Reel to Real (3 page)

But even as she said “no,” another part of her wanted the money. She wanted it bad. If she could just convince herself this wasn’t a set-up, that he wasn’t a cop, she just might do it. Maybe he was who he said he was. Maybe things could work out.

She steepled her fingers and pressed them against her mouth as she thought. She definitely needed the money, no doubt about that. She needed to get her car fixed. It was making funny noises and starting to smoke. The money could also help her catch up on her electric bills, and besides, if this guy really did turn out to be okay, maybe this extra hundred could turn into something regular. Wouldn’t that be great?

Having a loud argument in her head, she told herself she was 38 years old, and dammit, she knew which way was up. Why in the hell would she get busted now? Plus, her friend assured her this guy was okay. And besides that, she had a sixth sense when it came to cops. That’s where the “trust your gut” rule kicked in.
I’m just being paranoid
, she thought.

Letting out a long sigh, she said, “Okay buddy, gimme the hundred and I’ll go see what I can do.”

He pulled his wallet out of his tight jeans and put the money back on the bar.

She stared at it for a second, then grabbed the cash and looked him straight in the eye. “Mister, I hope you’re not screwing with me,” she said.

“Naw, lady, I’m not screwing with you. I just want to have some fun when my ol’ lady’s not looking.”

Spice grabbed her purse. “Okay then, I should be back in about an hour. Is that quick enough for you?”

He touched the brim of his hat and nodded.

In her mind, she was already spending the much-needed money.

Turned out her dealer was home. He had the stuff she needed and the deal went quick. Spice was smiling big when she walked out the door. That is, until she noticed all the cop cars parked on the front lawn, and up and down the street.

“All bad precedents begin as justifiable measures.”

J
ULIUS
C
AESAR

Grants, New Mexico August 9, 1995

Shane “Slick” Harrison clutched a clear plastic bag containing civilian clothes and assorted grooming items and stood near the huge steel gate covered with razor wire. There was an unrelenting grin on his recently-shaved face. Even when the assistant warden handed him a stack of paperwork and a boring prepackaged speech containing the words, “Don’t come back”, he continued to smile. None of this BS protocol was going to wreck
his
day — he was getting out of the joint and he was psyched.

A prison transport van dropped him off at the Grants, New Mexico Greyhound Station with a one-way ticket to Albuquerque. It would have been nice if someone had come to pick him up, but hey, it didn’t really matter. His old man was going to meet him when he got into town and drive him over to his great new apartment.

By the early 1980s, New Mexico prisons had become jam-packed with inmates. To help thin the population to a manageable mob, State Senator Manny Aragon sponsored the Community Corrections Act of 1983. It was signed into law by Governor Toney Anaya.

The Community Corrections Program offered early releases to a select group of inmates, which,  in theory, was a great idea. It was supposed to be a win-win situation. Inmates who were scheduled to get out within a year, would get released just a teensy bit earlier than scheduled. This would help ease the pervasive overcrowding in the prisons.

The program was like a halfway house without the “house.” The plan was to provide tight  supervision and supportive treatment services for offenders in a closely scrutinized environment, all while attempting to allow them to lead as normal a life as possible.

Initially, inmates who had used firearms in the commission of their crimes were automatically disqualified. Then in 1989, state Senator Anthony Williams sponsored legislation that allowed felons who had used guns to participate in the program. The bill passed the senate and the house unopposed, and Governor Garrey Carruthers quickly signed the act into law.

Shane Harrison was one of those chosen inmates. Even though he had only served four of the ten years he received for two different armed robberies, he was somehow within a year of expected release. This was due to “good time” provisions — prison talk for bad math. “Good time” basically meant the prisoner served only half his sentence, unless convicted of additional crimes while in prison.

Hence, Shane Harrison, deemed a model inmate in the penitentiary, was further deemed a model potential reintegration program participant. Never mind that his prison psychological profile stated that he had a strong inclination for violence, was fixated on guns, and was afflicted with both bipolar disorder and a schizoid personality disorder with volatile mood swings. The prison psychologist had recommended that he serve the maximum allowable sentence, but all that was forgotten as New Mexico made its move to reduce its inmate populations.

The idea was that the prisoner would be slowly eased back into civilized society, and yet would remain on a very strict, very structured probation. The prisoner would be on a short leash.

Shane Harrison would not have been eligible for this project in the early days of the program, due to the use of a firearm restriction. However, as the prisons became ever more crowded, that technicality was dispensed with.

The rules of the program required that Shane be drug tested randomly and often, maintain his own apartment, and get a job. It was also mandated that he stay away from drugs, alcohol, guns and other convicted felons. He would be provided a small amount of cash upon release, then would be directed to apartments in Albuquerque that were willing to house ex-cons. He was to have frequent visits with his probation officer and attend various weekly classes that provided career training, anger management, job search assistance, things like that.

All this sounded totally groovy to Shane. He was going to get his life back and not have to live shoulder to shoulder with those other stinking, brainless pervert cons. He no longer had to suffer the unpredictably cruel prison guards or the God-forsaken soggy pile of crap they called food. Shane liked doing the crime well enough, but he didn’t much care for the “doing the time” part.

Unlike some of the other newly-released inmates, Shane’s parents were firmly in his court. They pledged to assist their son in whatever way necessary to ensure he did not return to a correctional facility. His dad even promised to let Shane drive his snazzy little sports car when he got out. The use of the car was supposed to be motivation for living a crime-free life.

His parents also helped him acquire his own living quarters. His dad had rented Shane a sunny studio apartment near the University of New Mexico campus before he had even officially been released from prison. It was rented in his parents’ name, using his dad’s shiny credit, and paid for with his dad’s shiny money.

