The Jailhouse Diaries: Part Ate

When I stepped out of my cell the next morning, I knew I was a marked man. If the guards weren't coming for me to charge me with turning Chad briefly into my prison bitch, I knew that one of Armando's Mexicans would be arriving shortly to stick a shank in my guts and I'd just be another scar bellied snitch shitting into a bag the rest of my days in jail.

The end was coming. I could feel it.

I applied my lipstick and eyeliner in the morning, even though Armando was safely in solitary. That is the degree to which that fucking wetback had cracked my psyche.

When I stepped out of my cell for count, all eyes were on me. Everybody knew my time was limited. Trey Dog and the homeboys were smirking at me from across the hall.

I almost hoped that Trey Dog would snitch to the warden straight away. If I was thrown into solitary for a few weeks, I might be safe. But with my sentence increased, the Mexicans would be sure to find some way to get me, and I'd heard stories of people being burned alive in solitary confinement. All it took was paying off one of the underpaid guards to allow someone inside with a water bottle full of gasoline and book of matches.

I stood with my back against a wall the whole day and tried to stay in places that were populated. Not that that would have helped much. Even if someone shanked me with everyone watching, I doubted if anyone would see anything. Prisoners have a tunnel vision in which everything that doesn't concern them is blocked out.

No one had said or done anything to me by lunchtime, and I began to get a false sense of safety. Perhaps I'd been forgotten, or at least given a reprieve. Then I made the mistake of taking a shower alone.

As I was washing the filth and grime off my body, the entire Mexican Mafia filled the shower room behind me. They slammed my face against the wall, breaking my nose. They took turns kicking me until I was sure they'd snapped a few of my ribs. Then, the ese's splayed me out on the tile floor, while the second in command of the Mexicans, this spic in a hairnet called Ernesto, pulled out a jagged looking shank.

"When a bitch turns snitch," he said, waving his blade infront of my eyes. "We slice the puta's balls off."

I had been resigned to a beatdown, but I needed to keep my balls. I tried to squirm out of their grip, but there were at least four of them holding me down. Ernesto crouched down and started tugging at my crotch. "After we cut them off, we're going to make you eat them like raw meatballs."

"Please, please, don't!" I screamed. I could feel the jagged edge of shank begin to press against the underside of my scrotum.

"Any last words you want to say to your cojones?" Ernesto asked.

I was blind in my desperation. I fucking screamed. "DON'T CUT MY BALLS OFF! I BELONG TO TREY DOG! I'M TREY DOG'S BITCH NOW!"

They all laughed. "Trey Dog don't take no sissies, homes. Nice try."

"Wait!" I kept going. "Trey Dog gave me his protection. He said that if I shanked Armando, he'd make me his bitch so you couldn't touch me!"

Ernesto paused. "Bullshit."

"Why do you think he came to me? He knew we were going to be in the same cell! He was the one who gave me the shank to do it with! I didn't want to do it though. That's why I told the guards that the shank belonged to Armando. Because I knew the only place he'd be safe from the niggers is in solitary. I was trying to save him!"

Ernesto took the shank away from my balls. "So you're saying Trey Dog wanted you to kill Armando, and that you're just the pawn in all of this?"

"YES!"

Ernesto thought about it for a moment. Then he stood up and motioned for the other vatos to stand me up. "Well, you're coming with us, and we're going to have a little talk with Trey Dog about trying to kill our leader," Ernesto then suddenly whipped around and stuck the shank under my chin. "And if you're lying to us, we're gonna cut your dick off too. You're gonna be as smooth as a Ken doll when we're done."

They let me put on my pants, then they marched me out to the gymnasium, where the homeboys were all playing basketball. There were about five homeboys and ten Mexicans in the gym. Ernesto marched up with me straight up to Trey Dog.

"Mi amigo here says that you've been asking him to cut our homie Armando. Is that true?"

"Dat's fuckin' bullshit," Trey Dog. "Bitch is lyin'. Been sucking so much dick he don't know what the truth is."

Ernesto looked at me. "Armando shot a couple of his cousins awhile ago. That's why he wanted me to do it."

"I heard about that," Ernesto said. "A couple of your Madison St. Posse trying to roll up on the Inca Boys," Ernesto looked at Trey Dog. "I heard they might have been relatives of yours."

"That's right," Trey Dog said. "He capped some of my boys. But bidness is bidness and I wasn't beefin'."

"You want me to believe that you'd just let the deaths of your cousins go?" Ernesto said. "Well, maybe you niggers are just as disloyal to each other as your are to everyone else."

"Fuck you!" Trey Dog threw the basketball right at Ernesto's face, bloodying his nose. Ernesto yanked his shank out of his belt.

"PUTO!" and he jammed it right into Trey Dog's throat. Blood from his severed artery squirted right into my face and mouth. Trey Dog fell to the ground making gargling noises.

The rest of the Mexican's collapsed on the homeboys, administering a severe beatdown. Soon, prisoners who weren't even involved in this fight started causing their own ruckus. The entire gymnasium was in chaos, and after about three minutes a fully armored SORT team entered with batons and shotguns to break it up.

Ernesto was still busy hacking away at Trey Dog. A SORT member brought his baton against the back of his neck, and he collapsed. He was going nuts, bringing the baton down again and again. The rest of us had a shotgun on us to keep us at bay.

Except for one of the ese's. He was standing in their blind spot and quietly heaved a forty pound free weight from the rack against the wall. He crept behind one of the SORT members with a shotgun, lifted the free weight up and slammed it down against his riot helmet. His helmet cracked and his visor filled with blood. The ese quickly grabbed the shotgun out of his hand and quickly blew away the next two guys from the SORT squad. They were wearing lead lined vests, so it just knocked them down instead of tearing them apart. The rest of the ese's quickly grabbed the other shotguns as they dropped them.

Ernesto was dazed, but he slowly got up from the beatdown he'd received. He snatched a shotgun away from one of his subordinates and stuck the barrel under the helmet of SORT squad member who had struck him.

"DIE GRINGO!" and he pulled the trigger, spraying his skull across the gymnasium floor. Ernesto then grabbed his keys and threw them to one of his homies.

"Someone go spring Armando from solitary. The rest of you, take the guns, grab whatever hostages you can, and make sure no one comes through the main entrance." Ernesto raised his shotgun above his head. "As of right now, we are in control of the jail. LIBERTA!"

Why does my life always seem to go from bad to worse?