Authors: Anthony Papa Anne Mini Shaun Attwood
Hard Time (30 page)
‘Keep your fucking mouth shut,’ Bullet said, thinning his lips. ‘You’ve got nothing to do with this.’
‘Yeah, I do! Joe’s my celly, and what’s going on here is wrong. I know you guys would back your cellies up if you felt the same way,’ I said, citing their own code.
Bullet crouched near enough to thump me and raised his eyebrows. Staring back, I could tell from the way he was looking at me that he was after Joe, not me.
Addressing Joe and me as a common enemy, the other two yelled: ‘Who the fuck you think you two are?’
‘You fucking guys know it’s your fucking clean-up day!’
‘What’re you fucking thinking, going disrespecting Larry like that?’
‘You need to fucking apologise!’
They were working themselves up to do us harm.
‘But it’s not our clean-up day!’ I yelled. ‘Whoever told Larry it was our clean-up day has caused all of this!’
‘Shut the fuck up, England!’ Bullet yelled.
‘That person needs to apologise!’ I said, about to spring up.
‘I won’t tell you again!’ Bullet yelled.
Just when it seemed they were about to pounce on us, Joe said, ‘Look, there was a misunderstanding. I apologise, Larry.’
The apology stunned them. They gawked at each other, not knowing what to do.
The atmosphere in the room remained combustible until Larry said, ‘All right, fellas. Let’s go.’ He led them out.
As Bullet left, he turned and shot Joe a look that said,
I’ll get you one of these days.
When they were out of earshot, Joe rested his back against the cement-block wall, and crossed his legs. ‘Bullet and Larry can fight, but that loudmouth Ace ain’t shit. My partner, Otis, shot him one time in a car.’
‘Shot him! How come?’ I wiped the sweat off my brow with my hand.
‘Ace was in the back seat. Otis was in the passenger seat. My buddy, Mike, was driving. Ace says to Otis, “Well, don’t you know who the fuck I am?” Otis says, “Man, why don’t you just shut the fuck up,” grabs Mike’s .38, and points it back to the back seat at Ace’s leg. Mike tells Otis, “Don’t ever point a gun at someone if you’re not gonna shoot them.” So Otis shot Ace in the knee. Ace screamed like a little girl and said, “Take me to the hospital.” Otis said, “Fuck this dude. Take me to go get my stolen car.” Mike tripped out, kicked Otis out and took Ace to a hospital.’
The next morning, I was on my bunk reading the
Financial Times
when Bullet stopped outside of the cell.
‘Can you trade this stamp for an envelope?’ he yelled through the oblong gaps in the door.
‘I don’t need a stamp, Bullet. But I’ll give you an envelope for a milk.’ A milk was considered a fair price for a stamp or an envelope.
‘Keep your fucking envelope! Take my state milk from me! Motherfucker!’ He punched the door and walked away ranting. He’d left without an opportunity for me to calm him down or to negotiate a different trade. I spent the rest of the day braced for his return. But he never came.
June 2003
Dear Mum, Dad and Karen,
Thanks for the books. I read the Paul Fleischman one and I’m halfway through
Meditation Now
by Goenka. I like the idea of getting to the root of our problems in the mind. I have been chipping away at stuff with yoga and it has benefited me. Getting rid of the worry voice is my problem. No matter what I do it creeps in with what-ifs. What if they hold me for years? What if they send me to prison? What if I lose at trial? What if the judge has taken a dislike to me and gives me ten years or more?
Before my arrest, I never really analysed my mind and compartmentalised it. I never had the need. I’m sure slight worries came in, but I was relatively happy-go-lucky. My yoga meditation helps me push worrying thoughts away. But recent traumatic experiences strengthened the worry voice. It constantly creeps up through the day no matter what I am doing. When I am reading, I absorb some paragraphs and then suddenly I’ll find I just read the last few sentences and I can’t even remember them as I am now focused on a worry.
I am living as Godly as possible and applying all the yoga yamas (five moral restraints) and niyamas (five observances), and I’m trying to minimise the five afflictions (spiritual ignorance, pride, desire, aversion and fear of death). I apply yoga breathing throughout the day, and sometimes visualisation. I’ve done quite a lot to fight stress. More than most people. I can’t imagine how I would be coping without yoga and spirituality.
