ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story) (27 page)

Bob thought, this is the first I’ve heard of Tony going to New York. I wonder if Ricky wants him out of the area for a while so he can import him back at a later time to take Argenta out of the picture. Bob realized that was probably the case. Tony had priors for taking out evil trash in the past.”

Bob thought about everything he’d heard and asked under his breath already knowing the answer, “Why is Ricky taking on this bad business?”

Bob watched Tony grit his teeth and respond, “You know Ricky. He thinks he can problem solve and handle any situation. He’s keeping himself once removed from Tiny from here on out by having Ernie do all of the business with him.”

Tony didn’t say anything for over five minutes and Bob watched him gather his thoughts. “Bob, the last thing I have to say is I’m washing my hands of this business and moving to New York. I can’t whack out Argenta because of Salina, her daughter and the rest of her family. You should wash your hands of this mess also. I’m picturing you staying here to watch Ricky’s back and I can see him using you like his tool. You deserve better than that. Think about it and do me a favor and keep this under your hat until Ricky exposes enough of this business himself.”

CHAPTER 61

Paul pulled up to his apartment and I remembered to warn him about what I’d said to Gina before finding he and Bob in the Harbor. I laid down on the couch exhausted and watched Paul disappear in his room with Gina. I laid there and imagined what he was telling her for hours. Going over the events of the evening, and what I had said on Paul’s boat seemed to blur together. I looked at it in as much detail and with as much Truth as I was willing to face. Laying there with my eyes closed and my mind running, it felt like I could see the battle raging inside me. I saw a powerful force in my mind’s eye holding all of my hurts and resentments over me in a dark cloud. Then the dark cloud seemed to envelop me until all I was in was darkness. I huddled into a ball on the couch and tried to find the Truth. I saw the details of the night before and faced how back biting and unpredictable every deal in the speed world was going to be. I could see the impossibility of my legal empire getting built with selling speed as its foundation. Facing this Truth didn’t help at all. Now where was the hope going to come from? It felt like I was at the bottom of an impossibly deep dark hole and still somehow I was sliding deeper and deeper. I couldn’t stop the descent no matter how hard I squeezed against it and fought for traction. In fact, the harder I tried the more I slid. I tried to garner strength from the same sources to fight with, but the unimaginable emotional pain I had stored up wasn’t producing anything to fight with. All there was in that well was a tortured loneliness… Paul woke me up and my jaw hurt from gnashing my teeth together all night.

I sat at Paul and Gina’s dinner table drinking coffee and trying to shake the remnants of the nightmare out of my mind. It felt like a dark depression still hung around me like a cloak. I looked at Paul and Gina. They both looked upbeat and positive. Gina stood there making eggs and bacon and Paul was looking at me like he was impressed. He said, “I still can’t believe you pulled that shit off last night!”

I looked at Gina to see how she felt and she had an impressed look also. It looked like she wanted me to describe what happened. She said, “It’s hard to believe.”

I looked at Gina and wondered, is she challenging what Paul told her happened? Is she challenging me? I felt the anger seeping in at possibly being considered fraudulent. The anger seemed to push the dark cloud off of me a bit.

Paul patted me on the shoulder and told me, “You climbed the ladder big time last night. I can picture everything you’ve been saying about Bob cooking our dope for us happening now… Before I couldn’t see it, but now I can. You’re making it happen, partner. Gina and I talked about it and we came up with a place for Bob to cook our batches. My boat! We could take it out to sea far enough that we don’t have to worry about the Harbor Patrol.”

For the next week Paul rallied the empire dream he was now incorporating into his dream also. I on the other hand saw the Truth in my nightmare. The speed we’d gotten from Bob was losing weight and it was a pain in the ass to sell. Almost everyone who bought it complained. One person said it made his whole face break out and he couldn’t stop picking at it. Others complained that it made their brain lock up to the point they couldn’t think clearly enough to go to work. I realized that in the speed business it’s almost impossible to return bad product for a refund. We had to pass it on to customers. Depressing. I looked in my resource bag and pulled out some good marijuana. It was time to focus on it as a trade again. I remembered how much less complicated it was and decided to focus my attention on it a little differently than I used to.

I examined how I used to work the trade. Before I stocked as much of a good grade of pot as possible and let the product reach the customers through the process of word of mouth. There had to be a better and faster way. What if I looked at my little area as a territory? That thought brought some inspirational mileage with it. Should I claim this little 15 mile stretch of coastline? I answered myself, I might as well, it’s where I roam. The boldness of this new theory brought back my passion and beat that dark cloud of depression off of me with a challenge. I could see clearly now with another horizon of potential to focus on. Determined and focused I began roaming and the thought grew and gained Momentum.

Instead of offering pot for sale, why not look for who sold it in my territory? I did some homework and found three dealers in my territory who were doing pretty good for themselves. They didn’t hold down regular jobs and they seemed to be prospering more than I was. They had their own house or apartment, their own bedroom and even their own bed to sleep in. I was sleeping on Paul’s couch. I tried to find ways I could justify getting pissed off about the way they did business. I pulled out my ice pick and chiseled through my mind and came up with a big one. They weren’t putting in any work around town. They weren’t enforcing any rules and regulations for the rest of the underground business to respect and live by. I magnified on that thought and blamed them for being okay with Bob Prescott ratting off Damon, my brother and I, and raping that poor girl. It was time to introduce myself to the first one of them.

CHAPTER 62

I weaseled my way in Bagel’s front door through a client of his who also bought speed from me. Bagel looked like your typical beach kid stoner. He had brown hair and eyes, was husky, completely non violent looking and dressed in Volcom and Lost surfer apparel. Meeting him for the first time, I introduced myself. I found myself at a loss for words on how I was going to explain he was taking up space in my territory and it was time for him to go with my program.

