ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story)

by Glenn Langohr

  The same circumstances repeated itself until I found myself running around with Huddy! I told him, “It turns out; I’m an attention whore too!”

  I took him under the wing and explained how my life molded me to run down the rules and regulations I’d implemented. He respected them and that was all I needed to see. Not long after, he swore to me that he found someone in violation. We did his job together and I found myself creeping into a house with him. We were in the guy’s room pulling his safe out of his closet and my conscience screamed at me that I was stealing the safe like a coward. Also, could Huddy’s homework be off? Instead of following Huddy out with the safe I woke the guy up and told him, “Your safe is getting stolen.”

  He looked freaked out waking up to someone in a ski mask asking him if he did all of the things Huddy had told me. He wasn’t answering and I found myself swinging. I ran out of the house and caught up to Huddy. Everything went into Tom’s walk-in closet, the bullet proof vest and guns he’d mentioned, along with Samauri swords, blow darts, num chucks, an archery weapon, a triple beam scale and some of the best marijuana on the planet. I ran a check on Huddy’s homework and benefited that the guy was in violation for selling drugs to kids in high school but found out he’d just graduated himself. I thought about it and realized I didn’t like doing jobs that anyone other than I coordinated. I didn’t like the powerlessness of not doing the homework. I wanted to justify the situation in my own head, not get moved by somebody else’s interpretations.

  Dennis had a job for us that fit my criteria. He explained that Miles brought it to his attention. The high school that Miles was supposed to be attending had a 36 year old, who went by Maniac, selling speed out of the parking lot. Maniac was telling everyone he was a Hell’s Angel and even had a leather jacket with a patch on it from a chapter out of the desert in Death Valley. As Dennis explained the story, my instincts were urging me to hit the brakes. My rules and regulations were now in control of me. It felt like I’d created a roller coaster ride full of steep hills, free falling drops and twisting turns that I couldn’t get off of. My pride wouldn’t let me.

  Dennis continued to explain that Maniac was not only building up a following right out of the high school, he also had a 16 year old pregnant runaway named Misty living in his garage. He was smoking speed with her! I listened to Dennis’s plan. He wanted to kick down the door and go in with guns. He said Miles had told him there should be a half a pound of speed to seize and we could grab whatever else could be had. After Dennis was done running down his maneuver I told him, “You’re forgetting the most important thing, the 16 year old pregnant runaway.”

  I got off the phone and thought about it. If my pride didn’t have so much control of me, I could let it go. I could let Dennis handle the mission with Miles… But they weren’t going to handle it right! Dennis wasn’t concerned with the pregnant 16 year old runaway. What else can I do? Call some type of law enforcement so they can go in the right way…

  My pride flared its ugly head and screamed, you have too much honor to be an informant! Deep inside me, where the Truth was, I examined things. There isn’t any honor in this drug business! It’s a false honor you’re holding onto! I faced that Truth, but also another one. I wasn’t just going to quit the business. That meant I couldn’t become an informant and stay in business. That would feel like the ultimate hypocrisy. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothes. I prayed to God about it, let him know where I was at and what I was struggling with and placed the problem in his hands, yet still wanted it in mine. Maybe He can bless me while I try and handle it.

  I went straight to Natasha’s house with a plan quickly formulating. I ran it all down to her and she fit into the plan nicely. With the mission clarified in our heads we headed to Dennis’s.

  At Dennis’s, Dennis had a bullet proof vest on and he and Miles were sporting guns. Dennis pulled me to the side and tried to chastise me for bringing Natasha.

  I brought Natasha back into it and ran down the program and how it was going to go down.

  “Dennis… We’re not going to use guns. We don’t need them. If we go in with guns, then we’re the criminals. We’re going to stage an intervention for the pregnant 16 year old runaway and the 36 year old criminal is going to get in the way.”

