ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story)

by Glenn Langohr

  I watched Mr. Dudley look at his phone, then at me.

  “Your investment hasn’t sold yet. How do you expect to get paid?”

  “My investment is a sham. Your two custom Harleys aren’t for sale. They’re prototypes for a chrome exchange program you offer customers. If customers want to buy one of the two Harleys, you have them put some money down to hold it while you have it built.”

  Mr. Dudley nodded his head, “You sent in those Hell’s Angels from San Bernardino didn’t you?”

  I maintained a stoic mask and stared at Mr. Dudley until he got uncomfortable. He got up from his recliner.

  “Let me get my check book out of my room.”

  I watched him walk into his bedroom and thought; he’s going to call the police.

  He didn’t. He walked back with his check book. “I can only write a check for $5,000 and that won’t clear for a few days so don’t deposit it immediately. How do you spell your attorney’s name?”

  CHAPTER 118

  I drove to the address I had for Simon Barries in Newport Beach and thought about it, I had my investment contract with the terms on it, proof that the investment was a sham and now a check to an attorney as a partial payment. It felt like I was in pretty good shape compared to what would have happened if Mr. Dudley would have got on the phone to call the police. I would have had to run out of his house to continue being on the run. Why hadn’t he? I looked up, thanked God and said a prayer.

  Simon Barrie’s office was right off P.C.H. in South Newport on a little cliff with an amazing view of the beach. His office was elegantly constructed of mahogany wood mixed with Italian marble and tile. It felt like I was entering the office of a power broker. I checked in and waited my turn.

  I studied Mr. Barries behind his Mahogany desk from my seat a few feet away. He was bald, wore glasses, didn’t have a descriptive look, but looked well studied. I looked behind him along the wood paneled wall and noticed his credentials were posted. There was a Harvard Cum Lade Valedictorian diploma and a legal degree from Columbia Law School. I realized he was positioned behind his desk without the view out a sliding glass window we, in the chair across from him, were offered. I looked that way and again saw the beautiful view of south Newport Beach, and again said a silent prayer for guidance. I looked back at Mr. Barries and handed over my Custom Creation investment terms first. I watched Mr. Barries read it quickly and state, “It looks like a pretty rudimentary set of conditions stating that you invested $12,500 with the fabricator of Custom Creation Harley, a Mr. Dudley, with the a projected return on your investment of $3,000-$6,000 in a projected three to six months.”

  I handed over the five thousand dollar check next. Mr. Barries studied the check and then looked back at the investment terms. He looked confused.

  “When I spoke to you on the phone you mentioned you were being swindled by this Mr. Dudley. Did you work it out amicably?”

  I reiterated how things went. Mr. Barries looked like he was concerned and continued to look at the check. Then put it away.

  “I don’t want you to have any more contact with Mr. Dudley. Let me contact him and advise him that I’m representing you. That might help. If it doesn’t, and he refuses to pay you the rest of your investment, it might cost you more for my services than it’s worth to you.”

  CHAPTER 119

  Outside of my attorney’s office I replayed what Mr. Barries said about how it might cost more than it’s worth to get my investment back. I thought about how hopeless all of my travels had been since using speed. Now, instead of climbing Mount Everest, like my empire building felt in the beginning, it felt like I had chiseled the deepest, steepest, most twisted hole straight down and didn’t know how to get up. I pulled out my phone and called my brother.

  I heard his voice and didn’t know what to say. He sounded so vibrant… And normal. My voice was so hurting, it was cracking. When he heard it, it felt like he understood exactly how disillusioned I was by the tone of my voice and told me to come to his apartment for some rest. He gave me directions to an apartment he was renting on top of a hill in San Clemente. He was living with Lance.

  I got there and turned on the T.V. and began explaining my travels. Within ten minutes the news reported some of the business I was explaining and showed images of Felipe Neverrez in handcuffs on his way to court.

  When I was done explaining everything I laid down on the couch and stared at their 500 gallon fish tank. There was a fish swimming from one end of the tank to the other nonstop 24/7. He looked eternally vigilant and territorial. My brother said it was an Arrowana. As I lay there watching the always watchful, always moving fish, I thought, this is the first time I don’t have to be like that fish, I can really rest. There isn’t a glow tarp out front in the driveway with a bunch of speeded out workers hammering away in the middle of the night! I prayed, and then fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

  My brother had so much love in his heart that I felt it surround me in his apartment on his couch. I slept through one full day, then another, then another. Somewhere in my subconscious I felt a fight going on. I started feeling the urge to run to the bathroom, pull the bag of speed out of my pocket and flush it! Over and over I felt myself on the verge of following those urges, getting up and running to the bathroom. I felt myself coming to the decision that it was the right thing to do, that I had to do it, and then even visualized doing it. Then I’d fall back to sleep and start over.

  Finally, I got up. I walked to the bathroom and made it to the counter top and looked at the toilet. I pulled my speed out and hesitated. I felt those urges, just do it! Throw it in there! Then, urges from another direction, don’t! It will ruin it! Then, me admitting to myself, it’s garbage! Throw it in and flush it!

