American Criminal (23 page)

    Ray felt a rush of empathy when he came to Ahab’s impassioned speech to his men: “Aye, aye! And I’ll chase him round Good Hope, and round the horn, and round the Norway maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before I give him up.”

   
Aye. Round perdition’s flames then. So be it,
Burnside thought.
Devlin, Pierce, and the rest will die when I get out of here.

    Ray decided he needed a survival plan in case he ever escaped from the minimum security prison he was being transferred to. The mob
Capo
told Ray he could call him if he ever got out and needed work outside the prison. Ray still had the tiny crinkled piece of paper with the
Capo’s
contact
number on it that he obtained almost a year ago. Ray needed something more permanent, so he sought the expertise of the local prison tattoo artist. In exchange for a pack of cigarettes, the artist tattooed the Capo’s number in tiny black print on the palm of his left hand.   

    Ray became anxious when a year elapsed and he still hadn’t heard from the Warden since the day of his last conversation eleven months ago. He was contemplating acting out and going berserk, to make a statement to the Warden, when he was suddenly surprised a day later by a group of guards showing up at his cell.

    “Get your stuff together, Burnside. You’re getting transferred,” one of the guards said.

    The guards gave Burnside a paper bag to put his few meager possessions and toiletries in. One of them held the bag while the other cuffed his hands behind his back. They escorted him through various back corridors to an unknown area of the prison he never visited before. They passed through a dark room into a two-story warehouse filled with tall aisles stacked with countless crates. Five loading dock doors were lined up along the outer wall. The second was open and a small delivery-type truck was backed up to it with its double doors open. They led him to the truck, seated him on a bench in the back and chained his cuffed hands to a ring in the wall. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he had endured worse. Without another word, the guards threw the bag containing Ray’s meager possessions inside and slammed the truck doors shut so he was sitting in complete darkness. The engine rumbled and the truck began moving. Ray leaned back against the cold steel wall and closed his eyes, anticipating a long trip.

    The trip turned out to be shorter than he thought. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours when another set of guards opened the back doors and light flooded into the dark interior. They disconnected his cuffs from the ring and led him into the light. Glancing around, he saw he was being led toward a small, twin-engine passenger plane idling on a runway. There was only a four-story control tower and two modest plane hangars at the tiny airport. The guards led him up a set of short steps, brought him into the back compartment, and asked him to sit in the rearmost passenger seat.

    The closest guard unfastened one of Ray’s cuffs and he felt a rush of adrenaline as he was momentarily freed.

   
Now’s my chance. Should I do it?

    Ray considered taking out the closest guard, but he had to make sure the other one wasn’t in a position to shoot him. His eyes darted to the other guard standing back several feet with his hand on the butt of his gun. He appeared alert and ready to gun him down if he had to.

    “Place your hands in front of you,” the closest guard said, as he prepared to slide on the other cuff.

   
If the other guy looked even remotely distracted, I could get away with it.

    However, the guard with the gun was hyper-alert, so Ray made the decision to allow the cuff to slip on his hand. The cuffs were then hooked onto a chain built into the right wall of the plane. Ray cursed the fact that the guard with the gun wasn’t slacking off. That single detail had prevented his escape.

    The guards sat in a separate passenger compartment directly behind the cockpit. Burnside was left alone. The plane ride was a lot more comfortable than the truck ride because of the simple fact his hands were cuffed in front. Ray slept for most of the trip, so he wasn’t sure how long he had been traveling when they landed. He guessed about five hours. This time, they led him out to a large airport packed with multiple hangars and a tall control tower. He saw several large civilian 757-passenger planes taxiing on the runways. It was night time and he felt a warm breeze on his face. It was warmer than the environment he was in before, almost tropical, but not unpleasant.

