Authors: Glenn Langohr
I had another problem. My parole date was days away and part of me wanted to tuck my tail and avoid this issue. The other part of me knew I wasn’t going to stop being me. The years of prison life had molded me into a leader and my survival and pride were tied to how I’d faced things. I couldn’t let it go.
Damon and I had finished our workout routine in our usual spot by our buried swords in the back corner of the yard where we sat on the curb to survey things when Blockhead, a fellow White man walked up looking serious.
“Hey brothers, I have some bad news.” Blockhead further explained how “Lefty”, a White man and our responsibility, ran up the drug debt for heroin.
It was hard to pay attention to Blockhead because Damon and I were watching three of the newest Mexican power brokers while they walked the yard. There was Termite, one of the Mexicans who was trying to call shots, but was more of a drug smuggler and the current big connection for heroin. There was Cyclone, a straight gang banging killer, who also had aspirations to take over and call shots, but was too young and lacked the experience. The third Mexican went by Stranger from the Harbor Area in Long Beach. We deduced Stranger as the one who would take over. I didn’t like him. He was all about posturing, without enough conscience.
Stranger was walking by us with Cyclone on his right and Termite on his left when we heard Stranger say just loud enough, “I got the yard for the Mexicans now and I want you to be my mouthpiece Cyclone.” Cyclone was out of his element as a yard politician. A murderous rage flowed through his blood and his instincts were on edge. He didn’t say anything because he couldn’t. He’d already told all his “homeboys” that the yard was his. All of his “homeboys” in San Bernardino would think he was a joke if he became Stranger’s puppet. The whole territory and every other Mexican with a 13 tattooed on their body would laugh at him.
Stranger knew that Cyclone had asserted that he had the keys to the yard and was calling shots. He also knew that Cyclone had squeezed in on Termite for a cut of his dope. Having more experience, he knew that it was put up or shut up time and stopped walking.
Both Termite and Cyclone were caught off guard and kept walking a few paces then stopped, both with confused looks on their faces, they turned to look at Stranger. Stranger said, “Termite from this point on a third of the dope you bring in goes to me to run the yard.” Termite nodded his head he was fine with that and it looked like he was thinking about how Stranger had just got to the yard recently from where he’d left the biggest mobsters in southern California at Palm Hall, the most notorious section of Chino prison, where most of the inmates were waiting for a bus ride to the Pelican Bay S.H.U, and what that implied.
Cyclone stared at Stranger with so much uncomfortable energy flooding through his veins he was shaking, on the edge of aiming that force against Stranger just to get it over with.
Stranger, Termite and Cyclone were within 20 feet from us.
I got up and walked just close enough to the 3 Mexicans and stood 10 feet away and felt their energy and zeroed in on Cyclone. His hands were balled up in fist and they were still trembling.
I watched Stranger's eyes drop and notice Cyclone on the verge. He avoided the fight by cutting the tension with me as the distraction. He said, "What's up B.J?" I realized if I hadn't gotten up they would have been going at it in a fight over their internal power struggle, maybe it wasn’t too late, "You guys look busy. Let me talk to you when you’re done."
It was in that moment I picked Stranger to fight if diplomacy broke down and peace wasn't possible. The energy vibrating off Cyclone was palpable and familiar to me, it said, my childhood was so wrong that I would rather die than not live up to my own expectations. Cyclone finally looked at me. His dark brown eyes were void but there was an internal dialogue going through his brain that could change them back to rage in a nanosecond.
It appeared Stranger knew he'd just avoided a trip to the hole over a yard fight, temporarily, and played another move to distract Cyclone. "Cyclone do you want to talk to B.J?"
Cyclone's mind flooded with impulses unsure of what to do..."No." It looked like Stranger realized the best move was to get into action before the tension hit a crescendo again so he waved at me to have the talk with him.
Stranger’s eyes never left Cyclone and he tried to continue to command the situation. He nodded at Cyclone and said, “I’ll get at you when I’m done.”
I watched Stranger take a few steps into the yard for privacy leaving Cyclone and Termite on the track. He’d been doing this all his life and it showed but it was all posturing. He wasn’t a made guy yet. I positioned myself so I was facing the gun tower with Stranger in between and with Damon sitting on the curb to the right. To keep my vantage point the way I wanted, I kept the 10 foot gap between Stranger and me.
