Part 23 (1/2)

C-R-I-P! C-R-I-P!.

Whata'ya want? (Freedom!)

When you want it? (Now!)

How you get it? (Power!)

When you need it? (Now!)

UHURU, SASA! UHURU, SASA!.

Everyone would beam with jubilation at the close of each cadence call. The Nation lived!

The pigs were furious, and word was that still more C.C.O.s were coming down from the pen. Meanwhile, word also came down that there was a rat among us. I had searched out those whom Pee Wee had told me about, but they were not in the Forty-eight Hours. Another cat's fate was sealed when paperwork arrived-transcripts-revealing his testimony. I volunteered for the mission. The C.C.O.s wanted him stabbed, which was fine with me. Elimu, however, chose Rebo for the mission.

Later that day, in front of the nurse and everyone else, Rebo stabbed Richie Rich eight times with an ice pick. We went on immediate lockdown and O.S.S. began ”interviews.” Nothing was yielded, so we stayed on lockdown. For two weeks we were given no roof time, visits, showers-nothing. On our fourteenth day we were allowed visits. Then Sam from 107 Hoover, who was under investigation by C.C.O. for collaboration with O.S.S., knocked out a trustee in the visiting room and we went back on lockdown.

But this time we protested. We were instructed by C.C.O. to tear our wristbands off and refuse to give our last three-our I.D. numbers-at count time. We threw our wristbands on the tier, and when the pig came to our cells we went mute.

”Scott, last three?” asked the pig, looking down at the count board for confirmation.

Silence.

”Scott, what's your last three?”

Silence.

”Let me see your wristband.”

Silence and no movement. I just gave him a cold stare, as did my cellmates, who flanked me wearing identical stares that said We ain't having it.

The pig started off to the next cell but never made it. An anonymous hand reached out and busted him in the head with a bar of soap. The pig dropped the count board and bolted for the grill gate.

”Monsta Kody?”

T-Ray from Nine-four Hoover had taken Rebo's place on the initiation of the cadence.

”Yeah?”

”MONSTA KODY?”

”YEAH?”

”MACHINE IN MOTION!”

And I began the cadence, knowing that the pigs would be back. But instead of coming on the tiers they were up on the catwalk, trying to identify the caller of the cadence. They stopped in front of our cell and stared. I got louder. A minute later my gate opened.

I stepped onto the tier, never stopping the cadence. Three pigs stood at the end, beckoning me to come to them. They would not come on the tier to get me, so instead of moving toward them I went in the opposite direction, continuing the cadence until it was over. Only then did I walk to them. My cellmates hung back as I moved past cell after cell, giving and receiving dap handshakes from the troops.

When I got to Elimu's cell he said, ”Can't forgive, won't forget.”

”Righteous,” I replied and went on down the stairs to the red-faced pigs, who held huge flashlights.

”Unb.u.t.ton that top b.u.t.ton,” one of them demanded.

I did that, no big deal.

”Turn around . . .”

I turned toward my cellmates and raised both hands high in the air, displaying a clenched fist with my right hand and a ”C” with the left.

”Motherf.u.c.ker,” said one of the pigs, grabbing me by the back of my collar. ”Didn't you-”

BAM!.

I swung on the one closest to me, hitting him square in the face. I tried to swing my body around to get to the one behind my back, but he had a death grip on me. When I charged another instead, the one behind me literally jumped up on my back, choking me as he did. Briefly I heard the troops shouting in the background.

”Cuz, they fightin'! Monster's gettin' 'em up wit' 'em!”

The wrestling match was on, and we were all over the floor.

I was kicking, elbowing, scratching, jerking, and swearing, while simultaneously trying to protect my private parts. In less than a minute the cavalry arrived and I was swarmed by pigs. The only thing that saved me from being beaten to death was that there were too many pigs vying for a punch, kick, groin shot, or insult. I don't even remember hearing ”n.i.g.g.e.r,” but I'm sure it was said fifty times.

After they'd beaten the h.e.l.l out of me, I was cuffed and whisked off to a holding cell. I screamed the whole way.

”CAN'T STOP, WON'T STOP, m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kAS! CAN'T STOP, WON'T STOP!'

I wound up in 1750 High Power, maximum security-the story of my life.

The troops tore the module up, burned their blankets and mattresses and, where possible, engaged the pigs. I was charged with conspiracy, a.s.sault, and arson, but the charges were later dismissed.