Felon Page #3

Come on. Come on.

Oh, no. Get up, get up, man. Get up.

We keep it interesting.

A**holes will fight anyway.

- Who you got?

- I'm with you. Gonzales.

- Attaboy. Sergeant?

- I got Williams.

Of course you do.

Sh*t.

I'm el fuego.

F***ing Gonzales.

Pepper the a**hole.

F***!

The fight was over!

Beat your ass,

Uncle Tom house n*gger!

Yeah, you, Jackson! You ain't sh*t

without that gat. You know it.

Put Williams out first. Alone.

Think I'm scared of some hole time?

F*** you and the hole.

Who said you was going to the hole?

Put him in the review room.

Uncuff him.

- Lieutenant.

- Yup.

I believe you're done now.

What the f*** is up now? What?

You said, n*gger, right?

That's all you came with?

Who the n*gger now?

Put him in the hole, LT?

Throw him in his cell.

Let everybody see it.

Still the reigning champ.

Everybody see this?

SHU inmates can't have packages

until next quarter.

I'm wearing an underwire bra.

We're gonna have

to strip-search you.

Please take off your shirt.

I need you to take off your bra too.

Raise your arms.

Thank you.

Hey, baby.

What's wrong?

It's nothing, baby. I'm fine.

Jesus Christ, Wade, they wouldn't let

me see or talk to you for three months.

Then I get this phone call saying

that you're in a security housing unit.

What's going on?

- Just got caught up in something.

- Something?

That's it?

That's all you're gonna say?

Yeah, well, they took away 90 days

of my good time.

Why? Wade, what did you do?

I didn't do anything. I swear.

You must have.

Why would they be punishing you?

Things aren't that simple in here,

Laura.

I can't explain it to you.

You have to trust me.

Please.

How's Mikey?

He's fine.

Will you bring him next time?

I gotta see him.

I will. He misses you.

Wade, we're out of money.

Mortgage is due.

I've been trying to find a job.

- I can't find one that will pay it.

- Job? What about Mikey?

My mom's gonna watch him.

I thought we were

nine months ahead.

We were, and then the wedding.

I didn't get all our deposits back.

All right.

Just use the checks

from the SBA loan.

That'll get you by

until I figure something out.

- No, baby, that's your business.

- The hell with my business.

I can't think about that right now.

Just use the checks.

Open A Section.

Good to see you, wood.

Anything you need, you let me know.

I got you, Smith. That's right, wood.

I know who you are, homey.

Porter, get your fish ass on the floor

facing the wall.

On your knees.

Hands behind your head.

You hear me talking to you, Porter?

Crack 13!

Letters from John Henry Smith.

Posted right there on the Internet

for everyone to see.

"Any student of philosophy

will tell you...

...the truth about the human condition

today lies in our ability...

...to face things

we loathe about ourselves.

To comprehend human altruism

and common decency."

Blah, blah, blah.

Does anybody buy this sh*t?

Now, I remember

when I first heard about you.

You took out what,

Personally...

...I think you're a f***ing hypocrite.

Writing this sh*t.

Expecting people to what,

get something out of it?

F***ing a**hole lifers.

Find religion

or wanna change the world.

Tookie and his f***ing kids books.

And now you.

Found this in your property.

Family is everything, isn't it?

I'm gonna hang on to this for you.

Keep it safe.

You pull any sh*t in my house...

...and I will show you

what true f***ing vengeance is.

We clear?

Close 13.

Turn around.

I'll release this cuff,

grip the food port.

Step away.

Porter, you can get up.

Smith, you got some fresh meat.

You wanna f*** or fight?

Neither.

Keep it that way.

I like this bunk.

Okay.

Here you go.

You jerk off, face the wall.

You break wind...

...put your ass to the door.

If you sh*t and piss, in the can.

Do all that,

we'll get along famously.

Smith! Porter!

Yard time!

Thirty-three. Down.

- Thirty-four.

- Down.

- Thirty-five.

- Down.

- Thirty-six.

- Down.

Thirty-seven.

- Who the f*** is this fool?

- No, no, he...

How you doing, Smith?

Anything you need, bro.

The southerners are backing him?

I heard he's got history

with the shot callers.

How you doing?

- This the guy, man. This is Wade.

- Hey.

Bodie. County skinhead.

Hey. Wade. Santa Clarita.

F***ing welcome to the jungle, huh?

- Motherfucking SHU's no joke, is it?

- Yeah, thanks.

Yeah, you should be f***ing thanking

me, man. Samson says you're solid.

So you two are Aryan Brotherhood

then?

No, man. We're the ones putting

the work in though.

Earning our f***ing letters.

Why'd that guy get stabbed?

That was a drug debt, man.

F***ing needle Nazi owed, taxed.

Keep handling business

and do as you're told...

...and we'll get down for you.

Trust me, you'll need it.

Thanks.

That who you're headed back to?

Yeah.

We were supposed to be married

four months ago.

What's your boy's name?

Michael.

Looks like you.

And the eyes and the mouth.

Fortunately,

my Maria took after her mother.

You got a picture of them?

You saw them take

the last one I had.

Sorry.

What for?

I remember it all

like it was this morning.

Everything.

The smell of Anne's perfume

when I'd come through the door.

That look she'd give me

like I was the only man that mattered.

My Maria and...

...her little smile

when she laid on my chest.

She liked to listen to me breathing.

They can't take that away.

I feel like I really let them down.

You will if you don't make it

out of here.

But you're in the car, right?

In the car?

Means you're cliqued up

with somebody.

A gang.

Just hope...

...you don't think all they want you

to do is run in the yard and yell n*gger.

How do you make it on your own?

Perception is reality.

I chose to create mine.

Others chose to accept it.

Who was that guy you were talking to

at the yard?

What is this, 20 f***ing Questions?

His name's Oso.

He's a southern shot caller.

It means he's got the keys

to the house. It means...

...none of his soldiers will make

a move without his say-so.

I don't know.

How do you know who's with who?

Okay, fish.

I'll be the good veterano

and teach you prison politics.

But you're gonna do something

for me.

Okay, what?

Stay away from me in the yard.

- I understand.

- No, you don't.

This is my world

until death do us part.

You're only a tourist.

All right, first lesson for woods

like you and me...

...if it ain't white, it ain't right.

Prison is not about street gangs.

It's about race.

The Hispanics are cut in half.

You got the northerners...

... and the southerners.

Trust me, they're always at war.

With the blacks, you got a mixture

of gangs who forget their beefs...

... and unite with the Asians

and the Pacific Islanders.

Don't bother trying to figure out

who's who. They all hate you.

Then you got the skins

and the woods.

Nearly all the whites follow the Aryan

Brotherhood, who run the show.

Gangs underneath them will try to

recruit you, build up their numbers...

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