Thursday September 14, 2006: After spending much of the morning yesterday listening to Tom’s bravado fueled ego spout off, insisting he was not going to move just because Gangster told him to, 10 minutes after the dayroom opened he was laying prone on the floor, injured apparently, in the throes of the ‘Man Down’ procedure. Medical was called and they carried him off on a stretcher, the only malady plaguing him; a bruised ego and delusional sense of self. I felt pretty certain the medical staff would not be able to treat what ailed him. Gangster congratulated me on seeing to it that Tom was gone when he returned from legal proceedings. I insisted I had nothing to do with it. Then Gangster once again showed me how well he understood this dungeon.
“Gilly, you gonna try and tell me that asshole didn’t try and get you to take his side and have me moved instead of him?” It had not occurred to me yesterday this could have been Tom’s motive. Whatever his motive was, he was bad at practical application of action to attain a specific goal, because he came across as nothing other than delusional and crazy, like so many others in the herd. “He probably didn’t want to move without an ass beating.”
I found that perplexing. “You mean he wanted an ass beating?”
“No Gilly, stop acting stupid.” It was no act. “I mean he wouldn’t go unless he got he ass beat.” The whole thing was nuts, which was perfectly normal now.
Thursday around 11 A.M. or newest cellie arrived. A blond haired surfer looking guy named Denny, who showed up pre-rattled. As Gangster began the interrogation, he seemed uncertain Denny was hearing him, or understanding him, or capable of understanding him. He displayed his typical sensitivity by looking over at me and either laughing at Denny’s responses or making facial expressions as if puzzled beyond his ability to comprehend Denny’s often excessively obtuse replies. Denny’s voice was a stolid monotone which seemed generated by a brain fully pre-occupied with other matters. He could not even force himself to recognize what a potentially harmful interrogator he was being questioned by, or just did not care. His answers were brief and soft spoken, and not fully on point. Gangster looked his paperwork over.
“Denny! It says here you’re a woman beater! Not good Denny, not after O.J. They’re gonna come after you. Hot issue right now.” He continued reading the paperwork. After another minute, he handed it to Denny. “You’re fucked.”
He looked up at me where I was sitting in my regular spot against the back wall on my bunk. “You got some kind of preliminary hearing tomorrow, right Gilly?” Great, Denny was proving to be no fun to play with and he was back to me. I guess it’s true about ‘playing dead’ if a bear attacks you.
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is or what’s going to be dealt with. It’s very confusing in there to me. Everyone talks very fast and in a language that sounds like English, but it’s not.” I put my pencil down, giving Gangster my full attention.
“You gonna fire that lawyer like I told you to?” This was such a mind field. Not doing what Gangster said, even if the potential ramifications had absolutely no bearing on him, still rubbed him the wrong way.
“Not yet,” I was evolving into quite a time-buyer, “I want to see how things go a bit more. We haven’t done anything in court really yet.” He responded with an incredulous forced laugh, designed to make me feel unqualified to question him. I can read a lot into a laugh.
“Alright Gilly, it’s your ass on the line. Remember what I told you, he’s gonna sell you up the river to get some Mexican drug dealer off.” Gangster spoke as if he had never been proven wrong in his life. “What you need to tell this guy, since you’re not gonna fire him, is to file a ‘Pitchess Motion’. If they changed the police reports, if the story changed, that needs to be entered into the case as evidence for the judge to consider. He’ll tell you no, because he’s a piece of shit and he knows you’re an idiot, so he’ll try to shut you down. You must insist.”
“Why wouldn’t he do it if I ask him?” I just could not believe things could be that convoluted in there.
“Gilly! He’s working with the DA’s office! When he fucks you over and gets the Mexican dope dealer off, it’s all prearranged with the DA. By filing this, he’d be fucking up his deal. Slowing things down and raising questions about your case. He is not interested in raising doubt about you. He wants you to look like you’re the worst piece of shit they’ve ever seen in there. If he won’t file this, that should tell you all you need to know.” I could not be certain if I was gradually going insane, allowing me to better fit my surroundings, like a chameleon, or Gangster was making more sense.