After given a minute to inhale her beauty I began to focus on our conversation. Her hard work had come through in locating a good court appointed appellate attorney. His name was John Bailey.
Bailey had begun practicing law in the U.S. Navy as a J.A.G. (Judge Advocate General’s Corp.) and now as court appointed appellate attorney, had earned a stellar reputation among his peers. It was also reassuring to know that Bailey had also established case law, that could be found in law books. Was I impressed? Well hell yeah! This was my guy; this was the dude who was gonna bust me outta this joint. Next on the list, Gloria would get all my court transcripts over to Baily’s office (which was conveniently located in San Diego) for his evaluation and then we’d take it from there.
Time seemed to fly by and before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye. “Hey, did ya put the money on my books the club gave ya?” With a smile she said “Yep, a hundred bucks.” “Nice.” With the visit ending we stood for a final embrace. Purposely, I pulled her in close just to feel her enormous breasts press against me. The goodbye kiss I had anticipated for the entire visit was far better than the first. With a smiled she silently lipped “I love you.” I winked and waved goodbye. I left the visit room feeling refreshed and confident, it was a good day.
Like clockwork, Gloria continued to visit every weekend and it seemed we were growing closer and closer. It had been over a month and there was still no word from Bailey. Maybe he just needed more time to evaluate my case, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. I had also acquired all the necessary family visit information and sent the packet to Gloria.
The rest was up to her, all she had to do was fill out the application and send it back, included with a copy of our marriage license.
After being approved, I would receive a date (usually within 60 to 90 days) and we’d be off to the little honeymoon cottage where we’d be alone for 44 hours, that is except for 3 counts a day where I’d have to step out to the porch and be seen by staff.
About a month and a half had gone by and Gloria still hadn’t mailed back the family visit packet, which was starting to piss me off. Maybe Gloria didn’t need the sex but I sure as hell did.
Like routine, I dragged a comb through my slicked back one last time before entering the busy visiting room. There at our usual table sat Gloria patiently waiting with a subtle smile, we kissed, and I sat down. “Did you get the packet I sent?” Looking past me Gloria replied, “It’s all signed I just keep forgetting to mail it.” Since Gloria and I had been together, I’d never lost my temper, of course I never had a reason to. She knew how important this family visit was to me but for some obvious reason, she was dragging her feet on mailing it back. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got, then I broke the silence; “YOU NEED TO GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MAIL THAT FUCKIN PACKET!” She looked at me in shock, visitors from the surrounding tables stared in silence. Shit, I didn’t mean to humiliate her, but maybe a small taste of humility is what she needed. With tears beginning to well, “Okay, I’ll mail it tomorrow.”
The rest of our visit consisted of few words and a lot of looking at the surrounding scenery. I knew I scared the hell out of her, but I had to maintain some control of this relationship even though I was locked up. Later that night I gave her a call and apologized for raising my voice in front of other people, my apology was accepted, and she promised to get the papers in the mail that week.
I really didn’t feel bad about yelling at her because it needed to be done, I just shouldn’t have done it in front of other people.
The following Friday, I received a letter from Gloria saying she had sent the papers earlier that week as promised, but due to some personal issues regarding her Dad, she wouldn’t be able to visit that weekend, though I had a phone call scheduled for that night, I figured it best to give Gloria some space to handle her personal business, so I called RED DOG instead.
It had been a few months since Id talked to RED DOG and it was great to hear his voice. He was happy to bring me up to date on what was going on with the club, or at least what was discussible over that monitored phone. He was healing slowly from his prior bike wreck, though walking with a cane, he still seemed to be in good spirits.
Months earlier RED had campaigned for the club’s top seat but narrowly lost to the incumbent by a mere two votes, which had understandably left him with a shitty taste in his mouth. Politics were politics whether it be real life or club life and the loser’s feelings always got hurt, but like I always said, if ya got feelings, go work for fuckin Hallmark.