  I listened to me finalize the deal and felt my arm sling the speed toward the toilet. At about the same time I realized nothing was in the toilet but water, I looked at my hand. At the very last millisecond possible my pinky finger clutched that little bag of speed. Instead of getting disgusted with myself, I stated cracking up. I looked in the mirror and laughed. It felt like a good healthy laugh, but it wasn’t. I imagined how hard I’d battled from the beginning, sleeping in the rafters, going all the way to the Mexican border for a pot connection, the way I’d met kingpin Bob, my rules and regulations, and everything else. I saw myself in desperate times pulling off desperate actions and patted myself on the back and told myself, it’s okay, you did the best you could. As soon as I did that a flood of urges came at me, just do a couple lines to come up with a plan! It’s either that, or you’ll just be a loser on your brother’s couch! You’re a battler, don’t give up! Keep chiseling! Keep fighting! You’re not a quitter!

  I nodded my head that I was a chiseler… I was a fighter… Not a quitter! I lined up a couple of lines and snorted them before I could contemplate it too much. As soon as I did them, I looked myself in the mirror, right in the eyes, and knew I’d just bought my own shit while watching my pupils grow. I could feel the purple speed’s hooks digging back into me and grabbing another hold. I looked at the toilet and realized I’d flushed all of the pure love urgings from above, instead of Satan’s dandruff I had in a plastic bag. As fast as that thought flashed by, urges came from that dark direction, hide your speed, establish yourself, figure out a strategy!

  I went through my stuff and found a snake light and put the rest of my quarter ounce of speed where the batteries would have gone and laid on the couch and gritted my teeth and hated myself. It got worse when my brother and Lance came home from work. Now I had to fake that I wasn’t high! It felt like the ultimate betrayal to do that to my brother. I had to go from grinding my teeth and staring at the fish tank with a focused confused hateful scowl, to being okay, I’m alright, how was your day, man that was some crazy shit I went through in San Bernardino…

  My brother noticed the difference and gave me the benefit of the doubt that I’d finally gotten enough sleep and I was back to my dedicated self. Lance knew. He’d stop
ped tweaking for all of those years except for the rare time, he knew.

  They went to bed and I laid on the couch with that purple speed in my system making me absolutely hate myself! For hours I replayed what happened in the bathroom. I examined how for three days those urges of love and peace filled my spirit from above and were wiped out in seconds. The harder I looked at it, the more I felt like I’d been tricked. I’d gone into that bathroom to throw the misery away, not get wired! I don’t want to be wired!! I magnified on it and felt my face scowl deeper and deeper into confused anger. My teeth were clamped down and it just got worse as I looked back on things and magnified them.

  Hours later the birds started chirping. I heard them and forced myself to get up and go outside and find reasons to be grateful. My brother’s unit was on the second story and the view was extravagant. I could see the ocean with the sun just popping up above the water. I started mimicking one of the birds whistling and got it to call back to me. I walked down the stairs and sat down on a rock next to a stream with rocks in it and continued to bird whistle. I looked at the apartments and realized they were done in a Tuscan Architecture. Each apartment had hues of tan and brown colors and had a master balcony with wrought iron that opened up with an arch that rose above it, then another arch above that one to the roof line. I noticed the massive palm trees in between apartments and kept returning the same bird’s whistle. I looked up to see which little bird I was whistling to and saw a bunch of them fly away like they had just been warned of approaching danger. I heard the screech of brakes and looked at the parking lot to see a caravan of law enforcement vehicles converging thirty feet away. I sat there and recognized detective Pincher leading the charge.

  CHAPTER 120

  Central California Prison.

  I sat on the desk in our cell and finished telling Screwball my speed story while he finished cleaning the cell. I thought about how for the last three days since he moved me into his cell he’d been the perfect listener and had learned quite a bit about me explaining my speed life. I on the other hand hadn’t learned anything about him yet, but it was his cell and his building so I was the visitor and he the inquisitor.

  Screwball looked at me with an exasperated look on his face and said, “That was the deepest look I’ve ever seen into the speed world. Your story is like a political science study on methamphetamine. You pierced into the nature of the drug and came face to face with Satan.”

  I looked at Screwball and said, “After all of those travels I knew I deserved to do some time in prison. I was disgusted with myself and didn’t want any breaks. I was ready to do my time for the quarter ounce of speed in the snake light and the pot charge I was still on the run from. Instead, it turned into a slander fest from which I couldn’t defend myself!”

  CHAPTER 121

  Detective Pincher put me in the back of a squad car and told me.

  “We’re going to put you away for a life sentence B.J. There won’t be any getting out on bail for this one!”

  I sat wondering about that comment while watching plain clothed detectives walking in and out of my brother’s apartment for hours. I studied their body language and it looked like they were coming up empty. I looked around and all of the neighbors were outside watching the spectacle. Then to show everyone watching, detective Pincher came out with the snake light and started high fiving everyone and celebrating.

  On the way to jail detective Pincher told me.