    New guards arrived and led him to a large, empty school bus parked near the runway. They escorted him onboard and the resemblance to a school bus ceased as he was led through a caged area into a large back prisoner compartment. Burnside thought it was odd that he was the only prisoner on board, considering the size of the bus. The guards had to undo his cuffs again to place his hands behind him, but there were four this time and two of them carried shotguns. Ray let them cuff his hands behind his back and sat down, rather uncomfortably. The guards returned to the front caged area and the bus pulled out. 

    Ray quickly figured out where he was ten minutes into the trip when he saw palm trees lining the road and rolling hills in the background. It also helped that he spotted a road sign indicating the distance to Los Angeles. He was in California, the jewel of the West Coast. Ray had never visited the state and wished he was here under different circumstances.

    Burnside slept during most of the ride and didn’t pay attention to where they were going. What difference did it make anyway? He was going to end up at the same place no matter what.

     Ray woke up one time and saw they were driving north on route 101 through a large town called King City. He wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed since they left the airport. He went back to sleep for a while and the next time he woke up, all traces of civilization had disappeared. They were driving on a narrow two-lane road surrounded by forests and rolling hills. Ray never realized they had such remote backcountry in California. Whenever he thought of the state, he thought of towering skyscrapers and white sanded beaches. They were in the middle of nowhere and he wished he had paid better attention to where they were going. He had the impression of being in the most remote wilderness.

    Where are they taking us?

    Gone were the palm trees, replaced by tall oaks, maples, and sycamores he would expect to see on the northeast coast. Ray kept his eye out for signs and eventually saw they were on Arroyo Seco Rd, wherever that was. A short time later, Arroyo Seco changed to Carmel Valley Rd and Ray could see a large river flowing through the forestland to his left.

    Eventually, the river veered away to the left and was replaced by hills, fields, and forests. The hills gradually became taller and began to resemble small mountains. He even saw real bona fide mountains looming in the distance, some with snow-capped peaks.   

   
Snow in California?

   
It was strange because Burnside estimated the temperature to be in the mid-60’s. It must have been a lot colder on those high peaks.

    They took a left down another two-lane back road and drove by a series of large, tree-lined hills. At times, Ray got the impression they were driving through a mountain canyon as tall, overhanging cliffs jutted up on both sides of the road. At other times, the cliffs receded and were replaced by the usual forests, fields, and hills. Eventually, the land opened up to a large valley surrounded by hills with larger snow-capped mountains in the distance.

    Burnside felt a sinking feeling as he spotted a long, low concrete wall on the dark horizon at the end of the road. The beautiful hills and mountains in the background couldn’t offset the ugliness of the structure. Guard towers jutted up on the corners like a massive fortress. As they drew closer, he saw vicious-looking barbed wire lining the top of thirty-foot concrete walls. The truck pulled up to a gate next to a guard shack and they were waved through. They drove down a short dirt road and passed through another gate surrounded by a high wire fence topped with more barbed wire.

    So much for thinking it would be easier to escape from a medium security joint,
Burnside thought.

    The bus pulled into a vast area surrounded by high barbed wire fences; much different than his former prison. The previous facility consisted of a single massive building with a central exercise yard at the center surrounded by guard towers. The new facility consisted of a compound with numerous separate buildings and four guard towers, one at each corner of the perimeter. It looked more like an army base than a prison. They drove by several large fenced in areas that appeared to be exercise yards, although there were no prisoners there. Eventually, after driving through a maze of ugly, squat concrete buildings, the bus pulled up in front of a two-story structure that looked like a rundown version of a technical school. The only details that gave it away as a prison building were the barred windows.

   
At least they have windows here. The only time I saw the outside at the other place was in the yard.

    Burnside tried to think positively as the guards led him out of the bus toward a set of double doors.

   
This has to be better than the last place I was at.

    One of the guards took out a key ring, fumbled with it, and opened one of the double doors. The door swung inward and they pushed him inside. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Instead of a cellblock, it was a large gymnasium crammed with double bunk-beds. The worst part was all the beds were occupied by the lowliest examples of humanity. A loud drone of innumerable overlapping conversations echoed in the spacious area.

   
You can’t be serious.   

