Featured Story, Prison Stories

Penitentiary Justice by Judge Broman

prison cell2“Yo Hipster, that knew guy is a fuckin cho-mo!” Stanley, a 60-year-old bank robber from Boston says to me as soon as I came inside from rec.

“Who?” I ask, scanning the unit for the degenerate.

“That piece of shit right there.” Stanley says with a nod, as the pedophile came walking out of the counselors office.

“Jesus, he’s rocking the cho-mo five thousands and everything. Has it been confirmed?”

“I got his name and number off his pants and pulled it up on the law library. He’s a fuckin cho-mo alright. A two year old and an eighteen month old baby! Sick mothafucka.”

There’s only one thing worse than a rapist and that’s a child molester. The bottom of the barrel. Rats don’t even like the scumbags. When they come to the penitentiary, their days are numbered.

They’ll never come out and say why they’re locked up. I’ve heard all kinds of different cases used a cover. Most of them will be shifty when they first hit the joint. Saying they’ve got an “assault” or “kidnapping” case. A lot of them use “computers” as their cover story. Which I guess is half right. They’re just leaving out the part of them stealing a child’s innocence.

None of them ever last long in the penitentiary, if they even come out at all. Most of them know better then to come on the compound and head straight to protective custody off the bus. Where they’ll get bounced around to shu’s in different pens before they land at a “special needs” yard. Which is the BOP’s politically correct way of saying a “sexual deviant” yard.

There they can walk around like it’s all good what they did, surrounded by a group of the finest dregs of society. They’ll take a little class and be “rehabilitated” and sent back out to society to continue stalking their young prey again. That or be sent to a medium security prison where nobody checks to see why you’re locked up. [If they didn’t start their bid in one of these pansy prison’s to begin with.]

In the penitentiary, we check paperwork. You have some time to get your legal work to prove that you’re ‘legit’. But you will show your papers. I’ve known dudes that have transferred prisons with their paperwork up their ass so there’s no confusion where they stand.

The BOP introduced to the system five years ago a “law library” computer in the units. On the system you can find out anything from BOP procedures to obscure laws in West Virginia that outlaw farm sex with your sisters cow. It also has all the cases of everyone that has taken their case to trial, or has put in an appeal on their sentence. Which makes finding the scumbags only finger tips away. If you’re white and there’s something wrong with you, you’re finished.

White’s make up about 15% of the population, but account for almost 90% of the problems. Most of it is dudes puffing out their chests and being all around retarded. But we do have it right when it comes to dudes that are bad.

I’ve seen blacks let sex offenders on the yard like they did nothing wrong. Telling them to just “stay out of the way.” Hell, I’ve seen them only walk a dude off the yard who was a rat, rapist, child molester! The dude hit the fucking trifecta of debauchery and they let him walk off without a caved in skull.

Not us whites though. We’ll run some steal into you, have your brain leaking out of your head AND take all your shit! The only God that’s going to save them is Allah. Well, only in the physical sense. I’m pretty sure their soul is going to play with Sadam’s and Hitler’s.

You see when you come to prison, no matter WHAT you’re in for, the Muslims will take you. Gave all your friends life, join up. Raped the church choir, no problem. Molested the pre-school…Allah is your guy. Their reasoning or ‘belief’ is that was the ‘old’ you, on the wrong path. Once you put on that kufi, all is forgiven. That’s why whenever you see a white Muslim, it’s automatically known they’re degenerates.

We do occasionally get the few perverts that hit the pound to ‘test the water.’ Some of them have another case they can use as a cover, some think they can slide by without being exposed. Others are just too damned stupid to know any better. Sooner or later it will all come out though.

The administration hates these scumbags as much as we do. In some pens the CO’s will give the paperwork to you, accompanied with a ‘get that sick fuck’ nod as they walk away.

