My early observations had already told me she was quite vane and very much concerned of what people thought of her. I also knew she loved hanging out at the club house and thrived on being the center of attention. That was all I needed to start the negotiations.
Now I slid my chair even closer, “Here’s what’s in it for you, when we get married, you’ll be known as JUNIOR’S ole lady and have carte blanche at every clubhouse party, every MONGOL function and an open invitation to all the runs. Just think, sittin at the clubhouse listening to the band, gettin served drinks on the house. Not to mention, maybe even a little cash to help pay some bills.” (The money part was bullshit, but I just wanted to sink the hook).
Staring at the floor with a sinister grin, I could see the wheels were turning. Like a bigmouth bass, she was nibbling at the bait, now it was time to reel her in and get her ass on the boat. “And all I have to do is come up for conjugal visits?” “Yep, every 60 to 90 days.” “Okay, I’ll do it.” Yes! the fish was flopping on the boat.
As the visit ended, I gave Dee a big hug and a good-bye kiss as usual. While still embraced, she whispered in my ear; “You do love me, right?” “Of course I do.”
CHAPTER 9
It was the middle of December when I got denied on my final state level appeal. Baily came up for an attorney visit to break the news in person. With my elbows on the table and my forehead planted in the palm of my hand, all I could say was, “Merry fuckin Christmas!
What about taking it to the federal level?” I could read Baily’s lack of enthusiasm. “To be perfectly honest with you JUNIOR once you exhaust your appeals with the state, the chances of a Federal court even hearing it, are slim to none, I’m just trying to be straight up with you. And being that I’m state appointed, I don’t know if I can even file a federal level appeal with no out of pocket cost to you. Let me see what our options are, and I’ll get back to you.”
With those plastic reassuring words, we shook hands and said goodbye. There was no doubt in my mind I’d never see that son of a bitch again. Well, what the hell, there was no reason to hold a grudge, Baily had been straight up since the beginning. After Baily’s visit, I meandered back to the cell trying to digest what I’d just been told.
It seemed the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel was beginning to flicker out. I had to put the appeal behind me and somehow wrap my mind around the fact I was gonna do the whole fuckin 12years, and that was with good time. Good time shit! That meant 12 perfect years with no disciplinary action. Even a simple 115 (disciplinary write up) could add on another year. 12 years to walk a perfect line seemed almost impossible. Shit, I couldn’t do it on the streets, how in the hell was I gonna do it in here?
As I entered the block I made eye contact with Dooby who was sitting at a table involved in a card game. A slight shake of my head relayed the bad news. Standing in front of my cell, I raised my hand to get the attention of the bull in the control tower, my door popped open. Entering the empty cell, I slammed the door behind me. The cell looked different now, what I thought would be a temporary home had now become permanent.
Sitting on the bunk, my temples throbbed with every heartbeat my, beads of sweat gathered on my forehead, I thought somehow, I’d wake from this fucked up nightmare, but this was real. My whole body began to weaken, I fought to keep my composure, but I felt suffocated, reality was burying me alive. Giving in to the pressure, I dropped to my knees. Though I tried to hold it back, a tear found a path down my cheek. Erupting in anger, I pounded the bunk with both my fists. With nowhere left to turn, I screamed at the top of my lungs; “Dear God you know! You know what really happened that day, I need a break, just some kinda break!” Would it do any good? Probably not, but it sure as hell made me feel a lot better.
I awoke to the sound of the door popping open. Dooby entered doing his best to be noiseless, but I was already awake. “The state shot me down on my appeal.”
While making a cup of instant coffee Dooby remained silent, then sitting on the bunk he crossed his legs and lit up a smoke. “What about writ of habeas corpus?” “What the hells that?” Dooby explained; “Well, an appeal just deals with court issues, like jury tampering, incompetent representation (a stupid ass attorney), or if a judge sentences you under the wrong statute, you know, all the shit that goes on during the trial. A writ of habeas corpus is completely different, I think in Latin it means produce the body or let me the fuck out. A writ can get you out on the same fuckin day you go to court. It’s when new evidence is brought in, like DNA proving they got the wrong guy, or a new witness saying you didn’t do it, put it this way, a writ is the only way I’ve ever seen anyone get outta here.”