   
But they were serious because they shoved him forward again. He stumbled slightly and walked, as if in a trance, toward the elaborate maze of bunk-beds.

    “Not that way,” one of the guards said, placing his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “To the right. In the white section.”

    “The white section?” Burnside asked.

    “The sooner you learn the rules, the better,” another guard said. “You wander out of your territory, you’ll get yourself killed. Or worse.”

    Burnside was starting to realize the situation he was in. The prison compound was severely overcrowded, so they had herded about five hundred inmates into an old gymnasium equipped with more double bunk beds than he could count. The inmate territories were roughly divided into sections according to race.

   
Asking for that transfer may have been a mistake.

    The guards led Burnside to the right side of the gym and then down a narrow aisle between two long rows of bunk-beds teeming with life. The steady background drone of hundreds of conversations continued. They stopped about a quarter of the way down and the lead guard pointed to an empty lower bunk.

    “That’s yours,” he said.

    “Great, now how about taking off the cuffs?” Burnside said.

    “Settle down,” the guard said. “We’ll get to it. Don’t forget the rules I told you about. And watch your back.”

   “Gee, thanks for the advice, dad,” Burnside said as the guard unclasped his cuffs.

    As the cuffs slid off, he spun around to face the guards, causing the lead guard to take an involuntary step backwards.

    “This is a helluva operation you guys are running here. I’m very impressed,” Ray said.

    “Whatever, inmate. Enjoy your stay,” the lead guard said, grinning at Ray and then doing a military about-face.

    Burnside watched the guards’ backs as they walked away down the aisle.

   
That could have gone better.

    One of the guards threw his small bag of toiletries on his bunk before leaving. Ray grabbed the bag and rummaged through it to make sure everything was there.

    Toothbrush, check. Toothpaste, check. Soap, check. Everything I need. Yeah right.

    Burnside glanced toward the end of the aisle where the guards disappeared and saw a group of orange-clad inmates gathering there. One of them pointed at him and said something to another one, which he didn’t take as a good sign. They began moving toward him.

  
Not already. I just got here.

    Not surprisingly, the tallest and strongest-looking inmate took the vanguard position, so Ray assumed he was the leader. He had the typical shaved head and goatee, which seemed to be a prerequisite for running a prison gang.

    “Welcome to hell,” the bald leader said, gruffly, stopping several feet in front of Burnside and flexing his formidable chest muscles.

    Ray guessed the boss outweighed him by about twenty pounds, but he wasn’t worried. After a year of working out at the impromptu exercise yard gym, he was feeling pretty formidable himself.

    “Thanks,” Burnside replied, not knowing what else to say.

    “You look like a guy who can handle himself, so we’re not going to fuck around with the usual initiation,” the leader said, stroking his goatee as he looked Burnside up and down.

    “That will probably save you guys a few headaches,” Burnside said.

    “Cute,” the leader said without cracking a smile. “The bottom line is we need every white man we can get. The niggers outnumber us, so I hope you know how to fight.”

   
Not this again.

    “I got into a few scrapes at the last joint I was at,” Ray said.

    “That’s good. You must have some good exercise equipment there,” the bald leader said, sizing up Burnside’s muscles.

    Ray had gained ten pounds of muscle during his stay in prison. He guessed he now weighed about 205 and could bench-press almost twice that. Leave it to prison to get him into the best shape of his life.

    “I’m Williams,” the tall inmate said, extending his hand.

    Burnside shook it, applying some pressure, but not going overboard.

    “Burnside,” Ray said.

    “This is Rhodes and Downey,” Williams said, introducing the inmates standing next to him. “You can meet the rest later. For now we just need to know that you’re on board with us. Ready to fight the niggers when they get too uppity.”

    “Sure, I’m on board,” Burnside said, not wanting to say anything controversial.   

    “That’s good. Then you should get along just fine,” the boss said. “Just remember to stay off the niggers turf. Other than that, I’ll leave you to get acclimated. We’ll talk to you later.”