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Petey was two weeks into his new job and still had no idea what exactly it was that he did for James Gentry. Petey had collected two weekly paychecks that cashed. That was a good thing. But not knowing exactly what his job was, was not satisfying to Petey. He didn’t feel like he had a purpose at all. Petey’s days were filled with riding around with Rocko making pick-ups, doing drop-offs, and watching Rocko have some very animated secret conversations with people. Since the first day Petey had seen Gentry at the club, he had not even seen him anymore. Petey was happy to have the job. The perks were excellent. Petey was making $25/hr, really didn’t do anything but ride around with Rocko all day, and he’d been supplied with a company car. A 2002 white Yukon Denali. For a person with no job experience whatsoever, a conviction on his record (juvenile), and only 18-years old, Petey was doing pretty good for himself with this legal gig. Petey still went to work bothered everyday. Because Petey couldn’t figure out what he did all day every day, it was hard for him to tell if Gentry his boss, was a legal dude who did illegal things, or an illegal dude who had a couple of legal businesses. You know what I’m saying? Because Petey couldn’t figure this out, he really had no idea how much money Gentry was making or how much he was worth. This bothered Petey. As a worker, Petey was the type to always wonder what the boss was making more than he paid attention to how much he was making. Petey Papers was not built to be a worker. Petey could’ve been making a million dollars a week and still wouldn’t have been happy. His mind would’ve always wondered “if I’m making a million dollars a week, then how much is the damn boss making?” This type of thing really bothered Petey.

Petey didn’t report to Center City every day to go to work like he did the day he began working. The office that Petey was assigned to was located on the second floor of a dental office on 6th & Alleghany Avenue in North Philly. The place was named Gibro Incorporated. Gibro’s offices had one secretary located in the lobby and two offices. One office belonged to Rocko, the other office belonged to a guy named Kenneth Wilson, who Petey had never seen in his two weeks of reporting here for work. Petey had no official office. He usually sat out in the lobby flirting with the secratary Tasha. Petey nicknamed her big booty Tasha. Him and Rocko both called her that. Never to her face though. At some point during the morning Rocko would usually come out of his office and then they would head out making their daily runs around the city. A few people came through Gibro to meet with Rocko, but most people who came to the offices were scheduling a meeting with Mr. Gentry. Petey always listened as Tasha told people which day Mr. Gentry would be able to meet with them. The nearest meeting date was usually weeks away. Petey had no idea what Gentry did, but it was clear that whatever it was, he stayed booked and busy. Petey could see that the office really had no official business. It was clearly a front. A front for what though. That was one of the things that really piqued Petey’s curiosity. The company did have a bunch of drivers though. They’d come into the office, Tasha would hand them a piece of paper with an address written on it, and the drivers would be on their way. Petey was almost 100% that Gentry’s business had something to do with drugs. He pressed Tasha about it, but everybody around here were tight lipped about any and everything business related. Everything was on a “need to know” basis around here. One thing that really made Petey curious about Gentry and Gibro Incorporated was that everyone who worked here was black. Except for Rocko of course. Petey couldn’t help but wonder if this was by design or simply a coincidence. Most people who came in search of a future meeting with Mr. Gentry were white though. It was kind of odd to see these types of white people in this part of North Philly. The people that came looking for a meeting with Mr. Gentry looked like a fish out of water around here. There’s white people in North Philly all the time. Hell’ there’s white people who live in North Philly. But those type of white people looked like they belonged in the hood. The type that came through the offices didn’t. Not everyone who came through the offices looked this way, but there were times when the office got visits from people who looked like they spent all of their time in Country Clubs. Real uppity looking people. What could these folks possibly want with Gentry? Petey pictured Gentry as a small time pimp or mid-level drug dealer or some type of shit like that. The people coming through the office sometimes seemed to be way out of his league.

“Aye, you be palying man.”

Petey smiled as he flirted with Tasha who always flirted with Petey, but was a little extra receptive to the flirting on this day for some reason.

“I ain’t playing. Look at your phone.”

Petey looked down at his phone as he felt it vibrating. A bunch of text messages from Tasha with “images attached.” Petey opened one. Tasha laughed at Petey as she watched his eyes widen as he looked at the pictures she’d sent him.

