it’s all an act. I need you to inform the top people in your gang and those you absolutely trust. Otherwise, I’m dead.”

  “Cellie, I don’t’ know what to say. Do you really think you can get away with it?”

  “I know I can get away with it. I just have to be convincing. I have to ask a big favor from you.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Tonight, I have to start a fight in the cafeteria with one of your gang members. In the next few weeks, I have to act like the most despicable Skinhead this prison has ever seen. I need your help to pull it off.”

  “Shit, cellie, I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can go along with this.”

  “Look, all I’m asking is that you don’t say anything to anyone in your gang until after the incident tonight. It has to be an ambush to be realistic.”

  “I don’t see how it can work. The other members of my gang will be all over you a split second after you throw the first punch at one of our guys.”

  “It’s a risk I have to take,” Ray said.

  “I don’t know if I can help you, cellie,” Sean said.

  “I’m going to do it in a public place so I get plenty of attention. It has to happen tonight.”

  “Cellie, that’s fucking crazy! They’ll throw you in solitary again!”

  “It’s better than being six feet under,” Ray said.

  “Cellie, you’re a fucking maniac if you think I’m going along with this,” James said.

  “Look,” Burnside said. “I wasn’t going to tell you at all, but I respect you so I gave you fair warning. It has to happen tonight. You can tell the top guys in your gang the truth after it happens.” He paused. “I can take a lot of pain, so it won’t matter if most of your gang comes after me tonight. It shouldn’t take long for the guards to intervene. Believe me, buddy, if there was another way, I would do it. But this is the only way. I have to gain the trust of those scum. Once I’m in, I’m going to take them all down.”

  “How do I know you’re not really with them?” James asked.

  “You’re going to have to trust me, Cellie. Why else would I give you advanced warning? It would look more convincing if I ambushed one of your guys without prior warning. Look, you know what my situation is here. I just put two of the Skins’ top guys in the infirmary. Unless I join them, they’ll be out for blood. I won’t last a week if I don’t do this. You’ve been here long enough to know that.”

  “I’ll be honest with you, Cellie. I don’t like it. I’m not sure if I can help you.”

  “That’s your choice. But, I have to let you know, I’m going forward with this with or without your consent. I don’t blame you for not wanting to get involved, but I’m not asking you. I’m telling you, this has to be done if I’m going to survive another day in this hellhole.”

  James ruminated silently for a long moment.

  “All right, Cellie. I’ll help you this one time. I repeat, one time,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. “After that, you’re on your own. If you’re still alive after tonight, I’ll bring your proposal to the leader of my gang. I can’t guarantee how he’s going to receive it.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I’ll do you this one favor and then I’m done. You’re going to owe me big time, and I expect to be paid back.”

  “Trust me when I say that when this is over, your gang will be the ones on top,” Burnside said.

  “You better be right, Cellie. Or you really won’t last the week. The Skinheads will be the least of your worries.”

  Chapter 17

  Skinhead

  “I don’t doubt you,” Burnside said. “That’s why I’m giving you a heads-up. I don’t want your gang to think I’m a real Skinhead and decide to take me out.”

  A loud bell sounded from the hallway.

  “Great, the dinner bell. Put a tent on this circus,” James muttered.

  Burnside closed his eyes and lay back on the bunk. He had said everything he could to convince his cellmate of his intentions, but it didn’t really matter. If he didn’t try this, he would be dead anyway.

  The cell doors slid open automatically and Ray got up. He stepped in with a line of inmates outside. Sean kept his distance from him. The guards led them down several dimly lit concrete corridors to the cafeteria. As they walked, Burnside tried to psych himself up for what he had to do.

  I need to put my imagination into overdrive. I have to convince myself that
the guys who raped me were with the Bloods, not the Skins. That way, I can go after the Bloods without reservation.

  Ray forced himself to think about the violent rape. He used all his powers of imagination to picture two black inmates holding him down and raping him instead of two white psychopaths. His anger built as he recalled details from the hideous scenario. He flashed back to the pain, the humiliation, the helplessness, the rage. It was all the fault of James’s gang, the Bloods. It was their fault. They had done it.

