"We can't control anything but our crosshairs. This is why you must know the dime group as you once knew your mother's nipples."
High-Speed, Low-Drag
"Seven, Batiste."
"Inmate Brown's my husband..."
I was so startled that the phone call actually patched
through to the unit. I misspoke, "You're who's husband?"
She did not catch the Freudian slip, "Brown, I need to
know something about his classifi cation."
"Ma'am, I'm just a caseworker, you'll need to speak to
his case manager when he comes in tomorrow."
"So you can't help me then?"
"No, Ma'am."
"What the fuck good are you then?"
I was taking an inmate on a travel order that morning,
and we were short of corporals. The inmate got punched
on the yard because his hat was turned the wrong way,
signifying affi liation with another gang. To make the day
even stranger, we were heavy on sergeants. The inmate
that had to see the dental specialist on the outside was a
fl ight risk, so it was appropriate to send a sergeant with
me anyway. Today, I got lucky. My TO partner would
be Sgt Conrad. Not only was Sgt Conrad an outstanding
correctional sergeant, he was a fi ne veteran Marine Corps
Master Sergeant in the Omaha Marine Reserve unit.
For those times when you run into co-workers at the local
Wal-Mart with your family in tow, Sgt Conrad is the guy
you want to run into. He is the guy you are proud to claim,
"He works with me in The Nebraska State Penitentiary."
Conrad just looks like a poster-child for high-speed, lowdrag.
Strangers watch him for about two minutes and they
know his dope is dialed tight.
"This is gonna be a blast Batiste. It'll be better than a
whole Humvee full of free pogey-bait! I'll strip search the
dumbshit; you go and check out the car."
Down in the lobby, I checked out the keys to one
of the state vehicles, and headed outside to perform the
shakedown. Upon opening the door, I found a nice pair of
Oakley sunglasses.
"Gear left adrift, must be a gift."
I quickly scraped the windows as I warmed up the
vehicle. Conrad and the shift supervisor, Lt. Andrzejewsky
were waiting on me to return. Inmate Sewell was in full
restraints, waiting to be taken to the car.
"Great, escorted by two fuckin' Jarheads. My little
brother is a Jarhead. He says boot camp is tougher now."
"How would he know, has he been twice?"
"No, that's just what his DIs tell him."
"Maybe it's so tough they'll go back and take it off my
DD-214."
The drive was uneventful, and we entered the rear
entrance of the offi ce to avoid startling the paying
customers.
"And for what are you seeing the dentist today?"
"Well, you see," Conrad said to a busy assistant, buried
in paper work, "I have a red cunt-hair stuck in my back
teeth."
"What.?"
"Can I just talk to the dentist?"
"Sir, is it a personal issue?"
"Why yes, it is."
"Fine, take a seat in the waiting room."
"But Ma'am, I'm here with an inmate. I just wanted a
minute of the Dentist's time to ask a question."
"One minute please."
The Dentist never came. Before long, Sewell's name
was called, and we were escorted down a hallway, to a room
at the end, next to the emergency exit door.
"The nurse said something about a red cunt-hair. Oh I
love this story." Pointing at Conrad, Dr. Sweeney laughs,
"Your next visit will be free of charge."
"Pull your pants up, play your banjo, and kick your
fucking ball! I can't believe I'm being out-bowled by
Deliverance."
Oh Yes It's Bowling Night, and the Feeling's Right
Bill Morris was a volunteer fi reman in Tecumseh, his
home town. If they had a volunteer police department he
would have joined that as well. Bill purchased the fl ashing
lights to adorn his pick-up, hoping to put them to use
frequently. When those hopes did not produce emergencies
to which he could respond on a daily basis, he began to
create his own. Bill abused his cherries. He started pulling
people over, and just used them when he was in a hurry.
The local authorities put him on "cherry probation" for six
months. The primary reason was that he impersonated a
Crisis Negotiation Team (CNT) member.
Johnson County and Pawnee County shared a dispatcher
on third shift. Morris had his scanner going all night, and
picked up something regarding a hostage situation from the
other side of the next county. He raced to the scene, and
claimed that he would handle it. Thank God nobody died.
Other than his need to be a hero, Morris had a need to
have friends. He wanted friends so badly, he would buy you
drinks all night, if you would just sit with him and listen.
The trouble was he had no money. His wife was bleeding
him dry, so he hung out with Pat Nodal, another dork that
nobody wanted to be with. The two of them frequented
Sun Valley on bowling night, thinking it made them look
like part of our group. The only time I spoke to them was
when Nodal offered to buy drinks. The fi rst time he did,
I accepted the offer, only to observe Morris sampling my
beverage.
