Upon Release From Prison

by Glenn Langohr

  I tried to force my mind to slow down. It wouldn’t. I was losing control. I stopped studying the opportunities through the binoculars and squatted in a crouch. I looked down at the police station below with my own eyes and realized how much pain I was in physically. My legs and lower back screamed from strain and I thumped to my butt. Still too much pain, I laid down on my back. Looking at the sky I wondered why I always popped back up. Even now, exhausted, I wanted to get up and get something done. My mind was in turmoil and on the verge of being made up. Annette had written on the bathroom window…DO IT. I fell asleep in sweaty dirty madness.

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  I awoke trying to hold on to a dream. I checked my other phone to see how long I’d slept. Two and a half hours. The sun was already scorching another clear day but I wasn’t viewing it through a clean glass as I struggled to remember the dream. My anger wouldn’t let me. Every time remnants and pieces took shape it evaporated before I could begin to see. Somehow I knew in my soul that I had to understand something significant. I had to perceive something so close yet so far away. Instead of finding the peace to look within, I tried to figure it out by looking back at the stumbling blocks. If I could just analyze a way around things maybe I could understand a strategy. Looking back wasn’t helping, it was getting me angry and there was nothing better for dealing with a world against you than tapping into anger’s friend: rage. This isn’t fair, it isn’t right. I finally, finally found my dream girl and soul mate and now I can’t be with her. Not only has she been ripped from my chest…I’m going back to prison. Why didn’t the church tell the shelter we were working? Why God?

  I picked the binoculars back up and studied the Festiva. Why hadn’t it been towed? It was parked next to the Chamber of Commerce in a spot reserved for the library. They should have towed it. This had to be a sign to do the drug run. Why can’t I frickin remember my dream! I’m supposed to do the drug run. Even if I don’t get a million dollars, half of that would afford the security I need that this world, this life, won’t provide my type any other way.

  I thought about the shelter employee’s conversation with my parole officer with Annette sleeping on my chest. She had tried to stonewall the parole officer as soon as she realized how significant kicking me out was. I wonder if she ever found out that we were working for the church helping the orphans. My mind saw Danny and I remembered being his horse and running him as fast as I could making the same flying noises I used to make at his age. I gritted my teeth together as a tear I didn’t want to slide down my cheek descended anyway. I hated crying or feeling sorry for myself. It always made me get back up and run, no matter what the cost. The physical pain never ever hurt like the emotional mental pain. I’d always done anything, anything to avoid it. I got up again and looked from the cliff. It felt like the distance from the cliff to the ocean, about 2 miles was the chasm I was going to fall into again. The cracks in the road that made the community were getting wider and wider.

  The board walk still had the JESUS SAVES AND LOVES YOU SIGN and Annette was standing under it. She was looking toward our rock. She thought that was where I was. I could see her getting frustrated at not being able to locate me. I looked to her left and found Maltobano and the other detective scanning the Coast Hwy. On the opposite end of the Coast Hwy perched on the railing the other two detectives were scanning the Laguna Canyon Road and other roads like Broadway, Ocean Avenue and Forest Road.

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  Annette looked at the rock longer this time no longer afraid the detectives would notice where she was looking and wonder why. She remembered such a beautiful dream last night. B.J just had to make it to their rock and everything would be okay. She saw him running up the steep hill with hundreds of cops chasing him from every angle. All he had to do was get there first and he did. He climbed on top of the rock and prayed as cops got to within feet of him and began slipping down the hill. He kept praying and they kept slipping further down the hill. She woke up just seeing B.J on the rock. The cops were nowhere in sight.

  Now looking up there, nothing. Where was B.J? Why wasn’t he there? I hope and pray he isn’t doing the drug run for the cartel. What about our daughter? I want to name her Holly. It sounds like Holy. She stopped looking hillside at the rock. She watched a Laguna Beach Parking Enforcement vehicle stop at the curb. She watched a woman get out. She was dressed in uniform and walked over.

  “You can’t keep that sign up.”

  Annette felt frustration overwhelm her, “You mean I have to take down my Jesus saves sign?”

  “You were supposed to fill out a form to hold that protest. You’re lucky we let you keep that sign up this long. We’re getting pressure from some Islamic groups. I have to take it down and throw it away unless you put it somewhere.”

  Annette started crying and put her hands over her eyes. Underneath her hands she said, “Don’t touch my sign I will take care of it.”

  I studied Annette through binoculars. She was crying. I’d never seen her cry and my heart tore. My defensive energy that started long ago as a kid boiled over. Rage took over at being powerless. I found myself grabbing my backpack and flinging it open. The contents scattered. I picked up the clean Laguna Beach Police uniform and put it on. I flung all the contents back into the backpack and ran down the hill.

