â??â??â??â??â??â??Chapter 3

â??â??â??â??â??â??Juan

I grab my backpack and enter the living room to find my mom watching her Novels. I know good and well not to interrupt until a commercial. I decide to go and make sandwiches for the bus ride. Once I finish in the kitchen, I see a commercial. I kiss the top of her head, and she looks up, smiles at me, and stands up. 

“Are you leaving now?” She asks. 

“Yes,” I say with a smile. I hug her tightly. I decided I wouldn’t return to Los Angeles but didn’t want to tell her. She wouldn’t care anyway. She didn’t raise me, my abuela did, and since my Abuela died, I have no one here for me. My brothers and sistersdon’t give a shit about me. I have Valentina, and that’s all I need. “I wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

“Bye, Johnny-Boy. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t think with your dick and get that girl pregnant.” She says, pushing me out of the way of the TV,

“Are being serious right now,” I say with a scowl.

“Shhh, my show is back on,” she says.

“Dude, whatever. I’m out.” I slam the front door, jump into my car, and head to my dad’s mechanics shop. “Dad, you ready?”

“Give me five minutes. Fabian is coming with us. He’s going on the bus to Tijuana. He is looking for his passport. Give your bags to Cisco, and he will put them in the trunk.”

“Okay,” I say. I hand my backpack and my suitcase to Cisco, his shop assistant. Fabian walks in, showing his passport. Fabian is my half-brother, and I only met him last month. I lift my chin to him in a hello.

“What’s up, bro,” Fabian smiles. “Damn, you gonna take a ten-hour bus ride just to fuck a girl. Damn, she better be worth it.”

“Fuck you, man,” I say, getting mad.

“Hey, calm the fuck down, both of you. Get in the fucking car now.” Dad says, laughing. I text Valentina on the way to the bus station, letting her know I’m going to the Greyhound Station. 

Once we arrive, Cisco hands me all my stuff, and I walk into the Station. Fabian stays outside talking to Dad. I don’t need to stick around with them. I go to the ticket window and show them my online ticket, and they print me an actual ticket. I sit on one bench and eat a sandwich while waiting for the bus. I noticepolice and their drug-sniffing German shepherds looking around; This is pretty normal for airport and bus terminals, so I think nothing of it. Until one of the dogs sits right next to my suitcase. I look up at the cop, and he pats the dog on the head. 

“Good job, Tilly,” he says. “Can I search your bags?”  I have nothing to hide, so I nod. “You need to tell me yes, kid, verbally.”

“Yeah, you can look in my bags. But you're wasting your time.” I say, and he opens my bag. 

“You sure about that?” He asks as he turns around. All the color drains from my face because he is holding a brick of cocaine in his hands. 

“What the fuck? That’s not mine!” I yell. 

“Put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for being in possession of a narcotic with an intention to sell..” The cops says. He tells me rights as he puts the handcuff on me. Everyone is staring at me, and I’m humiliated. What the fuck who’s is that shit. Who would do this to me? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fabian, and he’s laughing. No fucking way he did this. Then I see my dad. He hugs him and looks over, and he saluts me with his fingers against his temple. Hell no, my dad was behind this shit. I’m full of hatred. 

“Fuck you!” I yell. He laughs at me. 

“Shut up, kid, and keep walking.” The cop yells.

“I’m not talking to you.” I snarl. He pushes me forward, and I get into his cop car. This is not fucking happening right now. Shit Valentina! Okay, I’m sure they will listen if I tell them it’s not mine.

He drives me to the county jail and takes me to booking. I get fingerprinted and get my mug shot taken. This is so surreal because I have never been in trouble in my life. On the other hand, my brothers have been in and out of jail. I get stripped and searched, and I’m so humiliated, and I’m so fucking scared. They take my clothes, shoes, and cell phone, and I’m given jail-issued clothing and slippers. 

“Am I going to speak to someone like a lawyer?” I ask.

“Not today, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.”

“Do I get a phone call?”

“Yeah, but just one.”

“I need my cellphone. I don’t have any numbers memorized.”

“No, not my problem. Do you want to make your call?”

“Yeah,” I say. He puts in a code.

“I thought you didn’t know anyone's number,” he laughs.

“I know one,” I say and dial the number. The phone rings, telling you have a collect call from an inmate. Inmate, state your name. “Johnny-boy.” They agree to take the call.

“How did I know you would be like your brothers.” My mom says, “My stories are on; hurry up and tell me what you did.”

“Ma, I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t do it. Can you please call the jail and find out my bail?”

“Why?” she asks

“So you can bail me out.”

“No, you need to stay there. If you didn’t do it, stay there, and they will let you come out.” She says. 

“Mom, please. I didn’t do it.” I say, almost in tears. The call disconnects.

â??â??â??â??â??******

I still haven’t heard from any lawyers two weeks later. I got into a fight on my first night there because someone tried to touch me sexually, and I busted his nose. I got put in solitary; today was the first day they let me out. I look like shit, and I have lost weight because the food is complete shit. They take me to a room with an older man sitting at a round table. He looks like one of the seedy lawyers you see on TV in the middle of the night. He motions me to sit down, and I notice a pile of clothes beside him.

“Sit down, kid. We got court in one hour.”

“An hour! This is the first time that anyone has spoken to me.” I say

“I only found out about you yesterday. I have no idea what happened. So tell me what happened.”

“I was fucking framed, is what happened. They put the drugs in my bag.”