  Burnside was seeing red as they entered the cafeteria. Images from the rape dominated his mind, but the faces he imagined now were black, not white. He followed the line and picked up a tray at the end of the counter. He hardly noticed as inmate workers slopped food onto it. He exited the line with his tray and his muscles tensed for action. Images from the violent rape filled his mind as he zeroed in on the Blood’s center table like a guided missile.

  A large group of black inmates were at the table, talking and laughing.

  They’re laughing at me. They’re laughing at what happened to me.

  Burnside clenched his tray in a vicious grip as he approached the table. He ignored the curious stares of inmates watching him from other tables. He heard one of them shout, “Hey, Jaws, how’s it going?” Another voice said, “There goes Jaws! Bite anyone today?”

  Jaws? I can think of better nicknames, but I guess it fits.

  He ignored them. One of the Blood enforcers seated at the end stood up as he neared the head of the table.

  “It looks like you’re lost,” he said to Burnside, reaching out his hand to halt him.

  Burnside allowed his rage to take over and went on instinct. He hurled his tray across the Blood’s table, and it smashed into more trays, scattering food everywhere.

  “You fucking niggers!” Burnside shouted at the top of his lungs, knocking the enforcer’s arm away with his right forearm and launching a left jab at his face.

  He caught the enforcer square on the jaw and he went down. Other gang members stood and came after him. He hit another with a hard right, knocking him back into a line of inmates, toppling them like dominoes. He was dimly aware of shouting emanating from all areas of the cafeteria as he threw a left jab at another black face coming toward him and followed up with a hard right. An unknown assailant tackled him from the side and he went down. He felt punches smashing into his ribs and stomach, so he curled into a ball to protect his vital areas. A flurry of punches and kicks followed, pummeling him until he felt himself blacking out. Then, the punches gradually diminished and finally stopped. He looked up and saw uniformed guards dragging away enraged Bloods. He was aware of shouting and fighting all around him, but he stayed curled up in a ball.

  Burnside felt rough hands grabbing his shoulders and arms, lifting him. The guards pulled him up and cuffed his hands behind his back. Pandemonium was all around them. He heard loud shouting and swearing coming from everywhere. He saw a guard wrestling on the ground with a Blood. He saw another guard striking an inmate in the skull with his baton, dropping him. The visions became a blur as the guards dragged him out. They entered the concrete hallway and the guards allowed Burnside to walk under his own volition. He stared straight ahead, so he didn’t know how many guards surrounded him. It didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t going to put up a fight.

  As he walked, Burnside assessed the damage. His upper right forehead area was hurting like hell and he was sure he had a massive bruise there. His lower lip felt swollen and blood was dribbling down his chin. The rest of his body was battered and bruised, but nothing he couldn’t handle. All in all, he thought it worked out fairly well.

  They arrived at the Isolation Block all too soon, the cuffs were removed, and Burnside was locked in a cell. It was an understatement to say he felt Déjà vu. This was his third time in the cell in less than two weeks’ time. He stood for a moment in the near-total darkness, taking an inventory of his injuries. Aside from the minor bruises he noticed earlier, he had a massive bruise on his right bicep, assorted bruises on his arms and legs, and more on his abdomen and back. He assumed the bruise on his bicep was caused by a kick, due to its severity. The rest he couldn’t tell. They could have been punches or kicks. Either way, he was a hurting unit.

  He carefully lowered himself to the floor and leaned against the wall. He looked up at the tiny beam of light emanating from the silver dollar-sized hole at the top of the steel door. The beam illuminated a tiny patch on the back wall. The rest was darkness. He closed his eyes and replayed the scene in the cafeteria in his head. He couldn’t think of anything he could have done differently. He despised the infamous n-word, but it had to be said to build his credibility with the Skins.

  Ray’s adrenaline high was fading, so he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He drifted to sleep and had a nightmare where he was fighting a horde of inmates with shaved heads in the prison yard. He woke up with sweat beading on his forehead. He paced the cell several times to convince himself the dream never really happened and sat back in his spot near the door.

  I have to plan my next move. Who do I go after now?

  A loud banging on the steel door interrupted his contemplation.