Stranger was still waiting for Cyclone and Termite to leave and walk the track but they were still standing there like they didn’t know what to do. I broke through Stranger’s lack of attention on me by saying loud enough for Damon, Cyclone and Termite to hear, “Stranger are you who I talk to for the Mexicans? I want to make sure you know what has already been established between our 2 races for our drug policy.”
Stranger’s face flashed toward me. All the tension from his power struggle with Cyclone was now facing me head on. His dark brown eyes creased into a frown, angry soldier. He took a step toward me to close the gap, postured and asked in a quiet voice meant for us, “Do you always talk so loud?” I glanced at the gun tower 50 yards away and 100 feet in the air poised with his rifle. He was watching. Then I smiled to break the tension and said in a quiet voice, “I had something worked out with L’il Bird before he left. I need you to get at him to verify it but take my word for it now and implement it, 180 dollar of the shelf dope policy. I heard Lefty owes Termite 700 dollars.”
Stranger looked confused, like I was speaking a foreign language.
I didn’t hesitate to help him understand. “Come on Stranger, you’ve been around. Drug debts get out of hand without a policy, 180 off the shelf max. That way dope fiends can’t cause our 2 races problems.”
Cyclone and Termite finally walked away. Stranger’s eyes followed their path along the track until they were under the gun tower and then looked back at me. “I know what you mean but I have to get at L’il Bird in the hole first.” That was going to take too long. I needed Stranger to run the yard with an iron fist for the Mexicans to keep the problem with drug debts from delivering chaos before it was too late.
It didn’t look like Stranger was up to the challenge so I urged him in the right direction, “Come on hommie, you know what’s up. We have to handle our business faster than that. Why don’t you take my word for it while you get at L’il Bird to confirm it and I’ll deal with it on my end by getting as much of the 180 dollars from Lefty before he gets dealt with?” By now, Cyclone and Termite were all the way down the track by 5 building and circling it past our White table. I noticed Damon was watching them. Stranger nodded his head as if he agreed with me but said, “Nope, I need that 700 dollars lefty owes and if you had that 180 dollar policy worked out with L’il Bird I’ll consider implementing that policy then, when I find that out. It’s my yard for the Mexicans now, L’il Bird is gone.”
For the rest of the day it was a delicate balance to figure out how to deal with things. Our White race was used to dealing with the policy already in place regarding drug debts so we couldn’t ask them to cover the 700 dollar bill. Doing so would have made us look bendable. Like we were made of money and any kind of pressure would separate us from it. We bounced around the idea that we could collect a small amount of the money from each White inmate until the $700 was covered but realized that would have been sending the wrong precedence. That would have sent the message to the rest of the White inmates that it was okay to run up a drug debt like “Lefty” had, because the whole race would just kick in to cover it…
Chapter 3
The next morning was a scorcher in the desert sun. Now that the yard was off lockdown the walk through the building and vestibule to get to the yard was crowded. Bodies of every skin color rushed their way out to get to desired locations on the yard.
When we made it out the vestibule I noticed that our building was opening first and Damon and I were the only ones wearing state prison issue denim jackets buttoned up tight over denim jeans over boots. Every other inmate was in casual clothes from their packages like shorts and tank tops and tennis shoes. If the guards and gun tower were paying attention, this was the first sign. Damon went toward 1 building just to the right and I walked to our White table in front of 5 building to the left.
I walked past 3 building right as the vestibule door opened and a sea of inmates came charging out, in a hurry to get to the work out bars, a card game or some other plan, like look for dope. I walked past 4 building and the same thing happened. I got to our table and stared at 5 building where Stranger would be coming out. The vestibule door hadn’t opened yet; the intake building always took longer to release.
I sat on top of the table and waited. By now the yard had over 400 inmates congregating into sections near the workout bars, basketball court and handball court. I found Damon walking with Jason, “Lefty’s” cell mate, and both of them carried a negative energy, even worse than it should have been.
Damon got to the table and said, “Lefty overdosed last night.”
