Chapter 66

Sometime after my visit with Chin, I waited in the Federal prison parking lot for a while with the look of a tourist in a foreign land. The landscape of the area had changed dramatically over the last eight years since I’d served time in that particular prison. Maybe it had always been this way and I couldn’t tell by being an inmate. I just saw things from the inside out, not outside in. It’s a shame how immaculate the prison grounds and manicured lawns look from this side when the inside resembles a dark dungeon full of cells, lost souls, and brothers doing time because of a snitch. No matter how much different the prison looked, the prison officials who worked there rarely changed. As I sat in the rental SUV, taking in the familiar sights of the prison, the racist C.O. Gregg emerged from the lobby dressed in his prison guard uniform. They had stopped wearing the grey uniforms and now wore blue and white or blue-on-blue.

After the way he and his crew of Klansmen tortured me in retaliation for the ass-whipping I put on Gregg, I just couldn’t let that shit go without getting some get back. That’s why I pieced together a quick note this morning before coming out here. I cut up the local newspaper, using different letters, until I crafted a short note that read:

Let This be A LesSon AnD Warning to aLL whO AbuSe ThEir AuthoRity BeHiNd PriSon WALS!

KARMA’S A BITCH AnD C.O. GREGg felt EvErY

Bullet of What GoeS Around ComEs AROUND!

-KILLA-

 

I figured that if I ambushed him in traffic and left the note on his body, it should give the police all the knowledge they needed to understand why the C.O. had such a violent send-off from the land of the living. I could have just said fuck it and moved on with life, but sometimes a very clear message needed to be sent to the racist crackers doing dirt behind the Federal prison walls. C.O. Gregg had been doing dirt to various inmates, including myself, for a number of years in the S.H.U. - Special Housing Unit, or to those that know, the Hole - where nobody can hear you scream for help or see the evil that C.O’s like Gregg do on a regular. I was just fortunate enough to be apart of karma’s plan to punish his racist ass.

As the racist C.O. talked to a few of his colleagues for what would be the last time, my hand caressed the Glock 40 laying on my lap as if it were a big booty female. After killing the rat yesterday, I had destroyed the Glock 40 used in that murder. I decided to keep the other weapon I got from KD for protection until I left the state of Indiana.

Seeing the amused look on the white C.O’s face made me angry, and I couldn’t wait to wipe that look off his face and see one of alarm and fear plastered all over his mug before I sent him off to meet his maker and answer for his sins.

I watched him for a few moments longer before pulling off with the memory of the model and color of the Chevy pickup truck he climbed into embedded in my mind. After getting past the final checkpoint on the grounds, I pulled off and then parked on the side of the road like I had a little car trouble. I knew he had to come this way because there was only one road in and one road out.

Minutes later, C.O. Gregg’s pickup truck cruised past my rental, totally oblivious to karma stalking him. I pulled off, following him onto the long stretch of road. When he turned on a two lane highway, I sped up on his ass and rammed hard into his rear bumper. The impact of the crash pushed his truck a few feet forward. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car holding his neck. By that time I had already exited the SUV, clutching the gun behind my back, hidden from his view.

“You stupid son of a bitch!” he gritted, rubbing his neck and spitting a wad of chewing tobacco onto the pavement by my foot. “What the hell wrong with you, boy?”

Boy? “My brakes went out on me,” I lied, easing closer to him. “I’m totally at fault here. I’m sorry, man.”

 “Your brakes went out? Your brakes – hey, wait a minute!” He paused, looking hard at me, and I winked at him just like he’d do to me after they beat the black off my ass and made me say, “yes sir” and “no sir” like Toby did on the movie Roots.

It only took him a few seconds to recognize me, but it only took that funny look he gave me to make me draw on him.

“Did you wait a minute when you tortured me, ma’fucka? Huh?” I snapped.

“W-wait a minute, Bub, I ca-can explain - ”

I cut him off with a quick burst of two shots. The back of his noggin, blood, and brains blew all over the window of his pickup truck. His eyes stayed open as he slid down the ground. I heard car tires screeching and engines revving full throttle as I dropped the note on his chest. Then I pumped six more rounds into his white face and head. I looked around and saw several cars full of witnesses pointing their cell phone at me as I rushed back to the rental. Since the trip back to Nap Town was 2 hours, and knowing the witnesses were probably taking pictures of me and the rental with their camera phones, I made a quick U-turn, wasting no time disappearing from the scene of the crime.

 

After reaching the hotel in Nap Town, I jumped in the shower and scrubbed away my sins. I just hoped that I could make it out of town before getting arrested for what I had just done. After the long shower, I came out sat down on the bed and dried off. I turned on the TV and a “Breaking News” bulletin began flashing across the screen. I turned up the TV to listen on the news.

“Today a man was brutally gunned down during a traffic accident.” The petite white woman reporter began her coverage of my latest victim. “It has been confirmed that the man, who has been pronounced dead on the scene, was a Federal Correctional Officer who worked at the Federal penitentiary just a half-mile from the sight of the gruesome homicide.”

A picture of C.O. Gregg’s smiling face suddenly appeared on the screen. Then the screen cut to the highway where the murder occupied. A bunch of police stood around directing traffic. The swirling lights of the police cruisers could be seen on the camera.

“Police say they’re looking for a dark-colored SUV and an obese African American man that was seen by numerous witnesses fleeing the scene of the murder.”

Several pictures showing me in the pink flight suit covering the fat suit jumping back in the Escalade rental appeared on the screen. I paced the hotel suite floor, shocked. I had to admit that although committing murder in the fat suit had been ingenious, I was fucked up over the pictures of the rental being shown on the screen. It made me feel like I was slipping, being sloppy by acting impulsively off pure emotion. I couldn’t report the vehicle stolen because I figured that would ultimately tie me to the scene of the crime. I decided to take the Escalade back at night and get my ass on the first plane leaving Indiana bound for the Motor City of Detroit.