I thanked RED DOG for giving Gloria the $100.00 to put on my books. “WHAT DO YA MEAN YOU GAVE HER $200.00!” Sure, as shit that bitch had pinched my stash. I thanked RED DOG for the info, said good bye, and immediately called Gloria with my remaining phone time but there was no answer. My heart was racing, sweat beaded on my temples, like a whistling tea pot my anger began to boil. Was it true? There’s no way RED DOG would lie to me. Did Gloria steal from me? That weekend, I tried to call her two more times but there was still no answer.
On Monday evening as Dooby and I walked off our dinner the loud speaker echoed over the quiet yard. “ERECKSON REPORT TO THE WATCH OFFICE FOR LEGAL MAIL!” My heart filled with excitement, it was news on my appeal. Entering the watch office, I handed the clerk my I.D. which he traded for a sealed manila envelope. “What is it?” asked Dooby. Grabbing back my I.D. card, we headed out the door. The large yellow envelope was sealed well and thick with contents. Looking at the return address, I saw it was sent from a law firm whose name I found unrecognizable but figured It was the firm Bailey worked for. We entered the well-lit cell block and found an empty table. Like a child at Christmas I anxiously opened the envelope. Sliding out the packet of stapled papers and begin to read, the smile on my face quickly melted. Just as Gloria had promised, she’d sent the packet; A FUCKIN DIVORCE PACKET! I slid the papers across the table at Dooby, shaking his head he looked at me, “You gotta be shittin me.”
At first, I felt anger but only at myself. The signs were there all along, but blinded by love, I failed to acknowledge them. Maybe it was my fault for never saying I loved her, maybe I was too demanding, but like a turd in a punchbowl, the fact kept floating right back in front of my face. The bitch stole from me, which was not only unacceptable but unforgivable. “Thanks for covering the divorce costs Gloria.”
CHAPTER 8
It was the summer of 1999, nearly a year had passed since my arrival at Donovan state prison and like a fart in the wind, thoughts of Gloria had long since dissipated. Things were going well, I had scored a good job as a welder in the mechanical maintenance shop which kept me off the yard and out of politics. Jameson and I had even become (somewhat) friends, often working out together on the weekends.
Since the beginning of the year, I’d been in phone contact with my attorney John Bailey and had related every detail I could remember about my case. By April, Bailey had filed my first motion for appeal at the state level. We both agreed it was time to finally meet in person, so he could explain in detail the grounds on which my appeal was filed and about the whole appellate process in general. In early May of 1999 I finally got my first attorney visit.
He really wasn’t what I had pictured. What I thought would be middle aged and distinguished, turned out to be mid-thirties and seemingly free spirited. As he opened his large brief case, I momentarily sized him up, like I do every man I’m about to do business with.
Looking at the small embroidered alligator on his tight-fitting polo shirt, quickly told me two things, he spent some time in the gym, and taste wasn’t his strong point. His clean-shaven face and freshly barbered brown hair showed good personal hygiene, which I felt indicated he was somewhat organized.
Just like I’d thought from the beginning, that little prick Sergeant Butcher from the San Fernando Valley P.D., was a crooked little bastard. While doing research, Bailey had found several instances where Butcher had intimidated witnesses to secure a conviction. We k
new he did it in my case at least twice, once with the bar tender by holding a felony warrant over her head forcing her to testify, and the disappearance of the knife. The question was could we prove it, and did it help in my conviction.
On a positive note, Bailey did have a written statement from the bar tender, stating that Butcher had threatened to throw her in jail on an old traffic warrant if she didn’t testify that Reno and I provoked the incident, which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. She stated she also saw the investigating officers confiscate the knife for evidence, which now was conveniently missing. But was this enough ground for an appeal or a new trial?
On the negative side, Bailey informed me that appeals were decided only on trial issues, not on new evidence which was a completely different process. The disturbing fact was 96% (96 out of 100) appeals were denied at the state level. “Motherfucker! I thought my chances were a little better than that!” At least Bailey was a straight shooter and that’s what I wanted. My first impression of Bailey was good, we shook hands and said our catcha laters.