I didn’t have time to register that fact. The action sped up and there wasn’t time to think. The vestibule door to building 5 opened.
As expected Stranger walked through the vestibule door first and just the way he walked offended me. He was dressed in all state issue blue denim like we were. He had his hands in his jacket as if he might have a knife in there. I got off the table and walked toward him but so did a couple of Mexicans from their table. I thought quick and realized it would work out better if I let them talk to him first. I stood off to the side and pretended to stretch on the edge of the track so I wouldn’t be so obvious and gave myself an angle to study the yard to see where the White inmates were.
The 2 Mexicans were done with Stranger and I let them walk past me and cut Stranger off. “Hey stud I need to talk to you.”
Stranger looked too sure of himself, like things were working out for him as the shot caller, and he tried to brush me off like I was an insignificant problem he’d already resolved. He looked at me like a peon and said; “Not now B.J I have to handle some shit.”
I usually don’t give someone I’d decided was an enemy a chance but I felt my rage boiling and knew he didn’t have a chance either way so I did what I rarely do, talk, “You need to handle this dope policy, last chance.”
I was 6 feet away from Stranger and looked for Damon and found him. He was walking toward me as fast as he could about 100 feet away. Close enough.
I looked back at Stranger. He looked shocked. Like it was too hard for him to believe I wasn’t bending to his will. I didn’t wait for a response and rushed him. Instead of trying to knock him out with a punch, I used my right knee in an explosive upper thrust. It caught him flush in his right leg and his body folded inward forcing his two hands in front of his face to come down. I fired a right handed bomb that bounced off his forehead because he shuffled backward to not go down from my knee chop but it was too late for him. I was on top of him raining down punches and crowding in on him until we were both on the ground. I leveraged myself on top of him and hammered punches into his face like a piston a few times until he bucked me off. I landed with my hands in front of me and popped back up and got to him before he made it all the way up and timed a kick to his face that sent him back to the ground. I charged him again but was met by a sea of other Mexicans. In the heat of the moment I knew they had launched themselves from their table and everywhere else nearby as one unit. I was barely able to see peripherally. The noise of yells, bodies running and the sounds of punches reached my ears and fear almost took over. I utilized that fear and fired both fist in hyper drive. My punches were the only thing clearing the way and I felt and saw Mexicans coming at me from the side for cheap shots. Their blows were landing but I only heard the thumps and didn’t feel them from the effects of adrenaline. I found Damon’s head bobbing a little higher than the rest and remembered the plan. I punched both of my fists as straight and fast as I could to get space. Little by little separation occurred and I could see things.
Damon ended up right where he was supposed to be and for a second, we had our backs locked against each other impossible to surround, then, we turned our bodies so we could both shuffle backwards until we felt the side of the building behind us. The noise of the battle came back to me. I heard all the usual sounds; the alarm, the block guns, the orders from guards, “GET DOWN! GET DOWN!” and felt my second wind, more adrenaline and the need to help other White inmates take over my being. My vision adjusted with my back safe and I continued distributing punches and knocking the smaller Mexicans down.
Damon was doing the same thing next to me and we had enough space to see a cluster of White inmates getting outnumbered and pummeled 50 feet away. One of our youngest was too small for the Mexicans and I saw one smash his head from behind and he crumpled to the ground with over 20 Mexicans stomping and kicking every part of him from every angle. I ran and punched my way there and felt pepper spray as I passed prison guards but bulldozed onward. I got to the youngster and started getting pummeled out in the open but still lifted him to his feet and dragged him 20 yards toward the opening of a building where more guards were and fell down. After a few breaths I realized it was over and looked for Damon. He had followed me halfway and was lying on the ground painted orange from the pepper spray. I saw it dripping off his bullet shaped head and almost laughed through my own pain. I looked back at the youngster’s scared face, it was swollen and bleeding but he’d be okay. I looked at our White table and saw Blockhead and Jason drenched in orange and found a bunch of other White inmates lying on their stomachs with their hands under them ready to pop back up if the Mexicans did. The Yard gate opened and an army of other prison guards from the other yards finally made it and for the first time I was glad to see them.