To indict Claudia to sabotage my visits is to torture me further. What manner of justice is this? I’ve led a raving lifestyle and I can understand that I must suffer for my sins, but to charge Claudia, who has done absolutely nothing wrong, clearly illustrates that this is a far cry from any normal process of justice. Thomas More the judge said that the justice system should be tempered with mercy and not be all about punishment. Inmates keep coming and going and some even going and coming back, but I just remain here, month after month.
See how easy it is to get back to negativity and worry. I switched from the wonders of meditation to my usual worry, my grim situation. If only I had a technique to address the constant surfacing of garbage in my mind. I must try to feel no anger or resentment to those torturing me. I pray for their ways to be amended. It is negative thoughts about what is going to happen to me that are drowning me. Where do these thoughts come from? Goenka says they come from very deep down.
Love,
Shaun XXX
Dear Mum, Dad and Karen,
Thank you very much for the book
Please Understand Me II
. Oddly enough, it caused a chain reaction with the inmates, and I’m now everybody’s resident psychological test analyst. The inmates observed me on the phone asking Claudia the test questions and started prying into what I was up to. So now they’re lining up requesting I do the test for them and help them analyse the test results for their loved ones. I already did two alleged murderers today. One came out as the performer ESFP and the other as the champion ENFP. So many people are asking me to do the test with them that I’m exhausted and having to schedule them for later in the week. This book has caused quite a ripple in the pod.
I’m sure you have all done these tests before, so I am anxious as to what results you all obtained.
I find psychology fascinating, and I’m very grateful for the book. It has helped me interrelate with people, to understand people and to help remove some of my misconceptions, especially about the alleged murderers. This must be a criminal psychologist’s dream to have such candidates approaching me (a non-authority figure therefore guaranteed honesty on their answers), demanding I do these tests on them. This must remove inaccuracy, as inmates boast about lying to their doctors all the time in here; maybe I should keep the results.
Anyway, it’s enabled me to learn a lot and have some fun. As I write this, I’m watching one alleged murderer tell another inmate (of unknown criminal origin) about the test, waving his test results in his face. Maybe you should contact a professor and tell him/her about the existence of such raw data.
Madison houses the courts, so they wake you up at 5 a.m. here for court, and they immediately bring you back when you are finished. This will make all the difference in the world IF it goes to trial, from turning me into a sleep-deprived nervous wreck into actually being able to rest.
It’s still ‘nuthin’ nice’ here. I feel like I am being slowly cooked alive by constant unbearable heat. It’s quieter, though, and more conducive to yoga, studies and book-writing.
It’s terrible what they have done to Claudia and clearly illustrates what they will do to destroy me.
Thanks v. much for the books, love, support etc.
Love,
Shaun
Dear Mum, Dad and Kags,
Ann and Donny came in earlier today, and that visit went well. I’m glad that you got my email about all the unnecessary civil-rights violations. I’m not asking for freedom, I’m just asking for a prompt resolution to the case.
I started month six in yoga today. It takes about one and a half hours. I think I’m getting very flexible, because during the back body stretch I previously strained to touch my toes whereas now I can touch over them to the middle of my feet, legs not bent, for a few minutes. It’s nice to feel the advancements. New exercises this month include the bridge and the tree. It’s hard to do the tree with one’s eyes closed.
Recent conversations with the fellas here include how one inmate decided to remove someone from his house. He shot him in the arm, removing it, then proceeded to kick him out of his house while the guy was bleeding profusely from the stump. He then called his friend and said, ‘I shot X.’ The friend asked, ‘Is he alive?’ He replied, ‘Sure he is, I just kicked him out of the house.’
I’ve got to see massive scars from various biker accidents and to hear tales pertaining to biker accidents and shootings. An Aryan Brother showed us a 12-inch scar covering his calf muscle and described a biker accident after which he found his leg stuck over his shoulder with his calf hanging over his face. He was completely unable to move, stuck watching the contents of his calf dribble out.
Love everyone,
Shaun xxxx
Mum, Dad and Karabus,
It was nice to speak to D and K today. Sorry I missed you, Mum. Happy Birthday and Anniversary and stuff! I’m glad you got the card.
People from prison state that county jail time is the hardest time to do, so I’m through the worst. I’m over the shock, pain barrier, etc. and I’ve adapted to my new surroundings. No worries!
