ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story)

by Glenn Langohr

  Screwball left the explanation like that so I asked, “What happened when you took flight?”

  Screwball laughed and looked like he knew how to be humble. “We only had about a minute of fame before the guards drenched us in a sea of pepper spray. I got the first punch in right as a weapon came sliding out from under the cell. I stayed on him to keep him from getting to it but I had a lot of trouble fighting in shower shoes. I was actually glad the guards got there because I was sliding and flailing the whole time. It sucked.”

  I said, “At least you guys made out alright. What happened to whitey?”

  “He lost his job as janitor sweeping up in front of medical and the program office first. Then when that building got off lock-down he got smashed by five dudes from Fresno. I heard they got him pretty good on the second tier where it took longer for the guards to arrive. They split his head with state cups if the story I heard is accurate. It’s poetic justice. That dude was oblivious and only cared about himself.”

  I remembered the peace treaty he’d mentioned. “Who drew up this peace treaty you mentioned?”

  I was looking at it like Fresno had and visualized the worst possible scenario. What if Screwball allowed Damaged to get sent out of the building to make them happy. Then, when the program opened up and we got dayroom together… What if they okie-doked the whole move and rushed our race with weapons?

  Screwball said, “The proposed peace treaty came from them. I told them it would take some time for us to go over it before we got back to them. We can’t roll with it as is because it’s not a fair trade to give up one of ours without them giving up one of theirs. It’s lopsided until then and it would look like we got our program dictated to us.”

  I offered, “Pick out three of theirs for them to pick one to send out of the building with Damaged.”

  Screwball said, “That’s what I’m thinking because it gives them some latitude. Why don’t you scout them out and we’ll put something together slowly and carefully.”

  I nodded my head that I could do that.

  Screwball continued. “I’m getting close to seeing my counselor and sent to another prison. When I leave I’m going to leave the responsibility of this building to you.”

  I shook my head and stared at Screwball with a stoic mask and said, “No you’re not… I’m busy writing a book right now and don’t want this drama.” I was just kidding but played it out to see how Screwball would react. If I didn’t run the building or have enough control of it, the drama would infect me anyway. My eyes gave the first hint that I was kidding and Screwball started laughing.

  Screwball walked toward his cell and stopped by another one on the way. I heard him yell, “Hey Blockhead!! Are you alright in there?”

  I already know of Blockhead. He was the president of a biker gang we all knew about. He had a life sentence but everyone that knew him well loved his big heart. I heard Blockhead yell from his bunk in his cell. “What are you, a doctor?” I laughed at the fifty something year old and heard the love in his voice when he said, “I’m alright youngster, Thanks for checking!” As Screwball made his way to his cell I thought about how Screwball had been at my cell for the whole hour the guards let him out. I looked around at all the heads from Fresno standing at their cell door looking at me.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Hey bro, which of these samples do you want to put in the pipe? Or do you want to roll a joint before paddling out to catch some waves?”

  Damon sat in his car’s driver seat. He had three plastic bags of high quality marijuana he was using as samples of the product. Sitting in the passenger seat of the Buick, Todd examined them. The first bag had three lime green popcorn shaped nodules that were spongy and sticky to the touch. Todd squeezed the bag and the nodule’s T.H.C. crystals stuck to the plastic.

  Damon was outraged! “Hey bra, don’t squeeze the pungies! You’re deforming my sample dude!

  Todd, already grizzled from an early morning joint, smiled. “Smell that fragrance my pinch produced. I think this pot might bring peace to the Middle East… This is the Hawaii Kush isn’t it?”

  Damon grabbed the bag from Todd and said, “Yup.” He tore a piece of the sticky bud off to put in the pipe and realized the inside of the car smelled like a skunk. Damon handed the pipe to Todd and wrapped up the sample and put it in his board shorts to get it out of the way.

  Todd watched while he lit the pipe and wagged his finger at the same time with the lighter in it in the universal no, don’t do it sign. He choked on the expanding hit of skunk bud and coughed out, “Dude, you’re going to paddle out into the ocean with your sample again. That would be the third time this week that your prized buds got all soggy in the surf with you.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Detective John Maltobano, who those close to him referred to as “Gotti” because he looked like the dapper don John Gotti, walked to his undercover Crown Victoria in the parking lot behind the Laguna Niguel Sheriff’s substation. Narcotic detective Pincher Johnson watched him and knew exactly what he was going to do. He did the same thing every morning. He was going to set his coffee cup on the roof of his car, start the vehicle, step back out of the vehicle with a Bible in his hand, read it for a couple of minutes standing there, say a prayer that finished with the sign of the cross over his chest and then back in his vehicle for a couple more minutes of just sitting there. Detective Pincher wondered what in the hell the detective did in the car? Did he keep praying? If he did, it wasn’t helping him climb the ladder within the Sheriff’s department! Maybe he’s praying for me since I’m the one in the lead for making the most drug arrests in Orange County.

