Authors: Glenn Langohr
“Inmate Smith and Johnson, you were both seen by tower guard Abadaco and building 5 prison guard Jimenez as combatants involved in the riot and in their words ‘Punching both fist repeatedly hundreds of times during the altercation hitting inmates Guerra, Alejandra, Sanchez, Lopez, Cordoba, Marquez, and inmate Delgado repeatedly’. The report goes on to say you were both pepper sprayed. This is the proof needed that you were both involved in the riot so you don’t have much of a chance of beating the prison violations. Since weapons weren’t used I don’t think you have to worry about added charges with the District Attorney but these reports combined with your statements will be sent to them to see if the County wants to pick up additional charges. I don’t think they will. None of the inmates had to get stitched up and there wasn’t any great bodily injury other than some swelling and bruises and a little blood.”
I stared at Lieutenant Jackson and appreciated his honesty. He was letting us in on the full impact and ramifications of the situation rather than letting us sweat out those pertinent details relating to the potential of outside charges with the District Attorney. He was also coaching us in that whatever we said would be used against us in reports. His Mexican partner Torrez, who I realized was a Sergeant, scared the shit out of us.
“We’ve looked at the video footage of the incident and it shows you as the aggressor B.J…If you don’t cooperate with us we might have to write up the report to show that you instigated the riot. That will probably get the D.A. to pick up charges, plus we can raise the in prison violation to a level A charge…” I knew the current charge we had read, “Group Melee”, was a level D charge in the California Prison Guide, also known as the “Title 15”. The most it carried as in prison punishment was up to 9 months in Administrative Segregation as a S.H.U. term. Sergeant Torrez was referring to a level A charge usually reserved for Murder, Mayhem, Extortion, or a much more grey area, labeling a prisoner responsible for calling those shots by exerting pressure. Both Damon and I stood there with stoic expressions on our faces waiting…Lieutenant Jackson started the questions. “What started the riot? We only want to know to see how long to keep the yard it happened on locked down.”
Neither Damon nor I spoke a word. We couldn’t, the unwritten code of silence.”
Lieutenant Jackson nodded his head that he understood our predicament and wrote down and said, “No comment.”
Sergeant Torrez looked angry. His face contorted into that impatient frustrated look he brought originally. He said, “We know it was over dope. Did your race or you B.J. do more dope than you could pay for and then decide the best way out was to get in a fight to get off the yard?”
I knew he was baiting me and it almost worked. I wanted to tell them that yeah it was over dope. “Lefty” saw half the Mexicans on the yard nodding off and scratching their bodies, high as fuck on heroin, and his drug addicted diseased mind was jealous and the desire to use that heroin and get as fucked up as half the Mexicans pushed him past the point. Not that I was excusing his actions. But I was questioning how Termite was smuggling enough heroin into our prison to get 200 Mexicans so high that they were throwing up all over the yard. Was a prison guard helping him smuggle it? I couldn’t imagine how through monitored visits with cameras everywhere, that much heroin could slip through. Usually, smaller amounts made it by the visitor kissing a small balloon of packaged drugs across with it being swallowed by the prisoner and thrown up later…I finally responded, “It was no big deal. That was a cheer leader fight. All we did is wave some pom-poms around. You can open the yard back up over there…”
I knew they wouldn’t open up the yard for a minimum of two weeks. They would follow protocol and sweep the yard for weapons and a few other things first. I’d have time to contact “L’il Bird” and “Boxer” and restore peace…Hopefully.
Sergeant Torrez scribbled in his report with an angry face and I looked at Lieutenant Jackson. He noticed my worried expression and shook his head as if to say, everything will be alright.
Sergeant Torrez looked like he was trying to scrunch his face up into something intimidating. He looked at me as hard as he could and said, “B.J. you’re parole date is tomorrow. Why in the fuck did you get involved in this? Now you might not go home, unless you tell me what I need to know! What exactly happened over there so we can investigate the riot properly? I looked at the Sergeant for a while and finally said, “No comment.”
