Javier on his first drug run into the U.S. nodded his head at what a good plan it was. Felipe and Jefe were stoic statues and stared at Topo looking much the same. Eventually Felipe responded, “With all respect to your good plan, I have to call my uncle and run the situation by him. It’s his call. I’m just one of his many integral components.”
Topo nodded his head appreciatively and said, “I can respect that.”
Right then Felipe’s cell phone rang and he saw his uncle’s number. He excused himself and got out of the eighteen wheeler and walked all the way through the gate with the perch behind Paulo’s property to get some privacy. Felipe explained all of the details in drug runner slang without any names or felonious activity. When he was done he asked his uncle for instructions.
Ernie took his time and commented on Topo’s plan. “It sounds like that guy has a good plan but we don’t know him well enough to put everything in his control…”
Felipe pondered the years worth of business that was now on the line. He knew he was closer to the problem and would have to come up with the solution but sharing the problem with Ernie took some of the responsibility of his shoulders. Felipe thought of another angle. “I wish we knew these guys better so we could leave everything here and have our other associates come to this place for takeout.”
Ernie didn’t reply. He was busy thinking. Felipe continued thinking out loud, “This guy that lives where I’m at…” Ernie knew he meant Paulo at the reservation. “The guy from L.A. has him in his pocket. It might as well be his house. He does seem to really know what he’s doing though… I just don’t trust them yet. Not enough experience to go on.”
Ernie’s tone of voice took that skeptical line of thinking even further. “Another thing to consider is we don’t want them meeting our other business associates!!”
Felipe’s mind raced with a vision of the worst possible scenario. What if Topo stole the whole load of drugs! And our white biker associates!! What if Topo was doing business with another cartel and his job was to land a direct hit on ours?
Ernie was remembering another time many years ago where all of the circumstances looked similar but even worse. That time all of the evidence presented looked like a despicable double cross. Assumptions were made, action was taken, and many people died execution style. In the aftermath Ernie learned they had been manipulated by bad information. The lesson was not to make assumptions too early and to do a lot more homework before jumping the gun.
Considering all of that Ernie said, “We don’t want to assume anything. How does this compromise sound nephew… We could give Mr. Torpedo half the product… Split the rest into thirds… a third for the truck, a third for the Festiva and a third for the Honda?”
Felipe knew his uncle wasn’t thinking clearly. Calling Topo Torpedo was funny but Ernie had always taught that you never hide drugs and money in the same place! Felipe reminded him. “We would be putting the money at risk!”
Ernie responded, “Good thinking… You keep the paper and give the Honda and the eighteen wheeler the product.”
Felipe said good bye and got off the phone. Walking back he thought it was a pretty good plan but there had to be more they could do. Then a better thought came to him. The drugs were already weather proofed in over twenty layers of plastic wrap. It wouldn’t take much to bury them. Felipe located a good spot behind Paulo’s estate and decided he could sneak away in the middle of the night to make the deposit.
Back inside Paulo’s gate Felipe saw Topo going through Jefe’s Honda and tweaking through the wires. Then he had Jefe get in the car while he ran behind the vehicle and yelled, “Hit your brakes!”
Jefe followed his directions. Topo yelled, “You’ve got a tail light out on the right hand side. We’ll have Paulo go to the auto parts store to get that fixed. You can’t drive around like that on this side of the border. You’ll get pulled over.”
CHAPTER 9
The next morning everything was set according to the new plan. Felipe thought, I’m glad I followed my instincts and buried a good chunk of the product in the middle of the night unknown to Topo or Paulo. It took three hours of work and careful consideration to remember the landmarks and the distance from Paulo’s wall.
That morning, constructing their exit strategy Topo shocked Felipe with his description of how he was going to hike along the same path the chunk of product was buried. He explained how he knew the hillside like the back of his hand and had even had a perch constructed in a tree that over looked the parking lot he was going to drop into the back of. He said that with binoculars and the steep hillside it was an excellent perimeter check. The parking lot was perfect for a covert entry. You dropped into the backside of a gas station with the only thing back there being a bathroom.
