Previously: There I am in the Burger King parking lot lookin’ down the barrel of a Glock 40, surrounded by cop cars, lights, sirens. One cop like, “You under arrest, don’t move, come out slowly. Don’t try nothin’.” I try somethin’—jumpin’ out the other side — but I know the jig is up, so I get out. Now I see the picture: I been set up. The cop say, “Y’know Orlean, we had to get the best shot we could get at you, cause you like mission impossible.” They searched me and didn’t find no drugs. ’Cause funny thing was, I had meant to bring the 30 bags but had forgot they were in my other hoodie. It didn’t matter, ’cause I was already wanted on conspiracy, distribution, wiretaps on my phone, and whatever else. They tried to get me to rat on other dudes in my ring by offering me a hamburger and a Newport. I wasn’t gonna sell my soul for a Tootsie Roll or nothin’ else, even though it gonna be a whole heap of time before I get back to Burger King.
At the DC jail you can sit 6 or 7 people on the benches at the iron meal table, where you can also play cards when it’s not mealtime. Over lunch I start to open up, just a little, with some other guys. It’s funny how many things you hear in prison.
They was sayin’ this and that about how they got arrested. One dude say, “Man, why you sit back so quiet?”
I say, “I’m just waitin’ to get extradited to another state.”
From right there they know I’m a standup guy. From me not talkin’ too much. They know I wasn’t no Kool-Aid (friendly) kind of person. Friendly is not good, ’cause you don’t know who’s who.
Remember, I’m not in on a charge you can go in on and then walk out. My charge bein’ investigated.
A lot of them think I don’t know the system, so I just hear them out, all the crime they committed. Robbery, burglary, car thief, all kind of stuff, murder, drug dealing.
At night I could hear conversations about this, too. They would yell out their flap hole from cell to cell, what they did on the street, what they gonna do when they get out. A lot of it was crap. I was hearing it, but I wouldn’t indulge in it. I just play it by eyes and ears—hearin’ and seein’. Compared to me, most of it lesser stuff. I was just tryin’ to focus on my own case.
After lunch, I played a few hands of cards. A few old cats I knew from the neighborhood were there. I knew I could open up with them. I felt comfortable with them, at least a little tiny bit. They know me and my codees real good. They look at me as an idol—they watch the news, so they knew I wasn’t in there for jaywalkin’. They knew I was in there for drug trafficking, conspiracy, and all that.
Like I said, you don’t take chances talkin’ with practically nobody, cause someone could be wired. My case was open, so anything I say could be held against me.
Your lawyer tell you, watch who you share your case with. A police could be there. They put informers in jail to find out what’s goin’ on. One guy told his cellmate he killed his girlfriend and also said he took the body out in the woods. Then the cellie went to court and testified what the guy said about how he did it. So the cellie got out and the other guy got convicted.
To be continued . . .
