Stone Sharp Vol.1 Page 5

  “You can also pay your bill with stamps, but you must tell him in advance so he can adjust his payment system. So, what he does is replenish his inventory every week thru Commissary. It’s not a simple job, and I’m surprised the guy is smart enough to pull it all off.” Said Z.

  “Specifically, Rooster, he isn’t the brightest guy if you know what I mean. Ok, keep going this is good,” I said.

  “If there is no Commissary for the week, he has enough stash to make it two weeks and still have inventory. The Prison Administration cancels Commissary all the time, so he makes sure he has everything he needs to last weeks. The Administration cancels Commissary to punish inmates for many issues. They could cancel Commissary for something as small as a yard fight between two inmates. If someone escapes or leaves, if there is evidence of smuggled items, if there are other violations, or the main guy woke up in a bad mood because his wife didn’t fuck him the night before. These are natural reasons for no Commissary.” Z said.

  “This is where the store man strikes gold. He keeps the Camp going with his Commissary items and makes a fortune off everyone. He could skyrocket the prices, and no one could say anything or fight it. If you don’t like the prices, then you can starve until the next Commissary day.”

  “That’s a racket,” I said.

  “The storeman is charging people thirty to fifty percent more than what the items cost on Commissary price sheets.”

  “That is like the markup on regular goods at a real convenience store,” I said.

  “Having the storeman also gives inmates the ability to say Fuck the Prison administration, I will just pay more and get my Commissary from the storeman,” Z said.

  “I can see where that is an advantage,” I said.

  “It is a fantastic operation taking place. Even with the high prices, it’s still an excellent way to get food. The one downside is if the guy is idiotic enough to get caught he can go to the hole for running an illegal business inside the Prison walls. If he does, it kind of fucks up the whole system, if the guards take away all his items. But that almost never happens. Most guards know what he is doing but look the other way. Most storemen get respected by the guards, and they take care of each other.”

  “Call it a symbiotic relationship,” Z said.

  “If guards are having a problem with an individual inmate, they can go to the store man and tell him about it, and the store man has power if that guy owes him money. Likewise, the storeman can talk to the guard and say, ‘Hey this guy isn’t paying me so put him in the hole for something…’ And the guard will be happy to comply. It happens every day in Prisons all over.”

  “All inmates pay their bills to the store man. If he Blackballs you, no one will talk to you because they might get their store privileges pulled. And if you get your privileges yanked, you're screwed or must stock up every Commissary day. Food runs everyday life. If you have no Commissary food, your life stops for a while. So, you must hustle hard and get Commissary items.” Z said.

  “I am getting the picture,” I said

  “Sometimes if the store man is feeling in a good mood, he might allow you to do a task to work off your Commissary items you purchased from him. But since he gets asked every day to do that he has his wants and needs filled by other inmates. He is a fantastic businessman and when he gets out will succeed. It’s difficult to pull off the job in here. If they can, could you imagine what they’d be able to do in the free world? That is if the lure of fast money doesn’t pull him back into the fray." Z said.

  “Let’s head back inside," I said.”

  “Ok,” Z said.

  GAMBLING

  IT WAS SUNDAY and a favorable day for the Camp during football season. The whole Camp gambled and had fun. Gambling comprised betting on anything, and everything inmates could find to compete on. It could be something as stupid as how many straws in the kitchen to high stake sports games. It was a traditional pastime in the Prison that took inmates’ minds off their ordinary lives and let them indulge in the ideas of succeeding with something.

  One of the big gambling events was betting on Dallas Cowboy football games during the football season. Although these guys would bet on anything down to push-ups. Squares were the most popular game and get played during Dallas Cowboy games. You would get over one hundred people playing this game with sausages.

  Imagine two hundred sweaty guys in front of one big screen TV watching a football game. It was a sea of folding metal chairs in one big open room. They would change the visitation room into a television room on non-visitation days for the inmates. Once you walked in, you could smell the testosterone emitting from the tiny room. It comprised almost all bald, tatted men waiting for the opportunity to ease their boredom in this place. It was one of the few times the men got along… sort of. The one thing that separated them wasn’t color, but teams.

  I stood in the back of the TV room waiting on Z.

  “How in the hell do you find a spot to put your chair in this room,” I said.

  “You wait for someone to get released and claim their spot or you can buy one from somebody. They will let their place go for about ten sausages or sometimes more,” Z said.

  “That’s a high price,” I Said.

  “Some people will let you inherit their spot and tell everyone who gets it when they leave and their buddies left behind will honor their wishes if they are someone with respect,” Z said.

  He spoke as if having a good spot in the room was an absolute honor which didn’t seem all the silly for Prison. I could see why it was so important to have a good view as the event itself was important to those gambling.

  “If all that doesn’t work you sit at the back of the room or just don’t go watch the game. I mean, you can still win without showing up to the game, but most enjoy the thrills of watching every moment. It gives people a chance to forget about where they’re at and make them feel like they’re in their own living room watching the game with some buddies. It provides a real nostalgia for some of these guys. Makes them reminisce about the good times before ending up in here.” Z said.