Topo left for his hike and perimeter check and forty minutes later called Paulo. Paulo had been monitoring the police airwaves for potential problems and let Topo know there weren’t any. From Topo’s end he explained that the parking lot was clear and it was time to get the caravan rolling. Paulo handed the phone to Topo’s driver associate to get instructions. A minute later he handed the phone to Felipe and left in the suburban. Felipe stayed on the line and heard Topo getting into the suburban and the door shut.
Topo told Felipe, “It’s clear. You hop on now and we’ll wait right here for you and get behind your caravan to give your back more cushion. Stay sharp and let’s go, vamanos!”
The procession of vehicles started with Javier leading the way in the eighteen wheeler, Jefe in the Honda, and Felipe in the Festiva in the rear. At the second exit Topo’s suburban pulled right behind Felipe and it was smooth sailing—Until the next exit.
It turned out that the same cop that gave them the scare entering the reservation just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. He was waiting at a traffic light right next to the freeway and just happened to look up in time to see the caravan. What caught the officer’s attention the first time was how haggard the eighteen wheeler was. Then the officer zeroed in on the Honda and all of its conspicuous antennas. When he pulled up behind it the broken tail light was the kicker but there hadn’t been enough time to make the traffic stop. That wasn’t going to be a problem this time.
Topo and his associate lived in their rearview mirror and saw the squad car racing up immediately. They knew the officer was trying to provoke a panicky reaction and that wasn’t happening. The squad car stayed right on their tail in a severe tailgate. After a few Moments the squad car got in the passing lane and did the same thing to Felipe in the Festiva, then Jefe in the Honda. Topo watched the officer pull in front of the eighteen wheeler and hit the lights and siren. Topo told his associate, “He’s going to pull over the eighteen wheeler and the Honda.”
That’s exactly how it went down. The officer got Javier to start pulling over and angled his way in front of Jefe in the Honda and motioned for him to pull over also. Felipe and then Topo passed right on by. In front of Topo in the suburban Felipe maintained the exact speed limit (In Mexico).
Topo continued to watch the rear through the visor’s window and saw the other two squad cars racing up to assist the traffic stop. Topo was trying to ascertain if this was a choreographed move by law enforcement or just chance. When Topo looked forward he noticed Felipe was only going fifty miles an hour in a sixty five mile an hour speed limit. He had his driver pull up alongside and rolled down his window and got Felipe to do the same. He yelled out the window, “Hey, homes you’ve got to pick up your pace and stay with me! I know where we can pull off the freeway!”
Topo called Paulo to check what he was hearing on the police scanner and apprised him of the situation. A few miles away Topo pulled off where a restaurant over looked the highway. Topo stopped Felipe and had his associate park Felipe’s car while Felipe watched the road. Topo hid the suburban and they all went into the restaurant.
At the table the minutes were ticking by and it wasn’t looking good. Topo said, “We’re either going to se
e your family driving by or their vehicles on tow trucks. Do they have California driver’s licenses and insurance for those vehicles?” Topo had already taken note that they had current registration back at the reservation.
Felipe nodded his head vigorously. “Ernie made sure it was all legit.”
Topo thought to himself how much better he would have been able to do the drug run in an eighteen wheeler that blended in better and cars without so many obvious antennas. In California there were a lot more angles to think of relating to the law then in Mexico. Topo said, “That’s good. Now we can bail them out of jail if we need to and move on it fast enough.”
Forty minutes later they saw Jefe drive by in the Honda going forty miles an hour with two squad cars behind him. Both squad cars got into the passing lane and accelerated past the Honda. Felipe held his emotions in check and looked to Topo the problem solver. Felipe told himself that it was his back yard… And when in Rome, live as the Romans live.