  Dennis explained that the house Maniac lived in was his Dad’s house. The garage was unattached and was where the pregnant 16 year old runaway was living. We were hoping that at twelve in the afternoon Maniac’s father would be at work. Miles had explained what kind of car he drove so we should know if he was home if it was in the driveway. The rest of the homework on Maniac was that he was bigger than Dennis at about 250lbs., but he was more fat than shredded up muscle.

  I drove the Festiva with Natasha in the passenger seat and we followed Dennis and Miles in his minivan. Driving by Maniac’s house, Dennis pointed to it. The father’s car wasn’t in the drive way. We continued to the next street and parked our vehicles in a cul-de-sac.

  I walked to the house to check it out by myself. At the door to the garage I noticed a homemade peephole had been drilled to twice the ordinary size. I looked through it and could see a dim light from the back of the garage. I listened. There was a radio playing but I could also hear a couple of voices. One sounded deep enough to be Maniac, the other was a girl. I tried the door handle carefully. It was locked. I went back for the team.

  Natasha was dressed according to the plan in sexy high heels with straps wrapping up her ankles in a slinky low cut dress. She and I had decided that if her appearance alone couldn’t get Maniac to open the door, then she was going to flash a counterfeit badge and announce she was an agent for missing persons. If that didn’t work, plan B was for her to tell him that this was the stage before the police got involved, give us Misty or we’re calling the Sheriff.

  I watched Natasha get ready to knock on the door from eight feet away with Dennis and Miles right behind me. Natasha stood there chewing bubble gum with her leg kicked out in a sexy pose and I was betting Maniac would open the door. As soon as Natasha knocked, we heard the music go down. We heard Misty trying to keep Maniac from making the noise he was making walking to the garage door.

  Maniac stood at the door looking through the peep hole for a while and asked, “Who is it?”

  We heard Misty tell Maniac, “Don’t open it!”

  Natasha stood far enough away from the door for Maniac to ogle her from head to toe. “I’m a friend of a friend.”

  We heard the lock being disengaged and the door opened. Natasha flashed her look-alike badge from her purse and announced, “Federal Agent from the Missing Person Division! We’re here for Misty!”

  Natasha stepped out of the way while I rushed the door. Maniac was trying to slam the door shut and I threw my arm inside the closing door so it closed on my upper arm. Dennis and Miles slammed into the back of me and our force was too much for Maniac. We fell through the open door and I was the first to gain my balance. I fired punches into his chunky face and Dennis arrived next. He took Maniac to the ground. I stopped for a second and saw what an ugly mutt Maniac was, wearing his Hell’s Angels vest, jeans and a chain holding his wallet to them. I felt a bunch of rage boiling out of me at what a scum bag he was. I threw a couple of bombing rights and lefts and dropped some knee shots to his head and then lost it in a black out of rage. I grabbed the patch he had on his jacket and ripped on it until it pulled away from the leather. Once I had that off I went for his chain holding his wallet and ripped on it until it tore his pants halfway off his fat body. Miles got into the action and I stepped back. Maniac was fighting back and yelling, “You don’t know who you’re messing with. My Hell’s Angels club brothers are going to fuck you up!”

  Dennis responded, “The Hell’s Angels have rules not to sell drugs to kids in high school! You’re not a Hell’s Angel! You either stole that jacket or got kicked out of your club. That’s why you’re in Orange County!”

  I noticed Natasha coming out of the back of the garage
with Misty and a bag full of her things. She stopped ushering Misty and asked me for the keys to the Festiva. I handed them to her. I looked back at Maniac getting beat up on the ground and realized I didn’t want any more part in it. The risk verses reward was no longer there. I followed Natasha and Misty to my car.

  I drove Misty to her mother’s house and stayed in the Festiva. Natasha got out and I watched her explain the story. Misty’s Mom was overjoyed to have her daughter back and hugged her and then Natasha over and over. I was so exhausted and confused from lack of sleep that I didn’t want to meet Misty’s Mom. I watched Natasha walk her right to me.

