Little things (The Aftermath) by Judge

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Little things (The Aftermath)

After the riots, Garth’s name carried weight through the whole system. He was an instant celebrity in all the white circles, and public enemy #1 in the Blacks.

“Right there’s where Garth killed that Toad.” My celly would explain to any new recruit who arrived at the infamous prison.”

“You’re living where it all started.” Dudes would tell me when I’d meet them for the first time and tell them what block I was on. It happened months before I arrived, but it was still all everyone talked about.

The prison was on lockdown for over a month before the shot callers of all the respected white and black cars had a “sit-down” out on the yard. Each race was on opposite sides of a secured fence directly below an armed gun tower.

There they hashed out a “cease-fire” under watchful eyes of secured convicts and the administration. After hands were shook through small metal gaps in the fencing all parties went though the facility. The shot callers walked around freely to the locked doors of their people to tell them everything was squashed.

The compound was opened back up to normal on the reliance of the shot callers word of peace. Convicts went back about their days, but tensions still remained high.

Then about two months into the shaky truce, violence erupted again.

Two skinheads were locked inside of a medical waiting room with a DC Black. Both men were good friends of Sparks and Garth.

On top of Sparks being killed, word came out to the compound that Garth was getting fifteen years added onto his almost completed sentence. Instead of going home in his twenties, now he’d be staying till his forties. All for protecting himself and defending his friend.

This didn’t sit well with the two skins, and they decided some get back was in order.

They beat and stomped the man for over five minutes before anyone from medical saw what was happening. By the time help arrived, the DC Black was unconscious and missing most of his teeth. He was rushed to the hospital where he remained in a coma for weeks before being transferred to a medical prison for his recovery.

The compound was again locked down. This time the administration shipped out all the skinheads as well as any other “white supremist” convicts that they felt would create problems.

They did this as an olive branch to the Blacks. Also as a display of their power, that they will do whatever they fell necessary to control the unruly prison.

Once again a meeting happened out on the yard. Matters were discussed, and another truce was agreed upon.

The difference in this treaty was a strict “no hands” policy. Under no circumstances was any race to touch the other. If some sort of disagreement cropped up, it was on whoever was in the wrong to be “taken care of” by their own race.

This treaty has primarily been adopted throughout the penitentiaries of the BOP. In less there’s a case of serious disrespect that warrants immediate retribution, you now largely have to worry about your own race attacking you.

What was established to curb violence in turn created more of it. Without a “common enemy”, the whites now started fighting with each other. Each different gang or “car” battling it out about petty disputes and control over the yard. The age of “us against them” died when the pact was established.

That’s what made, five years after Garth got released from the ADX, even more astounding.

Although it’s supposed to be unknown where you’re going until you get there, convicts have figured out ways to circumvent it. This was the case with Garth. Before he even set foot on his new yard, everyone knew he was coming.

All the whites were looking forward to meeting the legend, and the DC Blacks were frothing for vengeance. The Blacks laid down the ultimatum: “Either he goes, or we’re gonna get him.” Garth had no idea what he was walking into.

On a normal yard, Garth would’ve got jumped by the whites right off the bus. Their fear that if they didn’t, then the blacks would…and get them in the process.

But Dominic, the shot caller on this yard wasn’t going for it!

Dom was a 25 year old skinhead from Washington state. He was disciplined and held his crew of fifteen skins to a high standard. “Honorable Aryans” he’d say. They worked out hard together everyday and had mandatory training sessions with homemade fighting pads.

They also adherd to a strict no drugs policy, and studied the odenist religion feverishly. In short, they were a crew of solid, no nonsense convicts.

Dom first made his rounds to all the different white groups or “cars” as they’re called in the feds. He laid it down in no uncertain terms; that the skins WOULD be backing Garth when he arrived.

There would be no conceding to the DC Blacks. Garth was a warrior who went into battle for a fallen comrade and came out victorious. He added fifteen years to his sentence, and just spent five of those years buried in the super max.

It didn’t matter to Dom that Garth was in a different gang, he was white and a solid convict, for that he’d be defended as one.

All the white cars had two choices, either take Dom and his crew of powerful skins off the yard, or back him in his play.

Neither option was to enticing. Taking out the crew of well trained skins would be damn near impossible without the skins inflicting serious damage. On top of that, they would all be marked men for the rest of their bids. Labeled as “race traitors”. Whenever one of them would hit a different yard, it would be Smash On Site.

The same fate would occur to them if they let the skins go at it alone. With the fear of retribution bigger then the fear of the blacks, they went with option B.

After the union was established everyone went to work.

Dom went about “politicking” to the other black cars. He broke down to the shot callers how and why Garth killed the DC Black. He also let them know the ultimatum given, and how all the whites were going to respond.

Surprisingly, the leaders of the other cliques saw it Dom’s way. They all told him they didn’t have a problem with Garth walking the pound. If the DC Blacks wanted to go to war over it, then they were on their own.

This dropped the number of enemy combatants from more then a thousand, to only a couple hundred. Which was still WAY more then the one hundred or so whites, but dropped the foreseen outcome of a total annihilation to a light slaughtering.