It’s quieter here, so I can concentrate on writing. In the psychology book it said my type is good at writing fiction books. With all the stories I am hearing, I will write a book revolving around criminals, crime, etc. Maybe I can write pulp fiction.
Claudia has sent me tons of pics from her stay in England. I’m well pleased that she had such a good time. I’ve got pics of everyone in here now, including Nan, Sue, Karen, friends, etc. I look at them most nights before I go to bed. You seem planets away, but I know eventually, hopefully soon, I’ll be home celebrating with everyone.
I’ve been reading quotes from Gandhi (when he was a lawyer) about the purpose of the legal system. Gandhi said it should be used to change men’s hearts. My heart is most certainly in the right place now. I hope I get a positive break in the next few months.
Yoga month six is going good. I pulled some hand exercises from future months into the mix that include the tripod. I can only do the tripod for about one minute.
Claudia is such a love, and she has kept me in the best of moods regardless of what has happened. If I can survive this, I’ll be able to survive anything for the rest of my life.
Thanks for all the books, love, continued support.
Love,
Shaun
‘Get the fuck out of our room with all that hair on you!’ Joe said to Bullet, who’d just come from the inmate barber. ‘I’ve just finished cleaning the room.’
‘Check this out, motherfucker, I’ll kick you out of your own fucking room!’ Bullet said. ‘You don’t ever tell me that!’
Larry strutted in behind Bullet.
‘Well, get to kicking then, you bad motherfucker,’ Joe said.
‘I’ll be right back, ’cause I’m gonna put on my tennies.’ Bullet left.
‘Shaun, Larry, you fellas mind stepping outside while I handle my business?’ Joe said. For one-on-one disputes, the routine was for everyone to leave the cell so the two men could fight.
I brushed past Larry hovering in the doorway. ‘C’mon, Larry,’ I said, not wanting him to remain near enough to intervene on Bullet’s behalf. ‘If you stand there, the guards will wonder what’s going on.’ Reluctantly, he followed me to the nearest table in the day room. We were about ten feet from the cell door, almost ringside for the fight, which we could watch through the oblong gaps.
When Bullet returned, Larry said, ‘Hey, Bullet, it ain’t worth going to the hole over. Forget it.’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Bullet snarled.
Joe and Bullet squared off. Gazes locked.
‘You shouldn’t have disrespected me like that,’ Joe said, shuffling forward.
‘You ain’t telling me what to do, motherfucker,’ Bullet said.
‘You’ll feel differently in about 30 seconds,’ Joe said. ‘I’m about to teach you to respect me.’
Shuffling from side to side like heavyweights, they probed each other with jabs. Bullet feinted a jab and walloped Joe’s ear with a right hook. Joe stumbled and only just yanked his pelvis back in time to dodge a kick. But he leaned forward, exposing his head. Bullet punched Joe in the temple. The inner peace always shining in Joe’s big hazel eyes disappeared – replaced by fierce concentration. Joe shook the pain from his head and let loose a series of jabs as if swatting a fly. But Bullet dodged the jabs, dropped into a crouch and tried to grab Joe. A kick to the hip propelled Bullet backwards, and he snagged his leg against the toilet, losing his balance. Joe moved in with a perfectly timed punch to the jaw that sent Bullet against the wall. Bullet’s legs went out, and he clanged the steel toilet as he fell. Larry shot into the room, and I followed. Blood was trickling from Bullet’s mouth.
Larry urged Bullet to get up. ‘Let’s get back to your cell before the guard walks.’ Larry locked his elbows under Bullet’s armpits and forklifted him onto his feet. They walked out unsteadily.
I could barely contain myself. ‘That was fucking brilliant! I thought he had you, but you turned it around just like that,’ I said, clicking my fingers. ‘Where’d you learn to fight like that?’
‘It was nothing,’ Joe said, panting. ‘Two grown men trying to hurt each other over dumb shit.’
‘So what’ll happen now? Does this make you the head of the whites?’
‘Nah. I ain’t into all that. I earned a reputation in prison as an independent. That’s why most of the guys in here know not to fuck with me.’ Joe splashed water on his face, took a few big breaths and rested on his bunk.
‘What’s an independent?’ I asked, taking the stool.