Topo told Felipe to go get the Festiva and he’d keep watch on the highway. A few minutes later as Felipe pulled up Jefe called from the Honda. Felipe and Topo listened to Jefe explain.
“They let me go after searching the Honda but they held Javier to wait for the police canine unit to arrive. What do you want me to do?”
Topo got on the line and explained where to get off the highway in Indio. From there he helped him navigate into a hotel’s underground parking lot he’d used in the past.
A few minutes later the eighteen wheeler Javier had been driving went by on the back of a tow truck with two squad cars trailing it. Felipe’s heart ached when he saw Javier in the back of one of the squad cars. Right then Paulo called and gave Topo some information that came off the police scanner. The canine units arrived and the dogs responded inside the eighteen wheeler. It was being towed to the police station for a thorough search.
Every hour thereafter Topo called the county jail to run a check on Javier’s alias, Jesus Rodriguez. The first three times came back without any charges. Then on the fourth call the hammer dropped. Jesus Rodriguez was being charged with health and safety code violation of transportation of narcotics for sale.
Topo made a few more calls to establish the bail situation and the wheels were in motion. Six hours later Topo had his driver associate pick Javier up from jail. Javier’s alias, Jesus Rodriguez had a case pending for possessing over fifty pounds of narcotics.
Felipe called his uncle in Michoacán, Mexico to report the details. They both thought about what the loss of fifty pounds of narcotics meant to them. It cost them about a hundred thousand dollars. It would have sold to Topo for over a half a million dollars. It would have sold to the white biker gang for one point two five million. The biker gang could have potentially broke that down to near three and a half million.
Ernie swallowed the loss like a champion. After the near heart attack he found the silver lining. “It’s a blessing we got Javier out on his alias. Send him back to me immediately.”
Felipe responded, “I can’t believe how easy the California system is for us to manipulate.”
Ernie said, “It should be. California used to be ours.”
CHAPTER 10
On the very next cartel run Felipe got pulled over in San Bernardino and lost the Festiva and a smaller load of drugs to the authorities but Topo and Jefe bailed him out on his alias.
CHAPTER 11
A Central California State Prison in the 2000’s
A tattooed down Mexican prison guard stood at our forty man holding tank holding the bars trying to get our attention. He finally got us quiet enough to talk.
“Listen up! Everybody quiet and pay attention. Welcome to our State Prison. It’s going to be about four more hours until we get your bedrolls and your housing situated. If you keep the noise down we’ll get you some extra bag lunches. If you get too loud, and it bothers our work down here in receiving, we’ll keep you cooped up in this cage until morning. Work with us with respect and you’ll get the same in return. You Southern Mexicans… You’re having problems with the Mexicans from Fresno. So be on your toes.”
A youngster Southern Mexican nodded his head and said, “We’re always on our toes!” All of the other youngsters from the South nodded their heads in agreement.
The prison guard continued. “You whites… You’re having problems with the Mexicans from Fresno and the blacks so be on your toes.”
I looked around at the couple other white faces and wondered if the guard was stirring the pot. We’d be finding out all of the details from our cellie when we got housed in a little while.
The guard continued. “B.L.T.’s arrive from Bakersfield on Wednesdays so there’s your heads up on that, any questions?”
I looked around and saw that almost every inmate understood. Some were laughing at the guard’s straight forward style; some were a little shocked by it.
One inmate asked, “What’s a B.L.T.?”
The guard looked like he wanted that question asked. “Does anybody want to tell this guy?”
A tattooed down inmate said, “A butt load of tobacco.”
CHAPTER 12
Later, a couple of deputies escorted some of us out of receiving to the yard where we were processed. They told us we were headed to the cells on D-yard. My name is Benny Johnson but I also go by B.J.