This particular deviant the administration didn’t even give the chance to hit the compound off the bus. He was placed immediately in solitary confinement. His case was that bad. But like I said, administration doesn’t like these fiends either. They had a threat assessment meeting on him after a week. At these meeting they judge if you’re in danger out on the yard. Apparently they deemed that not only was he safe to go out to the compound, but they’d house him in one of the most violent units in the prison.

These miscreants come in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Ranging from you hulking shaved head, prison tat’d ‘killers’, to your stereotypical pervert. The small, squirrelly looking buzzard with a buzz cut and the thick black glasses. It just so happened that the defiler that fell into our unit was the latter. A walking target with the cho-mo five thousands as a bulls-eye.

“Fucking scumbag.” I say in disgust. “Let me go use the phone real quick before we go and kick his face off.”

“Henry’s signed up for it. We just need a way to get him up to the cell.” Stanley says to me.

“Shit, I say we just drag his ass up there and stomp his brains out.”

“Hipster, look at da scumbag. He’ll scream like a little bitch and the cops will come running. No, we’re not giving this piece of shit the chance to get saved.”

“You’re right. Let me get with Henry and see how he wants to do it.”

“Fucking babies!” Stanley says in disgust as I turn to go up the stairs.

I’ve known Henry for a couple of years. A thirty three year old bank robber from Nebraska who works out for a couple hours a day. He’s been locked up basically his whole life and is fifteen years into his twenty five year sentence.

“You ready to rock.” Henry says to me as I walk into his cell.

“Shit, you know it.”

“Arty’s going to hold the door for us so the little fucker can’t squirm away.” He says as he’s lacing up his black steel toed boots.

Arty is an almost six foot, three hundred pound convict from New Hampshire. I know there’s no way ol Chester is gonna get past Henry and I, let only the gorilla that’s holding him in the death zone.

“Cool, how do you want to get him up there?” I ask.

“I don’t know. That’s why we’ve been waiting on you. You’ll think of something.” Henry smiles and slaps me on the shoulder as we walk out of the cell.

Henry joined Arty, who was posted up on the rail, outside of his cell on the top tier. Arty lived next door to the cell Chester was assigned to, which was on the second floor back in the corner away from the watchful eyes of the CO’s office.

As I was coming down the stairs and racking my brain on how to get Chester to willingly go up to a slaughter, I was stopped by Curly.

“Hipster, is it about to go down?” The young black kid from Philly asks me. In prison, nothing out of the ordinary gets unnoticed.

“Yeah…you might want to get whatever you need right about now.”

“I fucking knew it! He’s a cho-mo right?”

“Yeah, he’s bad.” I say heading down to the table where he’s sitting, watching two dudes play chess.

“What’s up? I’m Hipster.” I say offering out my hand.

“I’m Chester.” The scumbag says back shaking my hand.

“Where you from?”


“Oh yeah. My girl’s from Pensacola.” I say reeling him in with small talk.

“That’s only a couple hours from me. I’m from Jacksonville.”

“That’s cool. What’d they bust you for?”

“I’ve got a computer case.” He says leaving out what he was doing and putting on the fucking computer.

“Well, that’s a bummer. At least you came to a good spot. This place is pretty laid back for a pen.”

“Yeah, that’s what I keep hearing.”

“Who do they got you living with?” I ask still stalling for time so I can think of how to get him upstairs.

“That’d be me.” Sparky says raising his hand up in the air without looking up from his chess game.

“Oh, you’re in there with ol Sparky.” I say as it pops into my head how to seal the deal.

It didn’t even occur to me that it was Sparky’s cell he moved into. I was too distracted with everything else to remember that Sparky just moved into the open cell a few days earlier.

Sparky was a Kentuckian in his late forties. Stood about five six and a hundred and thirty pounds soak and wet. Worked in the kitchen seven days a week to steal everything that isn’t bolted down. He was only a couple years into a thirty year bid.

“Shit, you’ll never go hungry living with Sparky.” I say as I come up behind Sparky rubbing his shoulders. “He’s got the whole fucking chow hall in his cell.”

“Ha-ha.” Chester laughed. “I saw that.”