Maybe Dooby had something, what if I could get a new witness to come forward? Someone who didn’t testify at my trial. I had an idea; The question was would it work? I sure as hell had nothing to lose.
I wasted no time signing up for a Monday evening phone call. I hoped Baily would pick up and he did. “What about a writ of habeas corpus?” After a second or two of silence Baily replied, “With what new evidence?” Now that I had his attention I shared my idea.
“Look, there were at least a half dozen people sitting at the bar that night that either refused or were never asked to give a statement, what if we could find them and get a statement now?” Baily listened without saying a word then; “We’re gonna need a good private investigator.” “I got just the guy, the club used him for background checks and he’s ready to come aboard.” Which was a freakin lie, since I hadn’t talk to Tucker in years.
“It’s a long shot and don’t get your hopes up, but if you can get some written affidavits from new witnesses, I’ll submit a writ of habeas corpus to the sentencing court for you as an individual.” For me as an individual? What the hell did that mean? I knew what it meant, it meant if the writ went south, Baily didn’t want it on his resume as a loss. He was gonna submit it to the court as if I filed the writ myself. “Whatever;” It was time to contact my old friend Dan Tucker.
Standing about 5’6” Dan Tucker’s plump build and Jewish heritage wasn’t what I expected the first I met him. Expecting more of a Dick Tracy, Tucker’s comb over hair and his dyed black beard I must confess, made me a bit skeptical. But in many cases, looks are often deceiving. A matter of fact, some of the most dangerous dudes I ever met looked harmless as hell but would kill ya in a freakin second.
Tucker’s reputation as a P.I. was good, though he had no spectacular cases under his belt, he was known to be persistent and thorough, and that’s what I needed. The question was; Would he take the case for little or no money? When it came to the money, I figured I might be able to get the club to flip a few bucks my way, but that was probably gonna be difficult considering they’d already picked up all the cost on the actual case its self. But on the other hand, there were two things I knew about Dan Tucker, for a small guy he had a huge ego and a weakness for beautiful women, but then again, what man didn’t? I remember him always commenting when seeing a hot looking chick; “I think that one needs to be punished.” Which always followed with a sinister giggle. I had to get Tucker on board this project and the presentation would be the most important part.
I knew the thirst of his enormous ego could easily be quenched just by the opportunity to work my case, and his love for beautiful women? It was time to put Dee to work.
I gave RED DOG a call and shared my thoughts on the writ, he agreed using Dee was a good plan and was more than willing to help in any way possible. Now I would just have to wait till the weekend for Dee’s visit, so I could explain her task in detail.
“He’s gonna come across a little perverted but you gotta do this for me.” Dee took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Come on babe, it aint like I’m asking you to screw the guy, you just need to use a little bit of your female charm to help persuade him to take the case.” The fact I felt I was kind of begging Dee to help disturbed me, but now wasn’t the time to make it an issue. “Well if you really think it
’s gonna free you, I’ll do it.” Explanation of the detailed plan made the visit pass quickly and before I knew it was time to say goodbye.
The following week RED DOG and Dee met with Dan Tucker and laid out the plan. With the combination of intimidation and infatuation, just as I had planned, Tucker felt compelled and even somewhat excited to take on the case and swore to get started right away.
◆◆◆
On January 6th, 2000 in the yard #3 visiting room with my folks as witnesses, Dee and I were married and within days my first family visit was scheduled. In 60 days, I would have the well needed intimacy I’d been waiting for.
It seemed like the longest two months in my life, but the day I had long anticipated had finally arrived. I had rehearsed it in my mind over and over each night since our wedding day. How would it be? Would she be the aggressor, or would it be me? Would it be slow and passionate or violent and quick? I didn’t know, she was my wife and I’d never made love to her, but today I was gonna find out.