Shane and his parents (especially his parents) had sky-high expectations on the day of his release. All were certain he would do well in the “real world.”  Shane assured his mom and dad that he would do whatever was necessary to go straight.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Shane said. “I promise I’m gonna get my life back on track.”

September 9, 1995

Exactly one month later, Spice (now known as Esther) was also released into the Community Corrections program. She had been serving five years at the Women’s Correctional Facility in Grants, New Mexico, for methamphetamine trafficking and was getting out early as well. At the time of her release, she was 40 years old.

Esther Beckley’s troubles began at age 13 in the form of boy trouble. Her infatuation with the opposite sex led her down the path of teen sex and controlled substances. It was ultimately a path of doom.

Originally from Hot Springs Arkansas, then Ohio, then Texas, Esther lived what some might call a hardscrabble life. Her parents fought constantly, moved frequently, and ended up divorcing when she was only three. She and her brother were court-ordered to live with her mother.

Due to her small size and feisty behavior, she became a victim of other family members’ unrestrained rage. She ran away from home several times, got caught shoplifting, and eventually engaged in prostitution. She turned tricks on and off again until age 25.

Through it all, her number one and number two problems remained the same: she was always involved with the wrong types of men, and she was hopelessly, helplessly addicted to drugs.

In 1995, Esther was discharged from prison and ordered to reside in the city of Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she knew no one. A Baptist family from a local church took her into their home for the first three days, and then the Community Corrections Program paid her first month’s rent for an apartment near Candelaria and 5h Street.

Like Shane, Esther was confident that this time, she would make it in the real world.

September 15, 1995

One of the first Community Corrections classes Esther attended was called Anger and Life Skills.  While there, she noticed a ruggedly handsome black man assisting her probation officer and handing out papers. She quickly discovered the man’s name was John Lausell, and that he too was a Community Corrections Program team member who had been newly released from prison.

During the entirety of that first meeting, Esther was transfixed and could not take her eyes off of John. She would soon learn a few unsavory bits of information about him, but that was neither here nor there. As it would turn out, absolutely nothing could mitigate Esther Beckley’s undying love for John  Lausell.

***

John had an apartment on Ortiz Street in Albuquerque and attended culinary arts school at what was then known as the Albuquerque Technical Vocational Institute (TVI), the local community college.  He had been released from the penitentiary and placed on parole a couple of weeks earlier, and had a long-as-your-right-arm list of arrests and convictions, starting with heroin trafficking and arson in 1972. In 1988, he was picked up for an aggravated assault in Florida, for which he served five years.

He was paroled into the state of New Mexico in early 1993, but his parole was revoked later that year when a cache of weapons were found inside his car. He was sent to the state penitentiary in Santa Fe, and then ultimately to the men’s prison in Grants, New Mexico. There he became acquainted with a tall white guy named Shane Harrison.

While in prison, John sometimes provided indirect protection for Shane, via his associates. Due to his substantial prison influence and badass reputation, John was able to help Shane avoid severe repercussions regarding misunderstandings about debts owed or unintended slights to others. Despite this business relationship, the two inmates did not consider themselves friends.

However, consequent to the Community Corrections program, John began spending considerable amounts of time with Shane Harrison, and later, with Esther Beckley as well. Since he lived across town and had no car, he had to rely on public transportation (which cost money and took longer) or rely or rides from acquaintances he had met through the program (which didn’t).

Esther had just started making payments on a yellow Plymouth station wagon, so she was willing to drive him anywhere he wanted. It was obvious from the start that Esther wanted to provide John with more than transportation, and John, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, was happy to oblige.

“Hope costs nothing.”

C
OLETTE

September 25, 1995

With important papers in hand, Esther walked into the Denny’s Restaurant on Coors Avenue and asked to speak to the manager. Eloy, an overweight but optimistic man of 50, pushed his way through the double kitchen doors to greet her.

Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays were interview days, and this was a Monday. Eloy felt as if he were perpetually interviewing potential employees, mostly waitresses. Some of them stayed a while, but most blew in and out like a windy summer day. Some of them turned out well, some poorly, but mostly they turned out
gone
—which stressed Eloy out.

Corporate was constantly on his case about keeping the restaurant fully staffed, and the top brass let him know via frequent memos that they didn’t like complaints about long wait times. Eloy tried to stay positive, but as one waitress after another failed to show up for their scheduled shift, it was a rare day when he didn’t sweat through his white business shirt.

The conditions of Esther’s reintegration program required her to obtain employment. Her parole officer had directed her to apply at this particular Denny’s because they were willing to hire ex-cons in exchange for state tax credits.

Nicely dressed in brown slacks and a white rayon blouse, Esther had a good feeling about this job. She looked sharp, knew she had years of verifiable restaurant experience, and in her humble opinion, was a pretty darn good waitress.

Eloy motioned her to follow him to a sunny booth in the back for the interview. Esther handed him her resume, which had been prepared at one of her Community Corrections classes, and a letter from her parole officer stating that she had been in prison.  Eloy maintained his smile as he read through her paperwork. He asked her a few questions about her experience and her reliability.

“It says here that you worked at the Pancake Hut in Ft. Worth. What kinds of things did you do there?”

“Oh, anything they asked me to do,” Esther replied. “I mostly waitressed, but sometimes I worked the cash register or played hostess. I did whatever they wanted. If they needed me to sweep the floor or wash pots and pans, I did. If they wanted me to work a double shift, I did. I really liked working there. The only reason I quit was because my husband got a job in Hobbs.”

“That sounds like the kind of person we’re looking for. Do you think you’d be able to make it in to work every time you were scheduled?” Sweat formed under Eloy’s large arms.

“Absolutely!” Esther smiled.