Prison 101:16

STOP! This material is NOT edited for content. It is not fiction. It contains explicit language and descriptions of real situations. It is not suitable for minors, and may not be suitable for people who easily disturbed…


One time the four of us who worked in the carpentry shop were waiting for our C.O. To pick us up. It was after lunch, the mess hall workers were stripping floors so we had to sit on this bench on the other side of the steel gates that lead into the mess hall waiting for him.

So we’re sitting there talking with each other about dumb stuff, we’re in prison, there isn’t a lot to talk about. I don’t remember who stopped talking first, one of us did, so we all looked to see why, and of course that means looking down the long hall to see what there is to see because if there is anything to see, like a fight, or something, it will be coming from that way. I look up and I see this woman walking down the hallway: Built, and putting a lot into her walk. We all stopped talking and stared. One guy even said some dumb shit like, “Wow, she’s hot.” Then we all sort of remember at the same time that we’re in prison and she is wearing greens just like us, therefore she is really he. We all sort of choked at the same time. The guy just smiled and winked, he liked that he was noticed. It was fucked up for real.

Another time I went into the shower. The shower in prison is a no talking zone for men. Sex goes on there, alcohol, drugs get smoked, shot up or whatever. They like the constant steam and the vents that draw it outside. No alcohol fumes, pot smoke smell, etc.. We shower in our underwear, boxer shorts. You wear boxers, if you don’t it means you are putting your shit on display by wearing tighty whities, the name for briefs. Some men have special shower boxers they have made, one pair inside another pair so that even when they are wet they can’t be seen through. If a man is showering naked he is either new and doesn’t know the rules, or he is fishing. Either way he is going to get stepped to and told there is no nude showering. The only time there is a change in that is when you have a significant percentage of men who want to, for whatever reason, shower nude. Then they will set an hour aside for nude showering. They all have to shower in that hour. No one else goes in during that time.

You don’t stare at anything you might see and you don’t talk unless you are in there with someone you know really well, even then it might be misconstrued by someone else. So you go in, ignore everything as best you can, and leave. I was kind of new, I knew the rules, but I hadn’t had a lot happen yet so I was green. Anyway, this guy’s back is to me, that’s cool, but then he turns around and he is surgically altered, he has breasts. I got used to that after a while, but the first few times were hard to handle.

I used to workout with this really big dude who had a saying, ‘Defense Mode On’. The first time he said it we were walking back from the weight shack and he said it out loud. It made me look up, and when I did here come these two asshole gang-bangers that I had seen around the prison and knew were trouble. What it meant was he had beef with them, so it was his way of saying, I’m going to try to hold it together and it might work or it might not, but with him it almost always worked when he just said those words. I adopted it. I thought it had value. To me it means I can do this if I have to, but I don’t have to: Defense Mode On.

Now I see the value in fitting into society. It doesn’t mean I have to agree with a lot of what society is, but I value rules, organization. I spent over 10 years in prison, it was enough. I can and do play by the rules.

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White Trash a fast paced crime thriller from author Dell Sweet

Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers, a drug dealer, and two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York into the Deep South…

White Trash

By Dell Sweet Adult
Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers, a drug dealer, and two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York into the Deep South as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Adult orientated. Sex, language and Graphic Violence… 18+ No preview is available due to the Adult Content.Drug Use. Less Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers, a drug dealer, and two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York into the Deep South as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Adult orientated. Sex, language and Graphic Violence… 18+ No preview is available due to the Adult Content. Drug Use…


“I was in the woods. I ran. I didn’t know what those guys would do. I knew you lived here. I was heading here when I saw you come out. I wouldn’t have done that… I couldn’t have. Especially when you fell inside the car. It made me gag.”
She paused and met his eyes for a second, then looked away once more. She closed her eyes like she was remembering the scene, or it was playing out again behind her closed lids. David supposed it was. She continued in a lower, measured voice.
“When you got done-I was surprised how fast you did it-I just stayed in the woods for a few minutes… Like I didn’t know what to do… I guess I didn’t,” she shook her head. “Then I walked down the road through the woods across from the other car. I was going to tell you… Call out… but you seemed so focused… I guess that’s the word: Intense might be better. And anyway, next thing you know you were done with that too. Then the cops… I came out of the woods when the cops got here. You didn’t see me ’cause you were talking to one of them…” She looked back at him and held his eyes with her own. That was pretty easy to do: David seemed unable to look away. “You mad?” she asked after a few moments.
“How old are you?” David asked.
“Huh?” she asked.
“You know… How old are you. I look at you and I keep thinking you’re younger. Then you talk and I start thinking you’re older,” David said.
“Fifteen,” she said. “Still wanna do me?” she asked and smiled.
“God,” David said, nearly choking.
“I’m kidding,” she laughed. “I’m eighteen.” She pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to him.
David looked from her to the license. “Doesn’t really look like you.”
She sighed, took the license and stuck it back into her pocket. “Now who else would it be?” she asked.
“That was mean,” David said. No one ever looked like themselves on a license photo.
“Yeah, but the upside is I’m legal and I bet that matters, doesn’t it?” April asked.


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White Trash. A fast paced crime thriller you won’t forget

WHITE TRASH

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission. All rights are retained by the Author.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

Copyright 2018 Dell Sweet, all rights Reserved


The Cops

Don managed to get the bedside phone on the third ring. By then it had awakened Jenny too.

“Goddamn cops,” Jennie muttered as she buried her head back under the blankets.

“Yeah?” Don managed.

“Sammy,” Sammy told him. “You have got to get down here, we’re out of here, like, 3 hours ago… You there, Donny?” Sammy asked.

Don set up in bed which caused Jennie to complain even more. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sammy. Say it slower. My brain has no caffeine yet.” He rubbed his face with one of his large hands.

“We’re going to Alabama… Mobile. Several tips put the Suburban on I-65 yesterday, just outside of Mobile: Nothing after that. The chief thinks they went to ground, and there are rumors of a big deal that’s going to happen there with an associate of the late Richard Dean. We don’t have names yet, but they’re working on it. The guy is a big drug dealer in that area. We’re going down on a flight out of Syracuse in 2 hours. We’re going to meet with the locals, it’s their ballgame, but the chief wants us to be there when the whole thing goes down. Sort of like the New York liaison,” Sammy said.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Don said. He reached for the night stand and got a cigarette. He lit it and then tossed the heavy silver Zippo back onto the table with a metallic clunk. Jenny raised her head.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Fuck,” Don said.

“Fuck ain’t the half of it,” Sammy agreed. “You’re awake now?  I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, we have to hurry,” Sammy finished. He clicked off before Don answered.

Don slammed the phone down. “The chief, Mr. Political aspirations himself, has decided in all of his wisdom to send us to Mobile-Fucking-Alabama of all places, because some tips came in that placed the GMC on I-65 yesterday and nothing since then,” Don said as he worked his way out of bed and headed toward the shower.

He called from the shower. “Brilliant, over-react now to cover his ass for not reacting when he should have… Jen, could you get me out a suit of clothes?” He called as he turned on the shower. He kicked off his boxers and stepped under the spray which was still slightly cold, forgetting about the cigarette in his mouth. He caught the soggy mess in one hand and tossed it toward the toilet. It landed on the lid with a wet plop.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “That’s why the lid should be up.”

~

Jimmy stared at the TV. The weatherman was on now talking about the fall weather and the start of the hurricane season.

He had been out once to dispose of Ronnie Lee. It was a large shop, but a body couldn’t hang around too long without air conditioning and this place had none.

He had found a state park next to a swamp, they called them bogues here, according to the sign, but they were still swamps. He had tossed the body in. There were alligators all over down here. The body wouldn’t last long. He hadn’t wanted to wait that long to do it, but he had been afraid to leave: As the night wore on though he became convinced that they were not coming by. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe what he would do wasn’t necessarily what a couple of green kids would do.

He wondered about the other kid. The paper boy, but he had no idea who he was or where he’d come from. And if he was honest with himself he didn’t care either. The kid was one of those anomalies: A fly in the ointment; a nothing, at least to him.

It bothered him that the cops had such a lock on the two vehicles. Every red neck with eyes would be calling every time they saw a Suburban of any kind. It would be a bad couple of days for anyone who owned a white suburban.

He wondered about Neo. He was positive that Neo was dead. Or he had been. If he was honest now there was more than a little doubt in his mind. It could have been anyone in that car. Neo could be smart enough to be behind this whole thing. He could be pulling the kids strings: Both of them. And if that was the case he himself would have to be very careful. Getting shot in the back of the head in a car chase was one thing. Facing Ben Neo in a one on one situation was not something he wanted to do. His phone rang. His own cell phone and he knew who it was before he answered it.