“Aye kid, we got a a few runs to make. Let’s hit it.”

Petey looked up to see Rocko walking past him. He never even stopped walking as he spoke. Petey sighed before he smiled at Tasha.

“I’ll be back for you. We gonna continue this conversation.”

Tasha flirtatiously blew Petey a kiss and laughed. Petey turned around and broke out into a light jog so he could catch up to Rocko, who seemed to power-walk everywhere he went. Petey laughed as he finally caught up to Rocko.

“Tha’ fuck you always be walking so fast for? Acting like it’s a fire somewhere and shit.”

Rocko never broke stride as he responded.

“Serious people walk fast. Clowns walk slow.”

Petey shook his head.

“Man that shit is completely ass backward! Lames and fuckin’ nerds walk fast. Thoroughbreads walk slow, because the world comes to them. They don’t rush for the world!”

Every single day, Rocko and Petey went back and forth about this thing or that thing. The two went on for hours about little shit too. It was clearly looking like today’s controversial topic was going to be the speed at which one walked.

Rocko was 46-years old. Petey was barely 18. Rocko had been on this earth more than twice as long as Petey had, which made having to work with Petey every day even more frustrating. Petey had played in the streets a little and spent five years in a juvenile prison. Petey fely like there wasn’t much in this world that he had not already seen. Rocko was 46-years old, he knew better. Trying to explain this to Petey became a frustrationg task that Rocko repeated daily. Petey was not a knucklehead. Not by a long-shot. Even Rocko had to admit that. Petey was actually very mature for his age……but, still an 18-year old who thought he knew a lot more about life and the world than he actually did. Petey had seen and done some shit in his lifetime, but Rocko had seeeeen and doooone some shit in his………..

