Nuthin Could Be Finer Than A Beatdown In Carolina….

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Busted, Disgusted,and Can’t Be Trusted.

“ I am gonna sentence you thirty days for each infraction to be served concurrently, you unnerstand that boy?.” Wait! What? Did he just ay thirty days? “Um, I think so your honor, but I’ve already been here three days and I haven’t done anything wrong. I” Jimbo supercop who was standing alongside me squeezed my arm and whispered to me. “You bess shut up son, least you fine yersef here longer’n that.” The judge pouned his gavel, Look here boy, you gigttin one days credit for time served, so you bout to be our guest for the next twenty nine days and if y‘all know whats good fir ya y‘all just take it like a man. You lucky Ize inna generous mood, we on’t take kinly to y’all coming down to our fine State and causin’ uss all kins a trouble. And when you finish your time I suggest you high tail it out of South Carolina cuz if I ever see you agin I promose you I will not be so generous.” He banged his gavel on the desk again and with a dismal lack of enthusiasm, and yelled “Next case.” My two friends Jimbo and Billy-boy each grabbed an arm as the led me out of the courtroom. “Boy, youse one lucky mutha. Only thirty days!” Jimbo seemed almost sad. Maybe he was beginning to like me and wanted to hang out with me some more. It would only be a matter of minutes until I realized that my sarcastic thought, like apparently everything else in this shit state was so very far from any truth.
My jailor friends walked me down one corridor where I noticed a cigarette machine, with a paperback book on top of it. Thinking I may need some reading material over the next twenty nine days I grabbed the book as we went passed without the goon squad noticing. We had made a few turns just confuse about where I was until we stopped at a door that said “Interrogation Room” If I was confused before, I was completely perplexed now. Jimbo opened the door and they led me inside. It was a relatively empty room, they are big on minimalism in South Carolina prisons. Four chairs, three on one side of a table, and one lonely chair on the other. It was apparent which one was mine and Jimbo led me right over to it and signaled for me to sit down. Nervously, I sat. It was Billy who spoke. “Boy, we need to git an unnerstandin’ tween us here. Firstly, I don ever wanna here ya call any of us turn-key again. Got that?” I was in a very precarious position and was weighing my best options. I sheepishly let out a soft yessir. I was taken aback at how wimpy it sounded echoing around the room. Jimbo lifted up his foot and kicked me hard with his “County issue” hard leather boot. He had reached up higher than I would have thought he could manage with his roly poly body and landed the soul of that boot directly in the muscle portion of my left bicep. Both me and the chair caught off guard (pun intended) went sailing across the floor in search of the wall. My head hit it first so I knew I had found it.The chair followed behind me awkwardly. Jimbo walked over to my shaking body and got so close to me I could smell his stale coffee and tobacco stinkbreath. “He asked you if you got that boy?” He really didn’t need to say it so loud, what with me being a half inch away and all, but he felt a need to cover my ear in spit as he yelled. Now I was at a horrible disadvantage and needed to react quick to win these guys over and get out of here. I looked him in the eye and said clearly “Yes sir, I got it. I will not call you turn-key ever again.” Billy was picking me up and Jimbo got the chair. “Now that’s much better boy” Billy was now speaking with an air of superiority that he enjoyed immensely. “Sit back down now boy, we don’t want you falling off your chair agin.” Big bad Jimbo leaned down to my dry ear and began to talk in a half whisper. “Let me tell ya how this is gonna go here yankee boy. We dun like no strangers comin roun here causin no trouble. We don like you, but y’all gonna be here a while so you need to git the rules straight. Theys pretty simple. Rule one, we is your owners now and you nevah nevah talk back to yore owner. Hear?” I was nodding my head in agreement, but before I could get a word out, Billy Boy had whacked my right calf with his baton so hard it burnt like it was on fire before going numb. My calf was throbbing when Jimbo saw the book I had found. He picked it up and said “What the Hell is this? Looka here Billy, this long hair he girl stole him a book. Now ya see boy, this is the kind of thing we wants to avoid. He placed the book up to my temple, and used his baton to hit the book. A pain shot through my head like I had never experienced before. The chair and I both fell to the ground again this time much more uniformly. Billy walked over to where I had fallen, and stepped hard on my calf. “Is this the spot where you hurt yaseff boy?” Pain was throbbing all over, in my leg, my head, and now in my stomach. When I looked up Jimbo was standing over me with his baton by his side and a sadistic smile on his face. I was having trouble breathing which is when I realized I had just been whacked in the stomach with his baton. My head was spinning, my eyes teared up, and I everything looked violet and blurry from blood trickling from my head. Jimbo picked me up and locked my arms behind me. Billy took the book I had found, and placed on my temple again, and whacked the book harder than the last time. With sadistic grins they moved the book to various places on my face and continued the beatings. “Seenow boy, you done us a favor with this here book y’all stole. Ain’t gonna be no marks on yer face, but I bet its gonna hurt for a long time comin’.” Jimbo sat me down in the chair, or should I say threw me into the chair where I collapsed in pain and exhaustion. I could hardly breathe, and barely speak. I looked up through the tears in my eyes and watched them parading around with ugly satisfied looks on both of their faces. The beatings continued for what seemed like an hour, but was more likely only five or ten minutes. They applied the book and baton combination to various body parts, mostly concentrating on my arms. My entire body was throbbing and aching, and Billy got right in my face again. “So I think we have us an unnerstandin’ here, right boy?” He pointed the baton to my face and smacked it with his other hand. The hard wood made a direct hit to my nose and I could immediately feel blood flowing. It took every ounce of strength to just nod yes. Satisfied, Billy stood up and smiled at Jimbo. “I think he unnerstans Jimbo. Maybe we should get this nice young law breaker something to drink, he looks like he has a mighty thirst.” They both laughed. Billy left the room and Jimbo picked up the paperback and handed it to me. “Now don’t y’all go nowhere ya hear me son?” I looked up at him but everything was still blurry. I knew he was very close because I could smell his stale smoke breath. He grabbed my pony tail and lifted me off the chair, put a fore arm to my chest and flung me as hard as he could into the wall. I collapsed and just laid on the floor, not sure if I couldn’t move or just didn’t want to. He threw what I hope was a clean hankercheif at me and told me to clean myself up. I heard the door close and sensed I was alone. I cried as the blood from my nose thinned out the tears.
C’mon boy, it’s time to take you home.” Billy walked in with a bottle of water, handed it to me and they each got on one side of me and led me out of the interrogation room and back down some more corridors until we reached the general population of the jail. They walked me to my cell removed my unnecessary handcuffs and plopped me down on my paper thin mattress. I laid there and started to re-live the beating reflecting on the pain. My face was swollen and my spirit broken. I was barely conscience of my surroundings, but I heard noises all around me. After about a half hour, I fell asleep and dreamed. I had one of the most vivid dreams of my life. I dreamed I was going to a big mansion in the sky, and wondered if I was dying. The song “Spirit in the Sky” played over and over in my head. I was in and out of lucidity for the rest of the day and night. Tomorrow would be another day.

