By Randall Radic
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Extra resources for A Priest in Hell: Gangs, Murderers and Snitching in a California Jail
It portrays a gaunt, soulless zombie that generally resembles me. “Okay,” says the . “Stand up and turn around. ” She jerks at the steel handcuffs, which fall free. I massage my wrists. “Take a seat over there. Wait to be called,” she instructs me. She turns to some other task. I walk into the waiting room, which boasts thirty black plastic chairs. And a large-screen television mounted on the far wall. The television seems completely out of place, especially since it is on. Some news program.
Okay,” I say, wondering what he means. “And call Aladdin Bonds if you get some money,” he reminds me as he walks away. I walk to my cell, drop my new fish packet in the top drawer of my dresser. Sitting down on my bunk, I pick up the book, begin to read. One hour later I hear Palmer shout, “Lockdown in twenty minutes! I will not give you any other warnings. ” At nine o’clock precisely, the hydraulic locks clap into place. Sixty seconds later, Palmer passes by my cell. He returns almost immediately, taps on my window.
Oh,” I say. ” “Then you’re fucked,” he says matter of factly. ” He looks up at me. ” “Twenty dollars,” I say. ” “Oh. ” I smile. He stands up. “Look, guy, be careful when you fill out your commissary form. Fill it out — all of it. ” “Okay,” I say. I don’t get it, but I will remember it. He gives me a quizzical look. ” I ask. “No,” he says, “in here. In the Med Unit. And hey, guy,” he adds, gazing at me over his cup as he takes another sip of coffee, “don’t ever ask anyone why they’re in jail.
A Priest in Hell: Gangs, Murderers and Snitching in a California Jail by Randall Radic