Cracker Box Killer

Cracker Box Killer

The isolation cell I currently found myself in was pitch black during the nights. Knowing I’d probably be in there for several months I started looking for ways to keep my mind intact. Keeping my sense of humor in the spot I was currently in would not be easy. I pulled a button off of my favorite blue prison shirt and threw it as hard as I could against the wall. This was in a 6 by 12-foot cell. I knew the button would bounce around so I closed my ears so I wouldn’t have any idea where it landed. As I said, it was too dark to see. I got down on my hands and knees and the hunt began. This jail was crowded, so occasionally they would throw another inmate in this one-man isolation cell with you.
Three weeks later this was the case in my cell. His name was Jim; he was about 30 years old, just out of San Quentin. Stories passed the time for me, and I’ve told my share of them. He was only there with me for ten days and when he left I decided to pretend he was still there and I would tell him stories of my life of crime. Some might think talking to yourself is a sign of losing your mind, but it not only helped keep my mind intact, it helped me remember a pocket full of stories, maybe someday I’d write a book. If I did, I would have to put one of Jim’s better stories in, I would call it the "Cracker Box Killer" It started with him telling me how all this insanity started with him.
He said " Joe, I was about 15, I ran with a kid named Strello, one Saturday afternoon we were on this old mans porch, some guy Strello knew, watching him get drunk, and listening to him try to give us advice. I remember like it was yesterday, that old man looking at me with those blood shot eyes, taking a sip from a half pint of whiskey and saying "You two punks keep right on stealin and messin around this shit hole of a neighborhood, just keep it up you little bastards, an you‚re both gonna end up in the pen. You two ass holes think your tough don‚t ya? I used to think I was tough till I hit Quentin. You get there you'll find out quick what it’s all about." He hesitated for a minute staring out into the street like he was remembering something that he didn't want to, then he yelled at us "You'll find out when some con son-of-a-bitch comes in your cell while you’re asleep and puts a razor to your throat and then the next thing you know he’s fucking you, then you to little shit’s will wish YOU had listened. Keep it up", he said, he looked like he was about to pass out. My pal Strello looked at me then nodded for us to get out of there. It was to late now for me to listen or follow anyone’s advice, the gates were opening slowly to let the gray goose into the main prison, that’s what the prison transfer bus is called. That old man was right, I should have listened but I didn't listen to anybody back then either did Strello. He’d been shot and killed in a lower Mission Street bar trying to rob it with a toy pistol. I followed suite and was caught trying to rob a Mayfair Market, I wasn't dead like Strello, but I almost wished I were when I started walking down that main line with a blanket in my hand. It was like walking the gauntlet. One tier up hard looking convicts were leaning on the rail looking down at the new arrivals, most of them had big arms and chests from lifting weights for years. I heard two guys arguing over who was going to get me, a black guy and a white guy. "We'll see who gets him." was the last thing I heard. A guard yelled from behind us, "second tier lockup, get your asses back in your houses." I remember thinking, “James, you are in deep shit”. Your young ass has been in this joint five minutes and the two biggest motherfuckers in the world are fighting over who’s going to get you first.
I had to come up with a plan fast. I knew they kept you in an isolated lockup section of the prison for 48 hours to give them a chance to observe you and decide what tier to put you on. So, I had 48 hours to come up with something. I was put in a single man cell at the far north side of the prison. The ceilings were very high looking up from my ground floor cell. Looking up made me feel like I‚d entered hells waiting room for two days. It was cold and damp. I lay down on a hard slab of steel with my one blanket. You could faintly smell the sea air from the San Francisco Bay through the more overpowering smell of disinfectant. Sleeping was impossible because of the cold and the vision of the two guys on the top tier yelling about me like I was already dead or had as good as joined the ranks of the prison male sex selection. Wind was somehow whistling through the dimly lit hallway. It made a sound hard to describe. Something like you would hear in an old horror movie I guess. Anyway, it was depressing the hell out of me. I d been here about 5 hours with 10 years to serve. It all seemed hopeless, but at least the thought of the 10 years helped me decide what kind of plan I needed. You see, the way I was feeling I didn't much care if I died or not. If I was going to die, I figured I’d go out a virgin. I worked on my plan the entire 48 hours. All I’d come up with was the fact I d have to kill one of these horny bastards in order to get the idea across to the rest of the prison population that I might be young and cute, but I was also dangerous. I’d heard on the streets and in youth authority that no matter how small you were, or what you might look like, if you stabbed someone, especially if you killed someone, that the other convicts tended to leave you alone and go after someone weak who wasn't willing to kill. I was assigned to the fifth tier. It was after four in the afternoon, which meant I had the option to close my cell door for the evening. It locked automatically when you shut it but you could leave your cell door open until six if you wanted. I had shut mine out of fear, and the need for time to think. I also needed a knife, but how?
