My First Felony

I had been lying there in my uncle’s motor home for three days in a puddle of putrid post heroin sweat. Not quite sleeping and not quite awake, but always aware of the demon crawling up and down my spinal cord. The sickness was just starting to settle in and I knew I had to do something soon. I could hear my relatives outside working and going on about their busy days. They were unaware of my presence.

I felt like Lestat after he had been burned and buried under ground for many years, feeding on rats. I had such an insatiable hunger but not the strength or motivation to do anything about it, yet. After a couple of anxiety filled hours that seemed to last years, the hunger won out. I rolled off the wet couch/table/bed fully clothed, pulled on my Docs and took a look in the long narrow mirror attached to the back of the wood paneled bathroom door. I needed a haircut like three months ago, my clothes are sticking to me and I smell like a rotting corpse. I haven't had a shave for some time. I grab my bowler and finish lacing up my boots, slowly open the door and take a quick look outside. The sun hits me like a wrecking ball and sears my dried up contact lenses to my bloodshot corneas, it takes a minute to adjust. I step out into the hostile environment and survey the strange landscape for any sign of a threat. The coast is clear. My stepfather's motorcycle is sitting in the yard, and it just so happens I had a key previously made when I actually had permission to ride it. It's not always hind sight that is 20/20. I fired up the little Yamaha 250 cruiser and hit the road. I was feeling a lot better now. On the road, but still no money. I knew what I had to do and didn't waste time.

I needed the easy score so I went to K mart right down the street where I had been dozens of times before when I needed some quick cash. I walked straight to the CD aisle and starting shoving box sets down my pants, front and back, then a couple under each arm. I didn't wait for them to spot me, I just went straight to work and straight for the door, I was in a hurry, I still had to ride all the way to San Francisco to fence my stolen CDs, and score the good shit.

I never got past the front door. A big ugly fucker grabbed me by the neck of my shirt and strongly insisted that I follow. I shook him loose and started to run. I wasn't fast enough, he caught me and kindly pointed out the police man walking toward us.

I was escorted to the back of the store with the big ugly ogre looking security guy, and the pig. They asked me to remove the items. They were impressed with how much merchandise I managed to conceal so quickly and effectively. I had almost seven hundred dollars worth of CDs which is unfortunately a felony . The cop asked for my info and I gave it to him.

When the security guard heard my last name he shrieked in excitement and jumped to his feet, ran over to the file cabinet, and pulled out a large manila folder with a lot of paper work in it. He looked at me with a big shit eating grin and asks, as he is looking through the paper work, “Are you the Jack who's related to Rachel , and Sean, Kathleen, Tim etc., etc…?” He continued to name off every member of my family whom I had sent in multiple times to return stolen goods for me without a receipt including my brothers wife, my cousins, and numerous friends. They all understood the don't ask don't tell policy. He had it all like some Dick Tracy mother fucker, and he was as excited as a crack head on the first or fifteenth. He knew all about the van we rolled in, the color, the make, the year. He knew my sister and her boyfriend by sight and description. He escorted me with the cop back to the parking lot to try to find the van and bust them too. He was pretty disappointed when they weren't there.

He told me he had been keeping paper work for over a year, and I was on the top of his most wanted list, even though he had no idea who I was, or what I looked like, being as I never returned and burned my identity. I just stole shitloads of merchandise to pay for my extracurricular activities. Which were pretty expensive. Let's just say it would have been hard for anyone with an average job to afford that kind of luxury and the only way I could afford it was to steal it. I don't suck cock. The dude is so excited he finally got me, he wants to throw the book at me and lock me up as long as possible. The police officer informs me how unfortunate this is for me, seeing as how he was just gonna write me a ticket and let me go, if it weren't for Dudley Do Right here. They both laugh and the cop handcuffs me.

I was in jail for three days, just long enough to go through the worst of the withdrawals, then released on O.R. I didn't think I was going to get out, but my public defender was a dead head who just happened to be renting a cottage from my Grandmother at the time. He vouched for me and put his rep on the line in court to the judge. He's the only reason I was released.

My brother was waiting for me at the park across the street at 6 pm when they turned me out. He was about three cocktails in. He had a beer, a cigarette and a plan ready. He laid it on me. I was reluctant, seeing as how I had just come through the worst of it and was actually starting to feel human again. My bro had stolen a high end 2 meter radio scanner from RadioShack, and sold it to a friend. He had a nice buzz going and wanted to get high. We were going to the city and there wasn't much else I could say, after all it was his treat. What kind of a guy would I be to refuse such a kind gesture?