  Detective Maltobano followed his morning ritual that started with prayer. God…Bless all of us at the Sheriff department this day. Grant us wisdom and guidance to serve and protect the citizens who pay us. In Jesus name, amen. With his prayer done, he signed the cross over his chest and thought about how he’d grown up. He remembered how his father was an abusive alcoholic who beat his mother, and then him when he got in the middle of it. He remembered how he gravitated to the streets, started to get high, and was close to joining a street gang for some identity. He remembered how his father died suddenly and then his Mom had a stroke. Instead of getting all the way caught up in the street life, he moved back to take care of Mom. Then he remembered seeing the ad to become a Sheriff and promised his worried Mom he’d become one. Working inside the jail as training, he remembered how close he was to being one of the ones behind the bars. As he did every day, he promised himself he wouldn’t forget how close.

  He drove the Crown Victoria out of the parking lot and got on Crown Valley parkway. He headed toward the beach on his way to Monarch beach and Dana Point on his usual morning route. At Sea Island Drive he took a right that led him up an otherwise untarnished foothill that winded up high enough to see from Laguna Beach all the way to the San Clemente pier. Was Sarah’s car parked out in front of her parent’s house yet? It wasn’t. It hadn’t been for the past month.

  Detective Maltobano thought about Sarah’s file on his desk for that month. Sarah’s girlfriend Nicole had made the call to the Sheriffs to report that Sarah had been raped by a 21 year old white male by the name of Bob Prescott. Detective Maltobano thought about how cloudy the rest of the pieces were. Sarah herself had disappeared after one phone conversation. She admitted she had been in a relationship with Bob Prescott for a little over a month. During that period she admitted she’d had consensual sex with him and then broke up with him. At that point she hung up the phone.

  Detective Maltobano called her friend Nicole and learned a few things. Bob Prescott had found Sarah at a party a week after she’d broke up with him. Nicole said he slipped the date rape drug G.H.B. into her drink while she wasn’t looking and when she was passing out, gave her a ride home. The next morning Sarah called Nicole and explained how she had woken up feeling sick and violated. Her vagina and anus were sore and she found Bob’s discharge in both places along with some on her chi
n. Since then Sarah stopped going to the beach everyday with Nicole to lie out and watch the surfers.

  Nicole had also said that Sarah had started hanging out with a gang member lately. She said she thought Sarah wanted to feel protected and guessed they were looking for Bob to smash him. Detective Maltobano wondered if she was right. He also wondered if narcotic detective Pincher was having any luck finding Bob Prescott. The plan was for him to nail him on a drug charge. Maybe then Sarah would feel comfortable enough to testify against him.

  Detective Maltobano drove through the parking lot at Salt Creek’s beach looking for Sarah’s Lexus. It wasn’t there. He pulled back out to P.C.H. to see if she was at the more local Strands parking lot a mile away. At Selva Street he took a right. A quarter mile down Selva Street the detective passed the Chart House restaurant on the cliff to the Dana Point harbor. The street hooked to the right into the wetlands. Another quarter mile down the street it dead ended with enough room for about eight vehicles to park. Sarah’s Lexus wasn’t there either but there was a Buick with a couple of occupants in it that looked suspicious.

  CHAPTER 21

  Inside the Buick Todd lit a fresh bowl full of the Hawaiian Kush bud in the pipe. After he got the cherry going he coughed and pointed to the other two samples on Damon’s lap. He asked, “What are those samples?”

  Damon picked up one of the samples. “This one is the chocolate tye and the other one is the golden tye. I like the golden tye better. The chocolate tye burns you out.”

  Detective Maltobano pulled up thirty feet behind the Buick and parked. He observed a smoke cloud escaping from the windows with two male occupants and their surf boards in between them. It reminded the detective of that movie, “Fast Times at Ridgemount High.” Detective Maltobano got out of the car with the intention of doing so loudly. As expected, the occupants reacted lethargically. The driver casually looked over his shoulder and then told the passenger something. Then the passenger freaked out.

  Damon heard the car door slam behind his and calmly looked over his shoulder. He saw a big strapping man with suspenders and a shoulder holster walking slowly toward the car. Damon grabbed his two samples and told Todd, “We’ve either got an F.B.I. agent or some kind of mobster coming at us. Get rid of the pipe!”

  Todd wasted time by having a look himself. He saw the giant just in time to see his boots and pants and panicked. “That’s an F.B.I. agent!”

  Todd tapped the pipe against his hand and the burning embers went everywhere. A good sized cherry landed in his lap and melted right through his board shorts and burned flesh. He screamed, threw the pipe and flailed his hands against his lap to escape the pain.

  Detective Maltobano pulled his service revolver out and reached the Buick. He yelled, “Get your hands in the air where I can see them!”