On my walk back to the block I felt nothing but disappointment. I thought for sure my chances were better than that. I only had 4 out of 100 chances to win, which were some fucked up odds. I never was much on praying, but maybe it was time to start. I’d remembered a phrase from the movie Shawshank Redemption;
“Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”
It was now the middle of September. With the temperatures well in the mid 90’s, the humid San Diego air always had a tint of an ocean breeze which kept it just notch above being miserable. I was lucky enough to work in the textile plant which was always kept at comfortable temperature. I enjoyed working in the maintenance department. My welding skills made me valuable and at 42 cents an hour (one of the higher paying jobs) I wasn’t about to complain.
Like any normal day, after work I grabbed a well needed shower and climbed up into my bunk to watch the 5:00PM local news. Not only was it count time, but also when the mail was delivered, that is if you were lucky to get anything. Though considered by convicts to be a sign of weakness to sweat the mail, we all waited anxiously as the bull made his rounds, just hoping to get a letter shoved through the crack of the door.
As I’d hear his shuffling footsteps get closer, I’d always say to myself; “Please motherfucker have something for me.” Again, like times before he passed with nothing. Then stopping dead in his tracks, the man in the green uniform returned to my cell, making eye contact through the narrow window; “Ereckson, you got legal mail, go to the watch office after chow.”
I could feel my blood pressure rise with every heartbeat, anxiety took over all other emotions, it was now the middle of September, it had been five months since the appeal was filed, this was it.
I went to chow but was too nervous to eat, that watch office was holding my golden ticket out of this shit hole and I was gonna be first in line. Dumping my tray of slop, I shot out the door.
Peering through the window, I could see the lights were on but there was no movement inside; “Excuse me!” said the skinny inmate clerk as he slid by, then wrapping on the watch office door, it opened just enough for his thin body to slip in. “Hurry up motherfucker!” I mumbled to myself. One thing you learn in prison is patients, but right now I didn’t have any. I wanted my fuckin mail and I wanted it now. After fumbling around with some meaningless bullshit, the skinny clerk opened the door. Entering with my I.D. ready in hand, I quickly made the transaction and left with the unopened envelope.
Anxious, I trembled while tearing open what I thought was my ticket to freedom. Reading carefully down the page, I found the word “DENIED!” My heart sank, I was bummed out and angry, angry at myself for getting my hopes up. Like Bailey had said, the odds of winning were only 4 out of 100, I was foolish to think I ever had a chance. Fuck it, no use on dwelling on the past, it was time to get on Bailey and file again in the Supreme Court. I still had another shot at it, and if that didn’t work, I’d make his ass file at the federal level. I didn’t deserve to be locked up and I wasn’t about to quit trying.
That evening I got a phone call. With only fifteen minutes to call as many friends and family as possible, I got busy dialing. First, I called my folks, they had already heard the news from Bailey. Though disappointed, they always kept an upbeat attitude.
I’m sure they knew the odds of me getting out before 2010 were slim to none. But I always remember my mom always saying, “Just take one day at a time” which left me thinking, “yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” but because it came from her, it still rang soothing to the heart. Next, I called RED DOG, still bitter over his narrow lost for Nat. Pres., he seemed genuinely disappointed over the outcome of my appeal, but still seemed optimistic about another try at the next level.
“Hey bro, not to change the subject, but do you remember a chick named Dee Garcia?” The name sounded familiar, but I wasn’t sure, “Why?” “She’s been bugging the shit outta me for your address.” I figured the way things were going it sure wouldn’t hurt to have a pen pal especially a female. It had been months since the Gloria escapade and I was well over it, maybe it was time to ease into a little new female companionship. “Yeah sure why not.”