Bagel looked sketched on me and tried to hand me a bong hit of his pot. It looked better than the sample I had in my pocket for him to inspect. I passed on smoking his offering. It wouldn’t help me articulate my message. I told him my story and gained some Momentum and words. When I got to the part about it being my territory he looked impressed.

During my homework on Bagel I found out he hustled his pot around town on a Vespa motorbike with a backpack full of pot. Looking at him now and how non violent he looked; I couldn’t see my conscience allowing me to just seize his product if he refused to work for me. I started painting a picture of how I wanted him to move my product for me and what I expected out of him. I told him he could still sell other product so he wouldn’t have to lie to me. I focused on him never lying to me. I left with a good feeling, one down, and two to go.

CHAPTER 63

The second pot dealer I infiltrated went by Yerga. He supposedly moved as much pot as Bagel and I entered his residence with a mutual customer. Yerga looked Slavic and I assumed he was Russian. He had blond hair, blue eyes, was as tall as me at six feet but not very strong looking. He did have a violent looking demeanor though. It wasn’t that he looked physically violent in his stature, it was more in his eyes. Like he was constantly scrutinizing those around him to see what he could get away with. My homework on Yerga had come back with, unlike Bagel, he was very careful and private with his product.

I went into my story and articulated my message about the territory he was in and how it was mine. Unlike Bagel, Yerga didn’t seem impressed. That was okay with me because the looks of Yerga were getting under my skin. He looked at me like he was irritated with my presence and what I’d said. I had to assume he thought this was his territory I was intruding on. He dropped a couple of names on me and said they were his partners. He asked if I’d heard of them.

While I thought about it, he got on the phone and I heard him ask the other end of the phone, “Where are you?” Then, “Come over now!”

I knew I had something to contend with on the way so I explained things. “Yeah, I know Jimbo. He’s doing 10 years in prison for handling some business in San Clemente. He’d tip his hat to me if he knew I was enforcing some rules and regulations to keep business operating at an honorable level. The rules are that anyone beating up or taking advantage of women and children get violated. There is to be no associating with those kinds of people, or people who rat, or people who lie and backstab each other. That kind of shit brings the whole community down to their level. I’m setting up these rules for all in the business to live by so that those who maintain this order of honor have something coming. Those that don’t can’t partake in the business anymore.”

Right on cue the person Yerga had spoken to on the phone arrived. He opened the front door and stood there staring at Yerga and I in the bedroom just to the left. I had heard of his guy Huddy through the grapevine. He was well known in the speed scene as a daredevil attention whore. Stories of him ranged all over the place. He was known for doing back flips off 15 foot high life guard stands at our favorite beach. There was another story circulating of him hopping out a third story hotel while the police rushed the front door. In that story he escaped with a badly sprained ankle and still ran across the freeway to get away. There was another story of him fighting five gang members and holding his own until fleeing was the only option. I couldn’t take him lightly and studied him standing at the door studying me. He had wild and wavy brown hair over piercing blue eyes with a sharply chiseled face. He didn’t have a shirt on and looked like an acrobat without an ounce of fat, and every upper body muscle accounted for. I thought about the other stories Huddy had pushing his reputation around town. He was known for staying at your house, eating your food, borrowing your clothes and money, sleeping with your girlfriend and later breaking back into your house and stealing something else he had his eye on, like your safe.

I walked over to him standing at the front door charged with adrenaline, yet containing it. I reached out with my left hand to shake his and exploded my entire body into my right hand that drove through his chin at a slightly downward angle. It buckled his knees and he managed to hold himself there two feet shorter than he was before with his arms flailing for support. His right hand found the door knob. The punch I’d thrown carried my Momentum too far and by the time I gathered myself to fire off another the door closed on my second punch. Instead of hitting his face, I hit the door jamb and heard it twang on the hinges. Huddy’s fight or flight instincts kicked in and I chased him outside. As I ran after him my hand throbbed so bad that I stopped and looked at it. The fourth metacarpal from my knuckle to wrist was fractured and sticking out the back of my hand. I walked back to Yerga’s front door and it was locked. He was standing on the other side looking through the peephole and told me to flee before the police showed up. Paul’s apartment was only a couple streets away so I went there.

CHAPTER 64

At Paul’s, I felt my energy ebbing away and that dark damp depression moving in like a fog. I pulled out my speed to help me determine exactly where I was in my new program and came up with the idea that Paul and I should consider performing the surgery needed. I was kidding but Paul wasn’t laughing and we were on our way to the emergency room.

The good doctor told me I needed a brace to hold the fractured metacarpal together and then he blessed me with a morphine drip. I slept through the surgery with the benefit of the morphine drip and other drugs but could swear I felt the speed underneath it all holding on to the levers in my brain. As I slept, I studied the terrain of the road I was traveling. I imagined my visit with Bagel and then saw a field of dirt with some seeds scattered on it. I imagined the people he must have called and talked to about everything I’d discussed with him. Then I saw Yerga’s residence turn into another field with seeds in it. I saw him on the phone passing the word through the grapevine and realized his words were feeding those seeds. I tried as hard as I could to imagine what he was saying on the phone. Was he mentioning my rules and regulations properly? Was he painting a good picture of me or a bad one? The harder I tried to focus on what he was saying, the darker my dream got until I was enveloped in ink. It felt like I was stuck there trying to get out for hours. Finally a beam of light started to break apart the darkness and I could see that I was in the middle of a field getting strangled by vines wrapping around my entire body and neck.

The doctor woke me up. “How’s the pain, do you need any more morphine?”

I looked at my bandaged hand and realized the surgery was complete. I told the doctor, “No thanks sir.”