  His voice cracked, and Stone couldn’t help but notice him clear his throat and straighten himself.

  There wasn’t much that Z had told Stone about his personal life besides his family. He wasn’t a boisterous guy for talking about himself. The lack of knowledge about him made Stone feel self-conscious of sharing his own past. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Z knew more about him than Stone knew about Z.

  Something about that didn’t settle with Stone.

  Their conversation grew awkward as no one spoke for a few moments. Stone broke the silence, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “That’s kind of like having the nose bleed seats at the football game right.” He said.

  A memory of his childhood self-perched in nosebleed seats flashing through his mind.

  “Yeah right, funny,” Z said.

  “How do you play the squares game? I said.

  Stone’s curiosity was peaking once again.

  “Two hundred numbers get dropped in a hat. The numbers were between zero and nine all single digits. All the numbers get written on a square piece of paper in a row 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 then repeated until all two-hundred numbers were in the hat.” Z said.

  “Who runs the game?” I said.

  “The person who runs the squares game is a guy named Skitz. Skitz is the craziest Mexican you will ever find, but everyone loves him in here. That dude is walking entertainment. He will run around and get everyone playing to draw two numbers from his hat. He has that kind of persuasive trait that makes you get excited to gamble as much as you can. It’s like he can convince you you’ll win no matter what, it’s strange as hell.” Z said.

  Z’s eyes were blank as he stared at the ceiling as if he remembered something.

  “How much do people bet?” I said.

  “Your bet is one sausage. Usually, you aren’t allowed over one bet because so many people were playi
ng. Everyone gets their numbers before the game started. To win the game, your numbers must correspond with the game scores after every quarter. For example, if after the first quarter the score was seven to fourteen then the winning numbers for that quarter were the first digits of each teams score. Seven and one would win twenty-five sausages for the quarter. If two people won, then they would split the sausages. We have a winner every quarter. It is fun, kind of like Prison bingo in a way. It’s not winning the lottery, but in here it’s something big. At least it’s something to do.” Z said.

  “The second big event was March Madness basketball. Every inmate would fill out a bracket and give the bracket to Skitz.” Z said.

  Stone found it ironic how much the madness part described the Prison during March.

  “Everyone in the Prison loves gambling during March Madness as an extreme amount of sausages get traded. One sausage was your entry fee. If you had the most games won you got the sausages. The total depended on the total number of people playing the game for example if one hundred twenty people played then the winner got one hundred twenty sausages. One person could end up with more sausages then he knew what to do with.”

  “They would have the winning totals posted on the main Prison billboard every day during the college basketball season,” Z said.

  “Hell, it wasn’t just sports, they would even bet on American Idol and Dancing with the Stars this way,” Z said.

  “That’s funny, man,” I said.

  “Then you had a few inmates running a book on every type of sports game imaginable. Payable by Commissary with a ten percent juice on every bet lost. They sometimes participate in the betting themselves but get picked with the options. If it weren't worth their time, then forget it, they’d just wait for the next event.” Z said.

  “Typical Bookie,” I said.

  “Then there was always a Friday night poker game going. Lots of straight up bets with sausages. Z couldn’t remember a Friday when there wasn’t a poker game going on somewhere in the Prison. It was an excellent way to keep your mind busy, something that was vital and valuable in here.”

  “Obviously, it wasn’t the most attention seeking event in the facility, but it was a way to have fun with some people in the Prison and earn respect for your skill level. Guys loved to bet with push-ups if they had no Commissary to gamble with. Call it the Prison poor man way of betting when his locker was empty. Most people didn’t agree to bet with someone like that unless they were rich enough in sausages to do it.”

  “How many push-ups do they bet?” I said.

  “Usually between fifty and one hundred. Most guys make you drop and give them the push-ups in the chow hall to let everyone see they won the bet. They could say you owe me one hundred so drop and give me twenty-five now. The loser had to do the push-ups on demand.” Z said.

  “The Sweet-tooth event would also be a fun gambling game. The store men would sponsor a Coke or Candy Bar prize. During the Sweet-tooth event, whichever inmate had the most baskets made on the basketball shoot-off, for example, won the prize. A twelve pack of Coke and a twenty-four pack of Snickers Bars. Individuals would enter the event just to win the prize. Most people didn’t take this event as serious as all the others. Though the goodies you got as a prize were valuable, it was just guys showing off their skills. The people that did show up put their folding chairs around the Basketball Court. It was like having a front row seat at an NBA game. These guys can shoot a Basketball like pros.” Z said.

  “Then you had the classic board games like Chess, Uno, and Dominos. Different groups would organize tournaments for all three some weekends. You wouldn’t believe the concentration some inmates put into chess. If you walked into a room with players, you could feel the tension in the air as you witnessed their hunched bodies sit still, watching every move of their opponent. The other games weren’t taken as serious because most the Uno cards get tattered or missing and some pieces to the dominos game were nowhere to be found. They would bracket out the tournaments like March madness each time somebody won they would advance. Each entry fee was a summer sausage again with the winner getting all the sausages.” Z said.