“Jimmy,” Tommy’s voice rasped. “I got a fuckin’ cold so bear with me… And now I’m getting a fuckin’ headache. I’m hearing Ben Neo might still be alive. My own, turned against me… You heard that shit, Jimmy?” Tommy asked.

“I just heard it,” Jimmy acknowledged.

“You think these cops are jerking our chains? You hear they’re talking organized crime ties? This is getting out of control, Jimmy. Out of control… I need the truth, Jimmy. If it is Neo, can you handle him? … Can you handle him? I need to know that, Jimmy. If this fucker has turned on me… Like… Like some fuckin’ dog that don’t know his master… Like that, Jimmy, I need to know that you can fix that, Jimmy… A thing like that has got to be fixed, and I need you to tell me that you can fix it,” Tommy said.

“I’ll get him,” Jimmy said. “I’ll be honest, Neo is no joke, but you know I’m not one either. I’ll get him,” Jimmy said.

“Or else?” Tommy asked.

“Or else he’ll have to fuckin’ kill me… I know my job. You know where my loyalties lay, Tommy. He’ll have to kill me, but he won’t. He won’t because he has nothing on me at all. I know him. I know how he operates: His methods. He’s a dead man, Tommy. He just don’t know it yet. When I get him, believe me, he’ll wish he did die in that car with the top of his head blown off,” Jimmy said.

“I don’t ever doubt you, Jimmy. I don’t. Get this done for me. Make it all work out and I’ll take care of you. You know that,” Tommy said.

“I know that,” Jimmy said.

“You need something, you call these people. They’re right there. They’ll help,” Tommy said. He rattled off two local phone numbers.

“Okay,” Jimmy said. He clicked off, tore off the square of paper with the two numbers on it from the pad. Folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. He wandered over to a long display of acoustic guitars, took one down and strummed the open strings. He had never learned. He couldn’t figure out how anyone could learn. It was killer on your fingers. He hung the guitar back up, walked back to the stool where he had been sitting and sat back down. There was nothing he could do, but wait.


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White Trash is available at Google Play

WHITE TRASH

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission. All rights are retained by the Author.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

Copyright 2018 Dell Sweet, all rights Reserved


Saturday morning

“Last one,” Sammy said.

It was 2:00 AM and they had just come back from 6 hours of sleep to get a jump on the day. The last half hour they had been interviewing the people who worked the same shifts as April Evans.

“Candace loi,” Sammy added.

Don looked up and stopped writing in his little notebook.  “How do you,” spell her name, he had meant to ask Sammy, but she was right in front of him.

“EL. OH. EYE,” she said with a smile.

“Vietnamese?” Don asked. She was obviously mixed race, African American and Asian, he questioned himself.

“Japanese,” she told him.

“Nice name,” Sammy said, “Candace.”

Beautiful girl, Don thought. “Did you know April Evans?  Sometimes works this shift?” he asked.

“Not really,” she answered. “I mean I met her, but only in passing… I just started here myself.”

She really was beautiful, Don thought. “You wouldn’t know if she had a boyfriend… Other friends?” he asked.

Candace shook her head. “Sorry,” she said… “What has she done?”

“Nothing: She’s gone missing,” Sammy supplied.

“She was an eye witness to a serious case and then went missing,” Don said. “She’s not in trouble we just want to ask her a few questions… And, really make sure she’s okay.”

Candace shook her head. “I just started here a few weeks back, and like I said, I don’t really know her… but I heard it might be a girlfriend not a boyfriend though.”

Don looked at her. “You wouldn’t know who?”

“No. It’s just a rumor. Someone said to me… I don’t even remember who… but I’ve never seen her with a guy. And I have seen her with other girls… Maybe also the way she looked at me a few times… That’s all I know. I hope you find her though. She seems like a nice girl,” Candace said.

“You don’t seem the type for this… Bagging groceries at 2:00 am,” Don said.

Candace laughed. “I had this idea of dancing… Tough to get a foot in a door though.”

“Any good,” Sammy asked.

“Excuse mister smooth there,” Don told her. Sammy feigned a hurt look and Candace laughed. “He meant have you done some dancing? I know somebody… Might be interested.”

Candace arched her eyebrows. “I can dance. I just need to prove it to the right person.”

“Probably start out serving drinks… Dance a little… Then if he likes you he’ll put you in.”

“I can do that,” she said slowly.

Sammy passed her a white business card with his own name scrawled across the back. “Tell him I sent you… That’s my name on the back.”

“Jimmy Vincioni,” Candace asked.

“Just V… Jimmy V. Good guy,” Sammy said.

Candace nodded and tucked the card into her front jean pocket. “I’ll call him… Thanks. Look…” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’m pretty sure she had a girlfriend here… I just don’t know who,” Candace added quietly.

Don finished writing in his notebook, nodded once he met her eyes and then shook the hand she offered. She walked away.

“Beautiful,” Sammy said.

“Absolutely,” Don agreed. “You ain’t getting none of that though.”

“Yeah? Well if Jimmy V hires her? It’ll be the next best thing.”

Don shook his head, but smiled. His eyes rose and watched as Candace walked away. “Guess I’ll have to have a few drinks at the club if that happens.”

Sammy chuckled low. “You and me both,” he agreed.

They had spent most of the previous night at David Cross’s trailer. The techs hadn’t picked up much, but what they had picked up was telling. Blood stains under the bed and beside one wall in the bedroom. A splatter of small pink stains that had tested positive for blood in the kitchen sink. Two rolled up socks drenched in blood in the kitchen garbage. Blood spatters in the bathroom sink too. All his clothes seemed to be gone, or at least there were none in the battered dresser in the bedroom. The forensic team had come up with two sets of fingerprints in the bedroom, his and someone else. Hair samples from the bed, from the couch in the living room. Foot prints out back and in the soft dirt of the front yard. And best of all, a tech that had been sent back to get pictures put the girl in the trailer yesterday afternoon.

The tech said the girl had seemed quiet, subdued, standing behind Cross, like Cross didn’t want her to be seen.

Questioning her friends was fill-in work while they waited on the warrant for her place. The tech that had put her at Cross’s trailer would probably clinch that. There had been bits of bone and brain matter along with the bloodstains under the bed and by the wall too. That bothered Don. It probably meant that something had happened. He didn’t have a lot of hope of seeing April Evans alive again.

He circled the word gay that he had written on his note pad.  Maybe he had been asking the wrong questions.

“This girl,” Don said and underlined the name Alice Chambers in his notebook. “Knew her well. Or at least better than anyone else here. Why didn’t she mention a possible lesbian thing?”

“They were in high school together… She’s still here, maybe we should have a conversation with her again?” Sammy said.

“Maybe,” Don agreed. He looked up, spotted the girl working one of the checkouts and walked over to the manager; a young kid who didn’t even look old enough to shave yet. The manager himself went over and relieved her and sent her over to Don and Sammy.

It was clear as she made her way over to them that she was worried. “You be the bad guy,” Don whispered to Sammy, “I’ll be the understanding father figure.” Sammy nodded almost imperceptibly.

Alice Chambers smiled weakly as she walked up. Sammy scowled at her and her smile melted.

“Don’t worry,” Don said. “I’m sure we’ll get this cleared right up. Sit down, Alice.”

“Why is he so upset?” she asked looking at Sammy who continued to scowl. 

“Because I don’t like being lied too, missy,” Sammy told her.  “Pisses me off.”

“I didn’t lie,” Alice said, going on the defensive. 

“Yes you did,” Sammy said, as he leaned toward her across the table. “You lied, and now you’re lying about having lied.”

She cringed away from him, looking ready to cry.

“Alice, I’m sure Sam here will be fine,” Don told her. “We work around hardened criminals all the time. I guess he forgot you’re a young lady, not a criminal.” Don sent Sammy a potent stare, and Sammy sighed and turned away. “It’s this lesbian thing… It’s understandable that you wouldn’t want to mention it, but this girl’s life could be at stake…” He made eye contact with her and made her hold it. Her eyes filled up and began to overflow. “Alice?” Don asked. She looked back toward the front of the store where she had been working and then looked back at them, swiping at the tears with the back of her hand and she did. “You want to tell me?”Don asked. She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She took a few seconds, seeming to fight to gain control. Don left and came back with some tissues that he handed to her. She thanked him, blew her nose, and then took several deep breaths.

Don mentally looked her over as she got herself under control. Alice Chambers was on the skinny side. Almost no breasts. A body like a boy, no hips, short, bobbed blonde hair. Nose ring, tongue ring, probably a dozen other piercings in her ears and who knew where else. He had taken her look for punk, not gay, but now that he was really looking at her she seemed more boyish than girlish. It seemed like maybe it was more than just a subtle statement, and he had overlooked it: Seen it wrong. It wasn’t just that she didn’t look all that attractive as a woman, she just looked more like a boy. And it looked like most of it was by choice.

“We were together in high school,” Alice said in a near whisper.