I wanted to tell him that if I helped him by talking he would have to write it in a report that would then come back to us that we would then have to carry with us and pass along to other prisoners. That would be another security threat because we weren’t supposed to talk about those kinds of things. Just because my parole date was set for tomorrow it wasn’t time to become a rat.
The Sergeant said, “Last chance to work with me and possibly go home tomorrow…”“No comment.”
Lieutenant Jackson smiled at us like we did what we were supposed to do. He knew the program and was just doing his job. He said, “We’re going to run showers for the Whites and Mexicans after we release the Blacks and Asians to the yard kennels. After that we have to take you two out of the cell for some pictures and some more questions about gang affiliation.”
Damon and I both said in unison, “No comment.”
A half hour later we heard cell doors pop open. We looked out the cell and saw Traveler and Sinner come out of their cell with towels and shower supplies. They came right to our cell and filled us in.
Traveler was as tall as Damon at 6’3, with a shredded bullet proof build. He said, “We heard that interview, good job with the no comment. B.J. if your parole date is tomorrow you might have to stay a few extra days but you will go home. Take this Title 15 and read it. The state can’t keep you indefinitely for a riot unless there is good cause for the District Attorney to charge you with a new beef. Since weapons weren’t used you’re out of here. “L’il Bird” and “Boxer” are already on top of things and they got at us to tell you they send their respects and regards and to not worry about the yard you just left. They’re sending Cyclone back to take control of the yard for the Mexicans and the policy you guys already had in place is going to stay the same. The only thing they want is for “Lefty” to get dealt with…”
The first thing I thought was that it was a good thing I spoke loud enough to Stranger for Cyclone and Termite to hear before the riot. They must have heard, or already knew, the drug policy we had worked out was being violated. The second thing I thought, thank God they were handling their business so honorably.
We handed our Lock Up Order 114-D paperwork to Traveler to follow protocol and he slid us a sack of goodies that included some prison store food, toiletries and some writing paper and stamped envelopes. Sinner had a handful of books for us to read to help kill the time stuck in our cell almost 24-7 in slow motion. I had to ask, “How long have you guys been here?” Traveler said, “Bam Bam has been here the longest at 2 years and 2 months. They’re determining if he’s going to Pelican Bay as a validated mobster. He wanted us to warn you that this prison seems to want these cells in Administrative Segregation filled. They’re on a fishing expedition to validate as many prisoners as shot callers as possible. My cellie and I have been here for a year and a half for defending ourselves in a riot outnumbered 20 to us 2. With such bad odds we both had weapons in our hands. The weapons have us screwed. What did they want us to do, just let them kill us?”
We watched Traveler and Sinner leave our cell and heard their cell door shut. A couple of minutes later we heard the vestibule open and we got some more visitors.
Sergeant Torrez crowded our cell door with a smirk on his face with six I.G.I. Gooners behind him. We called the Inmate Gang Investigators Gooners because they wore similar uniforms to the regular prison guards but had additional black stitching on their shoulders and chest that resembled tattoos to signify they were in charge of deciphering who the gangsters were, usually based on their tattoos.
We backed up to the cell door one at a time and stuck our wrists through the slot to accept the handcuffs. After we backed out of the cell we had one I.G.I. Gooner on each side of us holding our shoulders to steer our direction. Sergeant Torrez led the way and just as we got to Traveler and Sinner’s cell he said, “Time to take some pictures of you to add to the gang file and have an interview out of hearing so you can really open up to us.”
I knew he was trying to stir the pot and make it look like we might yap our gums and talk. They were always trying to play the divide and conquer game to keep the prisoners fighting each other instead of uniting for a common cause, like finding a new life away from prison walls…
We stopped at an office and there were 2 other I.G.I. Gooners inside with cameras and a table full of files next to them.