While Dom was out doing his thing, the sounds of sawing were ringing thought the prison. Beds and lockers were gutted with homemade cutters. The aim was for everyone and their uncle to be armed to the teeth.

That night Garth hit the compound. He came into the unit after the inmates were locked in for the night. Eyes peered out of every window as he moved to his cell. His celly Monk already had al the amenities waiting. Shorts, shoes, hygiene and coffee were all donated beforehand for the incoming gladiator. He was brought up to speed on the situation and issued a freshly sharpened piece of steel. Obviously not the ideal situation to walk into after fiver years of isolation.

When the doors unlocked everyone was already “suited and booted”. Garth was shielded by a bevy of armed Aryans. The message was loud and clear to the DC Blacks: Garth was staying.

Word was sent to Onion, the shot caller for the DC Blacks, “The white boys weren’t backing down and were ready for war.” Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen out on the yard after the first move.

The way the compound was set up allowed for two units out of the six to be released at one time. They all lead to the center of the compound where there is a metal detector inside of a tiny shack. After every inmate walks through the shack they have the choice of two directions. They can either go to the track that runs around the football/soccer field, or to the opposite side that housed the basketball and handball courts along with the softball field.

Whichever way you choose, that is where you’ll stay until the yard is shut down and everyone heads back inside. Unless there is a game going on, most cons choose the latter option with the different courts to play on. That is, if they even come outside.

In a compound that houses over fifteen hundred inmates, usually no more then a few hundred will come out at a time. Some go off to school or work. The others stay inside glued to the TV.

Today was radically different. EVERYONE came out for the battle. All the whites slid though the shack and headed to the track. The same with the DC Blacks. Those that weren’t a part of it, cruised over to the other yard to get prime seating.

Once the last units were called, the lines were set. A hundred or so apparently weaponless whites on one side, and two hundred plus DC Blacks on the other.

Staff knew immediately what was up. They swarmed the outside fence and opened up the windows of the gun towers. Young, gung hoe CO’s waited impatiently with their concussion grenades and pepper ball guns.

Dom walked to the center of the field with Garth and some of his skins. There they met with Onion and a few of his cronies.

“What’s up?” Onion questioned forcefully. “You getting rid of this cracker or what?”

“Naw.” Dom said grinning. “We think he’s gonna stay awhile.”

“Is that right.” Onion stated in disbelief.

“Yeah. Your guy killed one, he killed one. It’s even.”

“That’s what yo feelin?” Onion beckoned out.

“Me and all the other white boys on the pound.”

“Oh yeah. They all know what’s comin then.” He challenged.

Dom nodded at Jay, his sergeant of arms, standing next to him. Jay turned and stuck his fist into his hand twice. The universal sign to break out the bangers.

The rest of the skins that stayed behind rushed over to the two old men in the back. They helped them up out of their wheelchairs, and collected the armament that was stealthily rolled right passed the metal detectors.

Dom shook his head slowly while his skins moved swiftly throughout the crowd. Passing out the imposing weapons to eager hands as they went. In less then a minute the seemingly unarmed whites were stocked to the hilt.

“We know what YOU got comin.” Dom dared back, as he slid his hand in his pocket to grab this knife.

Onion noticed the movement. He also saw the other skins do the same thing. Then he glimpsed the armed battalion positioned on his heels. Taking a deep breath, he contemplated what to do.

The shot caller for the DC Blacks threw a right hook that connected with Dom’s cheek. The blow stunned the tenacious leader for a second, giving Onion enough time for his next move…which was to tuck tail and run!

He took off like he just hit the crack pipe. His cronies fell right behind their feeble chief in the dash. The once menacing mob of DC Blacks were just as quick as Onion.

They turned and ran to the awaiting CO’s stationed along the fence. Pleading for the secured exit to be opened as they fled the now charging whites.

The gate swung open for the retreating mob, swallowing up the entire platoon before closing in the faces of their pursuers.

The compound was immediately locked down. All the DC Blacks, along with the rest of the inmate population were led back to the units and secured in their cells. The only ones left out were the one hundred plus heavily armed woods.

Dom stood in front of his men at the gate. The administration ordered them all to drop the knives and then they’d be released to their cells. Dom wasn’t going for it. He told them either they all keep their knives, or the CO’s can come in and try to take them. But there was NO way they’d go unarmed on the compound with the DC Blacks, especially after what just transpired.

The administration relented. Not only did they agree to let the whites keep their armament for the walk back to their units, they didn’t come to search their cells during the ensuing lockdown!

Before the yard was opened back up, administration shipped out more then half of the DC Blacks. The thought that if they ran at full strength, they won’t bust a grape with half their numbers.

It was widely assumed that the higher ups were proud of the outnumbered whites for standing up against the imposing DC Blacks. That was why nobody got transferred, or even received an incident report.

Garth is still walking the yard, along with Dom and his crew of skinheads. Although fighting between the white cars returned, it’s still bragged about on the yard, not just with the whites, but with all the races.

The day the woods got together and made the DC run off the yard.