Don nodded like he’d known it all along. “Here at work too?” he asked.

“No… Of course not. April isn’t… April’s not… She likes boys…  It was… It was just a thing for a little while… This guy…” She took a deep breath and swiped at her eyes. “This guy forced her, you know and so she stayed away from guys after that for awhile.” She focused on Don, refusing to look at Sammy.

“This guy… Know his name? The one who raped her?” Don asked.

“She didn’t say raped, she said forced,” Alice corrected.

“Okay, forced… but you can see, Alice, that even if you don’t say it’s rape, it’s still rape, right? Are you saying there was no intercourse?” Don asked.

“No… There was,” she admitted.

“Then its rape, Alice. Let’s not cut the guy any slack at all on that, okay?” Don asked.

“Okay,” Alice agreed.

“So, his name?”

“He’s dead,” Alice said. “Tyler Matthews. Died in a car crash a few months back, remember?”

“Yeah… The local football star,” Sammy said.

Don just nodded. “So it was just the two of you. What came between you?” he asked.

“I told you, guys. She’s not like me,” she looked down at the table and then back up. “But I don’t know this David. I never heard her say anything about him. Maybe a cute guy that lived at the end of the road. And two guys on either side of the trailer who have been bothering her,” Alice said.

Sometimes you failed to ask the right questions, Don thought.  Sometimes the answers were right there. “Okay… Tell me about this cute guy who lived at the end of the road? You mean the trailer park road or Lott road?” he asked.

“Lott road. I don’t know about him. She said she saw him a few times. She thought he was cute, but she couldn’t get him to notice her,” Alice said. She blew her nose once more. The tears seemed to be dried up, Don thought: At least for now.

“Anything else about him… Anything at all?” Don asked.

“She said he worked nights… Drove a truck back and forth to work… That’s all I know, honest,” she looked over at Sammy who nodded. Done with his bad cop routine.

“Did you know David Cross at all… I can’t remember if I asked you that before,” Don said. He knew he had asked her; he simply wanted her to answer again.

“No,” Alice said.

“Didn’t know he lived at the end of Lott road… All the way at the end?” don asked.

She looked surprised. “No. I didn’t know that. I guess that means it was him she thought was cute… Did he do something to her…? Is that it? Did he?” her voice rose slightly and panic crept into it.

“I don’t know… I certainly hope not, Alice, but I don’t know,” Don said. “He’s a bad guy though… I can tell you that. Did time… If there’s any other thing you remember I could use the help. He may have done something to her… We just don’t know yet,” Don finished. Actually he was pretty sure that David Cross had killed April Evans in the back bedroom of the trailer at the end of Lott road that he called home: All, but positive.

She looked at him and her eyes began to spill over again. “I couldn’t stand that,” Alice whispered. “I couldn’t.”

He nodded. “You want me to talk to your boss, get you the rest of the day off, Alice?” Don asked.

“No, no,” she said. “I think I’ll go have a cigarette… Then I’ll be fine.”

“You know, I was thinking of having one too,” Don said. He reached out and took her hand and she came to her feet, “Come on.” He made his way to the front door taking her with him. Everyone in the store watched them walk out. The manager raised his hands slightly and looked at Sammy.

Sammy made a calm-down gesture with both hands. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s fine.”


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White Trash. A free peek at one hell of a crime thriller

WHITE TRASH

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission. All rights are retained by the Author.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

Copyright 2018 Dell Sweet, all rights Reserved


Jimmy

He had her tied to the top of the picnic table, nude, but he had to wrap things up, the sun was coming up.

She hadn’t known anything. Nothing at all. If she had, she would’ve told him, Jimmy knew, but he had enjoyed discovering what she didn’t know.

He finished his cigarette, one of hers actually, and crushed it out on the table top. He wore latex gloves on his hands. A plastic slip over suit covered his clothes. He put the butt in a plastic bag that also held the condoms he had used.

He walked back over to the table and Alice’s frightened eyes met his. Pleaded with him. He reached down and pushed the hair away from her eyes. Her mouth was gagged and wrapped with duct tape. She tried to talk as he walked around behind her.

“I’m sorry, Alice, I can’t understand you,” he said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade and held it close to his leg. She was already familiar with the switchblade. “It’s time,” he told her. He bought the switchblade up and showed it to her. Her eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, but before she could more than barely react he bought the knife down into her throat and ran it from side to side in one quick, practiced motion.

He watched her eyes as the light flickered and then went out.  Finally he let her head go and walked away. He stripped off the gloves, the plastic suit, and stuffed it all in the black plastic bag. He lit one more cigarette and looked over his handiwork as he smoked. Perfect he thought. He finally crushed out the last cigarette, dropped the butt into the bag and walked away.

He wondered how soon they would find her, or if the birds and other wildlife would find her first. He would love to stick around and watch, but he had to be moving.

He thought about what Alice had told him about being April Evans lover. He could use that. He could use that when he caught up to April Evans. Now they both had something in common. They had both been Alice’s lover. He chuckled at the thought. He reached his car, climbed in and started it up. He picked up the cell phone and dialed Tommy’s number as he pulled out of the parking lot and passed the empty toll booths.

“It’s Jimmy,” he said when the phone was answered. “Here’s the license number of the vehicle were looking for.” He ran off the license number, make and model of the Jeep that David and April had purchased from Bob’s Easy Auto. He gave their names and descriptions, and then went into an explanation of what he believed had happened. Tommy assured him that he would have the vehicle looked for and let Jimmy know if it was spotted.

“They have the drugs. All of them. The cops have part of Carlos. I imagine the rest of him is at Neo’s… I’ll take care of that,” Jimmy told him.

“I’ll let Jefferson know about Carlos. I’m sure he’ll be happy.  I’ll fill him in on the rest too… What else is there?” Tommy asked.

“Nothing for now,” Jimmy told him. “I’ll be in Liberty in a few hours. I’ll let you know later in the day what I find.” He hung up and concentrated on driving. A few miles down the road he called Vinny back.

“Yeah… I appreciate it… Tommy appreciates it… Listen, those two kids got a large amount of… Let’s say product on them.  I’m talking huge, pounds. Up into the millions, high multiples of them… There can’t be too many people that could handle a buy like that, still… I thought you would… No… No… Yeah, keep your nose to the ground. Let me know… Tommy will be very generous… Thank you,” he hung up and concentrated on driving. He glanced down at his watch, almost 6:00 AM.

The Cops

The sun was up and Don circled carefully round the picnic table looking down at Alice. The gulls had been at her, but only for a little while. The rest of the cuts and missing pieces had been done by somebody with a sharp knife.

He was still in shock. He had been at the trailer park; April’s trailer had held nothing: Missing clothes, same as David’s place, when he and Don had been called to respond to the public beach which was only 10 miles down the road. They had only told him that it might be his missing female. He and Sammy had made it in less than ten minutes.

He had been shocked when he had seen it was Alice tied to the table. And the torture marks on her body had been an even bigger shock. He had just left her at work a few hours before. How could it be her? A call to the young kid, her boss, had revealed that someone he believed to be another cop had walked her to his car shortly after Don and Sammy had left. He had gotten to the bottom of that, and the description, tall, short cropped black hair, the gray at the temples, hard looking, casual clothes, pullover sweater in a dark colored coat had hit home: The guy who had walked into the store. He had replayed it two dozen times and the guy’s description was now out on the radio. The car had been a gray sedan, and he had remembered the first three digits of the license plate number. It was the best he could do. The whole ID would get pushed statewide in a short while.

The techs arriving even now were shocked. It was a small area, crime happened, even murder, but not like this, not usually. They set about doing their jobs though. Don stepped back to where Sammy was, lit a cigarette and watched.

Sammy looked up at him.

“Sorry,” Don said. Without offering to snuff the cigarette.

“Don’t be,” Sammy said. “This shit keeps up, I might take up smoking again myself.” Sammy looked down at his watch. “Only seven. It’s going to be a long god damn day,” he said.

Mobile

“Why would you tell them something like that?” Ronnie Lee asked.

“Listen,” Rich said. “It’s a couple of kids. The one kid used to work for me. Not the brightest…” He sighed “They have some shit that’s hot. I mean real hot. I don’t know where they came by it, but I know where it came from, and all those guys are dead. All you got to do is take it off their hands. Sell it, you and I split the profit,” he said.

“And how does that work. Take it off their hands? Steal it? Is that what you mean?” Ronnie Lee asked.

“Yeah, well, yeah, you’ll have to. I mean you deal on a big level. You’ve done some shit same as me… Don’t tell me you haven’t… Look, I’ll be blunt. I can send them right to you; right to you. They will walk right in to where ever you need them to walk in to. Put a bullet in both of their heads and dump them in the nearest swamp. Take the shit off their hands. It’s that simple, Ronnie lee. That simple,” Rich told him. 