The Angels Surprise

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Back on familiar ground, the streets of The Lower East Side of New York. I had two things in mind, to find some get high and get back to my crib. I usually copped at Alan and Chrysie streets but “operation pressure point” had recently inhabited the entire area and flooded it with police presence. I got a tip from a fellow user that “Executive”, the best dope in town, had relocated to second street and first avenue. Finding good dope in the city was a game of hide and seek and once you understand how the game is played there are certain indicators look for and I found a steerer who steers people to the product.

Off to in search of some buzz, walking down 3rd street, no particular reason just a random route. I had just crossed 2nd ave when I spotted a somewhat unusual looking van. A used telephone company van in faded drab olive green color. Unusual and familiar because it’s the same kind of van my buddy Jim had when we got busted in South Carolina during a stopover on our way to Arizona. No big deal, a thirty day stint in a local jail filled with muscle bound angry Barny Fifes. Thing is Jim had some money wired an payed his fine leaving me there to pay my debt to society alone. Thirty days later I was put out on the street somewhere in SC, I think the name of the town was Inbred Cenral, with no money and no backpack of possessions which left with Jim and the van. My friend Judas Jim up and left me, taking my worldly possessions in a knapsack, and hit out I assume for Arizona with his girlfriend but without me. Alone and penniless a new odyssey began as I hitch hiked my way back to New York fuming the entire three days about my Judas friend. It was an adventure I’ll never forget, and I met a number of decent people along the way that restored my waning faith in humanity. But that was water under the bridge now.