  “It was interesting to watch all the guys get riled up and yell at each other from across the room. There would always be ample guards posted in the room so when it got too rowdy they could calm it down. A lot of the guys in the Prison took gambling serious and screamed and threaten someone if they ever felt gypped. On over one occasion, certain guys got forced out of the room after getting too rambunctious. No one noticed their absence and their spot gets taken with seconds of them standing up to leave. They’d leave the room with balled fists, murmuring about how they would murder the opposite team’s supporters.” Z said.

  Those men were the ones Stone tried his best to keep away from as they had a flailing temper he had no desire to get exposed to. He would much rather stay out of their way and let them deal with their gambling issues alone.

  Stone wasn’t a huge gambler, but he had to admit the events seemed fun and a grand way to pass what little time he had in here. When he was a free man, he did not have the time to take any interest in it. He was always working or partying, and he never had a taste. He could recall one night where he had walked into a casino with his gorgeous wife and heard all the noises of people walking from machine to machine. He figured since he was already so wealthy, there was no point in feeding a box money only to lose it. His wife had always told him about how much she despised gamblers anyways, so there was never a need for him to participate in it.

  Though it was different in Prison. Ironically, it was now a necessity in Stone’s life. If he didn’t want to drown in boredom, he’d learn how it all worked. But he couldn’t decide what kind of games he would want to try. Basketball was out as he hadn’t touched a ball since his teenage years and he didn’t know how to play chess. He assumed he could listen to other opinions and be able to decide on games on TV. It seemed simple enough, and he wasn’t embarrassing himself if he lost as there would be others who would too.

  All he had to be careful about was people catching on that he was copying others as the embarrassment of that would be bad enough. He envisioned himself losing in chess and the embarrassment that would come with it that would lie on his shoulders. He shivered as he thought about the bad looks and small jokes made about his horrible skills.

  No… I thought.

  March madness and sports games seemed most fit for him. He had to be strategic about it.

  “I think I will just go back to my bunk and read a book today,” I said.

  “Ok cool, I got a good one I am reading too,” Z said.

  MORTGAGE BANKER

  IT WAS HIGH NOON the day the FBI walked into my office with a letter of Indictment by a grand jury. The two FBI agents were in plain blue suits, one man, and one woman. The man had a shaved head, and a hard glare etched into his face. The woman had short brown hair and was holding the flimsy White envelope in her slim fingers. Both had their guns holstered, placed in clear view of any passer-by. They sat down in the chairs across from my desk, meeting my nervous gaze. They would explain in vague detail I was being charged with a crime and needed to retain a lawyer for the trial.

  I knew an investigation was on-going due to the two secret service agents pounding on my door early one morning weeks before to get a sample of my handwriting. It was a tip-off they were hard at work investigating someone in our business group. Confused and Blindsided, I gave the mandatory sample of my handwriting and asked what the investigation was all about. They refused to explain any further or give even one detail. They stated that they wanted to rule out my handwriting and that I wasn’t the target of their investigation.

  So, like any fool, I blew it off.

  After a while, I wound up assuming it was all a mishap since I heard nothing. I returned to my busy schedule, giving no merit or thought to the quick visit.

  But now this shit was serious, and I could feel my heart sinking as my shaking han
ds held the letter of indictment. I was being charged with what they called Conspiracy to Commit which they can charge a ham sandwich, but you can’t convict a ham sandwich.

  That was the day I discovered that it was my closest friend and business partner they were after. He was indicted on several counts of fraud and money laundering to the tune of over forty million dollars. Since I got involved in business with him, I got entangled in the mess to follow. Call me collateral damage.

  The intended criminal, Buck was a stout business graduate who reminded everyone he interacted with of a beaver. He wore round glasses that never left his face unless he was wiping sweat from his brow or itching one beady eye. He was a pleasant man who tried to please everyone… one whom I’d expect no criminal activity from. He was never nervous and remained calm even throughout his most successful moments. He was wealthy beyond anyone’s wildest beliefs so, I couldn’t hold the solace that his actions were done as a desperate act to feed his family.

  To this day, I remained confused and shocked about the whole situation.

  After that I found myself scared out of my wits and pissed off at my best friend. I wondered if he was even thinking about the effects his decision had caused for me or any other person involved in business with him. He had enough already to worry about, but I couldn’t help but be curious if he even cared about an innocent person, such as myself, getting into trouble because of his foolish actions.

  They didn’t arrest me that memorable day, and I got surprised that they handled the situation as calm and non-threatening as they did. Though if they had been more threatening, I would have taken the situation a lot more serious.

  Before Stone entered Federal Prison, he had over two dozen companies going. He worked on a commercial mix use land development, called Legends. He lived in an above average home. Stone owned a boat and a vacation home on Beaver Lake in Arkansas. He belonged to an Oklahoma City Country Club. He enjoyed his wife, kids, and his dog. He worked ten-hour days. Every day was a workday. Things were going well.