Rocko started out in this life when he was just 10-years old. Rocko was old school South Philly, born and raised. Rocko grew up in South Philly during the height of the Philly mob wars. Rocko had actuaaly seen and been involved in some heavy shit during his lifetime. After doing petty robberies into his early teens, Rocko was called upon by the local mob to do his first piece of real crime business. Rocko grew up on Snyder Avenue. The same block notorious mob boss Angelo Bruno once lived on. The neighborhood was a tight-knit Italian American community in the late 70’s, throughout the 80’s, and well into the 1990’s. The neighborhood was a mostly peaceful one. Nobody would dare come into the neighborhood starting any trouble. The mob had that kind of respect in South Philly. Things changed when someone decided it was a good idea to shoot the godfather in the back of the head with a shotgun. Things got very violent in South Philly after that. Rocko was too young to understand the ins and outs of why things happened back then, but like everyone else in the neighborhood, Rocko wanted revenge for the godfather’s murder. Even as a young teenager. When some older guys in the neighborhood came up to Rocko and told him to throw a molatev coctail threw a house’s window on 10th Street, Rocko did so with no questions asked. Rocko carried out his mission, but he got popped for the crime 10 minutes later. Someone called the cops and reported that a kid had threw a cocktail into a house and set it ablaze. Rocko was unlucky enough to match the description. He was also unlucky enough to reek of gasoline when the cops caught up to him shortly after he’d committed the crime. No one was hurt in the fire, but the house……and the one next to it practically burned to the ground. Because of the propert crime, Rocko was sent away for 18 months. Rocko fought every day in juvie. He grew to love that shit. There was nothing in the world like the feel of beating someone’s face in. Rocko came home from juvie as a 15-year old, who was really nice with the hands, and who was also always looking for some trouble to get into. Rocko fought anyone, every chance he got. The older guys in the neighborhood took notice. They felt like the young, angry energy may be something they might be able to use to their advantage. Some of the older guys began taking Rocko on collections. Instead of working over a deadbeat who hadn’t paid themselves, they sat back and watched young Rocko do it. Rocko was nice with those paws too. It got to a point that the older guys hoped whoever owed money couldn’t pay, just so they could see Rocko go to work on them. Rocko was good and what he was doing, and easily would’ve been the type of person who would be quickly rising in the mobs’ ranks. The only problem with this was that Rocko wasn’t actually putting in work for the mob. I take that back. Rocko was putting in work for the mob, but he really wasn’t. You get what I’m saying? It’s kind of confusing, but try to stay with me here. Let’s say, I’m the boss, and I tell my general manager to do something for me. The lazy ass general manager passes the job off to one of the managers. The manager believes he’s doing something for the general manager, not for me….. the boss. The manager passes the job off to a supervisor, who believes he’s doing something for the manager, not the general manager. The supervisor passes the job off to a low level employee who finally does the hard work. After the work is done the low level employee gets nothing from the supervisor for a job well done. The supervisor gets a pat on the back for a job well done from the manager. The manager gets an “atta boy” from the general manager, who gets a financial bonus, and even more important, recognition from the boss for a job well done. See what I’m saying? Unless someone is crediting you for the work and word gets up the food chain, everyone else will be credited with the work you’ve done and never you. This is the position young Rocko was currently in. Anybody who mattered would never know that Rocko even existed, unless someone broke the normal routine of things and credited Rocko for the work he’d done……which would likely never have happened. Rocko was earning chump change for beating the hell out of people all day, every day. One day Rocko’s handlers were tasked with a tough job. A job that guaranteed they were going to jail the minute they completed the job…..if they even managed to complete the job. They figured it would be best to just hand off the job to Rocko. They could take credit for a job well done, and possibly move themselves up the ranks. A witness was planning to testify against one of the high ranking members of the organization. Rocko’s handler (Carmine) was tasked with making sure that the witness never made it to court. Killing witnesses was pretty easy. Especially when everyone lived in the same neighborhood, and most people wouldn’t dare say they saw anything even if they did. I mean, if you sit there and watch them get to one witness in the neighborhood, why the fuck would you think it coluldn’t happen to you? It made perfect sense. Anyway, this witness was different. He was set to testify against a mob Captain. This was big. It wasn’t every day local police made a sure-shot case against someone as high up as a Captain. Police sat a squad car in front of the witness’s house 24-hours a day. Rocko had beat up plenty of people in his life. He’d even put some in the hospital for weeks. But he’d never killed anyone. Had never even thought about killing anyone. Even still, when Carmine put the six shot revolver in his hands, Rocko knew that he was going to kill that witness. And he did. Rocko snuck into the back of the guys’ house and put two bullets in his dome. And just as Carmine had suspected, Rocko got locked up for it. Rocko had been home from an 18 month juvie sentence for less than two months. He was already on his way back to prison. This time for 20-years, which was the sentence for murder back then. 15-year old Rocko was certified on his 16th birthday and sent to adult prison to serve out his sentence. Once word spread in prison about where Rocko was from, he was quickly brought into the mob’s circle of friends inside the prison. It was there, at that time, that Rocko’s name began carrying some weight with it. Rocko was directly in contact with actual made men every day. When someone owed some money, they sent Rocko. When some heads needed to be cracked, they sent Rocko. When they were doing business with one of the gangs, the mob sent Rocko. As time went on, Rocko’s attacks became more and more violent, and Rocko’s reputation grew and grew. Only this time, the right people were witnessing Rocko’s willingness for violence and his eternal loyalty. Rocko came home at from prison at the age of 36. He was a grown ass man who’d spent most of his younger years on the inside. But Rocko came home with the respect of a made man. Rocko wasn’t a made man though. He could never be a made man. His father was Italian, but his mother African. Rocko had been made fun of in his Italian neigborhood when he was younger because of this. Because he wasn’t of 100% Italian descent, Rocko would never be a made man in the Italian Mafia. Rocko was the next best thing though. A highly respected affiliate. Rocko came home to find that his old