ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story) (60 page)

Detective Pincher noticed his partner Marks was the first to understand. He responded “I understand, If we can’t get the D.A. to drop the charges Raymond Senior and his family will bond together and guard their tongues a lot harder while the case is being built.”

Detective Pincher nodded his head and pulled the discovery evidence they seized from B.J.’s father days ago. “There is one loose end I need to tie up. Let’s bring in Bob Prescott. I’ve got a plan.”

CHAPTER 175

Damon and I were housed into our county jail and instead of entering the loop of cells to be processed we got shoved into a secluded cell. I stood at the door, watched a group of ten-monster Sheriffs walk over, and said, “Here comes our welcoming party. It looks like they want to jump us into their gang.”

The cell door popped open and the first monster stepped in and punched his fist into his other hand. “This is where the buck stops and the real justice is served on street terrorist scum.”

Standing next to me Damon said, “I’m here for the pancakes you guys serve.”

I asked, “Is our penthouse suite ready yet?”

I watched the rest of the Sheriffs start to squeeze in and realized too late that we should have done our best to keep them from entering. From the corner of my eye I saw someone in uniform running to our cell to get the Sheriff’s attention.

“Don’t put a mark on them! The media is going to be all over this!”

An hour later I was in front of the same Lieutenant getting a band on my wrist and housed. He stared at me through those wise looking eyes behind those glasses and looked at his file of paperwork.

“So you’re the ones who got that video on CNN.”

The Lieutenant looked at me and said, “You don’t look tweaked out like you did last time… How did you get him to change his tune like that on the three strikes law?”

I stared at the Lieutenant and didn’t say anything.

“You’re being charged with kidnapping, street terrorism and a criminal conspiracy that will probably grow into many more charges. I don’t expect you to ever see sunshine on the streets again.”

A few hours later I was escorted to a cell in the old county jail and left Damon behind. A week later a deputy told me all of our charges had been dropped and we were just going to do a violation of parole and to pack up to catch the chain to prison.

CHAPTER 176

Agent Maltobano studied the computer screen in his Marina Del Ray home and found a web site about coded ruins. He laughed at how easy it was to crack the rudimentary code. He stopped laughing after reading it. He got on the phone and dialed his office. “Hi Karen. I need to speak to our watch commander about an extremely urgent matter. Thank you… Mr. Bonafino, it’s agent Maltobano. I’m going to need to get into some public records in Orange County regarding the drug arrest and reports related to… a detective Pincher.”

“I’ll get them and fax them to you forthwith!”

“Thank you sir.”

Two hours later the fax machine beeped. Maltobano pulled the paper out and read the reports and got a confirmation right as his phone rang.

“Agent Maltobano, it’s commander Bonafino. I sent out a statewide alert for Bob Prescott and got a call back from L.A. County Jail. Detective Pincher dropped him into their custody yesterday. You can go interview him forthwith!”

An hour later, agent Maltobano pulled up to the jail and saw an ambulance pulling out the back entrance with lights flashing quietly, driving slowly. He thought, whoever was inside must not have been critical. He parked and walked inside. At a bullet proof window he flashed his credentials.

He watched a tired black receptionist look from his credentials to him with a questioning look and ask, “And? What do you want?”

“I need to have an official visit with Bob Prescott. He got dropped into your custody by a detective Pincher from Orange County yesterday evening.”

The tired receptionist tapped some keys on her computer and said, “He was just transported to Cedar-Sinai in critical condition. He was involved in an incident while he was showering.”

“Where was he housed?”

The tired receptionist looked with an expression that said her patience was being tested. She moved a fan closer to her and tapped some more keys on the computer. “He was housed in the high power unit, sir, that’s all I can tell you.”

“I need to talk to your supervisor!”

Agent Maltobano followed the L.A. jail deputy to an office with a sign that said: GANG UNIT. He sat down in a chair across from a desk by himself and asked the deputy leaving, “Are you getting the Lieutenant?”

“No sir. We called him. He’s on his way to meet you.”

Agent Maltobano dialed Cedar Sinai. “I’m calling to get the status on Bob Prescott. He was transported to your hospital an hour ago… I’m with Internal Affairs. My name is Agent Maltobano badge number 1503. You can call our headquarters in L.A. to confirm… Sure, I’ll hold.”

A few minutes later, the receptionist came back. “Sir Bob Prescott got here D.O.A.”

Agent Maltobano hung up the phone and stared at the walls. One side was labeled MEXICAN MAFIA and underneath was pictures of identified shot callers and identified hit men. The other wall was labeled WHITE MAFIA and underneath was pictures of identified gang member shot callers, then a list of hit men underneath. Agent Maltobano got up to look at the faces in the pictures closer when the door opened.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sir. I’m Lieutenant Aceves. I just heard about Bob Prescott. I have to tell you I’m not surprised. We’ve been telling the state and federal government for years we need more money to house all of these prisoners properly. We’re underfunded and have people sleeping on the ground like they do in Mexican jails. Inmates keep getting killed in here, the newspapers keep reporting it, and we still don’t get any more funding for more deputies. What can I do for you?”

“I’m investigating something related to Bob Prescott and need to see whose custody detective Pincher dropped him into.”

Lieutenant Aceves tapped on his key board and answered, “I see what happened. We were understaffed yesterday. Nobody signed off on him and I see what the problem is. They shouldn’t have housed him in the white power gang unit. Bob Prescott had two tattoos on his arms of a black gang and thug life. No wonder they stabbed him! He had an identity crises! That’s a no-no in here.

CHAPTER 177

I finished explaining the script to Screwball while he was fashioning a fishing line. He asked, “Where’s Damon?”

