Hard Time (21 page)

Le Girls Cabaret, Phoenix, 2000.

Getting a foot massage on Ecstasy, 2000.

Claudia, 2002.

With Wild Man shortly before our arrest in 2002.

Inside the maximum-security Madison Street jail.

Publicity photo shot in London,
May 2010, in Arpaio’s famous
black-and-white bee stripes.

Me and Wild Man, April, 2010.

I’m sharing my story with young people as a cautionary tale about getting involved in drugs and crime.

Orpington College, 16 March 2010.

St Columb’s College, Derry,
Northern Ireland, 24 March 2010.

I wouldn’t wish jail on any of my friends, but when you’re in there it’s always a pleasure to run into one. I was happy to see Joey Crack, who I knew from Tempe, in Tower 6’s punishment pod. As a favour to me, Marco used his influence with the guards to move Joey Crack into my cell. Emaciated by drug abuse, Joey Crack arrived with a face as gaunt as an Afghan hound’s. He was taller than me, high-spirited and prone to unusual behaviour. He shocked the inmates and guards by inserting the circular bottoms of black chess pieces into his ear lobes, as if he were following the fashion of voodoo tribesmen.

Joey Crack liked to alter the jail-issued postcards that showed Sheriff Joe Arpaio in a variety of publicity poses. On the bottom bunk, I looked over at Joey Crack on the concrete, surrounded by tiny body parts he’d cut from magazines with a stolen razor, sticking a pair of breasts to Sheriff Joe’s jowls. His glue was soap shavings mixed with the high-fructose corn-syrup jelly that came in the Ladmo bags. His cards were in high demand. Most of them made it out of the jail – the guards usually laughed at them – but some were intercepted, deemed illegal due to the alterations, and Joey Crack received numerous verbal reprimands for promoting contraband.

‘So what adventures have you had in Towers?’ I asked him.

‘I landed in Tower 5. I’d only been in the pod maybe a couple of weeks at the most when a bunch of tobacco and meth was keystered in and for some reason half the damn pod decided my cell was the spot to converge and do their deals. I had no direct involvement or prior knowledge of these dodgy deals; however, once it was there, I found myself right smack-dab in the middle of the whole mess. Mainly, I was concerned with the tobacco end of things, but I was willing to partake in some of the ol’ naughty,’ he said, referring to crystal meth.

‘Oh dear.’

‘So here we all are – Mexicans, whites, everyone, all together in my cell. One guy has about a gram of crystal meth dumped out on my desk and is in the process of chopping it all down into lines for a select group of us to do – and, yes, I was one of the selected. Then we hear a door opening and see a DO coming straight for the cell.’

‘Oh no.’

‘As to be expected, all the idiots in the cell begin to filter away in a very obvious manner, leaving just a couple of us there. The Chicano at the desk who was chopping lines thinks quick and simply sweeps the entire pile right onto the floor before Officer Flores makes it inside to see what’s going on. The cop comes into the cell and right off the bat asks where the cigarettes are. I’ve got a whole bunch tucked into my pretty pink socks, but I’m trying to hold onto them. What it comes down to, though, is if somebody doesn’t give up something then Flores is gonna shake everyone down and find a lot more than just some tobacco.’

‘What did you do?’ I asked, leaning closer to him.

‘I’m elected to give my stash up for the good of everyone else, with the promise of being compensated for my troubles.’

‘What a hero.’

‘Sounds good to me, so I go for it. I give up my bounty, but it’s too late. The officer decides to strip search those of us still in the cell. The remaining inmates were myself, a Mexican named Chevvy, and Kyle.’

Excited to hear the name Kyle, I asked, ‘Kyle, the youngster who all the stories are going around Towers about him knocking people out and making them crap themselves?’

‘Yeah, he’s a kickboxer. I have loads of stories about him to tell you. Anyway, Kyle’s skinny butt cheeks were packed with tobacco, a lighter, weed, speed and a spot of black-tar heroin. To say the least, we were shitting bricks. We were taken into the hallway and down to the closet where they keep all the mops and things. Then we’re made to get naked.’

‘Together?’

‘No, one by one. Kyle was last. Somehow, by the time he is up to flaunt his stuff, the cop runs out of steam and doesn’t really look too hard at his asshole.’

‘He’s lucky.’

‘That sure was close, but we’re not out of the woods just yet. The cop decides that Kyle is the guilty party and I was his fall guy – which was dead on. The cop cuffs us both, lets Chevvy go and takes us to the hole pending investigation. Had he only known the fun we would have in there! As soon as the door slams behind us we are unloading Kyles’s ass and making plans to party.’

‘I don’t know how you can party in here. It’s too depressing. Being around all these needle junkies has put me off drugs.’ I’d never seen my party friends from a sober perspective, as I was usually higher than most of them. Being forced to live with so many out-of-control addicts was a constant reminder of what drugs can reduce people to – cementing my earlier decision to stay sober.

‘Not me. We got all spun out on speed in the hole and played cards for the entire day while smoking cigarettes like they’re legal. No worries. No regrets. It’s just Kyle and me doing what we do best. Well, it’s only a matter of time before something bad comes our way. It’s maybe seven or eight at night, and the cop on duty makes his rounds. He can’t help but notice the stench of smoke wafting from our cell. He opens the door and makes us vacate the cell so that he can conduct a search.’

‘Oh no.’

‘He finds nothing, and we all but laugh in his face. About an hour or two goes by, and we’re not taking any precautions – just blazing till our lungs ached. The cop is not letting us get away with our blatant disregard for the rules. He pops our door and searches the cell again. This time he finds a big knot of tobacco on my bed, barely hidden under my sheet. He then writes us yet another ticket with a suggestion on it for a further 30 days in the hole. Does this little incident deter either of us one little bit?’