  The driver was complying and had what looked like the end of a couple of plastic baggies sticking out of the waistband of his shorts. The passenger was desperately slapping at his shorts in obvious pain. Upon closer inspection he had a large hole in his board shorts right in the middle that looked like it was a burn mark. Right then the pungent odor of marijuana reached the detectives nose and he realized his earlier conclusion was right. He looked at the floor on the passenger side and saw a pipe laying there with some ash next to it. Studying the two occupants, they were both about twenty years old and looked local to the area. The driver had a Volcom hat on backwards over almost no hair. His eyes looked aware and observant and didn’t appear to be stoned. He had a sun bronzed body that looked over six feet and in good shape. Right under his chest was a tattoo of an iron cross with the letters O.C. tattooed underneath it in a rounded font.

  The passenger had wild sun bleached hair. His skin didn’t absorb the sun as well and was freckled and chapped. His eyes looked perpetually stoned and red from too much sun, pot smoke and possibly allergies. His lips looked puckered like they were sunburned and swollen. He had a small wiry build without any tattoos.

  Detective Maltobano got both drivers licenses and checked the driver Damon Smith’s registration and insurance. After a check for warrants came up clear of any he had Damon and Todd step out of the Buick.

  “I’m going to give you a chance to be honest with me. Give me anything you have on your person or in your vehicle that is illegal.”

  Damon pulled out his two samples that were partially sticking out of his shorts.

  Todd rose his hand like he was in class and said, “That’s my pipe on the floor of the passenger seat.”

  While Todd gathered the pipe, Damon remembered his Hawaiian Kush sample. He reluctantly pulled it out and handed it over.

  Detective Maltobano accepted the third bag of pot and asked Damon, “Are you a dealer?”

  Damon just looked at the detective. He didn’t vigorously shake his head no, or even say no.

  Detective Maltobano stared at Damon for over a minute until Damon finally just looked at the ground. Detective Maltobano said, “You don’t like to lie do you?”

  Damon immediately responded, “No.”

  Detective Maltobano asked, “Am I going to find anything else inside the car?”

  Damon looked into detective Maltobano’s eyes and said, “No.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I look?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Detective Maltobano said, “I’m going to put you both in the backseat of my car while I look.”

  While Damon and Todd got into the backseat of the Crown Victoria Todd asked, “What kind of cop are you?”

  Detective Maltobano flashed his Orange County Sheriff’s badge and said, “I’m with the rape and sex crime branch. Sit tight.”

  Damon and Todd watched the detective search the Buick for over twenty minutes. He searched the interior, the trunk, under the hood and even under the car along the frame. When he was done with the search he walked back.

  “Okay guys get out and let’s take a walk to check the waves while I figure out what I’m going to do with you two.”

  Damon and Todd walked ahead of the detective to the cliff line overlooking the ocean above strands point. The path down the cliff was a couple hundred feet to the sand affording a good view up and down the beach. There was a south swell pushing four to six foot waves for the surfers to play on. Directly below at Strands point seven surfers were packed together awaiting their turn, down the beach for another half a mile around twenty heads bobbed more spread out and at Salt Creek’s point two thirds of a mile away another twenty or so fought for position in another pack.

  Detective Maltobano watched the surfers and thought to himself that possibly half of them had smoked some pot before their surf session. He also ventured a guess that about 90% of the surfers in the water had at least experimented with pot. He wondered if it was really a good way to police the community to start criminal files on as many of them as possible for doing so.

  Damon and Todd’s attention was torn between watching the swell peel down the beach and the three bags of pot in the detective’s hand.

  Detective Maltobano asked, “What do you two do for work?”

  Todd answered first. “I bar back and wait tables at the Chart House around the corner… I’m also hoping to make the pro surfing tour this year!”

  Detective Maltobano nodded his head and looked at Damon. “What about you?”

  Damon answered. “I used to own my own landscaping business until the Mexicans underbid almost all of my clients. It turns out they will work for a lot less then we will because they will share a house with twenty people. I guess it’s better than struggling in Mexico.”

  Todd chimed in, “The Mexicans are coming over so fast it looks like they are reclaiming California.”

  Damon breathed a sigh of relief. The detective dumped the pot out of the bags onto the ground. He used his boot to grind the pot into the dirt until it was no longer salvageable.

  When he was done he said, “You know there are two good ways to look at our border problem. You could get in touch with o
ur local politicians or our governor in writing to state your claims, or you could get creative and start another business to put their cheap labor to work for you.”

  Todd said, “I think we should seal our borders.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Mark and my brother weren’t there but Mark’s Mom let me in. I went into mark’s room and pulled my U.P.S. package out of my backpack. There were two vacuum sealed bags of pot inside. The smaller of the two was the size of a finger across the bottom of a sandwich bag. The larger one was about the size of two of my fists. I tried to smell any fragrance through the plastic wrap and couldn’t. I sat there looking at my money I didn’t have to spend and the pot and couldn’t believe I’d pulled it off. I pulled out Bill’s phone number and wondered if that’s how it was for the big timers in this business… Was it that profitable that they could help a kid like me with that kind of assist? People helping people, I didn’t know it was going to be like this.

  Mark and my brother showed up and stood in the door way staring. I watched their eyes go from me, to the U.P.S. box and then to the pot. I broke through their shock with an explanation of my adventure. Mark looked like he couldn’t believe it and my brother was smiling like he could.