El Diablo stared out the window and felt uncomfortable with the vibe in the Hummer. Shadow didn’t put off any bad energy but the other pinstriped killers did. El Diablo looked at each one and felt the fear squeeze in with nearly the same pressure it had when the small jet shook. El Diablo leaned toward Shadow to talk and the Hummer skidded to a halt suddenly.
El Diablo thought they are going to ice my ass, what the fuck was I thinking coming to them?
The pinstriped occupants in the Hummer exited and stood outside in formation waiting. Shadow laughed at El Diablo’s scared faced and said, “Come on. We piss on the graves every time we pass.”
El Diablo breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the Hummer and followed Shadow waiting with his henchmen, still staring with dripping menace.
El Diablo followed Shadow and the procession to the edge of a large pit. He looked over the edge and recognized the red devil lye and other chemicals lying on the surface he knew ate through human remains to nothingness. El Diablo began chanting in an evil tongue as all pulled their pants down and began urinating into the pit.
CHAPTER —3 East LA
Narcotic detective Pincher looked in his rearview and saw the same black Lincoln Town car a few cars back when his phone vibrated a new text message. He looked: YOU OWE FOR WHAT YOU WERE SHORT LAST TIME! MAKE IT RIGHT!
From the passenger seat of the Town car Chuco asked, “Veto, what are we going to do about this pinche detective Pincher for ripping us off? The pinche guava pinched out of our ounce of heroin!”
Veto glanced at his youngster’s animated face and laughed. “Kick back L’il hommie. Detective Pincher might have shorted us some dope but look at the big picture. We have a narcotic detective who steals dope from the evidence locker who is addicted to heroin.”
Pincher took off his gang and narcotic task force Rampart Division jacket and secured his 9mm in a lock box before entering the evidence room. He thought about his transfer from Orange County to the LA Rampart division. He laughed at how it took a year to escape the investigation from internal affairs that allowed him freedom from the job and a paycheck that covered that year he’d just deposited in the bank. He thought about how his anger at being investigated had led to the decision to experiment with drugs and how now he just laughed at the system. He scanned the 20 by 40 foot room for both of the cameras and smiled that it took doing drugs to scheme out all of the angles. Who would have thought to replace pieces of the brown sticky heroin in the evidence with pieces of chocolate tootsie roll to keep the weight right, certainly not someone unfamiliar with the addictive process?
Pincher manipulated the prepared ounce sized fluffed up tootsie roll and replaced it into the seized heroin. He remembered, this is the purest heroin seized on record in L.A, thought to have come from the Sinaloa cartel but who can be sure with the Juarez and Michoacán cartels so close to each other in Mexico.
In the parking lot behind the Rampart Division evidence room, Pincher pulled out and drove across the street to the In n Out Burger and didn’t see Veto parked in the corner. He pulled out his brown sticky score and quickly set up a spoon full for some intravenous masturbation. He plunged the needle in his arm and a couple minutes later his chin rested on his chest with his eyes closed in a nod.
Veto observed and walked over and slid his hand through the just open window and unlocked the door and put his hand next to Pincher’s mouth and felt his breathing. “He’s alright. Let’s put him in our car.”
With that done, Veto went to work. He took an electronic tracking device from his trunk and placed it in the detective’s vehicle and deposited a listening device. Then got in his Town car and headed for his neighborhood.
CHAPTER—4 LAGUNA BEACH--Perspective
“B.J. look at this beach the shelter is on in Laguna! This is one of God’s best works of Art. It’s all cliffs magnificently angled to meet the ocean with rocky coves everywhere. Quite a contrast to the pre-fab concrete jungle prisons we spend time on huh? Only one color there, tan concrete, desert views, prison guards, gun towers, gang violence, power and control…”
I watched the majestic surf surge into a rock cliff as a running skim boarder landed on his board and gyrated on another wave sucking back into the ocean where he met another wave and surfed it down the line expertly throwing a turn and then a 360 into the shore break. I looked further down the beach at the cliff line where the coves started and remembered being under one on sheets with Annette. When the tide was high the ocean water rushed into and under the rocky overhanging coves and left the sand angled at the perfect slant for Annette and I to fit under and together like a perfect-glove night after night. God is she amazing!
I snapped out of it and understood what Screwball was doing. “You’re making your point. My perspective is all fucked up. I have tunnel vision. But what am I supposed to do? I’m in love and can’t control my obsessive compulsive dare-devil personality.”
Screwball said, “Have your girlfriend work with you. Keep her busy so she doesn’t have idle time. If you can’t get her to work together toward a goal you will lose your focus.”
Screwball pointed to a giant red tail Hawk soaring down the coastline, wings stretched navigating for food. “Be like that Hawk and pull yourself away from the source. Get rid of your phone for a while so you can’t talk to her. Pull away and remember the vision you cultivated with your novel and non-profit idea. What’s happening with your novel?”