‘Probably not.’

‘No, no and no! We refuse to obey, and nobody can stop us. Before Kyle unpacked his ass, we covered every place on the door where smoke might escape. We did it with toilet paper and toothpaste.’

‘Very crafty.’ Every time I heard a story like this, I wondered why Sheriff Joe Arpaio didn’t offer ways for the inmates to channel such inventive qualities into constructive activity. Then maybe some of them would have stood a better chance in society.

‘It worked, but only for a day or two. On day two, we are practically out of our minds, and we decide a little heroin and Klonopin cocktail is in order to level us out. For me, it does the trick, but for Kyle, it merely sends him over the edge. Every time the cop walks by, I’m awakened by Kyle beating his head against the door and screaming that he’s going to hurt himself. They take him to go see the psych, but he returns shortly after and seems to be somewhat better. The next day, they let both of us out, but before departing the both of us agree that I’ll take this write-up as well, seeing as how the tobacco was found on my bed. From there I got moved to T2, where I knew people like Wild Man, so I was happy.’

‘Wow! What a grand entrance you made to Towers,’ I said, hoping that he wouldn’t get too crazy on drugs in my cell.

‘Yeah, and here’s what happened next. A few days later, a hearing officer comes to see me about the write-up. I tell her that the contraband was all mine, but she twists my words and tries making it seem as if I put the blame on Kyle. Then there’s all kinds of rumours that he wants me smashed for blaming the smokes on him.
Whatever!
’ Joey Crack paused. ‘Nothing happens, but a couple of weeks later the cop that found the tobacco in the hole gets a hard-on to fuck with me and search my cell. When he does, he finds an extension on my pencil made from postcards and tape. Here comes another write-up and another trip to the hole.’

‘How lame.’

‘Yeah, but this jerk puts the pencil in an evidence bag and tells me it’s a shank. Pure BS, but it still got me 15 days in the hole. That’s how I made it to Tower 6 and ended up here with you.’

After the evening chow, Joey Crack was pacing, warming up to describe one of Kyle’s fights, when Little Italy filed into the cell. The Italians looked almost dapper in the brand-new bee stripes they’d bribed from the laundry officer.

‘Wassup, fellas!’ Marco said.

‘Wassup, dawgs!’ I said, offering my fist from the bottom bunk.

‘Wassup, Joey Crack and England!’ Paulie said, grinning and winking at me.

‘Wassup, dawgs!’ Joey Crack said.

There was much bumping of fists, and then we urged Joey Crack to tell the story.

‘Yeah, Crack, how many guys has Kyle made shit themselves?’ Paulie asked.

‘I wasn’t present when Kyle knocked the shit out of those guys. I missed those gems,’ Joey Crack said. ‘I was, however, front and centre for many good smashings he inflicted. My personal favourite is the one I call “The Naked Cage Match”, which I must admit, I somewhat helped to instigate.’

‘How d’ya manage that?’ Paulie asked.

Marco took the stool. The rest leaned against the wall, settling in to hear the tale.

‘It was gonna happen regardless, but I had to put my own two cents in to make things more entertaining. I don’t remember what the original beef was about, but then again what does it really matter – Kyle just loves to scrap!’

‘Hold on a minute,’ I said. ‘What’s this Kyle look like?’

‘That’s the thing,’ Joey Crack said. ‘He’s just a skinny youngster. He doesn’t look like much of anything, so these big dudes pick on him, and he always smashes the shit out them. So anyway, there’s this guy who’s having some kind of problem with Kyle. Kyle takes this guy into a cell and touches him up. Seconds later they both emerge and this guy has some bumps and bruises, so we make him get into the shower to clean himself up. When he gets out, wrapped in only a little pink towel, he proceeds to tell us that he’s OK and that Kyle hits like a girl!’

‘Oh no!’ I said.

‘We know exactly where this is going,’ Marco said, grinning.

‘Saying that was hilarious enough considering he’s standing before us with his face swelling black and blue. But he also tells us that if he had been ready for it, Kyle wouldn’t have stood a chance. We laughed our asses off, and then we informed Kyle that he had been incompetent in not properly smashing his opponent. The guy’s walking around protected only by his little pink towel, talking all kinds of shit about Kyle. We warn the guy that he might want to get dressed ready for the next round, but of course he fails to listen. Kyle comes rolling in full of piss and vinegar ready to do battle and make up for not doing things right the first time around. Then suddenly –
bang!
Kyle knocks the fool for a loop and we all spill out of the cell in order to make room for this little rumble. As expected, the towel falls to the floor, and now we’ve got ourselves a naked cage match!’ Joey Crack’s voice intensified. ‘Kyle throws the buck-naked guy into a headlock and proceeds to beat his face into disfigurement. You’ve never seen anything so funny as this little naked man grunting like a baboon in distress trying to escape from Kyle’s fists of fury. Lucky for the little bastard, Kyle didn’t go too far. He simply needed to show him that not only could he beat him down once but he could do it twice, and with the challenger being buck-naked, he put icing on the cake by keeping a straight face the entire time.’

‘That’s a hell of a story,’ Paulie said.

‘There were plenty more fights, but one was pretty much the same as any other after a while. One thing that never changed, though: Kyle was always the one who came out on top.’

Marco’s crew listened to Joey Crack tell stories about the Wild Ones. Intrigued by these stories, Paulie added that he’d heard about Wild Man and asked us to arrange a meeting with him. I sent a kite (a note smuggled through the jail by inmates) to Wild Man, requesting his presence at the next Catholic Mass to meet Little Italy.