ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story) (17 page)

On the walk from receiving to Sycamore Hall deputy Gonzalez led the way with Sandman a few feet behind him sliding the trash can, then Damon and Vince behind him with their hands behind their back. Vince whispered to Damon, “Study the layout in as much detail as you can. You study the left hand side, and I’ll study the right hand side. We’ll compare notes in our cell.”

Vince noticed how receiving’s hall started down a declining slope as it entered Central’s main hall. They entered it and Vince looked both ways and decided they were right in the middle. He estimated the length of Central’s hall at about the distance of a football field and decided the width of the hall was about ten yards. Then he focused on his right hand side and looked as far down the hall as he could. Up the way, there were offices that had a sign that read, Lieutenant/Sergeant offices. Looking past those offices another sign read, Medical. Vince noticed a hulking deputy that looked about 6’4 and about 240lbs. of muscle come out of the medical area looking at the procession. He stopped in front of the Lieutenant/Sergeant office with his arms crossed and looked into deputy Gonzalez’s eyes. A message seemed to pass between the two and deputy Gonzalez stopped the procession.

Damon studied his left hand side along the wall and noticed steel cages the size of phone booths. Directly above them were a nozzle facing downward and a sign that read, decontamination spray. Damon realized the phone booths weren’t for phone use, they were for combatants involved in altercations and the spray was to hose off the pepper spray. Then he noticed the massive Sergeant staring at their lineup.

Vince read the Sergeant’s name plate, Sergeant Fountain. He had sagacious eyes that looked like they didn’t miss much. He walked to the trash can Sandman was holding and asked everyone, “Are there any weapons in this trash can? Any ice picks, bone crushers, or swords?”

Sergeant Fountain tilted the trash can, looked inside, then grabbed it and shook it. Then he looked right at Damon and Vince. He watched the youngsters keep as stoic a face as possible and asked them, “Is there anything in this trash can I should know about?”

Damon and Vince shook their heads and looked at the ground. Both said, “No.”

Sandman looked relaxed like he dealt with this kind of thing on a daily basis. “It’s just trash Sergeant Fountain.”

Deputy Gonzalez smiled and said, “I think they’ve got enough weapons over there already Sergeant.”

Sergeant Fountain nodded his head and said, “So just an extra trash can huh? There must be some extra trash over there in Stickamore then. If there aren’t any weapons in there then you won’t need me to escort you safely.”

Deputy Gonzalez said, “Not this time Sergeant.”

Vince watched in amazement as the Sergeant gave the nod and said, “Carry on then.” Vince thought, “this is rad.”

Continuing up Central’s hall, Vince studied his right hand side and noticed a sign that read: CHOW HALL. Then one that read: KITCHEN. Walking by, Vince looked into the chow hall and heard gangster rap music playing. He saw four different races of level 4 convicts. They were all tattooed down and wearing beanies slung back to the point they looked like skull caps. Those who were working had hairnets over their beanies and were wearing state issue denim pants and prison shirts as they carried trays and wiped tables. Over in the corner, Vince saw a cut up black dude without his shirt on working out. It looked like he had three pairs of boxer shorts on. Each one hung lower than the other one and his denim pants hung all the way at the bottom below his ass. Another sagging black dude walked up to him and said, “Sugarfree! Hey nigga how much time they give you on your violation?” Sugarfree responded, “Hey crip, we ain’t supposed to call each other niggas in front of other races. Big T. in stickamore put that out on the tier. He says it gives the other races the green light to use the word and that shit starts riots. He says it’s okay if it’s just bofus talking and no other race can hear us.”

Damon studied his left hand side and noticed a sign that read: MADRONE HALL. It also had a sign that read: KITCHEN. There wasn’t anything else to see so he looked to the other side as their caravan pulled up. He looked up at the sign and realized it was a different kind of sign. This one was made of redwood and had the letters: Sycamore Hall stamped on it. Above the printed letters stamped into the wood there was the word stickamore etched into the wood.