“Speaking of that.” Sparky says without taking his eyes off the chess board. “Your milks are up in my sink on ice.”

I had a monthly deal with Sparky going on for milks from the chow hall. Everyday he’d bring me back four cartons and I’d pay him ten dollars in stamps. Well worth every penny for not having to get up in the morning and deal with prison just to get them.

“Good deal.” I say. Let me get em. I’m gonna go make some oatmeal.”

“Go grab em.” Sparky says as he picks up a piece. “You know where they are.”

“Naw, I’m not going in your cell by myself.”

Sparky looked up from the chessboard for the first time with a rook still in his hand. I’ve had the milk contract with Sparky for over a year, and I’d ALWAYS go in his cell to get them by myself.

He looked over at me from above his wire rimmed glasses and noticed me shooting my eyes over to his celly.

“I’ll go grab them for him.” Chester says right on cue, as he stands up from the table.

“Thanks celly.” Sparky says looking back down at the board and finishing his move. “I don’t want to leave the game.”

The unit perked up like an announcer just got on the mic and let loose a “Let’s get ready to rumble!”

I noticed Henry and Arty dip into Arty’s cell as they saw Chester and I walking towards the steps. They didn’t want the degenerate to get spooked and take off. You only have one shot at the fuckers, so you better make sure you don’t tip your hand before you get to release the fury.

“Yeah man, you’re going to like this spot.” I say to Chester as we walk the tier towards his cell. “There’s a lot of standup dudes here.”

“That’s good.” Chester says as we turn the corner to his cell.

“As long as your paperwork is straight, you’ll be all good.” I tell him as I open up the door to his cell.

“Yeah, mine’s good.” He says walking into the cell ahead of me.

“Really?” I say as Henry and Arty come shooting out of Arty’s cell. “Because that isn’t what the computer says.”

“Chester turned around in horror as I caught him square on his nose with a vicious right hook. Instantly breaking his nib and sending blood everywhere.

Henry shot past me and pounded the deviant with a flurry of punches as the door slammed behind us, with Arty barricading the only route of escape.

Chester went crashing into the stacked lockers in the back of the cell before crumbling to the floor.

“Help!” He screamed out as we pounced on him.

Henry was straddling Chester, hitting him with ferocious combinations of his fists, as I kicked him in the ribs.

“Ahhhh.”” Chester moaned out barely as my boots kicked the life right out of him.

The force of our blows guided Chester towards the bunk beds in the corner of the cell. He tried to crawl under the bedstead in an attempt to escape the pummeling.

“Oh, fuck no! You ain’t getting away that easily.” I said as I grabbed his legs and dragged him back out in the middle of the cell.

“Fucking piece of shit!” Henry said as he took two steps and booted Chester in the side of the head, knocking him out cold.

Blood pooled in the center of the cell as we continued to thrash Chester with everything we had. A solid five minutes went by as we beat the pedophile within an inch of his life. The only thing that stopped us was Arty knocking on the door to warn us that the CO was making his round through the unit.

“Fuck em. He’s done.” I said to Henry as I punched the pervert one last time and stepped back to the front of the cell.

“Naw.” Henry said as he wound up and kicked Chester so violently in the side of his head that half his right ear went flying off his head into the wall. “Now he’s done.”

Henry and I slid out of the cell, using Arty’s portly body as a shield from the roving CO’s field of vision. The molester’s unconscious, bloody, broken body splayed out on the cold concrete floor.

We slipped into Arty’s cell and quickly threw our bloody clothes and boots into a garbage bag that Arty rushed out of the cell. We rinsed off in the sink and put on the fresh clothes and shoes that Stanley grabbed for us.

“Now that’s how you do that shit right there.” I said to Henry as we slapped hands and gave each other a hug.

“God damn right.” Henry said as we walked out of the cell to the sound of the CO yelling, “lockdown!” after finding the lifeless body of ol Chester.

“He’ll think twice before he fucks with any kids again.” He says over his shoulder as we head in opposite directions towards our cells.