Three days passed and I had to meet with my public defender friend to talk about a strategy. He seemed to think he could get the felony reduced to a misdemeanor and I would do very little jail time. I had a better idea. I wanted a rehab cause I'd heard it was a snap and way better than jail. Only thing is, rehab is about six months long and it looks like the DA was only pushing for seventy-five days jail time. I still wanted rehab over jail and had my guy push for that. He tried to make a deal with the judge and DA before my court date, they weren't having it . I went to court and was sentenced to 75 days county jail and had my felony dropped to a misdemeanor. I asked the judge for a stay of execution to get my affairs in order and he granted it. 3 days to get prepared for my longest stretch yet.

I came up with a great idea! I was gonna keister in a bunch of dope to take the edge off of the whole jail thing. A recent inmate had just informed me that one could take his own shoes into jail, as long as they were tennis shoes. Always looking for a workaround, this one came with ease. I would remove the inner pads and carve out the shoes. I filled the hollows of both shoes with tobacco, weed, rolling papers, and matches, then glued the insoles back in.

I made a special trip into the city on my second day, boosting all the way there stopping at every Gap and Banana republic in route. Steal from one return at the next. It was a little challenging that day because of the rain and being that I was on a motorcycle. Nevertheless, I had 250 bucks in my pocket by the time I hit the Bay Bridge.

First stop was 16th and Mission. I grabbed a gram and a half of heroin and a 20 of blow, went into the BART station bathroom and fired off a good speedball. I got out of the neighborhood quick, I was on a mission, I had to be in Jail by 9 am the next morning. I hit the TL to score some pills, nothing in particular, just doing some shopping. I am high as a wedge and bargaining on the corner with these big black fuckers, making them hold out there hand and show me the pills, then taking a close look to read the inscription. Junkies are some educated people, I knew as much as any pharmacist. I got some Dilaudid, Morphine, Klonopin, Valium, and even a few hits of LSD. I was ready to head back and start packing.

I spent the rest of the night getting high with my brother at Grannie’s. In the morning I grabbed a bottle cap from one of the empty Sierra Nevada beer bottles sitting on the coffee table, folded that in half, took my syringe, cut it in size to half, took all my pills and acid, wrapped them all nice and tight in a cigarette cellophane wrapper, taped that closed, stuck that all in a condom, tied it up snug, put it in my mouth got it all wet like and shoved it up my ass. I was packed and ready to go.

I was a little nervous at booking but the heroin was taking the edge off, probably just the right amount of fear mixed with I don't give a shit needed for the situation. Six hours later I finally got housed, tennis shoes and all. I wasn't in my cell long enough to meet my celly before I was sitting on the can shitting out a condom into my hand. This guy is looking at me pretty intensely. I pull up my pants walk over to the sink and give the condom a rinse. “You wanna get high”? I ask my celly. The first words I have spoken to him. “Oh shit dude, are you serious?” he replies. “Just hang on a minute, I have to do something then we will smoke a joint,” I tell him. “Fuck yeah brother!” he says.

I get my shit out and start cooking it up in the bottle cap right there at the built in desk at about 3 pm. I suck it up and bang it right in front of this wide eyed stranger. I proceed to pull my shoes off and rip out the inner sole to discover the weed, smokes and extra matches. My celly is totally tripping out now. He starts getting all anxious and jumps up to make a way to conceal the smoke from the smoke detector in the cell. I roll a joint, and dude grabs an empty toilet paper roll. Fashions one end of it to cradle the joint, and the other end a big round paper mache looking bulb made out of toilet paper and toothpaste to trap the smoke. We smoke our joint out of this funny looking thing and it works. I need a cigarette, pull one out and smoke it in the same fashion, blowing the smoke down the toilet while flushing at the same time.

I kept that dude stoned for three days. We sold some cigs for candy bars, I shot my smack and sat in the yard on the nod catching rays. On the fourth day I had just shot up the very last of my shit, it was right after lunch and I needed a cigarette. Against the advice of my celly I went ahead and lit up, kicking back on the top bunk and just blowing the smoke into the air like I owned the place. I was feeling pretty untouchable.

About three drags in the cell door slams open and there are four guards there with billy clubs in hand ready for a riot. They pull me off my bunk and tear the room apart. They find the cigarettes and some roaches, the syringe and a small amount of heroin inside.

The gig is up, and these guys are taking it personally. They're pissed off and shamed. They throw me in solitary confinement to punish me, and assure me I won't see the light of day for a very long time. Which turns out to be fine, I actually needed a long sleep and slept for most of two weeks. They pulled me out on the third. I never gave them any satisfaction in the hole, never once complained or asked for anything.

I had to go to court on a new charge while serving a sentence on a current charge. I went before the judge who had a big grin on his face and just simply said, “It looks like you are gonna get that rehab after all Mr Manning.” I was charged with Felony Possession of a Controlled Substance in Jail, and sentenced to six months of rehab. I stayed in jail and waited for a bed to open up which only took days. I was out of jail within three weeks, the charge for the burglary was to run concurrent with the new charge and the rehab would squash it all if I could brandish a certificate of completion.