“I self published it on Amazon a couple months ago. I have to do the marketing myself and have been selling books for my cost just to get it out to the public. I hit up the local papers and art galleries to push my vision but I feel too raw. Like the community isn’t ready for this yet. My vision feels like it is running out of gas.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m packaging my novel and the great review a service for Nielson ratings gave me and am sending it to the media. My vision is to get others who are incarcerated to do what I did, write their way out of the hole, grow new roots, start another direction and at the same time illuminate the world from this un-tapped-into perspective. I also want to market their art for the same reasons.”
“That’s a great idea but it is a massive one that will take a lot of time, preparation and community support.”
“Exactly, patience and being subtle isn’t working out for me. I’m in a homeless shelter, don’t have any prospects, have 15 felonies making me feel unemployable, am lonely and want everything now! So I started lockdownpublishing.com and am hammering the media and everyone else that I’m going to lower the crime rate, reduce gangs and the rate of return to prisons by helping others do what I’m doing. Do you think that’s too bold a stance?”
“No, I expect the world to be ready to hear your opinion with all of your credentials. Let’s look at those credentials. Orange County has labeled you a cartel level gun and drug dealer, they have all but called you an organized criminal and you have 15 felonies. With all that research I’m sure the community is ready for you to play politics.”
We watched a Hawk dive to the ground for a squirrel. He missed. I said, “The three words next to Nicollo Machiavelli are Writer, Philosopher, and Politician.”
Screwball said, “Since you like philosophy so much, have you heard of Aristotle’s ‘The Golden mean’? It’s the desirable middle between two extremes. An example is courage is a virtue but if you take it too far it can manifest into recklessness…”
I was familiar with Aristotle’s Golden flow and cut Screwball off. “As long as I’m not on the other extreme of courage: cowardice.”
CHAPTER—5 California State Prison Level 4
The Hawk soared high above the trees in circles studying the ground below for any thing that moved. He instinctively knew that the constant reports from rifles below weren't a danger to him and food for his hungry young in the tallest redwood tree outweighed the risk of the noise. He found his target, a rabbit hopping inside the gates that separated the forest from the p
rison.
L'il man heard the reports from the rifles at the firing range and thought, every Wednesday they sharpen their aim to kill us when we riot. Topo stood at his cell door watching everything and thinking out loud for his cellie L’il man’s benefit. “Aceves in the gun tower looks ready to blast someone. He can feel the tension.”
Aceves stood at the gun tower grill portal pointing his rifle at the ground waiting for his partner to announce showers for building 6.
L’il man sat on the top bunk drawing Aztec art. “You got us the best cell in the building. We can see every cell. What’s Felipe doing?”
Topo was watching Felipe stare out his cell and wondered if he was calling a shot to rush his enemies, originally from across the border in Mexico, here in this prison building in California. He has every right to. His enemies were killing women and children and leaking info to the authorities it was his cartel doing it. “He’s posted at his cell door studying everything.”
L’il man kept drawing. “Why did you tell him not to take the war to his enemies?”
Topo stared at Felipe’s clinched jaw and focused eyes. “Because of this beef we are having with the blacks. It’s about to be world war three again. On the streets, the county jails and most California prisons… You saw the message I got from Pelican Bay. They are pissed the blacks took some territory in L.A. If I let Felipe rush his enemies now the border brother pisas will get locked down and we will be short on numbers. I don’t want to fight these guerillas outnumbered more than two to one.”
CHAPTER—6 East LA
Veto drove past Baldwin Park and navigated a few turns to the safe house. Downstairs in the basement Veto said, “Drape the walls to cover Topo’s art so I can do some directing.”
L’il Chuco set the drapes and closed them on the Aztec calendar, some infamous territory Topo controlled and a depiction of an eagle clawing a snake out of a burning bush. With that done he put detective Pincher on the couch against the wall.
Veto positioned the camera his homeboys raided from a non-local news van from Northern California and captured the hardwood floor with the 10 feet to the couch. Blood soaked stains going back 50 years of examples made for violations that included atrocious crimes against women and children, informants who destroyed a structure that kept the streets in the right hands and other reasons less honorable, left their mark.
Veto looked through the eyepiece and centered detective Pincher and pushed RECORD. His arms were draped over the top of the couch in the sign of a cross. His chin with the cop-like mustache rested on his chest, still in an almost unconscious nod over a Hawaiian shirt. Veto walked from the video camera to Pincher as the detective opened his eyes a little and said in a heavily sedated growl, “That’s some good heroin.”
He looked around the room and Veto got his attention back. “Did you get our ounce of heroin out of the evidence locker room?”
“Yeah…I got it…I just don’t know where it is…”
Veto pulled out a loaded syringe from his pocket and handed it to the detective. “You look like shit detective. You’re fucking up. You probably left our ounce of heroin in your Crown Vic we found you nodding out in at the In n Out right across from the evidence locker. We had to rescue your ass. What if one of your detective brothers saw you while getting some lunch?”
Chuco said, “They all do dope. The cops, the parole officers, probably even half of the churches and some of the preachers. I used to sell dope to a preacher in Riverside until I found out he was a piece of shit that let pregnant women get high. If one of his cop brothers would have seen him nodding out they probably would have tried to buy some of his dope.”