A new prison deputy came out of Sycamore. Another Mexican with a name plate that read, Primo. He looked at deputy Gonzalez and shook his head like he didn’t like something. He nodded his head at Sandman and he took the opportunity to get into Sycamore.

Damon thought, here we go, we’re going to get moved right next to those child molesters.

Deputy Gonzalez asked, “Do you have a cell for these two?”

“We’ve got cell 215 open, the last cell on the second tier on the west side. I wanted to get these two youngsters sent to the east side but the only cell we’ve got over there is being held by main control for black inmates.”

Deputy Gonzalez looked at Vince and Damon and said, “You guys didn’t want to go over there anyway. It’s all black.”

Deputy Primo pulled Deputy Gonzalez aside and said, “You know that cell is right next to those chesters that came in last night don’t you?”

“Yeah. I know. Are you worried these youngsters are going to have to do it?”

“You know Mad Dog has that side of Sycamore… He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, in fact he’s straight up stupid… But he is a big ass crazy white dude.”

Damon and Vince listened in on the conversation and watched deputy Primo wave good bye to deputy Gonzalez.

Deputy Primo walked back over and said, “Check this out youngsters, It’s Friday night right now. I need you to keep your noses clean until Tuesday or Wednesday. That’s how long it’s going to take to get you out of central and over to the west yard. We have to keep you here until medical clears you.”

Vince said, “No problem.”

Damon nodded his head.

Deputy Primo asked, “Do you know what cell you’re in?”

Vince said, “215.”

Deputy Primo nodded his head and knew they had overheard.

CHAPTER 39

Vince turned into the hall and turned to the left and saw the desk the deputy sat in. He couldn’t see into either hall from there and thought, we must not even be supervised.

Damon followed Vince into the hall and shut the door behind him.

The noise of the door closing brought a lot of people to their cell bars to see what was going on. Someone down the way yelled out of their cell, “HEY CHINTO! WHO IS THAT HOLMES? ARE THE JAVES ON THE TIER?”

Damon saw Vince studying the cells on the first tier, so he looked at the shower directly to their right, past the last cell. There were two Mexicans in it and one of them was watching the door intently to see if a prison guard was coming. It looked like he decided that it was clear and yelled, “IT’S JUST SOME YOUNGSTER GAVAS, FLACO’S GOT THRUSHA FOR A SECOND!”

Damon watched who he was assuming was Chinto grab something from Flaco. It looked like it was a hypodermic syringe. He turned so his back was to the tier and got busy with something. With nothing else to see Damon turned his attention to the cells on the second tier. The first cell he looked at, directly above him, had a big hairy Mexican in it that had two big tear drops tattooed under his right eye. Damon looked into those eyes for a second and saw a lot of hate there. He looked down the tier further and saw heavily muscled tattooed down arms hanging out of bar doors. One of them had a homemade rear view mirror and was watching Damon in it at the same time. Time seemed to slow down. Damon looked at Vince and saw him staring at a big white guy in the cell ten feet away staring back at him.

Vince studied him standing at the bars with his large chest and upper arms blasted down with ink. He looked like he weighed about 240 lbs. at six feet of stockiness. He had a large tear drop tattoo under his right eye. Vince realized he was being waved over to his cell and decided, this is Mad Dog.

Vince told Damon, “Come with me.”

They both walked the ten feet and Vince realized the large tear drop was actually a swastika. His head was shaved bald and was also very large. He had a collage of art work on his chest that included an Ace of Spades, some crime scene tape and a naked goddess with her arms and face to the sky. Both Damon and Vince were busy looking at it when they heard him say, “Which one of you is Vince, and which one of you is Damon?”

Damon looked at Vince’s surprised reaction to how he knew their names.

“Sandman told me your names before he ran over to the chow hall. I’m Mad Dog.”