“You are crazy, Rich. You want me to kill a couple of kids for a few pounds a weed? A little coke? How much H? Even if it’s an ounce I’m not killing any one for it. Your fuckin’ crazy, Rich,” Ronnie Lee told him.

“Listen, goddamn it! Do you know who Tommy Murphy is?  Huh? Or Jefferson Prescott? Eh? Names ring some bells? Those are the guys who got ripped off. I’m talking serious, large amounts of money. It’s out there that they want it back, and how much it is too. You just haven’t heard about it yet,” Rich said.

“And I don’t want to hear about it if they’re involved. It would be like stealing from them. They’ll send someone to take care of me. Make me dead. No fuckin’ thanks. How much, if it’s so much, how much? I know I wouldn’t touch it if it was a half million bucks. No fuckin’ way. No way. It wouldn’t be worth it,” Ronnie lee said over the phone.

Rich held the phone away from his ear. When Ronnie was done he spoke. “Neither would I. How much would you do it for Ronnie? How much?” Richard asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Rich. Don’t be.”

Rich cut him off. “How much? Just say it so I know where we’re at,” Rich said.

“I’m serious, man, you’re talking shit. Just bullshit,” Ronnie lee said. “I don’t know man… I guess I probably would do it for a half a mil.. That means a real mil. split between us,” he said at last.

“Fifteen to twenty” Rich said.

“Time?” Ronnie lee asked.

“No. I mean fifteen to twenty million dollars of product.  Those two kids are carrying it around the fuckin’ country. Fuck the shit right out of half a mil. each. Do you think I’d fuck around with turning on Jefferson for any reason? I wouldn’t, so you know it’s got to be big. Fifty, fifty. Seven  to ten mil. each,” Rich said. “It’s fucking incredible just to say it like that.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m down with that shit, man… Why didn’t you just say so, man? Holy fuck. Yeah… Yeah… Okay, what do I got to know?” Ronnie lee asked.

Rich laughed and began to explain the situation and describe David and April. He looked at his watch, 8:00 AM he saw. “They’ll be to you in about twenty five hours or so if they drive straight through,” he said. “I’ll let you know as I know.”


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A Crime Story you must read

WHITE TRASH

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission. All rights are retained by the Author.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

Copyright 2018 Dell Sweet, all rights Reserved


“You want to know about the stuff from the cars?” she asked.

David nodded. “Like, how did you see me out back?”

“I was in the woods. I ran. I didn’t know what those guys would do. I knew you lived here. I was heading here when I saw you come out. I wouldn’t have done that… I couldn’t have. Especially when you fell inside the car. It made me gag.”

She paused and met his eyes for a second, then looked away once more. She closed her eyes like she was remembering the scene, or it was playing out again behind her closed lids. David supposed it was. She continued in a lower, measured voice.

“When you got done-I was surprised how fast you did it-I just stayed in the woods for a few minutes… Like I didn’t know what to do… I guess I didn’t,” she shook her head. “Then I walked down the road through the woods across from the other car. I was going to tell you… Call out… but you seemed so focused… I guess that’s the word: Intense might be better. And anyway, next thing you know you were done with that too. Then the cops… I came out of the woods when the cops got here. You didn’t see me ’cause you were talking to one of them…” She looked back at him and held his eyes with her own. That was pretty easy to do: David seemed unable to look away. “You mad?” she asked after a few moments.

“How old are you?” David asked.

“Huh?” she asked.

“You know… How old are you. I look at you and I keep thinking you’re younger. Then you talk and I start thinking you’re older,” David said.

“Fifteen,” she said. “Still wanna do me?” she asked and smiled.

“God,” David said, nearly choking.

“I’m kidding,” she laughed. “I’m eighteen.” She pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to him.

David looked from her to the license. “Doesn’t really look like you.”

She sighed, took the license and stuck it back into her pocket. “Now who else would it be?” she asked.

“That was mean,” David said. No one ever looked like themselves on a license photo.

“Yeah, but the upside is I’m legal and I bet that matters, doesn’t it?” April asked.

He opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut just as quickly. She giggled.

“So… You didn’t peek at all? Look in the bags?”

David cleared his throat and hoped his face wasn’t too red. “No… but you could tell what some of it was. At least I’m pretty sure. There are two huge bags of pot. I mean huge,” David told her.

“I know. I saw you had a hard time lifting them. You could only carry one at a time,” April agreed.

“You really were watching the whole thing?” David said.

“I told you,” April agreed.

“Yeah… Well anyway, I could only carry one bag at a time. I mean, how heavy is that? How much pot is that? A lot: A fuckin’ lot. And then there are two bricks of cocaine… Probably cocaine, but what else do you package like that and shoot other people over? They’re actually brick size. Like a real brick. That has to be worth a lot too.” He paused and looked at her.

“The rest?” she asked.

“The rest we’ll have to see. I didn’t have time to look at it,” David told her.

“When?” she asked. “When will we see?”

“Well… We should come to some sort of deal first, right?” David asked.

“Deal… What do you mean deal?” April asked.

David looked away and then turned back and met her eyes. “Deal as in I did all of the work,” he said.

She nodded. “And I kept my mouth shut or you wouldn’t have it. And you would probably be sitting in county jail right now too,” she told him.

David finished his sandwich and then licked his fingers. April finished and they both sat in the silence for awhile. The refrigerator clicked on and the compressor began to hum loudly from the kitchen. David drank down the entire can of beer waiting for her to speak, letting the minutes play out. When she didn’t speak he got up for another can, offered her one, but she shook her head and so he sat back down with the fresh can.

“So,” David said reluctantly. “What do you want? You want to split it fifty-fifty?”

“That would be the fairest… If you consider it all, we’re both in on it from go. I intended to look in those cars too, you just got there first. I kept my mouth shut. I would have yelled to you if I had seen someone coming… It was an equal thing… Equal risk, so it should be equal profit,” April finished.

“Really? You’re not just saying that?” David asked.

“What? Calling out to you if someone came? Going for the cars myself? Of course I mean it. I would have. I ain’t rich. I don’t have anyone that helps me. I don’t have shit. I could use some money too. I got a crappy little job. Life doesn’t seem to be going anywhere… It’s tough,” she said.

David finished his beer and sat it down on the coffee table. “Three things,” he said. “First, we’ll do fifty-fifty. I know someone who can take that pot from us… It’ll be good money… Probably take the coke too…” He paused and brushed at the side of his face.

“Second… We risk everything just like we share everything. Fifty-fifty. We put the same work into it, whatever there is to do… Cool?” he asked.

“Cool,” she said. “What’s three?”

“Were you kidding about me and you? … Just teasing?”

“Nope,” she said. “I think you do want me… I think you’re cute too.”

~

“You don’t think I’m easy, do you?” April asked.

They were in the bedroom. She had simply got up and followed him down the hall to the bedroom. She looked at the bed which appeared to be made. That was surprising: A guy making his own bed.

David looked at her confused, and then looked down at the bed. “Oh,” he said and turned red. “I put the stuff here. I put it here because I really couldn’t think of a better place to put it, and I heard the sirens coming… So I stuffed it under the bed.” He explained.

“Oh,” she said. “I thought… Never mind.”

David turned a deeper red. He moved to the side of the bed and picked up the blanket that trailed onto the floor. The underside of the bed was crammed with duffel bags and suitcases.

“I’ll pick up the box springs and you pull the stuff out. It’s the only way I could get it under there quick.” He squatted, picked up one corner of the box springs and mattress and lifted it from the frame. April began pulling everything out onto the floor.

Outside a car door slammed.

“Fuck,” David squeaked.

April picked up bags and began shoving them back under the bed: Pushing them deep under the bed with her feet. David wrenched the mattress and box springs back up and she dumped the rest back in, struggling with the suitcases.

David lowered the box spring, starting to breathe hard with panic. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He smoothed the blanket over the corner of the bed once more, and then turned and headed out of the bed room.

As he walked into the living room someone began to knock on the front door that opened into the kitchen. David looked out the peephole only to find a young guy with thick, curly black hair staring back at him. A camera hung around his neck, a clip board was in his hand.

David took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then opened the door.

“Mister Cross?” the young guy asked. He looked even younger than David was.

“Yeah,” David said. It was never any good when someone called you by your government name.

“Gotta take some pictures; you know, out back. That okay?” He held up the camera.

“Yeah… Go ahead,” David said, relieved. He started to shut the door.

“Uh… Hold on… You got to sign.” He smiled and offered David the clipboard, tapping with one finger where the signature should go.

David had let go of the door when he took the clipboard. The door swung open to reveal April who stood behind him. The young guy looked up at her from his place on the rickety wooden steps.

“Oh… Hey,” the guy said.

“Hey,” April returned. She turned on her best three hundred watt smile and the guy returned it.