The hallway out of receiving took us into the prison where main control opened gates that went full circle. There was the main kitchen, C-yard’s gated entrance, D-yard’s gated entrance and then the medical offices. On the way toward the D-yard gate we went past the counselors’ office and the program office where all of the guards checked in for their shifts and some worked. I took it all in and saw a white inmate working out in front of the program office sweeping the sidewalk. He looked like an older dope addict.
The deputies escorting us were watching us closely so all we could do was nod our heads and walk on by. At D-yard’s gate, once opened and through, it split two ways. The path to the right took us to buildings one, two and three and the path to the left went to buildings four, five and six. It looked like a baseball diamond. Right there where the path split a gun tower rose approximately thirty feet high. Like a home plate umpire he could see all six buildings and their mini yards to get to the path and the rest of the yard. Looking up I couldn’t see the guard inside the tower and determined he must be sitting down because the windows he scoped the yard through were tinted up the halfway point. The rifles and block guns were visible though. You could see them stationed for the guard to grab when he stood up.
Just down the path I saw where a gate opened for inmates to get escorted to the yard at their yard time when the program wasn’t locked down. Inside the yard I saw pull-up bars lined both baselines, the outfield sported a soccer field from right field to center field and there was a full court basketball court in deep left field.
Our escort deputies walked us down to one block and dropped a couple of inmates into the custody of the guard waiting at one block’s gate. The same thing happened at building two and three. The buildings were that tan prefab concrete color and the towers were all painted green. The guards wore the same green colored military fatigue style outfits. From the feet up they sported a pair of jacked up army boots for good stomping power and traction, then at the belt they had an almost fire extinguisher sized can of pepper spray, a Billy club and what we refer to as their panic button. Once pressed it activates a high pitched alarm that pierces the air with decibels that rise up and down in pitch. The guards were trained to immediately identify the level of the incident and where it was cracking so that, if needed, every yard at the prison could respond. In contrast to the deputies uniforms, we were dressed in paper thin jumpsuits similar to what hairnets are made of and jap flap shoes that let you feel every inch of the pavement.
In front of five block, one of the escorting deputies called all but one of us, Inmate Rodriguez. That meant he had to be going to the hole, ad-seg, in six block, over night.
> “Inmates Johnson, Grisham and Sanchez this is your new home for a while. Probably three to six months unless you’re level four… Then up to a year or more. Have fun!”
I said goodbye to inmate Rodriguez who went by Topo. He’d said he was going to a prison down South on the border. I’d talked to him briefly and he knew I went by B.J. He told me, “All right Johnson, see you around the corner huh…”
I knew Rodriguez was a straight mobster, you could just see it. He was one of those guys who was brought up right under the old school. None of that Pepsi cola generation shit where everyone calls each other by their A.K.A.’s in front of the cops. Neither would he self-admit his own nickname or self-admit he was anything other than a human being just trying to figure this thing out also.
Rodriguez made me laugh in receiving. He explained that the climate in California started changing in the late eighties and nineties because prisons started processing prison sentences like D.M.V. processed licenses. Gone were the days where you’d only go to prison for very serious crimes and there were only a hand full of them. Tough on crime platforms, overzealous detectives and the meth craze worked together to build thirty five new prisons in a ten year period to change everything. He’d said, “Now everyone in prison wants to be someone. The new generation wants to be so hard that they go around telling on themselves with all their claims about what they’ve done, who they’re with and where they’re from. They stamp their gang in ink all over them to fit in with the ones that are smart enough not to tell the cops anyway. They’re just helping the cops build up a file on them that all levels of law enforcement and the courts share to classify you as a terrorist. Some act this way because they’re too new to know any better, some to fit into crazy circumstances with a name and a platform and others because they assume it’s the only way. It’s the seven up generation, never had it never will. When I get a chance to play on the main line prison yards I call them on all their shit. If I hear them talking about how many people they’ve stabbed or shot or other high powered attitudes I find work that needs to be put in on child molesters or rapist and tell them to go blast them. I explain that I know I can trust them to do a good job since they’ve already done so much… Right?”
ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story) Page 4