Right then my luck looked like it might be changing. Out of nowhere stood Jack Sullivan right in front of my cell. Jack was a very tough boy from my neighborhood. A few years back Jack had hit a heroin dealer over the head one to many times with the butt of a 45 automatic and, unfortunately, killed him.
"James", he said, "I thought it might be you when I read your name on the new fish sheet in receiving. Word has it big Jim Watson and some nigger are going to war over who's gonna get you for their woman.
"Yea,” I said”, we sorta met when I first got here."
"You know, James, I’d like to help you, but in this place you’re on you’re own until you prove yourself."
"I know Jack, but maybe you could do one little thing for me? What’s that James?"
"Can you get me a knife?"
Jack laughed. "I can do that. Think you'll be able to use it?"
"We'll find out pretty quick, won’t we?"
"Yea, James. We sure will. I'll get you one kid. You need anything else?"
"No thanks Jack, I think that will do it for now."
"Good luck kid." Jack said as he walked away.
I don’t know why Jack called me kid, he was only a few years older than I was, but I guess the 3 or 4 years he had already done in this mad house made him feel a lot older than he really was. You grow up real fast in a place like this. I hoped I’d be able to grow a little older myself, but like I said, with 10 years facing you did it really matter that much?
The next face to appear in front of my cell was Mr., Tattoo, and Big Jim Watson. He had big round eyes, and a fat nose. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets and stared at me. Then he started making humming noises like some slob about to eat a whole turkey all by himself. "Hey pretty boy. How come you closed your house door so soon? I wanted to come in and visit, I mean looking at you just makes my dick get hard." I had to say something that sounded like I wasn't as scared as I was, but that was real hard to get out. I was terrified of this monster. All I could come up with was "Look stupid, I’m no sissy! I ain't a punk and I ain't gonna be one so why don't you go drive on somebody else?"
"Stupid am I?" Mason replied, his eyes narrowing a bit, " we'll see who's stupid! Not only am I gonna make you my woman, in two days there is a canteen draw and the booking trustee tells me you came in with $85.00 on the books. It’s mine sweetheart, you can spend $20.00 of it on Thursday. You spend it all you hear? Candy, smokes, anything you get, you bring to me. Find me in the lower yard understand? You don’t have two worry about taking care of this" He said cupping his crotch, "at least not right away, I got a nigger to deal with first. Then your ass is mine. Then you’ll find out who runs things in this joint. He stared at me for a second then said" Look kid, it won’t be so bad being my woman, and it has certain advantages. When you’re Big Jim’s woman no one else will ever mess with you. I’ll even let you keep some of your canteen, but only if your real good to me" He smiled, cupping his crotch again. All I could do to appear calm was to say, "Fuck you". He just kept smiling then laughed as he walked away.
At least he helped me with my plan. Telling me to meet him in the lower yard would come in handy, I’d seen the lower yard when I arrived and could remember it more or less out of sight of the gun towers. If I were going to stab someone, doing it in plain sight of the guards wouldn’t be too bright. I knew standing toe to toe with this gorilla, even with a knife would be suicide. My arms were about 10 inches around; Big Jim’s were probably 20. Physically I had no chance at all. I’d have to trick him somehow, catch him off guard, finding a way to even the odds, and making the first move unexpectedly, was my only chance.
Jack showed up a few hours later. He was a trustee and had freedom of movement around the pen during the day, and a few hours after the six o’clock lock-up. "Got something for you kid" He looked cautiously up and down the tier, then reached in this jacket and pulled out a long thin object wrapped in cheesecloth. He handed it quickly through the bars and I grabbed it. I knew what it was and it felt good to actually get it in my hands. "That was quick", I said as I stuffed the knife under my mattress. Jack lifted his eyebrows and slowly shook his head. "Sorry to tell you this kid but it looks like things are gonna come down sooner than I thought for you. Big Jim just beat the nigger within an inch of his life, they had to transfer him to an outside hospital. That means unless you stop him he is gonna make you his personal property. He’ll go for the canteen first. That establishes that you’re weak. Then he will....