David scratched out a reasonable version of his name and then handed the clip board back to him.

“Cool,” he said. He glanced at April once more. “I won’t be long.” He turned away and walked toward the end of the trailer and the back yard. David shut the door and they both sighed.

“Says he won’t be long… Hopefully he won’t… Want another beer?” David asked.

“Sure,” April agreed. She wandered over to the couch and sat down. David took a beer to her and then sat down at the other end of the couch. The T.V. was still playing low and it amazed David that it could still be playing after all that had happened. An infomercial for a new mini washing machine that washed just a few items at a time came on and caught his attention for a few moments. April pulled his attention away from the T.V.

“What was in the paper bag?” she asked.

“Don’t know. It was in the glove box of the Ford…. The car out back,” he finished.

“I can tell a Ford from a Toyota,” April said. “So, three duffel bags and two suitcases?”

He nodded.

“That one suitcase is heavy… The melted one?”

He nodded. “That’s the one I pulled out of the Toyota while it was burning… That blue duffel bag I pulled out of the Ford is heavy too.”

“That was crazy,” April said. “It could have blown up or something.”

“Yeah… I thought about that afterward,” David admitted. He got up and crossed to the T.V., pushing aside the curtain that covered the window that looked out over the back yard.

The guy was taking measurements, and both close up and distant shots of the tree with a digital camera. He looked up and saw David at the window and waved. David waved back and then came back over to the couch and sat down.

“Do you realize it’s almost two hours after the fact?” David asked her.

April looked at him.

“Just makes me wonder if we’ll ever look inside those bags today or not. And eventually I have to get hold of someone for that pot… Probably the coke too,” he added.

“Is that smart?” April asked.

“What do you mean?” David returned.

“Just that; that’s a lot of stuff: Somebody’s going to miss it… If we show up with it, it could be bad, right?” she asked.

“I thought about that,” David said. “We could just get rid of some of it… A little today… A little next week… Like that until it’s all gone. I only know one person who could take it all… I was going to do that, and then I thought about it like you said, and realized it could be stupid… Same reasons… I only know that the guy deals big time… Not with who,” David said.

“Could be money in one of those suitcases… Or duffel bags,” April said.

“I hope so… It makes sense, right? If they were doing a big drug deal that went bad and the drugs are there wouldn’t the money be there too,” David said.

“Or,” April said. “If it went bad maybe they were trying to rip the guy off… Maybe they had no money.”

“Maybe,” David agreed reluctantly. He sipped at the beer, got up and went back to the window. The guy was gone. He walked to the front door just in time to hear the door slam and the motor start on the car the guy was driving. He watched through the peephole until the car turned out of the driveway and headed down the road. He turned to April and shrugged.

“Try again?” he asked. She followed him back to the bedroom once more.

~

They decided on the blue duffel bag that David had pulled from the floorboard of the Ford. The bag was a mess, something he hadn’t noticed at the time, and April made him take it to the shower and clean off the outside of the dark blue nylon first.

Ten bricks of the duct tape wrapped stuff that David assumed was Cocaine. Two more of the flat-black hand guns. Several spare clips and boxes of 9mm ammunition, and two thick wads of bills, rubber banded. They appeared to be all one hundred dollar bills. David handed them over to April to count, while he pulled out his pocket knife and dug into the side of one of the bricks: Brown instead of white.

“Heroin,” he said as he showed April.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Worth more than coke anyway,” David said. He dug into the remaining bricks. Two more were heroin and the remaining bricks were cocaine. He closed the holes with pieces of the duct tape they were wrapped with.

“Jesus,” April said. “There’s almost eighty thousand dollars here.”

David looked at her and licked his lips. He added the other two bricks he had grabbed from the trunk of the car. They were both heroin. “Six and six,” David told her. “There has to be close to a quarter mil. here… At least… I don’t really even know what something this big sells for.”

April picked up the paper bag from the glove box. It felt like something was rolled up inside the bag. Solid… A brick shape, but smaller than the other bricks… More cash maybe, she thought. She unrolled the bag and shook it out. Two smaller bundles of cash, again all hundreds, and a wallet. She handed the wallet to David as she counted the cash.

“Ben Neo,” David said aloud. He pulled a thick wad of cash from the wallet and handed it to April.

“Ben Neo?” she asked.

“The dude,” David explained. “License: Credit cards… That cash. A key,” he said, holding up a brass key.

“Probably his house,” April said. “Where’s he live?”

“Liberty… Lake Avenue,” David said.

April shrugged.

“Me either,” David said. “Bet the key fits his door though. And it’s not like he’ll need it if he was the guy in the Ford.”

“Yeah,” April agreed. “Twenty thousand more. Ben Neo… That has to be a fake name,” she looked down at the money again. “David, we got over a hundred thousand dollars here… We’re rich.”

David turned away and looked at the duffel bags and suitcases. “Eenie meenie miney moe,” David said and picked up one of the black duffel bags from the Toyota.

Clean changes of clothes, sneakers and a silenced chrome 45 caliber pistol: Another wallet, a razor and a deadly looking eight inch switchblade with a long, sharp two sided blade. David picked up the wallet.  Driver’s license, credit cards, all in the name of Dan Gaynor. Thirty five hundred in cash, all hundreds.

“I think these guys must have made a deal. Something went wrong after the deal. They all have some of these hundreds. Well so far.” He handed April the cash and snagged the other duffel bag. It was bulky, but not overly so, a little heavier than the other one had been.

David pulled the zipper and recoiled from the smell that came from the bag. April leaned close to see what was in the bag and then recoiled herself from the smell.

“What the fuck?” she asked.

David opened the bag wider, but saw nothing except crumpled up newspapers. Tentatively he pushed aside the newspapers and a pair of dead, dusty eyes stared up at him through the newspapers. He flung the bag away from him, reacting simply on impulse. The bag hit the wall and the head, along with a pair of hands, rolled out onto the floor.


Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/white-trash/id1439875867


White Trash from Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

This novel is Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the authors permission. All rights are retained by the Author.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Cover art Copyright © 2018 Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

Copyright 2018 Dell Sweet, all rights Reserved

ONE

Friday Morning: Glennville, N.Y. …

David pulled the zipper and recoiled from the smell that came from the bag. April leaned close to see what was in the bag and then recoiled herself from the smell.

“What the fuck?” she asked.

David opened the bag wider, but saw nothing except crumpled up newspapers. Tentatively he pushed aside the newspapers and a pair of dead, dusty eyes stared up at him through the newspapers. He flung the bag away from him, reacting simply on impulse. The bag hit the wall and the head, along with a pair of hands, rolled out onto the floor.

“Oh, God,” April said.  “Put it back in the bag, David, put it back in the bag and get it out of here!” She jumped off the other side of the bed and pressed into the wall as far away from the bag and she could get. David looked at her and then grabbed one of the shirts that had been in the other duffel bag; he lunged forward quickly, picked up the head so he wouldn’t have to think about it too long and tried to jam it back into the bag. It wouldn’t go. The shirt, or the head, or both kept catching the side of the bag and collapsing it. Finally he laid the bag down on one side and managed to hold one side of it open and kind of scooped the head back into the bag. Once it was in he quickly zipped up the bag. He stood quickly and started to walk from the room.

“David, where are you going?” April asked.

He stopped. He had been heading for the door, but he had no idea where he would go from there.

“David… The hands… David,” she pointed…

EARLIER

David Cross sat watching his television: An old war movie, boring, but it was three A.M. and there were only the local stations that he could get, plus the one from Canada when the weather was right, or what-ever-the-fuck had to be right for an antenna to work. Tonight it wasn’t working. Excuse me, he corrected himself, this morning. Whatever needed to be right wasn’t. It had looked like a foreign film with all kinds of nudity too, but the goddamn thing had kept fading in and out so much that he had gotten a headache trying to watch it. He’d finally settled for the old war movie on one of the local stations.

He was trying to nurse his last beer. He’d been sure that there was one more left, but he’d been wrong. Somehow he had miscounted and that was unlike him. He always knew how many beers he had to the can, but somehow he’d messed up the count tonight. There were no more. He’d even moved the green loaf of bread, which he had hated to do, but he had moved it only to find nothing behind it. He had hoped the one remaining can had rolled behind it, but it had not been behind the moldy bread. He had been wrong.

It hadn’t occurred to him to throw out the moldy loaf of bread while he was at it. Instead he had gotten one of the spatulas from the silverware drawer, levered it under the bread and then pushed it to the side only to find no beer can hiding there. He had then levered the loaf of bread back into the original position it had been in.

So he was nursing his last beer: Last beer and no money for beer. And it was Friday: That meant the rest of Friday, Friday night, and the whole weekend loomed ahead dry. It was too depressing to think about. He tried to focus on the movie.