After a strip search I was led through the visiting room and out a rear door, where a van awaited with other inmates and a few convicts. Though still behind the well secured perimeter fence, the van slowly cruised the gravel road that was hidden behind each yard, dropping off each man at small one-bedroom brick apartment.
I exited the van and walked the short distance to the front door of my soon to be honeymoon suite. Entering, I found a tiny front room consisting of a well-used vinyl couch which was positioned directly across from an outdated 25-inch RCA TV that was permanently mounted to a coffee table which bore the carved initials of many prior guests. The kitchen (if you could call it that) had a small table surrounded by plastic chairs, a lone microwave atop an empty counter, a small sink basin and a midsize fridge. The tiny bedroom housed nothing more than a dilapidated queen size mattress on a box spring that sat directly on the floor. Peeking in the bathroom I saw a shower tub combo (no shower curtain) a sink and a toilet. I guess the thing that amazed me most of all was that the bathroom had a door. It had been over two years since I had any intimacy or taken a shower and a shit in privacy.
The sound of gravel under rolling tires quickly drew my attention to the open front door. Outside I saw Dee exit the van with a bag of pre-ordered frozen dinners which I quickly grabbed in a gentleman like manner. As the van rolled away we entered our quaint but captive honeymoon suite. For the next 44 hours, there would be no escaping for either one of us. That’s when reality set in. Looking at each other, we both realized for the first time we were actually alone.
Taking our time putting away the frozen TV dinners, we engaged in small talk that mostly revolving around Tucker and the writ of habeas. If she was nervous she didn’t show it. On the other hand, I was quite anxious but did my best to conceal it.
Casually, I turned on the TV. and got comfortable on the couch while she disappeared in to the bedroom. There was no reason to rush, it was going to happen, and I was going to savor it like a fine wine.
Within minutes Dee reappeared. “How do you like it? Its Victoria’s Secret.” I couldn’t figure out why they called it Victoria’s Secret, her tiny see through negligee left little secret for my imagination. I now saw Dee in a different light. As she stood before me, I could see every curve and tan line her near perfect body had to offer. What started with a gentle kiss quickly turned into a fueled fire that raged throughout the night.
Sweaty and out of breath we laid next to each other, both staring at the ceiling in utter silence. For me, maybe it was the fear of having to share my life with someone other than the club. For her silence, I didn’t know, and never asked. With nary a word spoken, complete exhaustion quickly forced us both to sleep.
A single beam of sunlight snuck through the bedroom curtain finding its way to my face. Morning had quickly arrived. Careful not to awake her, I crept from the bed to the bathroom. It was almost ironic how simply shutting the bathroom door seemed to open another door to momentary freedom. The warm shower water felt good on my back, it was the first time I’d taken a shower alone in two years. For that moment I felt free, but the bitter sweet truth revealed just another form of judicial torture. I’d gotten a little taste of happiness only to return to gray prison walls the following day. I wanted to be free, I wanted to go home, I needed this writ of habeas corpus to break me out.
Now married, we spent most of our first family visit just learning about each other. Before we knew it, our first 44 hours alone had quickly passed leaving us no choice but to return to our separate and completely different worlds.
CHAPTER 10
Just as promised, Tucker had kept his word and wasted no time in coming up with results. In early February of 2000, just about two and half years after the incident at Armand’s Bar, Tucker returned to the scene of the crime. One thing for sure about neighborhood bars, they always had their share of returning loyal patrons. Knowing this, Tucker’s intentions were to hopefully locate and interview some of the same people that witnessed the fight on August 2nd, 1997.
Later, Tucker would describe the bar, as if time stood still. Of course, bars seem to have a way of doing that. Entering the dingy watering hole with optimism, the bar was occupied but far from full. The juke box in the corner, still there but at the time laid dormant. Except for the minimal amount of conversational chatter and a squeaky ceiling fan the bar was silent.
