Part 24 (2/2)
”Let me see that weapon,” he finally said.
The next day I was told to roll my property up and move to another hall. I still don't know why. I was put in Sycamore Hall in a one-man cell. I was then called to the lieutenant's office.
Lieutenant Ballard, the gang coordinator, held the briefing. He was a huge, dark-complexioned New Afrikan with a contagious smile.
”Monster Kody Scott,” he began, with a knowing grin. ”I been hearing about you. I knew you was coming and I'm supposed to lock you up in the Hole. But seeing how you ain't done nothing-yet-I got no cause to slam you.”
”Who wants me locked up?” I asked seriously.
”White folks, who else?”
”But for what?”
”You really don't know, huh?”
”Naw, I just got here.”
”Well, it seems that some of your folks-C.C.O . . .” and with that he stared hard at me, ”. . . have killed a correctional sergeant in San Quentin. So they want all you C.C.O.s locked up.”
”Oh, is that right?”
”That's right. But I think the B.G.F.s did it, to tell you the truth.”
”Can I go now?”
”Yeah, Kody, you can go. But there's one thing I want to ask you. Did Suma hook you up?”
”No, man, I ain't no C.C.O.”
”But-”
I turned and walked out the door before he could finish. I was told that the only way they could cla.s.sify you as a member of a prison gang is if you admitted to it or they found a const.i.tution on you. Later I learned that this was wrong.
I went back to my block feeling pretty good about what I'd heard from Ballard. Comrades had put in some work on a pig. f.u.c.k the pigs. I was so full of hatred that I could have been ordered to kill a pig-or anybody-and not thought twice about it.
Back in the unit the homies were playing around, just grabbing each other and stuff, when a pig hollered out the warning.
'STOP! FIGHT!'
Everyone froze and looked to see where the fight was, not realizing that he was referring to them. The pig came running down the tier like a madman, and when he got to the homies he began to cuff Li'l Man up. Everyone was dumbfounded, but no one said a thing. So I did.
”They was just playin', they wasn't fightin', man.”
”Don't you tell me, I know what they were doing. Fighting, that's what.”
”You stupid pig, if I had a gun I'd blow yo' brains all over that silly-a.s.s uniform you wearin'.”
I constructed my hand like a weapon and aimed it right in his face.
”Boom,” I said.
He continued cuffing Li'l Man and another homie from Hoover and told everyone else to lock it up, which we did. Ten minutes later the pig came back with a sergeant and two other pigs.
”That's him, sir, the one with the gun.”
”What?” I said.
”Roll your s.h.i.+t up. You going to the Hole,” the sergeant told me.
”For what?”
”Threatening staff.”
When I got to Palm Hall-the Hole-Lieutenant Ballard wanted to see me. His office was actually located in the Hole, so he called me in to see him.
”They gotcha, I see.”
”Yeah, but that's bulls.h.i.+t, man.”
”Listen to me, Kody. These folks is scared to death of y'all in the first place. And now that you have organized y'all selves, that makes it worse. Anything you do they gonna be on you, man. Anything. You young, black, and strong. That's why they can't see you out in the street. In here, you organized, unified, and uncontrollable, so you gotta be put in the Hole. Be cool, man, or you'll be in the Hole for your whole seven years.”
”I'll try, man.”
I wanted to say more but couldn't articulate it. I wanted to know why ”white folks” hated us so much, were so afraid of us. I had a thousand questions, but Ballard was still a pig, New Afrikan or not.
I was put on the first tier in the last cell. My neighbor was Chocolate from Four Tray Hoover. He was also a C.C.O. member, as well as one of the Hoovers who had stabbed the East Coasts in 4800. He had two knives. I told him what they had me for and we talked about other things. I asked if he felt that he'd be in trouble with the organization for partic.i.p.ating in tribalism. He said that he didn't know, but that he had been worried about it. He had a pretty good grasp on Kiswahili and said he'd help me with mine.
Not an hour later, after Ballard had gone home, an American pig with an enormous belly came to my cell.
”Scott?”
”Yeah.”
”We made a mistake by putting you over here, you belong in Cypress Deep Seg, so-”
”Deep Seg?” I said in a what-the-f.u.c.k-is-that voice.
”Aw, cuz, it's f.u.c.ked up in Deep Seg,” Chocolate said. ”Man, why y'all doin' him like that, he don't belong in no d.a.m.n Deep Seg,” he said to the pig.
”Get your s.h.i.+t together, Scott,” the pig ordered, ignoring Chocolate. ”We'll be back in five minutes to get you.”
He walked away.
”Eh, comrade, what is Deep Seg?” I asked, perplexed.
”It's only four little tiny cells way in the back of Cypress on the first tier. It's f.u.c.ked up back there. It's for total f.u.c.k-ups.”
<script>