"Wait Jack" I said as it flashed on me what the missing edge was in my plan, "can you get me some empty boxes?" Jack looked at me like I was crazy, "what the hell you want with empty boxes? What you need is a .45 not empty boxes". "Jack, listen please, see if you can find me a bag like they pack your canteen in and some empty boxes like cigarette cartons, candy boxes, cracker box…anything". Jack shrugged his shoulders, "OK kid, I don’t know what you got on your mind but I’ll get’um for you. Be a lot easier to find than that shank was. I’ll be back in awhile". Jack made good on his promise and was back in about 45 minutes with a canteen bag full of empty boxes. "The cracker box is full. I hate crackers so you can eat them if you want the box empty" Jack said, still looking at me a little strange. "Thanks Jack, I owe you."
Jack was a tall Irish kid who would have been fairly good looking if it weren’t for the scars all over his cheeks and eyebrows. Jack made a fist and pumped it out at me about three inches starting from his waist in the well-known ghetto salute, and walked away without saying anything more. He had already taken chances helping me as much as he had. Prison law dictates that until a man has proven himself you can’t have anything to do with him other than warning him. Well I must say I was glad to hear ole snake dick was out of the contest. Now all I had to do was try and kill a white man. Had it been the other way around and I killed a black I would be facing retaliation from the black Muslims. If you kill one of your own there was usually no reprisal.
Tomorrow was the day. Canteen call. After lights out I went to work. I got the knife from my bunk and removed the cheesecloth. It was almost a foot long. It appeared to have been a kitchen serving spoon with the head broken off. The spoon handle was now the blade and it had been sharpened on both sides to a razor edge and came to a sharp point. The knife handle was made of dominos, three on each side tied together with shoelaces, then it looked like solder or plastic glue held it all together. All in all a very sturdy weapon. I wondered if I would be sturdy enough to use it when the time came. I didn’t sleep much. I dozed a few minutes at a time only to snap back to the fearful thought of the day to come. I had never taken a life before. I didn’t want to now, but I didn’t see where there was a choice. I would try once more to talk to Big Jim when I met him in the lower yard. I didn’t know what I would say but I would at least try to talk him off my back. Deep down I knew there was absolutely no chance of that. He had risked his life to own me and anything I might say wasn’t going to carry much weight. Not wanting to kill, I thought of just stabbing the bastard in the gut so he could get sent to a hospital. If I did that, the next time he would be prepared, I wouldn’t have the element of surprise, and guess who would win? No I couldn’t just stab him, I would only have one chance and that would be tomorrow in the yard. As I dozed off I thought the last thing that Gorilla expected was that an 18 year old, innocent looking, kid was planning his execution.
The long night ended. I was so scared I felt constantly out of breath. The PA system called out for the first tier to move out to the upper yard and line up for canteen draw. It would be an hour or so before they would be calling the fifth tier. Luck played a hand I hadn’t thought of. Lover boy was on the fifth tier, which meant he wouldn’t be out in the yard when I came out. If he was, my plan would have died and so would I. I mean I figured this guy wasn’t to bright, but he couldn’t be so stupid as to not notice me entering the yard with a canteen bag under my arm before I had a chance to go through the line and get it. Everything was still going along good if I didn’t fold up under the fear. First tier to the canteen line,” the PA system finally sounded. As I walked down the tier my heart started pounding like a hammer. When I walked out into the upper yard I made a quick turn down the narrow stairs that led to the lower yard. I did a quick take of the yard and moved to the most isolated corner I could find, faced the stairway and began my wait. For some reason I can’t explain, the pounding in my heart stopped. Not like a heart attack, what I mean to say is I suddenly became very calm. I guess it could have been the idea that within the next ten minutes or so it would all be over. He would be dead or I would. If he was dead it was likely my time here would be a lot easier from the respect I would gain, if I died I wouldn’t have any time to do, which also had its pluses. I know I would have been more comforted if I didn’t believe I was going lose, and more than likely my soul would be going to an eternal prison. Not much I could do about it now. I couldn’t very well ask the man upstairs for anything now, not with what I was about to do.