  “Burnside, you in there?” a gruff voice demanded.

  “Who wants to know?” Burnside asked.

  “Stand up so I can talk to you face-to-face,” the guard commanded.

  “I’m not sure if I can do that,” Ray said. “I’m considering how I’m going to fit you into my busy schedule. Do you have an appointment?”

  “Just stand up, wise-ass, unless you want to stay in the hole for the rest of your life,” the voice said.

  “It’s tough to argue with your logic,” Burnside said, standing.

  He peeked through the small hole in the top of the door and saw an ugly, overweight prison guard with a shaved head. The guard stepped closer so he could only see his pudgy face and nothing else.

  “I have a message for you,” the guard whispered.

  “Okay,” Ray replied, quietly.

  “We like what you did in the cafeteria,” the guard spoke softly. “The boss of the Skins wants to meet you. What do you think about that?”

  “It’s about time you figured out I’m on your side,” Ray said.

  “Okay, then meet the boss in the weightlifting area tomorrow in the yard,” the guard said.

  “Sure, no problem,” Burnside said.

  “That’s it. Remember, this conversation never happened. Got it?” the guard asked.

  “Got it,” Ray said.

  Who would I tell anyway?

  The guard’s ugly face disappeared from the tiny hole in the door. Burnside sat back down and gingerly ran a finger over his aching bicep.

  I doubt this puppy’s going to heal by tomorrow. I might need it if there’s another fight.

  Whether he was at full strength or not didn’t make a difference anyway. Once he was in the weightlifting area, the Skins could easily surround him and take him out with a well-placed shank. All the brute strength in the world couldn’t stop it. He would have to try his luck and hope for the best.

  Chapter 18

  Despicable

  Burnside closed his eyes and tried not to think about his future meeting with the leader of the so-called Aryan Nation.

  It won’t do any good worrying about it. I might as well catch up on some sleep.

  He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and let his subconscious take over. He trusted it to take him to a better place.

  Ray woke up an indeterminate amount of time later and felt surprisingly refreshed. He dreamed he had climbed to the top of a magnificent mountain and was standing in the sun at the peak. Even the darkness of the cell couldn’t dampen the good feeling he had from the dream. He sat in the dark in the absolute solitude, imagining the feeling of wind in his hair. Gorgeous white clouds drifted around him. His leg muscles ached from the climb, but it still felt good – like after a great workout. After spending an immeasurable a
mount of time contemplating his virtual mountain climb, the images faded and he grew restless.

  He stood up and began pacing. Two steps to the opposite wall. Two steps back. This became old very quickly, so he dropped on the floor to do some push-ups and was forced to position himself diagonally to have enough room. He had to be careful not to slip one of his feet into the stinking hole that served as his makeshift latrine. With his feet perched at the edge of the precipice, he barely had enough room. He started doing push-ups one-handed and switched to two hands when he became tired. He ignored his injuries and lost count of how many he did. Somewhere in the hundreds. His arms were aching from exertion and his body was covered with sweat. He sat near the door, breathing heavily. Now, he felt like he really had climbed a mountain.

  Ray closed his eyes and concentrated on the muscle strain in his arms. The pain was good because it made him feel alive. In the utter darkness, he felt like he had accomplished something. He desperately wanted to sleep so he could escape into another vivid dream. Exhausted from the workout, his mind drifted off again.

  The sound of jingling keys woke him up. He covered his eyes as the steel door creaked open, flooding the cell with light.

  “Get up. You’re being transferred,” an unknown voice said.

  “Sure,” Burnside said, keeping his eyes covered as he stood.

  A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the cell. He squinted at the light as his hands were cuffed behind his back.

  “Maybe you should tighten those cuffs. I can still feel circulation,” Burnside commented as he felt the metal biting into the skin of his wrists.

  Most of the guards were cool about putting the cuffs on, but some of them had something to prove and left marks. The guard didn’t respond and it was just as well. Spending however many days in solitary hadn’t put Ray in a good mood. Ray realized there were two more guards waiting for him at the entrance to the Isolation Block. They fell into step beside the first guard, pushing Burnside ahead of them. They led him out of the block and down a maze of corridors.