His trailer was located at the end of Lott road, a dirt road on the outskirts of the city two miles beyond the county dump. Nobody really wanted to live on Lott road it seemed, except David, and if he were honest with himself he didn’t really want to live here either, he simply had no choice. His crappy job only paid him enough for a crappy place to live. This was it: The crappiest of the crappiest. In fact the morning before the cops had taken the body of a young girl out of the ditch just down the road. Found by someone driving by. She hadn’t been there very long either. Someone had killed her and dumped her there. It was definitely a crappy place to live. He knew that for a fact because he had gone looking. There were no crappier places. Except maybe the trailer park down the road, he thought, but that was part of Lott road too so it didn’t count.

He owned neither the trailer nor the lot. He did own the furniture, which had been easy. He had simply cruised every street in the city on garbage day: A chair here; another one there. The mattress and box springs he’d gotten from the Salvation Army. Thirty bucks and only pee stained on one side, well mostly only the one side. There was some other stain on the other side, but he wasn’t sure what that stain was. It didn’t exactly look like pee. Anyway, it was barely noticeable and the guy in the store had sworn that they weren’t really pee stains, but water stains. David wasn’t too sure about that. His own brother had wet the bed until he was ten and they had slept in the same bed. He knew what a pee stain looked like and this looked like a pee stain. Still it had been a good deal and stains couldn’t hurt him. After all when his brother had been wetting the bed he had peed on him too. If he could live with that he could live with a little pee stain: If it was a pee stain. And if they were pee stains, they were on the other side of the mattress, he added optimistically. Besides, they disinfected those things. The guy said so: Sprayed them down with something that killed everything on them. He grinned, tipped his beer, nearly took a large swallow, took a small sip instead and then lowered the can depressed all over again about the long, dry weekend ahead of him.

Five or six garbage runs and one trip to the city dump, where they didn’t mind if you took half the dump away with you, and he had been furnished. It was amazing the things people threw away. He sipped carefully at his beer, pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pack and lit it with a long, wooden kitchen match.

There was an old fashioned wood stove store in town and he stopped there once or twice a week for kitchen matches. Not that they gave them away for free, but they used them for the stoves so there was always a box or two laying around that he could help himself to.

Day old bread and doughnuts at the bakery twice a week: Those cheap ten pound bags of chicken and what they had called Crack Head soups in Jail, noodle soups to the rest of the world, and there was his weekly food budget. The only other things he needed were gas and of course beer and cigarettes.

The rest of his paycheck went for the rent and utilities. Sometimes it was close, but he always made it somehow. The real bummer this morning was that he had today off and the whole weekend too and he’d have to stay here watching the crappy T.V. … Sober…

His job Monday through Thursday was cleaning for a maintenance company. They only required that you showed up. They ran you all over the city to clean supermarkets; banks; mall shops that were closed. He worked the nights away pretty quickly. Go to work at five P.M. Next thing you knew it was one thirty in the morning and they were through for another night. He kept telling himself that he would have to get a better job if he ever wanted to be better off in the world. A job that paid more than minimum wage had to be in his future. He was sure there were plenty of them out there he just didn’t know where to look. Some day, he told himself, some day.

He took a deep drag off his cigarette and then sipped carefully at his beer. He thought about the girl’s body and realized she could have been killed while he had been sleeping. He shuddered. He hated this place.

He set the beer down carefully on the coffee table. It was scared with cigarette burns and missing the tip of one leg, but it had been free and an old paperback novel held up that corner of the table well enough. As he looked back up from the coffee table lights swept across the living room wall, bouncing up and down and back and forth. Because his was the last place on the road, every car that came down the road lit up his living room. These headlights however seemed a little frantic, bobbing, darting across the wall and then a second set shot up onto the wall too, jittering and jumping across the cheap paneling.

Twice now cars had come down the road, shot right across the bare dirt of his front yard and into the woods before they had been stopped by the trees. David had a fear about some car, some day, hitting the bedroom wall while he slept. So far it had just been the woods, but you could never tell. He got up quickly and walked to the window.

It was immediately obvious that this was something different than just some drunk not realizing that the road was about to end. The lead car was flat out. He could hear the whine of the engine now as it came. The car behind was trying to stay close, tapping the back bumper of the lead car, causing it to slew all over the dirt road. Apparently that wasn’t good enough because a second later the passenger leaned out of the car’s window and opened up on the lead car with what looked to be some sort of a hand held machine pistol. David let out a startled squawk, ducked below the window and then popped right back up.

The shots had taken out the rear window, traveled through the car and taken out part of the front windshield too. And from the large red stain on the spider webbed remains of that window David guessed it had taken out the driver too. Maybe even the passenger had there been one. There was a lot of red.

Shit, David thought. That meant that the lead car was not going to be able to stop. David calculated quickly and realized the car would miss the trailer. At the same time the driver of the rear car locked up his brakes, suddenly realizing that he was on a dead end road, and the car began to slide in the dirt. David’s eyes shifted back to the front car which hit the end of the road, jumped up over the drainage ditch and roared through the front yard just missing the edge of the trailer, shaking the thin walls; engine still screaming. It was out of sight for a split second before he heard the crash. The big oak in the back yard, he thought.

His eyes came back to the second car long enough to see it slide down into the drainage ditch at full speed, catch its nose on the opposite edge and then flip end over end across an empty lot before it crashed down on the edge of a cement slab that was trailer-less and had been since he, David, had moved out here. David crouched down quickly to the floor, grabbed his boots and wedged his feet into them. He ran to the kitchen, grabbed a flashlight off the counter and headed out the front door at a run…

~

The smell of hot metal filled the air. David looked to the car on the cement pad first: The trunk had popped and all manner of stuff that had been inside now lay scattered across the ground. Hot oil and antifreeze dripped from under the hood and onto the concrete. The front roof line was smashed flat to the top of the driver’s seats. The backseat area seemed untouched.

He slipped around the end of the trailer and looked at the other car. A newer Ford: He could see the badge on the rear deck. The front end of the car was wrapped around the oak in the backyard just as he had thought and steam was rising up into the air. The Ford first, he decided. The car across the road would have to wait.

The Ford had hit the tree and climbed it a few feet before it came to a complete stop. David had to stand on tip toe to peer into it. The driver had no head left, which explained the huge stain on the windshield. He was past dead, he was dead bad. There was no passenger. Looking out from the inside it was not just red, but gray and black too: Bone, hair and brain matter. His stomach did a quick flip and he began to close his eyes as he turned away.

As he turned his eyes caught on the floorboard and a blue duffel bag that was jammed into the space with the drivers legs. There was no way that the door was going to open, but the glass was gone from the window. He balanced over the edge of the door trying to stay as far away as he could from the dead man as he did, leaned in and tried to snag the duffel bag. His fingers brushed the two plastic handles, but he could not get a grip on them.

David levered himself further over the window sill and nearly came down into the dead man’s lap as he lost his balance and his feet left the ground. His hand shot down quickly, bounced off the dead man’s thigh and hit the seat, stopping him just a few inches above the man’s lap and a small splattering of bone and blood that was there. His hand slipped, but he pressed down harder and held himself.

He could feel the slick blood and splinters of bone under his hand, but he pushed the knowledge out of his mind, took a deep breath, braced himself and then reached down with his free hand and snatched the handles pulling the heavy bag free.

He pulled back, but the bag was so heavy that he had to hold on tight and push off the seat with his other hand. For one alarming second it seemed he would fall forward into the man’s lap. After a second of indecision his body dropped back down to the ground, the bag in his hand. He thought about the trunk as he started to turn away, reached back in, shut off the dead ignition, pulled the keys free and hurried around to the trunk.

The trunk held nothing but a black suitcase. He debated briefly, then reached in and took it. He went back, put the keys back into the ignition, and turned it back to the ON position. What else! What else! His mind asked.

His heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute, skipping beats, and his breath was tearing in and out of his lungs so quickly that it was painful. He could think of nothing he had forgotten. He told himself there was nothing else, and then immediately he thought of the glove compartment. He ran back around the passenger’s side of the car, dropped the bags and pushed the button on the glove box. A small paper bag and a dull, black pistol rested inside.

He took a deep breath, thought for a moment and then took both, slammed the glove box shut, picked up the bags and ran for the trailer. He booted the door open, threw the bags inside, slammed the door and then started for the other car down the road. He stopped mid stride, bent double, and nearly threw up. He caught himself, forced himself to take several slow breaths and stood experimentally. It seemed as though his stomach had decided the remains of the beer could stay for now and so he trotted off down the road to the other car.

This was an old Toyota, not one of the small ones though, one of the ones that seemed almost as big as an American car. He stopped thirty feet away. Two large plastic garbage bags had fallen from the popped trunk. They were both crisscrossed with gray duct tape, bound tightly. Two black duffel bags were jumbled in a heap nearby, along with what looked like a cheap foam, ice-chest. The ice-chest had ruptured and splintered when it hit the ground spilling beer, soda, and packages of lunch meat and cheese out onto the ground. Mixed in, and what had really caught his attention, were small brick sized packages, also bound with duct tape.