  If I didn’t look at anyone they wouldn’t get suspicious. I ran by patrons and pedestrians and in between traffic to get to the library where the Festiva was parked. I forced myself to stop running and walked. I passed the Festiva and walked the rest of the way on Ocean Avenue to the Coast Hwy. At the traffic light I stared at my beautiful. She was sitting so perfect like always. Right on top of her sign- JESUS SAVES AND LOVES YOU. I stopped at the White House Restaurant and got a piece of paper from the greeter and wrote down my phone number for my beautiful.

  At the traffic light I willed Annette to look up. She wouldn’t. She was praying. I felt the tears start in memory of how she prayed and how she danced singing worship music to the Lord. The tears were streaming down my cheeks as I remembered telling her she had the most precious close to Jesus dance I’d yet come across. The light turned green and I held back.

  An elderly lady was making her way to our light and I waited for her to help her across. I put my left arm around her shorter shoulder and hugged her to me gently. We were halfway across and the light the other way turned green. Annette finished her prayer so I whistled to get her attention and lifted my right arm to stop traffic at the same time. Annette noticed me and I smiled. She ran to me and hugged me and the elderly lady together into one tight group. I felt her kissing my cheeks and our tears blended together.

  “Did you say to do the drug run?”

  Annette pulled away and looked into my eyes. “I said Don’t do it!”

  We both smiled and looked at the elderly lady to see what she thought. I watched Annette pull the necklace with the cross I gave to her off her neck. She put it on my neck. I turned around and walked the other way. Behind me I heard the elderly lady say, “Don’t do it.”

  Maltobano watched B.J cross the street with the elderly lady. For some reason he didn’t nudge Sawyer, he wanted to watch first. He saw Annette lift her hands from her face in dejection and felt her relief from seeing B.J. The love coming off the two for each other was the most evident thing he’d ever seen, capped by Annette taking her necklace off and putting it on B.J.

  Sawyer noticed Annette get up. He watched her walk to an elderly lady and her grandson… “Is that…Could that be…Is he wearing a Laguna Beach Police uniform?”

  Maltobano nodded his head, “That’s him.”

  Sawyer called the Orange County Deputies to the north on the railing, “B.J is on Ocean Avenue heading toward the police station!”

  Sawyer looked at Maltobano smiling and his frustration got the best of him and he barke
d, “You cross the street behind the toy store where he ran from the protest to close off that angle. I’m going to arrest Annette.”

  Maltobano yelled, “NO YOU’RE NOT! You are going to calm her down and apprehend B.J. All he’s done so far is abscond from parole and Annette is emotionally distraught and pregnant. We are going to help her not hurt her any worse.”

  Running away from Maltobano, Sawyer realized he was outranked by many levels and that Maltobano was right. Reaching Annette he noticed that the elderly lady consoling her had blood on her suit jacket.

  Into his phone he yelled, “Get the canine’s I have B.J.’s scent in blood.”

  Annette looked into the elderly lady’s eyes and said, “B.J is an amazing novelist. He writes modern pulp thrillers with God over evil that represents our culture divide over the drug war.”

  The elderly woman smiled and said, “It’s going to be okay sweetheart. I’ve been in the publishing business for 60 years and own Bantam Books one of the three largest publishing houses in the world. You just keep praying to let Jesus take your pain. He’s our healer.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth Sawyer pulled her away.

  “I need you to sit down so the police dogs can smell that blood on your shoulder.”

  I crossed the street and realized what a bust I was with a backpack and a Police uniform. A curious passerby caught my eye and I heard him ask, “Why are your arms bleeding?" I said over my shoulder, “I had to save a cat in the bushes,” and started to run.

  I heard super charged engines transferring power through automatic transmissions. I was familiar with that noise, police engines. I got in the Festiva.

  CHAPTER—42

  Pincher was driving a mile away from his house when his cell rang. He fumbled for it out of his shirt pocket with his damaged wrist wrapped haphazardly over an ice pack. The throbbing got worse with impact but he somehow managed to answer the phone. He held the phone against his neck while steering the Challenger with his left hand. It was attorney Anthony Berrera. "You fucked up Pincher. There is a warrant out for your arrest. I need you to come to my office so I can establish bail and turn you in."

  Pincher slammed on the brakes to pull over and the cell went flying to the floor near the gas pedal. Before completely stopping Pincher reached down to try to grab it with his damaged wrist and couldn't clamp it through the ice-packed-wrap. Another searing pain shot from his wrist and he yelled, "FUCK!!"

  He kept screaming and finally got to the phone and realized the call had been terminated. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror while the scream continued and saw an insane face staring back. The pain started to mix with confusion so deep there seemed to be no hope of making it. He asked himself, making it where? How in the fuck did I get here? How in the fuck can I fix this?