Mad Dog studied the youngsters standing there trying to look so tough. He thought, Sandman was right. These kids don’t have any tattoos and I’d be giving them the chance to earn some by adding some steel in those high-profile child molesters. He thought about how he’d also pointed out that the rest of us whites over here in Sycamore are just doing a few more months of prison time in violations, whereas these youngsters are doing four year prison terms. They won’t even catch much more time… Sandman had also suggested we shouldn’t let the rest of our whites in this block know about the molesters because they’ll all throw their two cents in on how it should get handled and it’ll be a big cluster-fuck mess. He remembered how Sandman had said, Just bait the youngsters and give them some steel and we’ll have them do it during showers…”

Vincent said, “I’m Vincent…”

Damon said, “I’m Damon…”

Both Damon and Vince looked down the row of cells next to Mad Dog and saw Mexican faces watching and listening.

Mad Dog said, “The sandman also told me you two looked like a couple of white warriors. I’m trying to figure out how he came up with that. You don’t look too bad ass to me. Can either of you fight any good?”

Vince puffed up a little and bit. “I grew up on the streets and have fought my ass off! I don’t win them all but I hold my own.”

Mad Dog maintained a stoic mask and looked at Damon for his response.

Damon felt the eyes on him and thought, this is some kind of trap. “I can hold my own.”

Vince noticed Mad Dog get frustrated. His big forehead wrinkled up into five deep lines.

Mad Dog took his time and thought it out, then came up with, “Sandman also told me that you two got caught up in cutting it up with the deputies about taking his job as porter. Then you had the nerve to Mad Dog him and gang bang on him with your eyes. That’s a no-no.”

Damon studied Mad Dog and thought, I was right, this is a trap. Maybe if we wait him out and stop biting he’ll get ahead of himself and we’ll see where he’s going with it.

Vince bit. “You better run a check on that noise you heard! This is what happened. Deputy Gonzalez, Gonzo, stirred the pot and disrespected us by asking Sandman if he was going to add us fish to the list of torpedoes in Sycamore. The Sandman disrespected us by telling Gonzo that he wouldn’t use us because we’re kids, and you don’t sent your kids into the street. So get your facts straight stud.”

Damon watched Mad Dog’s forehead wrinkle impossibly deep and thought, here we go.

Vince watched Mad Dog go get something under his bunk and bring it back and hand it through the bars.

Vince grabbed it. It was a brown sandwich bag the lunches came in. He opened it far enough for Damon to see.

Damon looked in and saw four six inch pieces of sharpened steel. Each one had strips of sheets wrapped tightly around the bottom ends of them for handles.

Damon asked, “What’s up with these?”

Before Mad Dog answered, Vince slid the bag into his waistband to hide it.

Mad Dog said, “Do you two have any idea where you’re at? Check this out youngsters; we’ve got seven white cells on this side of Sycamore, six on the other side, eleven in Madrone across the hall, five in Cypress and Seven in Palm Hall. The fellas in Palm Hall are heading to Pelican Bay, to the S.H.U. You landed smack dab in the middle of level four southern headquarters where all business gets handled with those things I gave you! We’ve been running the routine the fellas put together with the Mexican mafia since 1982. I just wanted you to know how we get down over here since you’re picking fights with one of my integral components.”

Vince interrupted, “We aren’t the ones picking fights!”

Mad Dog exploded, “Hey youngster keep your mouth shut and your ears open while I’m talking to you! School is in session! If the Sandman says you were gang banging on him with your eyes, then you were! That’s why I gave you that bag, so you’ll be on equal footing with the rest of your white race in here.”

Mad Dog let that set in and thought, I’m running out of time, the deputies should be popping their cells any minute.

Mad Dog said, “I want you to answer one question, but do it carefully. Are you going to be a benefit to our race, or are you going to disrupt our race?”

Damon watched Vince jump on the baited hook right as the noise of iron clinking together signified their cell was getting popped open.

“We’re here to benefit our race one hundred percent!”

Mad Dog nodded, “All right youngsters, get to your cell.”

Vince and Damon walked to the stairs and walked up them to the second tier. Damon looked at Vince and saw his left hand covering the lump pressed against his waist under his clothes.