His heart was still racing hard. There was no one anywhere yet. No sirens. The nearest neighbors were nearly a mile back down the road… No car lights… Nothing at all.

He tried to carry both bales, but they were too heavy. He had to make two trips. The duct taped bricks, which could only mean one thing to his way of thinking, both duffel bags and two six packs of the beer that hadn’t ruptured went next. He had debated about the beer, but decided he could not leave it. He came back one more time, looked at a few more cans of beer and the packages of bologna and cheese and decided what the hell. He quickly picked them up and took them too. It would be something to put into the ‘fridge except the moldy loaf of bread he told himself.

He walked back to the car down the road once more. He reached the car where it lay flipped onto its roof and had just started around the hood when he heard a soft pop. He stopped as the hood suddenly burst into flames. The sharp smell of gasoline hit his nose and he jumped backwards just that fast. The car didn’t blow, but he stayed clear watching as it began to burn, allowing his thoughts and breathing to begin to slow down. It had seemed like a log-jamb of thoughts all trying to be expressed at the same time. He thought back as he watched the flames begin to build from under the hood.

Not long ago a car had plowed into that same oak in his back yard where the other car was now. It was just the way that oak lined up with the road. That driver had not hit as hard. He had jumped from the car and run for the woods that began in back of the trailer at a dead run. David had come out to look over the wreck a little closer. The jimmied ignition told him the story. The car had been stolen. He had heard sirens in the distance and said to hell with it, reached into the car and grabbed a cheap 22. caliber pistol from the front seat, and an unopened, and miraculously unbroken bottle of whiskey from the floorboards. He had barely stashed them before the cops had shown up.

He had stood on the sidelines and watched as the cops had popped the trunk to expose a large collection of electronic gear. Flat screen televisions, game consoles, DVD players, a shotgun and several more bottles of whiskey too. He had kicked himself over that one and vowed not to let something like that happen again should providence ever grace him with a second chance: Here was that second chance.

He had no phone, but the way the flames were leaping into the air he was sure someone farther down the road would be calling the fire department soon. The heat was already intense.

He squatted down, shaded his eyes against the glare of the flames, and tried to see into the back seat: No one. If there was anyone else in the car he couldn’t see them, but he did see a large suitcase resting on the roof of the car just inside the shattered rear door glass. He debated for a split second and then ran forward and grabbed for the bag, pulling it from inside the wreck. It was heavy and hot to the touch: The imitation brown leather sticky on one corner and melting. Whatever was in it, he told himself, would not have lasted much longer. He was headed back up the road from the wreck when he spotted a grocery bag spilled into the ditch. It was mainly intact so he picked that up too and ran for the trailer.

Behind him he could hear the sirens now. They were on their way and that meant there would probably be neighbors on the way too… Any minute, he told himself. He got the trailer door opened, jumped inside and closed it. He set the grocery bag on the counter. His heart was beginning to slam in his chest once more. He picked up the suitcases and duffel bags and hurried them back to the bedroom. He came back, threw the grocery bag and the packages of lunch meat and cheese into the refrigerator, debated briefly about the loaf of moldy bread, but decided to leave it. He looked back into the fridge. It looked crowded: Beer, lunch meat, cheese, bread. It was the most he could ever recall seeing in there at one time before.

He stepped back letting the door swing shut and looked around the kitchen-living room area. Nothing looked out of place. He could not imagine that the cops would want to come in here for any reason, but if they did they wouldn’t find anything.

He looked down at his hands, grimaced at the blood and specks of bone. A smear of drying blood decorated one shirtsleeve. He looked down at the front of the shirt and saw it was streaked with blood and gore. He turned and ran to the bathroom stripping off the shirt as he went. As he looked down at his jeans he noticed they were gore spattered to. He peeled them off just as quickly, kicking his boots aside. He left the bathroom and went quickly to the bedroom where he dug a wrinkled pair of jeans from the basket there, a clean shirt from the dresser, and quickly got re-dressed. He sat back on the bed, pulled the jeans up and shoved his left foot into one of his sneakers lying next to the bed where he had left them the night before. He stood, jammed his right foot into the other sneaker, danced around unbalanced for a moment as he tugged the zipper home, buttoned the top and threw himself back down onto the tangle of sheets to work the sneakers on the rest of the way and lace them.

His heart had become a racing engine once again, all high speed and flat out, and he tried to calm down as he walked down the short hall, opened the door and stepped down the rickety steps and into the bare-dirt front yard.

He could not see the fire engines or police cars, whichever it was that were coming. Both eventually, he told himself, but the sirens were loud and a half dozen people were walking down the road towards his place and the car that was burning. They were still a quarter of a mile away. He forced his breathing to slow down for the second time, and sat down on the top step waiting. The smoke from the fire was thick and black, spiraling up into the air. The smells of cooking meat and burning plastic hung in the air, competing with each other, causing his stomach to flip once more. The smoke seemed to catch in the trees, unable to rise further: Pools of it snaked along the ground, drifting slowly.

The lights came into view within a few seconds. They were far down the road, but closing fast. Within a few seconds a City Police car skidded to a shuddering stop on the dirt road, followed by two Sheriff Cars. Two Fire engines came next, coasting to a stop behind the Sheriff Cars, then swung around them angling down toward the burning car. David Cross rose from the steps and began walking to the road to meet them.

~

All of the cops were calling on their radios at once it seemed to David. He broke into a run and the city cop looked his way.

“There’s another one in my back yard with a dead guy too,” he yelled.

The cop looked amazed for a moment and then went back to talking on his radio once more. He finished, threw the radio back into his car, and glancing once more at the burning car, he turned and followed David into his back yard.

“Jesus,” the young cop said. “That happened when he hit the tree? No way!”

“The other car was shooting at them,” David said. He immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut.

“You saw that?” the cop asked.

Providence again, David thought. “Well, no, I didn’t. I heard shots… I didn’t see ’em,” he lied.

“So there are people in that other car?” the cop asked.

“I think so,” David answered. He took a few moments to formulate a lie. He didn’t need a complicated lie: Something simple. Something close to the truth so he could remember it, but something that wouldn’t make him an eye witness. “When I got out I saw the car lying on its top. I didn’t know about the other one. I had to get dressed. Once I got out of the house and headed down the road the car made this little popping sound and flames shot out of the engine compartment. When I turned away I saw the other one in the back yard. I knew something had crashed, because a few months back another car crashed into that same tree, and this sounded the same to me,” David said.

The cop nodded. “You go near either car?” he asked.

“The one out back; I leaned through the window to see if the guy was okay… Had to catch my hand on the seat… It was gross… I realized the guy was dead and got away from the car as quick as I could… Waited for you guys,” David said.

The cop nodded, pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket and wrote in it. He asked David for his name and the address and wrote that down too.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, David thought. He hadn’t wanted to link himself to anything, but he had been afraid that they would find the hand print on the seat: An area of the seat that had been covered with blood and splatter and was now noticeably cleaner in the shape of a hand. What else could he do?

“You okay?” the cop asked.

“Not really,” David admitted.

“Go sit down… I’ll have somebody talk to you.” He looked intently at David for a moment. “How much you had to drink, David?”

“Uh… About a six pack… It’s my night off,” David explained.

“Easy, David… I’m not here to bust your balls. They’ll want to know… Impairs your judgment: It will determine whether they will take what you say or look for other witnesses, you see?” the cop asked.

“Yeah,” David agreed. “I do see.”

“So?” The cop asked.

“Oh… Right. I had about a twelve pack,” David said. He shrugged.

“Night off,” the young cop said.

“Night off,” David agreed.

“All right, David. Go have a seat and when the detectives get here I’ll send them over,” he told him.

David went and sat down on his front steps and waited for the rest of the cops to show up. He watched the lead fire truck drown the burning car in foam, and in just a few seconds the fire was out. The car sat smoking: Steam rising into the air; the smell of burned meat thick and heavy.

~

The cops were brief:

“I understand you had quite a lot to drink during the evening,” the big, blonde haired one said to him.

“Well, yes,” David admitted. “But it’s my day off,” he added.

“Easy, son. Nobody’s blaming you. You’re home. Day off. No reason why you shouldn’t have a few drinks. It’s not like you knew a car was going to crash into your back yard.” He smiled to put David more at ease. And although David knew that was why he smiled he felt more at ease anyway.

“You look familiar to me,” The shorter dark haired cop said.

“Did a little county time a few years back,” David admitted.

He looked at him.

“Possession with intent,” David added. “Eighteen months.”

“Out in a year with the good time though right?” the blonde haired cop said.

“Still fucking around with pot, David?” The dark haired one asked.