At least it was until the sight of that van conjured up dark memories and returned me to a very angry place. Adrenaline pumped as I thought, “Holy shit, Jims fucking van right here in my city. If he’s around here I shall reign down upon that piece of shit all my vengeance.” A closer look was needed. A tell tale sign would be the custom job Jim had made in the van for his Prima Donna junkie girlfriend. He had taken the passenger seat out and replaced it with a nice comfortable chair his brother had adjusted to fit in place of the standard seat. A semi swivel leather chair meant for a living room modified for his mainlining princess. If I find that in the van I will know that Jimbo Judas is very soon to receive an overdue ass kicking of epic proportion. An unfamiliar devious smile spread across my cheeks, not normally one to engage in such trivial emotional payback, but those thirty days were tough, getting my ass beat by hick sadist cops every other day, then starving and alone in a town 6000 miles from home. The memories have been dormant for some time now but now the evil gargoyle of beat down memories quickly percolated to the boiling point in an instant. Payback is gonna be one helluva bitch for that young shit stain.

Right up to the back window I head, cupping my hands above my eyes to reduce the glare. I wanted to get a real close look to make sure this was the scumbags van. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking. But as I got a good view it was no go. Just a normal two seats in the van. Disappointed I steppe back but something was nudging at the corner of my eye. I felt someone staring, no, not staring, glaring at me from across the street. I thought maybe it was the vans owner so I quickly stepped back an that’s when I noticed the bumper stickers. First one said “Free Sonny Barger“, the next said “Don’t let your tongue get your teeth knocked out” and the third simply aid “1%er” with a skull and crossbones. Free Sonny Barger, the Hell Angel busted in Cali, 1%er a bike gang term, knock your teeth out self explanatory, and the distinct sense that the overlord of hell himself was across the street firing bolts of pissed off eyeball electricity at me from his burning figure. I peeked around in front of the van. “Oh Fuck!”

A row of Harley Davidson motorcycles were parked in front of the van and went on for at least 30 scoots. I swallowed hard and peered innocently at the menacing glare from across the street and he wasn’t alone. Three men, not the three wise men but three burly greasy mean and ugly bikers stood staring at me with their arms crossed in a doorway. I looked behind them to a sight that drained every droplet of blood from my head. A red brick building with a black door and arch, a skull at the keystone of the arch and the words Hells Angels New York City in red letters. A mural style picture of a devil with a trident in one hand and flames in the other. I was staring at the entrance of the headquarters of the Hells Angels, new York City Chapter. They didn’t look friendly nor looking to give me an invitation for tea. The three men walked much too quickly towards me.

The ground shook with each step these three gorillas took but not nearly as much as I was shaking. I blurted out what a horrible misunderstanding this was but I think it sounded more like, “Oh hey wait, no, please, I it, I umm, someone with a van, no please don’t do tha….gurgle gurgle t’fuuu tooie.” as I tried to beg for my life through a split lip and maybe some lost teeth. It was just one of the dudes hitting me, the other two laughing and taunting me in unrecognizable English. After repeated punches to my face as I lay crumble on the ground he reeled back an introduced my ribs to his motorcycle boot which for as far as I Can guess was “just for good measure.” The three of them stood over me laughing like idiots although I wouldn’t tell them that to their faces. I assume reading is beyond they’re level of education so I feel pretty safe writing about it now. I thought they were going to pound me into a slow and painful death but the beating portion of the event was apparently over. One of the Neanderthal bikers grabbed me and picked me up like a sack of potatoes then sat me on top of a garbage pail. “Now what the fuck was you doing with your eyeballs in our brothers cage?” It was hard to speak as I was choking on my own blood and all I could think about was how much everything hurt but I did my best to lay out my story. When I got to the part where I said I wanted to kick the shit out of the traitor Jim it seemed ironic. I was sure they would punch the shit out of me just for acting arrogant. When it comes to kicking ass their expertise shines.

Luckily for me my tale of woe struck a familiar barbaric chord with my new biker friends. They invited me inside the clubhouse asking for more detail obviously hungry for a good story. Once I had their attention my story telling instincts kicked in. I embellished on my prison stint in South Carolina, stretching my sentence form thirty days to ninety days and included a number of beatings by guards while handcuffed in a chair. I leveled so much anger and distain at authority and my nemesis Jim they began cheering and swore if he ever came to New York they would sever his arteries for me and let me take any spare parts home. I was Scheherazade of the Hells Angels that day coming up with new and more barbaric tales each time as they fed me cheapshit beer while listening intently as if I were reading them a bedtime story.

Eventually they let me clean up and sent me on my way with an open invitation, but I knew I would never be back to accept. Not that they weren’t a fun crowd but chances are they won’t remember me ten minutes after I’m gone, and like a Doberman, you just never know when it may turn and make you its victim. From that point on when I was headed down to that part of the city I would walk blocks out of my way to avoid 3rd street between first and second.