Detective Pincher shook his head at the thought and found a vein an inch away from the obviously abused bluish scar where he’d been plunging the needle lately and plunged a fresh potion. His eyes popped wide open. “What the fuck did you give me? That’s not heroin. I feel wired!”
Veto laughed, “That’s some of the best speed on the planet. You need to tighten up your program before you get busted. Let’s go get my heroin out of your car and I’ll give you some more speed to help you keep your job and stay out of rehab.”
Chuco smiled. “You’re going to be super cop now.”
Veto and Chuco blindfolded Pincher and walked to the Town car in the garage. Veto said, “Pincher you’re not going to catch any of my homeboys slippin dressed in that Hawaii 5-0 shirt with that cop mustache.”
“Don’t worry about that Veto; I don’t plan on catchin any of your homeboys. Just keep payin me off and I won’t have to put a toe tag on any of em.”
CHAPTER—7 LAGUNA BEACH
Annette stood on her toes doing her ballet routine a couple streets away on the beach in a private cove. Being a ballerina and into gymnastics as a little girl she lifted her exquisitely shaped right leg in a line slowly until it was above her head with her toes pointed perfectly. She breathed a sigh of heated satisfaction thinking of B.J. She lowered her leg until it was hip high and did some heel to toe pointers and the quivering memories of B.J. were replaced with old wounds.
I stood at the top of the stairs watching Annette from the 100-foot perch. A light summer hazy fog settled on me but below Annette balanced on one leg in the sunlight. I thought about the last month with her at the shelter and how our relationship started. How she had believed in me. While walking down the stairs to her I remembered how she had said, “God let my angel mom sitting near Him send you to save me.”
Annette lowered her leg to just above the ground and looked down at her foot. Toes flex. Heel flexes. Annette thought, at least I don’t think of my mom dying when I was 5, then my dad abandoning me at 13, then my boyfriend beating the shit out of me from 21-23 through my whole routine. I still can’t erase the pain and fear I feel enough to stop using speed though! What is wrong with me?
I continued to watch Annette do her ballet routine while walking down the stairs. Her brown hair hung over a tiny porcelain neck that spoke of the rest of her bone structure. Brown curls hung in circles around the edges of her ears and I remembered lying next to her putting those curls behind her ear.
Annette said, “Hi baby.”
“Hi beautiful. I like your ballet routine. What time do you see Laura today? Right before me right?”
“Yeah I see our homeless shelter shrink in a half an hour. Like she can help me. Nobody can. I’m a lost cause. I’m damaged beyond repair. You should run from me as fast as you can...Run Forest Gump run.”
“Don’t talk like that. I see the incredible girl inside of you fighting to get out. Let me see your hand.”
Annette raised her hand and I saw the fear in her eyes. I put my fingers against hers until our palms met. She blessed me with an authentic smile, filled with the trust I was falling in love with. I pulled her body to mine and lifted our hands above our heads and our lips met in a soft caress. The kiss deepened in exploration and my hand brought hers down behind her body bringing her even tighter to my body. “Let’s go see our shrink that donates her time to the homeless.”
Annette sat across from Laura in the third counseling room and studied her like a skeptic. She thought she has never lived through pain, hardship or disappointment. She has never had to live on the streets in survival mode. She’s probably always had everything handed to her. Her beautiful hair over a 50-year-old face perfectly made up…Annette caught herself realizing Laura didn’t wear any make-up. Her beautiful blue eyes have so much concern in them…
“Annette. I want you to know that anything you say here, with me, is going to stay here, with me. I also want you to know that I will never judge you, or betray you. I know I can’t possibly know what you’ve been through so I’m just going to do all I can to guide you to where you want to go. Sound okay?”
Annette thought she really does care. She looks like an Angel.
“Annette. We had an amazing first session. I want to thank you for being so forthcoming. Thank you for explaining that when you were 6 years old you
developed a nervous habit: first, biting your cheek, then biting your upper and lower lips, then scratching out parts of your eyebrows. Sweetheart, that’s an indication you had problems with your mom’s passing on to heaven. I want to make an appointment with a friend of mine for you. He’s a world-renowned psychologist who specializes in chemical imbalances. With the right amount of prescribed medicine, maybe a serotonin or dopamine uptake, or maybe even a legal amphetamine, you might be able to view life more clearly. Would you be willing to try?”
Annette chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t know…I’ve never wanted to rely on drugs or feel like I’m crazy.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been self-medicating on speed made from outlaws for over 10 years. Make sure you get a job so you can stay at the shelter honey.”
The next session with B.J…
“B.J. we had an amazing first session. I want to thank you for being so honest and forthcoming. Spending 10 years in prison along with all that you have lived through is a testament to how strong and resilient you are. I want you to get a job as fast as possible so you can acclimate to the free world before your ingrained survival behaviors become your life style by default and so you don’t get kicked out of the shelter.”
Upon Release From Prison Page 2