“No… Not no more,” David told him.

“So we could check the house and find nothing,” the shorter, dark haired detective said.

“Sure… Sure…. Go ahead,” David said. “There’s nothing there at all.”

“But we aren’t going to do that,” The blonde said. “Your past is your past, David. I said I am not here to bust your balls and I meant that.” He turned and looked over at the Toyota which had been lifted into the air. The roof had been cut away and two bodies had been taken out as they talked. They had set the car back down and were now winching it over onto its wheels so they could pull it up onto the flatbed wrecker that waited. He glanced back to the backyard. They were still working to pry the car in the back yard away from the tree. The body was long gone. They were using metal saws to cut the car away. Once enough had been cut away to move the car, it would go on a flat bed too. The cop’s eyes came back to David.

“You think of anything else that might help us?” he asked.

“The gunshots,” David said and shrugged.

The detective nodded. “We have an eyewitness to that. Says she was walking down the road when she saw the two cars coming: She jumped in the woods. Saw the passenger lean out the window and fire at the car ahead… The dude in the car in your back yard, David. That’s how he got dead.”

To David it felt as though his eyes had bugged out of his head, but he struggled to maintain his composure. She? Who was she? He had seen no one at all, but whoever she was she had described exactly what he had seen himself. So she must have been there. What else did she see?

“You okay?” the blonde asked.

“Tired… Sickened too, to be honest,” David said.

“Yeah… Pauls-that’s the name of the officer that spoke to you, Jay Pauls-said you leaned into the car to check the guy… Found a hand print there…. I assume it’s yours. I guess if I had found that I wouldn’t be feeling too good either.” He sighed. “We’ll be out of here in a few minutes,” he added.

He closed his own little notebook that he had pulled from his pocket and looked at the other cop. He shook his head.

“I guess we have nothing else, David. Like I said, if you think of anything else,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed the card to David. “Give me a call, okay?”

David nodded, looked over the card and then shoved it into his pocket.

They all stood and watched as the Toyota flipped back over onto its wheels: Metal screeching, the car lurching from side to side on its ruined suspension as it slammed down. The men began hooking up the cables to winch the car up onto the flat bed truck. A few seconds later a second flat bed truck drove around the first and then backed down David’s driveway to the back yard: A steady Beep, Beep, Beep sounding as it backed up. They watched in silence as two men hooked up the remains of the Ford and then winched it backwards and up onto the flat bed.

A second later the two cops walked away without another word. David sat back down on his wooden steps and watched them get into their car and drive away. The trucks followed, and a few seconds later the silence descended once more on Lott road. David sat and watched the dust settle back down to the dirt lane.


Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers, a drug dealer, and two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York into the Deep South as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Adult orientated. Sex, language and Graphic Violence… 18+ No preview is available due to the Adult Content. Drug Use…


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Prison 101:14

STOP! This material is NOT edited for content. It is not fiction. It contains explicit language and descriptions of real situations. It is not suitable for minors, and may not be suitable for people who easily disturbed…


THE MESSHALL VERSUS COOKING:

COOKING

In a max you are required to go to Breakfast and Lunch in the mess hall. Dinner is optional. You just stay in your cell or go to the yard recreation instead of the mess hall.

Most men in a max cook on the radiators. They are on about nine months out of the year in this state, and they are so hot you can cook on them. You can also buy a hot pot, and or a stinger in some places. The stinger drops into the food, plug it in and it heats it. You can have cookware, a few pans with lids. Bowls to store or even cook food in. A plastic bowl with a lid can cook on top of a radiator. Put the rice in, the water, the other ingredients. Put the top on it. Wrap it in towels to hold the heat in, leaving the bottom open to sit on the iron radiator top, and leave it for a few hours. My method was to put everything in the bowl, seal it, wrap it, and go to work. Six hours later when work was done I had a bowl of hot, cooked food all ready. Stir it up and eat it. It worked great.

In a medium they have an actual kitchen or cooking area. Microwaves, sometimes even a stove top. Men cook full blown meals there.

I got a Spanish cellmate for a few years. He liked to cook, and I swear he used jalapenos in everything. I mean the guy could not cook without them, so after a while I just got used to it. One time he got some habaneros from the prison garden. They are much hotter than the jalapenos, but he didn’t know, he chopped them up and put them in our food just as if they were jalapenos. Nearly killed us.

I used to hate squid, octopus, spicy food, but I got used to all of it there. Most of the best radiator cooks in prison are Spanish. In the Max I had been in for seven years there were also fireplaces in the yard. A few dozen of them. Guys cook there year around. It was one of the strangest things about that prison, you could buy anything in the yard. There are showers just off the yard, so sex is sold there. The fireplaces are all cooking and selling all kinds of food. And anything you could imagine: Drugs, Alcohol and everything in between is sold right there in the yard. The CO’s know it, but they have their own hustles or are involved in some of what goes down there too, or maybe it is so huge that they look at it like a thing they could never even make a dent in, so everyone pretends they see nothing.

Cash is stamps or unopened packs of cigarettes, or, in some case, Loosies (Those are single cigarettes. Something might cost three Loosies). A very alien place at first, but I got used to it fast. Very often if I did not want to cook or go to chow, I would go to the yard and then buy a hotdog and a Coke and sit somewhere at eat. Sounds like a baseball game, right?

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Prison 101:13

STOP! This material is NOT edited for content. It is not fiction. It contains explicit language and descriptions of real situations. It is not suitable for minors, and may not be suitable for people who easily disturbed…


So prison can be really ultra-violent. I can see why some guys aren’t really worried about it though, because it is like bullies. They pick and choose who they will mess with, and usually they will not mess with guys who have their shit together, or gang members, etc. You see a lot of young men join the extremist Muslim groups that preaches kill all white skinned people and become extremists themselves. You see white boys join white supremacy groups or go the other way and become a Muslim, because the Muslims will protect them from anything that comes their way. I’m talking about Sunni or Shiite Muslims, not the extremists or the 5 percenters.  They probably sat in a cell at some point and told themselves, “Well, I have to go one way or the other,” made the decision and were okay. Once you belong to a gang or religion you’re untouchable without permission.

I did not belong to any gang, but I would say the way I did my time is rare. I took a lot of chances at first by refusing people and affiliations, but I had also already done time several years prior, and so I knew the way things are, and I knew some pretty influential people. I also did not break any prison rules, IE: I did no drugs, alcohol, gambling or messing with homosexuals (They just call them Homos in prison, or if they are an item, the guy will introduce the other guy/girl as his wife). And I was not a gang member. And so that kept me out of ninety-nine percent of the conflicts. The rest I dealt with as it came.

WORK:

For a year or so I worked doing computer programming for the prison. Hey, if you have talent they use it. They paid me well, and they set me up with a good job in the prison wood shop.

So I’m there a few days and a guy that works there, a very talented artist, gives me some crap all at once. He’s a big guy, kind of weird too, but I don’t know who he is and there is a C.O. right there when he does it so I really don’t know what to do. When he leaves, the C.O. Says “If you let him start that shit he’ll talk any way he wants to you.”

So I say, “No problem, as long as it is not going to piss you off, (because the guy works for him) I’ll put him in his place.” Another inmate there speaks up and says, ”Well, you know he’s a serial killer, right?”

“Ha ha,” I say.

“No, he really is,” the C.O. Says.

Fuck, I think.

Turns out he was a serial killer, he had killed something like thirty people that he had confessed to, and they thought the real number might be much higher.

So later in the day I wait for him to come back. I’m thinking, there is no way I’m letting this guy talk to me that way. I’ll just be cool about it.

He comes in and I say, “Yo. We need to talk.” in my best prison guy voice. So we step outside of the office area, and I say “Listen, I don’t give a fuck how many people you killed, if you ever fuckin’ talk to me like that again I’m gonna kick your fuckin’ ass, got it?” I mean, I went the total tough guy route. And you know what? He started crying. I didn’t know what to say. I just waked away. The C.O., smart ass that he was says, “Oh, you made the serial killer cry.” I was like, what now?

He never spoke to me nasty again, but after that he wanted to be my friend. I mean he would cook on his radiator in the winter, we all did, we would make pretty complicated stuff too, but after that he would always send me food. I was always afraid to eat it though, I mean, some people he killed he might have killed by poison, right? It was weird. I bring the guy up because he had no remorse at all. He did not care that he had killed a bunch of people, nothing. It was a lesson to me, there are some people in the world that will use you, and they will not care. It was where I had been in my addictions, if I were to be honest with myself, and where I was sinking deeper into before I came to prison, I may have never understood a thing about myself if I had kept on that path. I certainly would never have begun to work on myself. It really was kind of freaky, scary too that he attached himself to me after that. I would go the yard maybe once a year, he would find me and hang out with me every time and so people would get a little freaked out by that.

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