"Morris, now that one is yours. Pat, where is my
drink?"
"I just sent it down to you."
"Your duck just sampled it. I don't know where that
face has been."
"Bill, you fucker, you owe Batiste a drink."
"I don't have any money."
"You're shut off then."
"Pat, do I get a drink or not?"
"Not on my tab."
That was the last time I tried to appease those losers.
Morris is such a mooch he even steals food at work. I
am not just talking about facility food intended for inmate
consumption; I am referring to co-worker's lunch boxes, and
private stashes in fi ling cabinets.
"Batiste, what the fuck was that note about?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"The note in the bottom of your oatmeal box."
"My oatmeal box?"
"Yah, the empty one with the note in the bottom."
"What did the note say?"
"You know what it says, you wrote the mother
fucker!"
"You mean the one in MY oatmeal box?"
"Yah."
"It's about just what it says. Hey! Morris the Mooch,
buy your own God Damn food!"
The following bowling night, Pete Jimenez, a team
member, informed us that he would soon be promoted to
second shift and would have to temporarily stop bowling.
I told a stupid joke about LBFMs. I get the look because
Pete is half Mexican and half Filipino. Despite his lack of
military service, Pete knew that LBFMs meant little brown
fuckin' machines. I apologize, and change the joke to
represent Koreans. G-Rad reminds me that the joke is still
a little too close to home. Pete says, "I'm not Korean; I could
give a fuck about those slant-eyed little bastards."
That is when it happened. G-Rad introduced me to
Linda. She was a frequent observer of the bowling events,
though I am not sure bowling balls are the sort and size
she preferred viewing the most. G-Rad informed me that
she had an ex-husband in prison, and somebody that was
writing her letters, and that I should talk to her while he went
to get us a couple of drinks. I initially thought G-Rad was
dumping his trash on me.
Linda began to talk. I began to listen. She carried on
for fi ve minutes about how she wanted her husband dead,
and how she had lost over a hundred pounds recently. I did
not care because she looked really good with her clothes on.
Linda had that look in her eyes, a stupid, empty, wild look
that meant she would be exceptionally experimental in the
sack, doing some crazy shit to impress you in the hopes that
you had not done it before and would come back for more.
She was about 55 but very health conscious. She still had
some weight left over in just the right places.
That is when Linda went into some cockamamie story
about how she was receiving mail from an inmate that used
to stalk her. I convinced her that I could take care of it, for a
price. That is when she began to fall for my lines and asked
if I could do something about her ex-husband, who was also
an inmate. After beginning to ponder over the class of this
lady, I rationalized to myself that I really had no control over
such things at all, but I continued to convince her that I had
enormous pull. Linda confi ded in me that she wanted her
ex-husband dead. That is right, graveyard dead. She did not
care how it was done, but she wanted him dead. I lied to her
that I could get that arranged. Then I took the big risk.
"You'll have to pay me in pussy."
The fi rst words out of her mouth were, "Okay, mine, or
would you like something younger? I have two daughters,
and they could probably be convinced to participate. They
are in their early 20s. I hope that is not a problem."
"We will negotiate those details later, but I would like to
meet them. I have a few conditions though. I do not want
your daughters to have any knowledge of our discussions
and why this bargain is being made. The fewer people
who know about this the better. Also, I am going to expect
multiple and simultaneous payments upfront."
"That will not be a problem. Do you want to begin
taking payments this evening?"
"Are your daughters home, or will it be just you?"
"I can call them on their cell phones and tell them what
to expect."
"Do you have photos of them with you? I'm not just
going to take payments from anybody. They'd better be
attractive."
She took a pink wallet out of her purse and said, "I'm
sure you'll be pleased."
1st Corinthians
Chapter 10 verses 6-13:
6Now these things became our examples, to the intent
that we should not lust after evil things as they also lusted.
7And do not become idolaters as were some of them.
As it is written, "The People sat down to eat and drink, and
rose up to play."
8Nor let us commit sexual immorality, as some of them
did, and in one day twenty-three thousand fell;
9Nor let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted,
and were destroyed by serpents.
10Nor complain, as some of them complained and were
destroyed by the destroyer.
11Now all these things happened to them as examples,
and they were written for our admonition, upon who the
ends of the ages have come.
12Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest
he fall.
13No temptation has overtaken you except such as is
common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow
you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the
temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may
be able to bare it.