  I quickly took inventory of what I was going to look like to a person who actually went to sleep regularly. It was late afternoon and still sunny and warm and I had a beanie pulled down to my eyes. I had those spracked out things covered with a pair of Elvis Presley glasses. I managed to tell Misty’s Mom, “That guy’s garage she was living in wasn’t any good. Give Misty a lot of love and don’t judge her too harshly. Pray a lot together…”

  Tears were running down my eyes and I had to grit my teeth against the emotions. I drove Natasha back to her house and went to Tom’s.

  CHAPTER 82

  At Tom’s the adrenaline subsided and left me exhausted. I explained what happened and we talked about God. I explained all of the dreams I was having and found out he was raised Catholic also. He started telling me how he interpreted my dreams but I fell asleep while he was talking.

  “B.J. the dream you had with the seeds in it represents your actions being sown and cultivated. Trying to control what people are saying is impossible. It’s just as impossible as trying to implement those rules and regulations successfully. You’re playing with fire and expecting not to get burnt! The vines strangling you is God showing you what you’re going to reap. An evil thought is Satan trying to get you into an evil action. Sow a thought, reap an action. Sow an act, reap a habit. Sow a habit, reap a character. Sow a character, reap a destiny. The next dream where you see yourself on a leash is God showing you something also. You’re enslaved by Satan. Your addiction to speed is pulling you into his power. Satan is using your pain, humiliation and rejection against you and is only too happy to see you cover that up with what you see as righteous anger. You can’t see who’s pulling on your leash because Satan is using your own pride to keep you on it. Then your dream shows you what is happening to you and what you have to look forward to. That hill you were climbing and struggling against, showed you that while you’re in Satan’s clutches there is no end to the hill you’re trying to climb… B.J.! Are you awake? Can you hear me?”

  I woke up on Tom’s couch and tried to remember any dreams I might have had. I came up empty, nothing. All I could remember was talking to Tom about God and Good and evil. I felt my ingrained instincts telling me it was time to count my money over and over, weigh up my product and see where I was at. It seemed like that was where I started the roller coaster ride. This time I didn’t want to take that ride. I wondered, how am I getting so much satisfaction out of it? I saw what usually followed those activities. I had to find excitement and then try to control it. I’m getting sick of it! But, what are my alternatives. I could go back to sleep and wake up even more depressed. I thought about it for a couple hours. I couldn’t generate any energy or excitement so I did a small wake up snort of speed and called 420.

  I felt the speed starting to work, but not enough. After the marathon I’d just run it was like putting a teaspoon of gas in an empty tank. I listened to 420 tell me that my name was all over town. He was hearing stories about me from too many people to keep track. I tried to identify who was saying what and it got confusing. I listened and tried to figure out how to problem solve the situation and came up empty. It was out of control. Total chaos. Totally depressing. I thought about doing a bunch more speed to try and garner enough energy to catch up to all of the chaos and didn’t want to for the first time. I wanted to get away from the amusement park.

  After getting off the phone with 420 I thought about things. A plan quickly formulated in my mind. I had to stop being so impulsive, and start using my brain. I had to stop staying up for so long; I had to stop getting so caught up in everything. It was time to show some discipline and figure this thing out. I was going to start this new plan by not doing any more speed this day. I was going to sleep tonight!

  I stuck to my new plan and the day seemed to drag by. It was boring and depressing. It felt like I was missing something. Things must be happening out there that need my attention! I passed out on Tom’s couch at 4 in the afternoon.

  I woke up the next morning and it was even worse. I couldn’t get up. I laid there in my cocoon of exhaustion and it felt like I was locked down by a thick heavy cloud of depression. I prayed to God over and over and kept falling into a peaceful deep sleep. I woke up at midnight knowing something; I knew it like it was fact. If I didn’t change course one hundred and eighty degrees I was doomed! I went back to sleep.