“I don’t know. I left him in the county jail.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s more than strange for you to be here this fast, I can see why they would drop the charges. Raymond Senior, his son, Troy and anyone else who knows things might talk or brag about details if they think it’s clear. The D.A. can just re-file the charges later if more evidence is obtained. I’m guessing they dropped the charges for another reason also. They didn’t want the media to give your message any more mileage. I’ve already seen the media get distracted with all of those reports that N. Korea is shuttling nuclear material to Iran. It’s getting all of the attention and the general public is forgetting about your drama. I say it’s good that Damon isn’t here with you because I can imagine the state sending you both to a prison where a race war is brewing.”

I understood. He was saying that if we were on a yard where they could shoot us under conditions that gave them the opportunity to…Without Damon with me I was okay. I knew Screwball spent years at Corcoran state prison in the 90’s while some of the guards pitted inmates against each other, bet on who would win, and then shoot them so I asked, “Tell me about your time at Corcoran.”

“I was there from the beginning. It started with a deputy in the building I was in. Deputy Valdez. He knew the ins and outs of prison and drug politics like a criminal. He knew that inside the buildings the White race and the Mexican race showered in the same showers and the Black race and the Asian and Other races showered together in the other showers. So he started trying to make us all shower together in each other’s showers to see what would happen. One day on our shower day, he handcuffed me through our tray slot and walked my cellie and I to the Black showers and told me to get in. My cellie and I refused to shower and back at my cell I told him loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘I’m not giving you the power to stir up a racial war. You know which showers we use and our rules to get along!’ The next day, that guard came to our cell and tossed up all of our belongings while we were getting our three hours of yard.”

“What does that guard look like?”

“He’s an ugly dark Mexican with a scar from his right ear to his chin giving him the appearance of an evil clown. He’s about six foot, 200lbs. He became the ring leader who started the gladiator wars. He went from trying to get racial beefs going over the showers to figuring out how to force us to clean up problems he knew we couldn’t not clean up. He knew we had to stab child molesters, rapists and informants to maintain a code of honor. So he manipulated our building and moved a third of the people out of our building. Then he announced that inmates from a certain yard, one most of us knew was a Protective Custody yard that housed those child molesters, rapists and informants; were getting moved into our building. He watched all of our shot callers shoot kites to their entire race with a warning of what was happening, for those who didn’t know what time it was. This time, unlike the shower set up, deputy Valdez got the violence he was staging. It was a blood bath. The violence went on and off for three months until Sacramento investigated what was going on and finally understood the situation. They put a block on any more inmates getting moved from Protective Custody yards to our yards. Deputy Valdez quickly figured out how to stir up more violence.

At the time, the Southern Mexicans and Crips were going at it in what had to be termed an all out war that started at Pelican Bay and then reached the streets and then came back to the county jail and then other prisons. I had the shot caller for the Southern Mexicans in the cell next to me. He was good people from O.C. One day while deputy Valdez was running showers he searched my neighbor’s cell. My neighbor came back and found all his store and coffee dumped on the ground. Deputy Valdez had poured water on it and all of my neighbor’s mail and pictures was covered in the mess. My neighbor saw it and while he was getting his cuffs taken off inside his cell told deputy Valdez, “What comes around, goes around.” Deputy Valdez made a scene and yelled, “So you want to threaten me on the tier like that? I’ll show you how much control I have in here! Just watch what happens” A few days later my neighbor shot me a kite in the morning and told me he had a dream that he and his cellie were going to get set up and that he was going to get shot and die. An hour later, Deputy Valdez showed for his shift and had a Mexican inmate with him in handcuffs. He had the Mexican inmate sit down in the dayroom and I knew that Mexican was in trouble. I found out later that he was in trouble for not helping his homeboys out in a riot in the county that made the news. The Mexican that was in trouble was getting housed in the cell next to my neighbor and was on his way there when my neighbor’s cell was popped all of a sudden. I watched my neighbors come rushing out of their cell and the melee action came right in front of my cell. The gun tower started blasting live rounds. One of the rounds hit a metal pole sheltering the top tier and ricochet into my face right next to my eye.”

I stared at the scar. “Did your neighbor die?”

“He died. I got word from the other cellie a week later from the hole, AD.SEG. He was being charged with a murder beef for his cellie’s death and he even had to pay for the cost of the bullet that killed him.”

“Deputy Valdez kept the staged violence going for years. It started with him betting other building deputies that he would have more “shots fired” incidents with dead inmates than their building. Then the gambling turned into which gangs would win. None of the inmates would break the code of honor and inform what was happening. A couple of nonprofit lawyer groups were already investigating Corcoran and the rest of the state for labeling inmates validated gang members without enough substantiated proof and holding them prisoners to the S.H.U. confinement. Somehow word of what was happening leaked to these non profit lawyer groups and the investigation was on and cracking. Deputy Valdez and a few others close to him were sent to other prisons right away. I heard they were at prisons close to the border. When the whistle blowers exposed what was going on with the gladiator stuff those left behind took the fall. I have a theory that deputy Valdez is the prison union’s ring leader to stir up race wars and violence to keep the pressure on the governor and other politicians by getting news printed of how dangerous all of us are.”

All of the sudden, we heard our people yelling out of their cell, “SCREWBALL! B.J.!”

Screwball looked out the cell window and said, “We’ve got two new white men entering the building. Is that Sir Rott?”

I looked out the window and saw Damon and another white man from O.C.

CHAPTER 178

A week later, Damon, Damaged and I got escorted to a prison bus going South. I told Damon what Screwball told me about us being on the same yard together and he laughed.