Chapter Eight

The Story of Brian Evans

I felt hopeless. Started having a multitude of regrets. This place made me think hard, and to witness what my sons had been through brought me so much pain. They turned to me for help, but I couldn’t even help them. Could barely help myself, because one stupid move guaranteed all of us a bullet to our heads. Demonte had gotten the worst of it. From day one, he didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. He kept pushing those crazy bastards and they took turns beating his ass. He was whipped, punched, kicked and threatened when Ben put the tip of his rifle in Demonte’s mouth, screaming he would shoot. He made Demonte apologize to him, and while on his knees, Demonte did what he had to do.

Ever since then, I told my boys to keep quiet and cooperate. Some days they did, some days they didn’t. Even when we didn’t cause trouble, these bastards would find a reason to strike us anyway. Through their eyes, we moved too slow, didn’t pick cotton fast enough and looking at each other wasn’t permitted. Never in a million years did I think something like this would happen. More so, I would allow this to happen. But, unfortunately, we didn’t have any weapons to fight back. They had everything from AK-47 assault rifles, to 9 millimeters . . . whatever type of artillery needed to keep us under control. What they utilized the most were black snake whips. Whips that made a sharp and shrill sound when they cracked them across our bare backs and laughed about it. It was gut-wrenching to see so many brothers in here crying and whining like babies, but under the circumstances, begging these motherfuckers to spare our lives was what we had to do.

I kept telling my boys there was a way out of this. I didn’t quite know how just yet, but Marcel and I had been discussing an escape plan for me, him and my sons. Our discussion, however, was interrupted by a man named Malcolm who claimed he was there to help us get out of this hellhole.

“Help us how?” Marcel asked. “Who are you? One of Jesus’ Disciples?”

“No, nothing like that,” Malcolm said, stroking the rugged hairs on his chin. “But I’ve been studying these people for quite some time. I suspected they were up to something, and I figured I’d be joining everyone real soon. Now that I’m here, we have to shut this down. We have the power to do it, and we, as black men, have to stick together.”

This dude was tripping. I didn’t like the sneaky gaze in his eyes as he examined the room. Looked to me like he was up to something. Besides, why in the hell would anyone purposely want to come to a place like this?

“Look, man,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but don’t come in here talking about what we need to do. You can talk that black power shit to some of those niggas over there. They’re the ones who are out of control and keep fighting and arguing with each other. This little circle here is peaceful. We will find our way out of here, sooner rather than later.”

Malcolm chuckled. He contracted his eyes while gazing at me like I was a piece of shit.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Since you think it’ll be that easy, you must be married to or dating a white woman, because your mind seems real twisted. I am my brother’s keeper is not your motto and your selfish mentality is probably why you’re in here with your sons and fucked up now.”

My face twisted. Who was this fool? I thought. “Nigga, fuck you, alright? You don’t know shit about me. You will not speak that way to me in front of my sons.”

Demonte and Drake didn’t say one word. They sat next to me, shaking their heads at this fool too. He lifted his hands in the air. A smirk was on his face.

“Hands up, don’t shoot. I assume you’ve been catching hell in here, my brother, but I am not your enemy. Your enemies are outside of that door. All I said was I wanted to help you, and you barking like a dog who about to chop my head off. Why all the unnecessary noise, especially when I’m just trying to help?”

Marcel spoke up before I did. I really didn’t have much else to say to this clown. “He’s just frustrated. We all are and we want to get the hell out of here. If you got a plan, let’s hear it. Save the insults for another day and tell us how you can help us.”

Malcolm moved in closer to us. In a whisper, he told us about his secret plan to come here, and about a Facebook page he’d purposely set up to get the White Supremacists groups’ attention. We shared with him how we were captured, and after he gave specifics about incident reports of many black people missing, I started to open up to him. So did Marcel and my boys.

“So, what’s the plan?” Drake asked. “We have no guns, no nothing.”

Malcolm pointed to his temple. “We don’t need guns. We can fight back with our minds. By paying attention and staying real quiet. If they ask you something, be polite. Make them think you’re cooperating and do whatever they ask of you. Go over and beyond your duties, and make them wonder what it will take to break you. Keep your head up. Stand up straight. Look them in their eyes and nod. Never smile, because this ain’t shit to smile about. Do not argue or fight with the brothers in here, and day by day, I want each of you to spread the word. It’s time to man up. We ain’t manning up, and if we don’t, they will kill us all.”

Just as those words left Malcolm’s mouth, two men on the other side of the room started arguing. We all turned our heads to see what was going on.

“Nigga, you stay over there and I’ll stay over here,” one man said. “I don’t need you all up in my business when I’m speaking to this man. We were talking and I didn’t ask for your motherfucking two cents!”

“Whether you asked for it or not, I gave it so shut the fuck up. You act like we own some kind of territory up in here. I can go any gotdamn place I want to and your section of dirt ain’t off limits!”

Within a matter of seconds, one brother swung his fist, slamming it into the other’s jaw. A brutal fight ensued after that, and as they punched and kicked the hell out of each other, we all just shook our heads. Malcolm clapped his hands as if he was cheering them on. His claps echoed loudly in the room, causing several men to turn their heads in our direction.

“If anybody got cell phones in here,” Malcolm said sarcastically. “Why not pull them out and start recording so we can share our brothers beating each other’s asses on social media later.”

He stopped clapping and took menacing steps towards the other side of the room. As he walked through several groups of men, they parted and evil-eyed him.

“Who in the fuck do he think he is?” one man said.

“I’on know, but he’d better quit front’en like he gon’ bust a cap in a nigga’s ass.”

Malcolm ignored the young men and kept moving to the other side of the room where the men had stopped fighting. One had blood raining from his nose, the other had swelling underneath his eyes. With heaving chests, they looked at Malcolm as he stood before them with a stern gaze.

“You motherfuckers are crazy. We are in a crisis situation, and all y’all can do is stand there and bash each other’s heads in. And over what? Huh? Space and dirt that belongs to the white man. What in the hell are y’all thinking? If we can’t come together now, then when?” He pivoted to look at the other men in the room whose attention was locked on him. “When?” Malcolm shouted and darted his finger at us. Spit flew from his mouth as he shouted louder. “When are we going to stop this shit? We are at war with the white man, not with each other! Save your energy for these racist motherfuckers who got you in this place and who will fucking kill you at the snap of their fingers. I don’t know about y’all, but I plan to get out of here. I want to go home to my family. Don’t you want to see your families again? If you don’t, and if all you can do is fight with your brothers in here, then you deserve to die. You idiots deserve to die, and the men with good sense in here will no longer have your backs. My question is, brothers, who in the hell is with me? Who is ready to help me deal with these crackers and take these sons of bitches down?”

Marcel and I looked at each other. Along with Drake and Demonte, we were the first ones to walk over to where Malcolm was and stand with him. Shortly thereafter, more men gathered and stood with us. Only a few stood back and didn’t say anything.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Malcolm said, slowly nodding his head. “I thought I was gon’ have to rely on the sisters to help me, help us. It’s a good feeling to know this many brothers are on board. To the rest of you, you’re on your own.”

I looked around at the few angry black men who couldn’t even join us at a time like this. Hopefully, they’d change their minds. If they didn’t, as Malcolm had already clearly said . . . fuck’em.