“Who is they?” He asks, but he already knows that I won’t say. I’m no rat, but I don’t want to be here. “You have no record, so that is a good sign. I heard you got into a fight the first night you were here. Why?” I sit there and say nothing. He knows without me saying. He knows exactly what happened, and I’ll never speak of it. It was humiliating. “It was self-defense?”

“Yes, sir. What’s going to happen?”

“I’m hoping they will give you probation since it’s your first time getting into trouble.”

“What about the fight? Can they use that against me?”

“I hope not, but let's keep our fingers crossed. Today we find out everything, your sentencing if there is one, or if you are free to leave.”

“Shit, I want to get the fuck out of here,” I say as he hands me the clothing. 

“Go into that door. There is a shower and stuff to shave in this paper bag.” I nod and head into the room. 

Once I’m alone in the shower, all my defenses go down, and I cry. I sobbing so hard that I’m shaking. I finish showering and take deep breaths to get my emotions in check. I rub the palms of my hands into my eyes. I come out dressed, and the guard puts me in shackles and leads me to a bus to the courthouse. The sun is hurting my eyes because of not seeing daylight for nearly two weeks. Once we enter the court, they put me in a room, and I have to wait until my turn. I keep praying under my breath that I get to go home today. They call my name, and I head into the court with my lawyer, whose name I find out is Marshall. 

Everything is a blur, and I sit in the seat in shock and feel the court officer grab my arm to stand me up. I look at Marshall,and I’m fighting my emotions. I can’t show emotions not here. I need to act tough. They put me back into the holding room to speak to Marshall. Once I see Marshall, I let the tears fall down my face.

“Four years!” I yell. “They gave me four fucking years. I thought you said that I was going to get probation?” 

“They used the fight against you,” Marshall says. “Do your time, and it will be over fast.”

“It’s four years! Prison, not jail!” I say, filled with anger and fear. The door opens, and an officer is there with shackles. 

“Montoya, stand up.” He says in a loud voice. I stand, and he puts me in the shackles. “We are transporting you to Pelican Bay State Prison.” All I do is nod. 

I get on a bus with other inmates, and I’m given a brown bag lunch. The drive was rough and long, and some guy puked, and they wouldn’t pull over for him to get sick, so we had to drive in the stench. I slept most of the way and felt safe because everyone was shackled to their seats.

We finally arrive, and I’m sick to my stomach in worry. I’m afraid that what happened the first night in County Jail will happen again. I get out, and there is a man with a clipboard, and we are told to say our name and inmate number. I get out of the bus and stand in front of the man.

“Montoya, 10140613,”

“Montoya, Juan, Cruz.” Unit 6, cell 24,” he yells. Someone comes and gets me and takes me to intake. I have to do another strip search, medical checks. I’m given all-white prison-issue clothing and blue slip-on shoes. I’m given a small bag with toiletries. They put on bracelets that have all my information on them. As they put on the bracelets, I ask a question. 

“Where can I get paper to write a letter?” I ask.

“Normally, you have to buy paper at the commissary. You won’t have any money on your books, seeing that you just got here.”

“How do I get money on my books?”

“Your family puts money on your books, or you can see if they have a job available. “

I’m taken to my cell, and as I walk up, I see him, the guy who attacked me when I first arrived at the jail. I feel like I’m going to puke any second. He still has a white strip of tape across his nose, and his eyes are still blackened. He narrows his eyes at me and grins, and this grin gives me chills. 

“Watch your back, bitch,” he spits.

“Get to your cell, Martinez. Keep fucking walking.” The guard yells. “Montoya, this is your cellmate, Padilla.” I looked over, and it was the guy walking with Martinez. He’s short, dark skin, and has the reddest hair ever. He raises his chin in hello.

“Joe Padilla, but everyone calls me Chucky,” He puts a handout. I take his offered hand and shake it.

“Juan, or Johnny boy,” I say as I walk into the cell. 

For the next few hours, Chucky gives me the lowdown on the ins and outs of the Prison—the rules. He tells me to watch myself with Martinez. He says they call him Psycho for a reason. They are from the same neighborhood and are childhood friends; that’s just great. Now I really have to watch my back. I see a huge tattoed man walking through, and he stops at all the cells. I notice he is not wearing prison attire; he’s in a button-up Ben Davis shirt. On the back, it says Los Reyes Azteca M.C.C.

“Who is that?” I ask Chucky.

“That’s one of the counselors they assign to us.”

“Is he a prisoner too?”

“Nah, he works for the Prison. I hear he’s cool, though.”

“Is he your counselor?”

“Nah, that’s my counselor over there,” he points out. I see a bumbling guy walking through and doing the same thing the bigger guy did. “ I call him Sheldon because he looks like the guy from the show with all the nerds.” I laugh—my first genuine laugh. 

“He does look like him,” I say as the big guy approaches our cell.

“Montoya?” he asks.

“That’s me,” I say. 

“I’m Dominick Sanchez. You can call me Dom. I’ll be your counselor while you’re here. Take a walk with me.” 

I step out of the cell, and we walk over to his office, and I sit and chat with him, and it’s as if I  have known him my whole life. He tells me that he teaches mechanics and motorcycle maintenance. I ask him about his shirt and its meaning, and he tells me he is a motorcycle club leader. I tell him I’m nervous about Psycho being in the same Prison. He said he would introduce me to some of the guys he counseled. 

I’m uneasy, but if I have Dom on my side, I can get through this. The person I need on my side is Valentina.

I hope she waits for