The following week I received a letter with photo. “Okay, I remember who she is now.” Dee Garcia was a chick I used to always see hanging around at the clubhouse. Because I’d see her with other brothers, I just took for granted she was a brother’s private property, and a strict MONGOL rule was “never mess with another brother’s property.” The more I stared at the photo the more familiar her memory became. I remembered her often looking my way with a slight smile. Of course, that really didn’t mean shit, I was National President and a lot of chicks looked my way with slight smiles, which always left me wondering, was it me or the position I held? But to be honest, I really didn’t give a shit one way or the other, if it was free and available, I took it.
The photo she sent did do her justice, but then again, I knew how women were when it came to photos, they’d thumb through a half a dozen until they found the one they thought they looked the best in and that was the one they sent.
How many times did a convict get photo of a hot chick that ended up being a freakin heifer? Believe me, it was a lot. Regardless, I wasn’t in a position to be picky, so I had no problem penciling out a three page “yeah, I remember you letter.”
Within weeks of constant correspondence, Dee agreed to come up for a visit. All the same prison crap would ensue, I’d send the visiting form, she’d fill it out, then we’d play the prison’s dumb-ass waiting game for an approval. I never really understood the visiting approval shit, I guess it was just another reminder that the California Dept. of Corrections was in complete control and to also check your visitors for any outstanding warrants.
Within a month of our first letter, Dee was approved to visit and there I was again all dressed up, hair slicked back and sweatin the clock. The whole Gloria thing had left a shitty taste in my mouth. But really, how in the hell could a guy locked up in the freakin pen completely trust a chick who’s running-a-muck on the streets? I’d made up my mind I was gonna keep Dee at a distance, that is if she even showed for a visit.
Just as promised she showed up. This time the nervousness was gone. It was what it was, a visit with no emotional ties. I entered the visiting room, though it had been months, it seemed like I was there just yesterday. With the photo she sent burnt in my mind, I scanned the crowded room for her face and WOW, there at a table she sat. Sitting with her legs crossed, nonchalantly she waved me over. Arriving at the table, she stood to give me a hug. Damn, I didn’t remember her looking that good.
I could tell she was Hispanic but barely, her brown highlighted hair was gently curled and fell just past her shoulders, her carefully applied eye liner made her hazel eyes seem larger than life. “You want something to drink?” She asked.
As she walked over to the coke machine my ey
es were glued, as were everyone else’s. The black polyester pants that fit her thick body so snug, left very little for the imagination. But then again, imagination was all I had, and it was working in full force. Returning with a cold can of Mountain Dew, she sat and momentarily gave a semi seductive stare before looking away. For a second I search for words. “So, ummm glad you could make it up here.” “Not a problem.” She replied.
She was confident, but not overly so. From there our conversation began to flow going from people we knew to things we had in common. As I sipped my drink I stared at her round face while she spoke, I could see the hint of a few freckles that the thin layer of make-up left unhidden. She was quite pleasant to look at, caught somewhere between cute and beautiful, I found myself intrigued. In the way, a snake charmer charms a cobra with a musical tune, I too was being charmed beyond my control.
As months passed, Dee consistently continued to visit and what I promised myself wouldn’t happen progressively did. The more I saw her, the more I wanted her. Now the middle of November 1999, it had been 19 months since I’d been intimate with a woman. Everything about her screamed the word sex, from the way she walked, talked, wore her hair and most of all the way she smelled. I found myself hungry like a wolf and she was the lone lamb.
With time and visits, a relationship had formed. Was there complete honesty? I doubted it, but then again, I really didn’t care. What she did in her spare time was her own damn business, all that mattered to me was that she showed up for visits. It was time to put this shit on the table and try to cut a deal.
“Hey Dee, you ever thought about getting married?” “To you? “She said with a grin. Taking a drink of her coke, she set the can back on the table and began to chuckle. “Why, do you love me?” Before I could give an answer, she slid her chair closer and looked me dead in the eyes. “I know what’s in it for you, but what’s in it for me?” You gotta be shittin me, this broad was ready to play some serious poker, and it made me want her even more. Okay then, let the games begin.
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