There he was, standing at the top of the stairs with his hands in his pockets staring down at me with a half smile on his face. There were two cons with him. My heart sank. I hadn’t brought three cracker boxes with me. He said something to them without taking his eyes off me. They laughed. Big Jim kicked a foot forward and started slowly down the stairs. The cheering section stayed where they were, which was a big relief to me. I’m sure he didn’t figure he needed any help. I had the canteen bag in the palm of my right hand, up against my stomach at the waistline just to the right of my bellybutton. My left hand held the bag at the top. The knife had just fit in the Cracker box. I had placed it handle down in the box and then stuffed toilet paper around the blade to make it stable in the center of the box. When I had closed the box the point of the knife had made a small hole in the lid and you could see the knifepoint if you looked close. It was hard to see so I wasn’t worried. I had then placed the empty cartons in the bag. It looked just like an ordinary bag from the commissary. Big Jim stopped about two feet in front of me looking down with that smile. So confident and relaxed he didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets. I decided I would make my move quick while he was in this vulnerable pose, but I wanted to give him one last chance to live. I started to talk but he started first. Hey good lookin, I see you got my canteen, that’s a good boy". Look, I said," Like I told you, I’ve been in youth joints before and I wasn’t a punk then, and I’m not one now. Why don‚t you back off me and pick out some sissy who needs you?" You are a sissy", he said. "And you need me to stay alive and that’s all there is to that". "OK", I said, you’re sure you want to take this bag of canteen from me?" "Hell yes I’m sure. You just give that bag to Big Jim" At that I leaned forward from the wall with a foot against it for leverage and with all my might, my right hand pushing and my left hand guiding, I shoved the bag into the center of Big Jim’s chest. I pushed him backwards and continued to push as he moved backwards. I had caught him completely off guard and he had lost his balance and was struggling to stay up. He had managed to get his hands free of his pockets and his hands came up to my neck. Those giant hands closed around my throat and I thought "this son-of-a-bitch IS gonna kill me before he dies". We hit the wall behind him and the impact, along with me franticly pushing, drove the knife in all the way. His eyes were as big as silver dollars, my hands had crushed the cracker box and I was holding it as tight as I could. The look on his face was total shock. He seemed to be thinking, "this can’t be, this sissy can’t kill me", and then he died.
As he fell to the small bench under him, I backed away. The knife stayed in his chest and the cracker box stayed in my hands. He slumped over and just stayed there, not falling to the ground. I turned to leave and froze for a second. The two cheerleaders were standing side by side about ten feet from me. No one else around but these two. I knew they were enough. They wouldn’t say a word to the guards but they would talk to the white prison click called the Aryan brotherhood and that was what this was all about anyway. As I walked by I figured I might as well start acting cool. I’d gone this far in this real life movie I was staring in, I might as well go all the way. As I passed them I said, "think he still wants my commissary?". They both looked at each other in disbelief then looked at Big Jim with dominos protruding from his chest.
About thirty minutes later a walking guard discovered the body. Yard call was cut short. Then the loud speakers ordered us back tour cells. The whole prison was put on lock-down while an investigation was conducted. Things like this happen a lot in prison and I really don’t think they try very hard to find out who does them. Just one less animal to feed. Three days later the trustees were let out of their cells.
Jack came directly to my cell. "You got the whole joint talkin about you kid. Nobody liked that asshole much anyway. I talked to the leader of the Aryan brotherhood. I told him I knew you were a stand up kid from the old neighborhood and I knew you had made the grade in all the youth joints. Things will go a lot smoother for your ass now. Good Jake, that’s kind of what I wanted to hear.
I had to stay in that joint eight years and three months. I thought of that old man on the porch many times, and wished I had listened. I wonder about my soul because of what I did. I won’t know till the day I die what price I will have to pay. I wonder how I could have avoided the messes I got in and the only answer I can come up with is to do whatever you have to not to get put in a prison of any kind, where animals hold your future. And you have your standard of morals destroyed beyond repair. The day I was released I grabbed my blankets and some personal items I’d made in the craft shop. As I walked out of that cell for the last time I looked back and stared at the only item I had left behind. A crumpled up cracker box on a small shelf. I remember thinking, "how amazing, that a sixty cent cracker box could mean life or death, but I was leaving it where it belonged.