Wasting no time, Tucker confronted the bar tender who was quick to admit he wasn’t there but was familiar with the incident. “We don’t really like to talk about that.” “Ya know one of the MONGOLS involved got fourteen years in prison for that shit.”
Chatter at the bar simmered to silence as everyone present did their best to ease drop.
Sitting at the bar, an old man wearing a sweat stained ball cap stared at Tucker. Pushing his empty beer bottle to the side. “Did you say fourteen years?” Tucker replied with nod and the old man gladly continued. “Fourteen years, that’s some bullshit, I was here that night!” As Tucker bought the old man another beer he was glad to tell his story. While Tucker listened closely, others at the bar chimed in.
It seemed David (the guy who pulled the knife) wasn’t much liked by anyone. Not only was he not liked, but well known for being quick to pull a knife to intimidate. “David got what he deserved!” said another patron. “Bout time someone kicked his ass!” “Yup, pulled a knife on the wrong guys and got it shoved up his ass.” Someone said with a chuckle. Now buying everyone at the bar another round, the incident that had scarred the tiny Tujunga bar for over two years was again an open wound.
Dan Tucker left Armand’s bar that day with written statements from four new witnesses that contradicted testimony that convicted me and never asked for a freakin penny, now it was up to Bailey to submit the writ. In early March of 2000 with the new evidence, a rejuvenated Baily filed a writ of habeas corpus with a motion for a new trial and submitted it to my sentencing court.
◆◆◆
On a Monday evening in mid-April, an excited Dee answered my call. “You’re going back to court, you’re back to court! “What?” was all I could say as my heart dropped into my stomach. Dee continued, “I don’t know all the details, I just know what Baily told me,” “He wants you to call him ASAP.” After a few short words, we ended the call.
As I hung up the phone, tears began to well in both my eyes, (which I quickly wiped away). As I entered the cell, Dooby was watching TV. “You’re not gonna believe this shit, I’m going back to court.” Shaking his head in disbelief grinning from ear to ear Dooby replied; “You just might be getting out of this shit hole.”
The next day, work seemed to drag on. I couldn’t stop thinking there might be a real chance of freedom lying shortly ahead. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the clock, I needed 11:00AM to hurry up and get here, that’s when we’d be sent back to the cell block for midday count. The thing that really made me nervous was hoping somehow, I’d be able to maneuver a phone call at lunch release. I felt like this was the most importa
nt phone call of my life. Though lunch time calls were always booked in advance, I hoped there would be some way I could beg or buy a slot from someone already signed up. With no luck, I’d have to try again at chow time. The rest of the work day seemed to drag on even longer than the morning. It was hard to concentrate on anything except getting out of that freakin dump.
That evening at chow release, I scored a phone call. With my heart racing and a trembling hand I dialed Bailey’s office. It was late, I wondered if he’d still be there when on the third ring he picked up. “I was hoping I’d hear from you, I was just getting ready to leave, I’ve got some good news.” I listened as Bailey explained in detail.
“After reviewing the four written affidavits that Tucker obtained from the bar, the judge has decided to grant an evidentiary hearing.” “What the hell’s that?” Bailey continued; “You’ll be going back to court for a mini trial where the judge will hear testimony from the four new witnesses. But the down side is that the D.A. will also be there to cross examine, doing his best to attack their credibility.” I was listening carefully but wasn’t quite getting the jest of the whole thing.
What the hell, I thought I was getting out of this shit hole, which wasn’t the case. “After hearing the new testimony, if the judge finds the new witnesses credible under cross examination, he (the judge) can then grant a new trial. Don’t get your hopes up too much, you’re not outta the woods yet.” I always thought lawyers were supposed to make you feel good about your case, but I always felt like shit after talking to Bailey. So, when’s this mini trial supposed to take place?” Since a trial date hadn’t been set yet, Bailey’s best guess would be sometime around the end of May or early June.
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