neighborhood was now ran by Carmine, who now went by the name “two guns.” Carmine had earned the nickname as he climbed the ranks. Carmine had personally committed many murders over the years and had ordered even more. Carmine had even come to power after a “Gotti-style” coup in which he knocked the sitting boss off and stole the crown. Carmine began snorting cocaine on the low. Most people had no idea about Carmine’s little habit, but those that did knew that the drugs were contributing to Carmine’s immense paranoia. Rocko comig home was not something that made Carmine happy. Yes, Carmine had committed multiple murders during his time, but the very first one he was credited with was the one that he had not actually done. And the only person that knew Carmine’s little secret was back in the neighborhood. Rocko never even thought about telling anyone the truth. He’d heard the stories that Carmine was telling in the neighborhood while he was gone. That he’d done the killing and Rocko was just the dummy he brought along on the job who ended up taking the fall for the crime. Because the murder was done for a Capo, it was that murder that got Carmine “called up” to the big leagues. Rocko’s life was in danger almost from the moment he came home. It started off with Carmine just saying little disrespectful things to Rocko and hoping Rocko would react, but Rocko never did. Carmine couldn’t just kill Rocko for no reason, no matter how bad he wanted to. Rocko was not made, but he was protected by the South Jersey mob for his loyalty when he was on the inside. Philly would lose a war against South Jersey. Killing Rocko for no reason and without permission would’ve been bad for Carmine. After not getting the response he’d hoped for from Rocko, Carmine decided to put Rocko in one of the crews that worked for him. Carmine even moved Rocko up to the crew boss position. This meant that Rocko, along with all of the other crew bosses were obligated to pay “tribute” to Carmine the boss. Every month, Carmine made sure to make Rocko’s little rag tag crews’ payments higher than everyone else. If Rocko couldn’t make his monthly tribute, then that would be Carmine’s green light. He could accuse Rocko of stealing or holding out. Rocko could see what was happening. Carmine was going to keep raising the tribute until it got to a price Rocko couldn’t pay. Rocko had no idea why Carmine was doing this, but he knew what it was. Carmine had backed Rocko into a corner. It was basically kill or be killed at this point. Even though South Jersey was backing him, Rocko had enough sense to know that killing a made men was an automatic death sentence. But killing a boss was probably a death sentence to everyone he knew. Rocko would never get an O.K. to kill a boss. He was not a made man. Rocko still knew he needed to kill Carmine…..if he wanted to live. And time was beginning to look like it was going to be a factor. What Carmine needed was a diversion. And it just so happens he had one. The Italian Mafia had pull in the city. This was an undeniable fact. But Philly has always been one of those “know your limits” type of cities. Your territory was your territory, but stay the fuck out of mine! Philly’s underworld is a hotbed of gangs of different nationalities, races, cultures, and even religions. The only reason there had never been an underworld civil war in the city was because people usually stayed in their respective lanes. And when someone looked like they were getting out of their lanes, a couple of people from the warring factions usually stopped a disagreement from becoming all out war. Carmine had been breaking the rules for a few years now. He’d been attempting to muscle his way into black drug trade territory. There had been warnings and even a few killings, but Carmine had persisted. He knew very well the value in selling drugs in the black neighborhoods in South Philly. The only thing that stopped all out war from breaking out was Carmine paying rent and staying in one small neighborhood in South Philly. That didn’t mean people were happy about it, but it wasn’t enough to start an all out cultural war in the streets of Philadelphia over. One of the people who weren’t happy about Italians in the black part of South Philly was a guy named James. Rocko knew this because Rocko and James had done time together back in the joint. Rocko did most of the drug business with the other races for the Italians on the inside and James Gentry was one of the many people Rocko had done business with. Gentry had already carved out a nice little piece of territory in South Philly among the many other illegal activities he was involved in. The neighborhood Carmine was moving in on wasn’t exactly Gentry’s territory, he just didn’t like the idea that Carmine was beating him to it. Gentry was in the process of trying to eliminate everybody in South Philly who wasn’t willing to get on his team. If you weren’t Gentry’s ally you were his enemy. There was no in-between or grey area with James Gentry. Rocko went to Gentry and did the strangest thing Gentry had ever seen someone in Rocko’s position do. He asked for Gentry’s help in knocking off a mob boss for undying loyalty in return. That nexty level of ownership that Gentry was trying to get to…..Rocko was definitely someone who could help him get there. Rocko could be the key to opening up doors that were closed to most black people. Gentry agreed. He came up with a plan that would kill two birds with one stone. Gentry planned on setting in motion a series of events that would get two factions fighting and leave himself to pick up the pieces and territories that survived the battle. Gentry had Rocko hire two Italians who were really nobodies, to carry out a hit on a very popular member of the crew whose territory Carmine had been moving in on. Of course the crew reacted and carried out a hit on a member of Carmine’s team. With the war officially on, Rocko was able to do what needed to be done. Rocko laid in wait in the bushes in front of Carmine’s house at midnight waiting for Carmine to arrive home at his usual time. Rocko put two bullets in the back of Carmine’s dome as he was unlocking the front door to his home. Nobody ever really knew who killed the mob boss, but retaliation was mandatory. Through Rocko, Gentry cut a deal with the New Jersey family to handle that piece of business for them. With the promise of future business ventures together, of course. The New Jersey family accepted the deal. Gentry did not even kill anyone. He simply purchased the small territory from the crew who formerly controlled it. Six figure paydays speaks volumes in the hood. It’s not an every day opportunity to come by for most. With one of their fearless leaders dead, and the threat of a war with the Italians on the horizon, the small crew happily accepted a payment for the territory that wasn’t even worth the price of a certain death. Gentry just waited. He waited for the next unsolved murder in South Philly to pop up in the newspaper. When it did, Gentry took credit for the murder and told Jersey that the business had been handled. The plan worked. They went for it. Rocko kept his promise of a loyalty pledge to Gentry. The two had moved up in the ranks of the underworld to go on to much bigger things. And Rocko remained the most loyal soldier in Gentry’s crew…..to this day.