‘A guy who keeps himself to himself, but’ll throw down if disrespected.’
‘So how come Bullet messed with you?’
‘Bad chemistry. I’ve never liked that dude since he’s been coming in here asking you about his case while I was trying to sleep. He thinks he’s something he’s not. That’s usually the case when someone’s always running their mouth, acting tough.’
‘Will he still have an issue with you after this?’
‘The fight should squash the beef. He knows better than to come back with a shank.’
‘I hope so.’ Swelling with pride for Joe, questions poured out of me that I’d been dying to ask. ‘What’s your deal with the Aryan Brotherhood? It’s like some of these guys are itching to fight you, but they’re wary of you at the same time.’
‘I do a few things on the streets to make money. The Aryan Brotherhood knows about these things and think they’re entitled to a part of my action. But here’s the rule: if I was doing something on the yard to make money, then, yes, they would be entitled to 25 per cent of the action, but since my action is done all on the streets, they got no stake to claim. So yeah, they get a little upset, but those are the rules. They respect me ’cause I’ve always stood my ground and don’t let nobody punk me out. That’s why they’re wary of me: they know I play for keeps just like they do. I know a lot of them inside and on the streets, and they know I don’t play no games. I know the guy who schooled the Aryan Brotherhood about the Aryan race when the High Wall Jammers changed to the Aryan Brotherhood.’
‘High Wall Jammers?’
‘I’ll explain it to you in a nutshell. Back in the ’50s and ’60s, the blacks in the Arizona Department of Corrections used to rape vulnerable white guys all the time, so the whites started a prison gang called the High Wall Jammers, and they started killing the blacks that were involved in these rapes. This was all going on in Central Unit, also known as The Walls, and in 1970 the High Wall Jammers changed their name to the Aryan Brotherhood, the gang that started in San Quentin prison back in the ’60s and spread across America. I’ve done almost 20 years, and I’ve met a lot of gang members: ABs, Mexican Mafia, Warrior Society, Mau Maus, skinheads. There’s very little I haven’t seen or been through.’
‘I bet you’ve got some good stories.’
‘Check this one out. Back in ’94, I was at Cimarron Unit in Tucson, serving eight for armed robberies on illegal-alien drug dealers. In Building 1, I knew three Aryan Brotherhood probates: Roy, Henry and Nate. All youngsters.’
‘What’s a probate?’
‘Someone aspiring to join the Aryan Brotherhood who hasn’t put enough work in – killing, shanking – to get patched up.’
‘OK.’
‘There was 800 on the yard. Three hundred whites. Thirteen Aryan Brothers. So, Roy and Nate are stepbrothers. Nate found out his celly was a chomo, and he figured killing a sex offender would help him earn his AB patch. The Brothers didn’t give him the green light on the kill. Instead they said, “Beat the crap out of him so he has to roll up from this yard.” Roy and Henry kept point at the cell door while Nate punched the chomo in the back of the head two times. The chomo collapsed and died. They decided to put him back on his bunk like he was asleep, cover him up and ride it out. It worked for three days: the guards thought he was asleep. But when he didn’t show up for chow, they got suspicious. They lifted the sheet up and found a stinking bloated corpse. They locked the yard down. Someone snitched, and the 13 Aryan Brothers and Henry, Roy and Nate were sent to lockdown pending an investigation. Facing the death penalty, Roy and Henry cut a deal with the prosecutor against Nate. The prosecutor offered Nate a deal: 25 to life. Nate said no and asked for a trial. They put Henry and Roy in protective custody. The rest, they put in supermax, SMU1 in Florence. The trial went ahead and Nate was acquitted. They rehoused him at The Walls, also in Florence. The 13 Aryan Brothers were sent back to Cimarron, and they offered Nate the AB patch for going the distance. Nate said, “Fuck you guys and your patch.” So Nate was eating at the chow hall, and he chewed something in his food that turned out to be a hypodermic needle. He got hepatitis C and successfully sued the prison for 200 grand. The Aryan Brotherhood would have killed him, so they put him in protective custody. So the Aryan Brotherhood couldn’t get Henry and Roy, they sent them out of state. Youngsters come in thinking it’s cool to get in with the gangs, and this is what happens. The gangs just use them and often kill them when they try to quit that lifestyle. It’s blood in, blood out.’