Sergeant Torrez grabbed our files off the desk and handed them over. I read the nameplate from the first Gooner’s shoulder to receive our files, Valazquez, and noticed he was listed as a Lieutenant. The other Gooner to get our files was Perez, another Lieutenant. Sergeant Torrez looked at us like a bully and said, “Strip down to nothing. It’s time to take some pictures to beef up your files. Let’s see those tattoos.”
I knew I would disappoint this branch of fault finders. I didn’t have any tattoos. Damon on the other hand was a sculpted banner of ink. They were going to have a field day with him. I stripped down and stared at Sergeant Torrez. He looked even more frustrated. He said, “Turn around B.J.”
I turned around and heard him say, “Not one tattoo B.J? What’s wrong with you? Every other prisoner has tattoos. How do you have so much influence without them?” I responded, “Who said I have influence? If I have any it’s because I’m not trendy.”
I heard Sergeant Torrez whistle and say, “Look at all that ink on Smith. We should be able to label some of that ink as gang affiliated.”
“Turn around Smith” Damon turned around and looked at me with a sour expression on his face and I whispered, “Don’t say anything.”
We heard Sergeant Torrez pull one of the Inmate Gang Investigators aside and close the office door behind them. We listened and barely heard the Sergeant say, “We can put everything on Smith and write it up that he was the shot caller that provoked the riot…” We heard the I.G.I. Gooner respond, “Yeah, I like that. With all of those prison tattoos we can write it up that he’s part of a prison gang and a leader. We should be able to keep him housed in Administrative Segregation until the Pelican Bay S.H.U. has an opening…”
The door opened and they walked back inside. “Turn around.”
We turned around and I studied Sergeant Torrez. I was starting to hate him. He was a power tripper who was willing to do whatever it took to screw people like us. He grabbed one of the cameras and got close enough to Damon’s naked body for it to feel weird. The feeling intensified because his face took on a glow, like he was getting off on the process. With his face 6 inches away from Damon’s stomach he asked, “What does Rott stand for? Is that you’re A.K.A?”
Damon didn’t say anything…
“What about that banner of ink flowing across your chest with the Ace of Spades flying off the table with the dice? Does that mean you control the gambling in here?”
Damon remained silent…
“What about the 737 on your shoulder, what does that stand for?” Lieutenant Inmate Gang Investigator Perez came closer with an excited look on his face. “That’s a gang tattoo! I know I have it in my files somewhere.” The energy increased with Perez’s excitement and the questions came in rapid fire.
“What do they call you besides B.J?”
“What do they call you Smith?”
“Who do you run with?”
“What gang are you from?”
“What neighborhood do you represent?”
“Are you affiliated with the Aryan Brotherhood?”
“How about the Nazi Low Riders?”
“Are you Skin Heads? Are you Peckerwoods? Come on I know you’re someone!”
The feeling of doom intensified as the reports were scribbled faster along with the flashing lights from the cameras. It felt like we were on an out of control train about to get derailed.
Inmate Gang Investigator Torrez flipped the pages in his gang file and with excitement that bordered on glee, said, “See, right here! Look at the tattoo on this inmate… He has the number 737 tattooed on his shoulder also. When we interrogated him he admitted his A.K.A. is Casper and also admitted his gang affiliation as O.C.S, short for Orange County Skin Head. He also told us the structure of White gang leadership in prison starts with the Aryan Brotherhood dominating the Nazi Low Riders, who dominate the Skin Head gangs. He said a Roll Call list is taken on every prison yard in California to organize the power structure…”
On the walk back to our cells we passed Traveler and Sinner standing at their cell door watching. I remembered Traveler’s warning about the fishing expedition. It felt like we’d just been hooked and thrown all over the place. But where were we going to land? It felt hard to breath, like a fish out of water…
The next morning started with Sergeant Torrez. He stood in front of the cell smiling at us looking smug, like he had won the war. He had some papers in his hand and said, “Here’s some more paperwork related to the riot you caused Smith, or should I call you by your A.K.A, Rott?”