As Petey hopped into the passenger seat of Rocko’s Lexus, he didn’t have very high expectations for today. Every day was pretty much the same around here. When Rocko parked in front of a store on 13th Street things began to change for Petey.

“Alright kid, you’re up to bat.”

Petey looked at Rocko with a confused look on his face.


“You’re up. Go in there and take care of that business.”

“What business?”

“You’ll know when you get in there.”

Petey shook his head. As usual Rocko was being super vague about every little thing. Petey was out to prove a point though. His point? Whatever the job was, he was more than up to the task. Petey got out of the car and slammed the door before he headed into the store. Petey walked into the little corner store and looked around. He grabbed a soda out of the fridge and a $1.00 bag of Fritos before he got in line behind the other customers. Petey knew this store very well. This was one of the same stores he and Walter used to steal snacks from as youngsters growing up in Fairhill Projects. Petey smiled as memories of his childhood began playing in his head. His smiled turned upside down when he thought about Walter. Walter who was currently serving time in prison because he killed his boss in order to save Petey’s life. A money makiing scheme Petey had come up with to make himself some extra money. A scheme he had put Walter right in the middle of. A scheme that Walter had not even known about, participated in, or made money off of. Petey broke out of his little daydream when he got to the front of the line. The old-head behind the cash register looked to be about 50-years old. He nodded at Petey before he scanned his items, reached under the counter to grab a plastic bag, and placed Petey’s items inside the bag. Petey knew right away that the man had obviously put something else inside the bag because the bag was much too big for just a bag of chips and a soda. He could’ve put that little bit of shit in a small brown paper bag. After saying “thank you for your purchase” after handing Petey the bag, ol’ head leaned in close to Petey’s ear.

“This from Billy Bates and Sharkey. Montez ain’t pay this week.”

Hearing the name Billy Bates gave Petey a reason to pause. The names Sharkey and Montez meant absolutely nothing to Petey. But Billy Bates was a different story. There was only one Billy Bates around these parts and Petey definitely knew who he was. Instead of attempting to question the ol’ head, Petey just nodded and headed out the store. Petey didn’t know much about anything going on and he didn’t want to let on that he might. Petey hopped into the passenger seat and nonchalantly passed the bag to Rocko.

“Aye O.G, let me get my soda and chips out of there.”

Rocko looked at Petey as he passed him his items.

“Did you look inside the bag?”

Petey shoved a hand full of Fritos in his mouth before he spoke with a mouth full of food.

“Nope, ain’t my business, but ol’ head did say something about Montez ain’t pay this week.”