  After calming down he stared at his wrist and realized the only way to start fixing this is to get some more speed. Then, I will be able to figure things out.

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  CHAPTER—43

  We met in Nellie Gail at a mansion that belonged to a relative of Damon. Nellie Gail offered mansions and horse trails spread out over a 7 mile expansive stretch of lush hills in south Orange County right off the 5 Freeway that started from Alicia Pkwy and ran through La Paz, Oso Pkwy and Crown Valley Pkwy all on the side of the ocean.

  Driving there 15 minutes earlier I'd reminisced the last time we played chess there. Then, we'd both been on the run from the law and were zeroing in on what to do with some hi-profile data relating to corruption at the highest levels of local law…Except in one case. That case had to do with being misguided. We'd tried our own hand at guidance and were blessed with some TV news coverage with CNN giving us a platform to uncover prison union corruption. It was the same thing we were doing this time in a different context.

  I set up three different chess boards and put only 7 pieces on each side. We were going to explore some of Bobby Fisher's famous closing techniques.

  Damon asked Veto, "Do you know the game?"

  "Nope. I haven't learned. Never been locked in a cell to develop the patience."

  I realized that just like last time we'd played, I was virtually out of patience and needed to find a way to calm my restless spirit through this very thoughtful, meditative game. I said, "Just watch and we will voice what we are doing so we can get your feedback and apply it."

  I had Veto's complete attention and explained, "In each of the three chess boards we are going to signify the law as the black pieces and we are the red pieces. In each game the law will represent different facets of that law like certain detectives, the D.A's positions and even where those positions are supposed to come from; the Supreme Court rulings, then the points of authority that represent those rulings. Our side will represent survival of the fittest with a spiritual and philosophic tome."

  Veto said, "I'm following everything except the spiritual and philosophic stuff."

  "We know the law was established to preserve order. We also know that who controls that order establishes who can dance outside of the law and who can't. We seem to be the ones who don't get to dance at all as the cracks get wider and the chasm gets too deep for us to climb out. The only way we can close the gap is through God whose grace is sufficient to bridge the culture divide. The culture part is the philosophy of our time."

  I let Damon who had an immediate connection with Veto ask for his input. "So you think this piece should represent Pincher...?"

  Damon and I played for hours. We would start an end game scenario on one board and play 7 moves each against each other and then move to the next of the 3 boards. Veto caught on fast and gave more input, but he was trying to control the destiny too hard, too early, as all chess players do in the beginning. We let him, knowing everyone has to learn from their own mistakes to find that “Moment of Truth” as all experienced chess players know that each move has to be thought out much deeper. It’s such a frustrating game to learn because in life everyone wants to have thoughts and opinions that count and wars are started, people are put in jail; land is taken- all from strong will power. Chess was going to give us an indication of where Veto’s will power wanted to go. Damon and I were going to glean more of a storyline to see where we could fit in and establish pieces on the board. When my brain is working optimally I can imagine how 7 moves against each other will play out, if, the person I’m playing reacts and moves in that direction. A good chess player will realize when his territory and pieces are being squeezed and give up a piece in the middle of the process to maintain position and still have a chance for a counter attack.

  I remembered playing chess with Damon in a cell together for years during confinement when coming out of the cell didn’t happen. We’d play for up to 8 hours a day. At times, most of the time, my brain would not cooperate with me fully. I wouldn’t be able to focus it on only the chess game, so I wouldn’t move a piece until I had almost complete control of what my mind was focusing on. You know when you have almost complete control because you aren’t surprised by the game as it unfolds, but your adversary is.

  Veto came up with an idea both Damon and I were waiting for, but he went too deep with it. It was a bold idea on a philosophic level but didn’t make enough sense on any other level; still it was something Damon and I were hoping we could iron out. Damon asked, “How did you and your peeps cross paths with Pincher?”

  We found out that Pincher had developed a drug habit and was pinching heroin out of the evidence locker and replacing it with tootsie roll. Then we found out he also had a violent-creepy sex addiction. We found out how Veto had maneuvered like an expert to leverage the detective right into his back pocket with the help of the Hollywood Madam…

  Veto said, “Pincher fucked up with that crack alley shoot out…He called me for more dope right after and I left him hanging to meet you two.”

  We learned about how Pincher had been caught in Veto’s web on video shooting up dope, how
he’d beaten a woman of the night in a speeded out frenzy and how he was now suing LA’s finest for falsely accusing his rep and harming his earning power. Veto didn’t allude to the beating he was on TV for- that the CRIPS were catching the heat for. I looked at Damon and caught the hint.