I met Tiny one-week in. I was by myself eating quietly when a few gang members came by and decided to fuck with me. They flipped my tray of food over, and it landed in my lap. A full carton of milk landed upside down on my crotch and made me look like I’d pissed my pants. One asshole positioned himself behind me, another across from me, and one sat down at the table right in front of me. No one dared to look, because if you looked, you got called out, and were immediately pulled into it.
I knew no one would come to my rescue or help to defend me, so I was ready to get my nose broken and my ribs cracked before a corrections officer would decide whether or not they wanted to step in. Sometimes, like the other inmates, they liked to sit and watch. I wasn’t stupid and I’d seen them place bets with one another on the outcome of fights.
The jerk behind me grabbed my hair, which I still wore long on top, and I was waiting for him to smash my face into the table while the other numbskulls cheered him on.
Predictably, no one came over to see what the fuss was about, everyone cast their eyes down, pretending nothing was happening. I guess it was a moment I could thank Monty for, because I’d spent years being someone’s punching bag, I knew how to take a hit and roll with the punches.
But to my surprise, Tiny walked up. He sat right down next to the asshole across from me. Grabbed his saran wrapped sandwich off the fucker’s tray and began to unwrap it meticulously. It was a gesture of power and it was easy to see who had it. Because the gangster froze and tried to pretend like nothing was going on, like we were all having a friendly chat.
“What’s up kid?” Tiny said, biting into the other man’s sandwich. “This seat taken?” he asked me while chewing.
The man behind me let go of my hair. I shook my head no at Tiny, no clue who he was.
“What’s this kid to you, Tiny,” one of the guys asked. He had a jagged scar bisecting his forehead that looked like a knife had been deeply embedded there at some point, like a gory Halloween costume.
“Since when is my business your concern?” Tiny asked, still munching away nonchalantly.
In that moment I understood that whoever Tiny was, he held power, and for whatever miraculous reason, he was on my side.
I didn’t know at the time, he’d be my entry point into the Cavelli Mafia, the same group that made sure I stayed alive during the ten years I’d serve. Tiny became my mentor, and I honestly believed I wouldn’t have survived Des Max without him.
Time had never passed so quickly, and it had never been so meaningless. I had more memories packed into my two years with Ellison than I did through ten years of monotonous prison. I’d gotten more tattoos, learned how to scratch a shank into a deadly weapon, make pruno. How to stitch up a wound with dental floss and how to tell in one glance what group or gang someone belonged to. The only thing I had to show, for the ten years I sat in the box, was my friendship with Tiny and the muscle I’d gained working out, trying not to die from boredom.
“I’m ready to bust the fuck out of this place.”
“You ready to meet the boss?”
“You gonna kill me if I say no,” I asked.
Tiny tossed his head and laughed.
“Nah bro, I like you too much for that shit. It’s just one job and then you’re out. Free as a bird. Go live your life anyway you want.”
We were escorted to the visiting room by a CO we jived with. Tiny spoke freely in front of anyone, but I was more discrete, watched my back and chose my words carefully. When the CO opened the door, the visiting room was at capacity. Two guys in suits looking like politicians or insurance salesmen, sat in the far corner. The room was flooded in sunlight from the south-facing windows, and even though there were bars, I always felt like it was a space I could breathe in.
They waved when they saw Tiny and the CO walked us over to their table. They stood and waited to shake our hands as the officer undid our cuffs. Two suits with slicked-back hair and expensive watches, while Tiny and I wore prison-issued grey jumpsuits and cheap-ass slides that lasted you three weeks if you were lucky.
I longed for the day when I could put on a pair of jeans and slide into my leather jacket again, put a beanie on my head, or even a loose pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt to sleep in.