  “B.J. You’re going to get a life sentence for three counts of home invasion, armed robbery and extortion. Plus I’m going to nail you to a wall by painting a picture of just how large of a drug dealer you are!”

  I got processed into the jail and went into the little interview room and saw the same smart looking Sheriff’s Lieutenant who had told me I’d be getting O.R.’d all of those years ago. He studied me and the picture he had of me from then.

  “That’s quite a run you had. You look like shit.”

  Then I watched him look at my file and start reading. “It says here you’re with us for entering a man’s house wearing a hockey mask with a silencer enhanced gun and walking him to his bank vault where you stole a number of guns, a Rolex watch and a men’s diamond ring. Then in the second count it says that you showed up in regular clothes without a gun and got a check written out to an attorney. Then in count three it says you showed up and got $7,500 in cash.”

  I stared at the intake Lieutenant in shock.

  He had almost the same expression and voiced his curiosity. “This doesn’t sound right. Why wouldn’t he call and report it after the first home invasion?”

  It looked like the Lieutenant wanted me to explain it for him. I was shaking and stuttered, “I didn’t do any of that! I had a contract and was in business with that man for nine months, all I did was get a check written to my attorney from him. I didn’t force him to… and I didn’t get any of that other stuff you’re reading!”

  I watched the lieutenant’s face harden and reality set in even harder.

  “These are very serious charges young man. Very serious… I’m going to have to house you accordingly… Stick your hand through so I can put a red band on your wrist. Good luck.”

  I got a single man cell in the oldest structure of our county jail and the next morning went to court on the bus.

  CHAPTER 122

  Mr. Barries showed up and handed me some police reports and looked at me like he was trying to figure out if I could have possibly done what I’d been charged with.

  “Benny. It says in those police reports that you’re a cartel level gun and drug dealer, and that you have stated that you would rather shoot it out with the police than go to jail. It doesn’t look good.”

  In the courtroom I got some more paper work. It was a list of the charges from the district attorney and a stamp that said the first offer for all six major felonies was 50 to life!

  On the bus ride back to jail I read the police reports. The first report was from detective Pincher. It stated that I came to Mr. Dudley’s house wearing a hockey mask with a tech 22 hand gun equipped with a silencer on it and walked him to his bank vault and proceeded to steal his guns and jewelry. The next count read that I came back over the following day without a costume to get a check written out to my attorney. Count three read that I came back the following day without a costume and got another $7,500 in cash. Then the report went on to state that Mr. Dudley followed me out of his house and asked when I’d consider the debt paid? He said, I had threatened to burn down his house with his family in it! The rest of the report had Mr. Dudley collaborating with detective Pincher on how that threat could be credible. Mr. Dudley stated I was a cartel level gun and drug dealer who promised to shoot it out with the police!

  I got back to my cell and tried to deal with the mounting pressure as best I could. I paced the cell, did handstand pushups and tried to talk myself through everything. I told myself, there isn’t a silenced gun and hockey mask, or a bunch of guns stolen from his bank vault, or a Rolex watch or men’s diamond ring! None of it was found at my brother’s residence! With my contract it will start to look like Mr. Dudley is making it all up. It has to… I have to prove he’s lying! Then a thought entered my head, what if Mr. Dudley, the ex federal firearm dealer, fabricated a silenced gun and a hockey mask, along with some of those other items he alleged I stole, and they just happened to get found in my stuff somewhere? The more I thought about it, the more unlikely it felt. I really didn’t own anything on paper other than my truck and Festiva. What if they placed it in it? That thought scared me so much I started shaking. I got claustrophobic in my cell with thoughts of not being able to do anything about anything. I started praying to God.

  CHAPTER 123

  The next morning I got on the phone and found out that detective Pincher had followed my brother and Lance around and kicked down doors with search warrants looking for the rest of the items mentioned. Instead of finding anything related to me, they found marijuana paraphernalia. They arr
ested my brother for a misdemeanor.

  I got hold of my attorney first.

  “How many times do they have to come up empty looking for the alleged silencer, hockey mask, guns and whatever else he said I stole before you can go against them for following bad information and abusing their power. Can’t you see what’s happening? Law enforcement is working for a criminal who is defrauding me in my investment with him. Can’t you do anything?”

  “B.J. I’ve never seen our county want someone as much as they do you. We have to wait it out and let the dust clear. They keep coming up empty so that’s good for us…”

  I listened to my attorney and wondered if I had the right one. It felt like I needed one from outside of our county who wouldn’t be afraid to buck up against the powers within it. I asked, “Shouldn’t we fight for our rights here! Where are they getting all of their search warrants, Cracker Jack boxes? Why aren’t you putting my business deal with Mr. Dudley on record?”

  “B.J. there will be time for that later…”

  I got on the phone with my brother right after he got released from jail. I found out that detective Pincher detained him and tried to get him to be a witness against me. He told my brother that he’d been watching his apartment for months and knew I had been selling drugs out of it the whole time. My brother told him that I had just moved in last week.

  Detective Pincher told my brother he had two choices; to testify against me, or keep getting followed and searched. My brother said he moved back to our Dad’s.

  CHAPTER 124