Rocko nodded as he pulled an envolope out of the plastic bag and slowly counted the money inside without pulling it out of the envelope. Petey sat and watched everything. He showed little interest on his face as he did. When Rocko was satisfied that everything was correct he put the car in gear and pulled out. This had been a very good trip for Petey. He now possessed exactly what he’d been hoping to obtain for the last two weeks. A clue! Petey couldn’t wait for this work day to be over so he could drive down to 10th street and pay his old pal Billy Bates a visit.

Pitbull watched the guard’s desk intensely. He watched without trying to make it look too obvious that he was watching. He knew that he was only going to get one chance at this. If he missed his opportunity, chances were pretty good that there would not be another. Pitbull had put in way too much time and effort to allow this opportunity to escape him. This plan that Pitbull had set in motion had been a plan he had been working on for over 8 months. That was a long time to be planning anything. But Pitbull was doing a 20 year bid. What the fuck else did he have to do with his time?………..

“Man if you don’t believe just look up the case log. Tha’ fuck I need to lie for?”

Pitbull smirked as he looked at Z-Ro skeptically.

“I’m a do just that.”

Pitbull had been locked up for awhile and in that time he had heard some wild stories. But up until now he had never heard a story as wild as the one Z-Ro had just told him. This was the day that Pitbull began putting the plan into place that he’d been working on for the last 8 months. What Z-Ro had just told Pitbull was about ways to get out of prison. One of those many ways Pitbull was very interested in.

Z-Ro told Pitbull about a guy that earned an early release from prison for something he’d done while back in jail in Philly. A guy had earned an early release by saving a correctional officers life. Back in FDC a disgruntled inmate who’d just come back to his unit after a rough day in court, attacked a female correctional officer in the unit. The guy had come back from court pissed off and he had a really good reason to be pissed off. A judge had just slapped him with a 40-year prison sentence an hour prior. The guy was looking to lash out at someone….anyone, since he would never be able to get his hands around the neck of the judge who slapped him with the 40. The person he decided to lash out on was the correctional officer who worked his unit. He really lashed out too. He stabbed the woman multiple times with his homemade shank. When the woman fell to the ground the stabbing did not stop. He dove on top of her and continued the assault. The woman was stabbed over 30 times. This happened back in 1994/95′. But that poor woman would still be getting stabbed by that inmate right now if two other inmates wouldn’t have intervened. Sometimes a unit in a jail that is holding over 100 inmates is overlooked by 1 correctional officer. Two on a good day. That correctional officer’s backup is always anywhere in the jail except the unit. If, by some strange chance that c/o working the unit should happen to come under attack by one….or all of the more than 100 inmates on that unit, the response time for help to arrive is always at least two minutes out. A whole lot can happen to your ass in two minutes! 120 seconds doesn’t seem like an especially long amount of time until something is happening to your ass! Anyway, the two “good samaratin” inmates that intervened tackled the assailant and pinned him on the ground until backup arrived. Both of the good samaratin inmates were looking at “drama” (very serious charges they were currently locked up for). These two good samaratins were not codefendants. Hell, they never even spoke to one another and had been living on the same unit for over 18 months. Both men facing very serious charges went before two different judges for sentencing after being convicted of their respective charges. Both of those judges requested a downward departure from their respective sentencing guidelines for the deed they had done back at the jail. Both men ended up getting half of the prison sentence they were supposed to get. Hell, both of them were looking at over 30 years in prison, but likie I said before, both of those jokers had drama. But the point still stands. Because they saved that woman’s life on that day, those two walked away with 15 and 18-year prison sentences instead of 30 and 33-year sentences. Pitbull had already served half of his 20-year prison sentence. If he got himself some of this hero action, a downward departure would put him out the door at this point in his prison sentence. Yeah, Pitbull needed to get himself a piece of that!