  I woke up at 6 A.M. and felt a little less depressed, but still exhausted. I didn’t want to move. I remembered my cell phone. I hadn’t checked it in a couple of days. I looked at it and it was turned off. I turned it on and checked my messages. It took over an hour to listen to them. A bunch of people needed some product, and a bunch of people had information about who said what and what was happening. I didn’t have the energy to deal with it. I tried to forget about it. I couldn’t. The part of my brain that wanted me dead urged, get up! Make your money! You’re losing your grip on the territory! What are you doing? You did all of that work and now you’re just going to give up? I felt my discipline eroding. That voice inside me urged, get up! You’re so close! Are you just going to quit? I guess your Dad was right, you’re just a loser! I went back to sleep with those urges pushing me toward the amusement park.

  An hour later I heard Tom’s roommate asking Tom, “What’s wrong with B.J.? Why has he been passed out on our couch for so long?”

  Then I heard him leave for work. I got up and faced that I had to get up, get moving and get out. So much for not doing any more speed.

  Tom and I got sparked and it felt good! It felt like I could control things again! Tom had a lot of good advice. I ground my teeth and listened.

  “B.J. you were so depressed because doing speed keeps your brain from producing dopamine. That’s the chemical your brain naturally produces that gives you pleasure in doing things. You work out a lot, and get pleasure in it from dopamine. You get things done, like work, or accomplishments and it’s the same thing, your brain blesses you with a squirt of dopamine. When we do speed, our brains stop making it. So when you stop using speed you’re extremely depressed and feel like you can’t face things for a while. Eventually without the speed, your brain kicks in and starts producing it again. I think you’re really close to being there so don’t go on any long runs, keep weaning yourself off the speed and sleep every night. But you have to get out of my apartment for a while. My roommate is tripping.”

  I left Tom’s nest and drove a few streets away to Paul’s. Nobody was home and I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go. I pulled out what I now realized was my enemy, my cell phone, it was the ticket provider to the amusement park, and made some calls. At each house I stopped, my discipline slid further from my grasp. As I felt my grip slip, I found another way to beat off the depression, through humor. I’ll just make fun of myself and laugh at my own antics. Money started to stack, I continued to sprack. The harder I ride, the more I slipslide, into misery where there is nowhere to hide, but if I continue to pry, and keep praying to God for wisdom, He’ll help me see things from a distance in my dreams as if I can fly.

  CHAPTER 83

  I desperately needed another distraction and found one. I got hold of Huddy on the phone and he had an important person that wanted to meet me, a man by the name of Dick Dudley. My homework on Mr. Dudley came back with a lot of information. Mr. Dudley was a retired father of two kids our age. Brock, his son, wa
s a borderline pro snowboarder and knew everyone in the pot business as a chronic smoker himself. His daughter Shana knew everyone in the speed world as a punk rocker. Mr. Dudley himself had owned his own dental practice and was an orthopedic surgeon. He bought a block of offices and leased them out to other businesses to get well off enough to retire. After retiring he spent all of his time on his drinking and hobbies. He went on a fishing rampage for years and brought back some of the biggest Marlin known to man, according to him, from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Then, he turned his attention to selling guns for a hobby. He got himself registered as a federal firearms dealer, bought a bank style vault and showed off his weapons to all of his kid’s friends. Huddy told me that Mr. Dudley was an attention whore like us. Mr. Dudley had everyone his kid’s spoke highly of over to his house to investigate them. According to Huddy, you’d made it in the scene if you were brought to Mr. Dudley’s attention. Like he was some kind of underground godfather. I guess it was my turn to kiss his ring. Huddy went on to explain that Mr. Dudley was interviewing bottom feeders like myself to take on a roll in his new project. Mr. Dudley was taking his interest into the Custom Harley Davidson field. He had done his homework on the field and found he could customize them better. He’d already fabricated a wide glide half-chopper under a Custom Creation business name. Now he needed an investor for the second one.

  Huddy had Mr. Dudley call us into his gated community from the passenger seat of my Festiva. Driving up to the gate guard the elegant cobblestone road shook the little car. I felt like a ghetto super star sitting there waiting for the security guard. The guard was dressed in an expensive looking suit and I could feel the power of money all around me. On both sides of the closed gate were waterfalls cascading down a rock waterfall. The gate guard came back and handed me a pass to enter.