Now that Pitbull understood how he was going to get out of prison, the big question became, how could he get someone to attack a correctional officer. A big part of the reason that the incident that Pitbull had heard about back in Philly even took place was because that was a jail. Well, Pitbull wasn’t in jail he was currently in prison. Big difference. In case you don’t know, jail is a place you go to while you’re still awaiting trial. You may get found innocent at court and you may get found guilty. Some people serve short sentences in jail also. Usually anything under 2-years. Prison is reserved for those who have already been convicted of a crime and are serving out their sentence. You can get a short stay in prison, but chances are you’ll probably be serving more than a year if sent to prison. Sometimes people get sent back to prison to serve out short probation violations too. 3 months, 6 months, 9 monts etc. etc. etc. It was being handed the 40-year sentence that likely pushed that guy over the edge that day. In prison, most people have accepted their sentence and are just trying to live life. Some people attack corrections officers but that’s usually not an every day occurence. In prison that is usually the result of something personal or either some type of gang initiation. Pitbull wasn’t in a gang so using an initiation to get someone to attack a c/o wasn’t happening. But what else was there that could possibly make a person angry enough to try to kill a correctional officer? Love! was the first thought that came to Pitbull’s mind. People did some strange things in the name of love. But how could Pitbull possibly find a way to make love work in his favor in this situation? It took Pitbull a few weeks of wrecking his brain, but he finally came up with a solution.

Correctional officers frequently have sex with inmates. This is an ugly truth. But that does not mean these are not facts. Even more, correctional officers frequently carry on relationships with inmates. Like real life girlfriend/boyfriend relationships. These relationships can carry serious consequences for both if ever discovered. These are infractions that would get an employee fired or even arrested and an inmate sent to the hole or even have more time added to their current sentence. But even with all of that on the table some people still take the risk. In most cases it’s love for the correctional officers who’s in a relationship with an inmate. But in the inmate’s case it’s usually just lust, special priveledges, or even just having something different to do. No disrespect to anyone but, because things are usually this way, an inmate will go after a female correctional officer who he believes doesn’t get a lot of attention from male suitors in “the real world.” She becomes an unwilling participant in his game. One of those jokers in prison tell her how beautiful she is all day, every day during her 8 hour shift, and after a few weeks or months she’s usually like silly puddy in his hands. Getting a correctional officer to fall for your game, and get her to risk losing her job for you is not something that’s going to happen in a day or two. This type of shit takes weeks or even months. Hell, maybe even years. This is definitely the long con. No doubt about it. But what the fuck else does a muthafucka’ who’s doing a 30-year prison sentence have to do all day?

The first thing Pitbull needed to do was figure out exactly which female correctional officers may be receptive to an inmate’s game. After he figured that out, he was going to need to figure out which one of these inmates had been successful in laying down their game. Then he might be able to move in and hope to disrupt some shit. Hopefully the disruption would cause the inmate to take the most drastic action imaginable. Then he had to hope like hell that, that “most drastic action imaginable” was not one against him. The whole thing had a slim to none chance of succeeding. The best way to figure out who may be in love with one of these correctional officers was to go directly to the source. Even finding the source was difficult because someone fucking a c/o was usually something people tried to keep to themselves. It’s not even a thing that you could simply recognize in public either. People in relationships were very guarded about public contact or even publicly speaking to one another. A way you might get a sense of something going on was if a c/o lingered near an inmate’s cell a little longer than usual. But even that wasn’t 100%. Some c/o’s, and most inmates were just naturally chatty. Another way you may be able to tell was an inmate frequently getting called to go to some out of the normal place. Like the medical building. This was likely where the secret rendezvous were taking place. Pitbull watched for all of the signs. Nobody on the unit got called to more odd places than Marcus Blakeny. Blakeny was called to go somewhere off of the unit practically every single day. Blakeney’s call out’s usually happened when Ms. Sentara was working. That was Monday-Friday’s from 4p.m to 12:00 am. Blockney was a real “somebody” out there in the world. He was currently serving a 7-year prison sentence for running a car chopping ring, but word around the unit was that Blakeney dipped and dabbed in drug dealing and bank robbery also. Whatever it was Blakeney had going out on the streets was still going on even though he was in prison. The fact that Blakeney had money and peoples who were willing to move out for him still out on the streets meant that there was a 99% chance that Blakeney had something coming in. By something coming in, I mean he was getting drugs into the prison somehow for him to sell and make money from. Pittbull’s best guess was that this part is where Ms. Sentara came in at. Ms. Sentara wasn’t an ugly chick, but there was a pretty good chance that she was an insecure one. Ms. Sentara was likely the target of many prison scammers. An older hispanic woman who may have been thinking that her better days were behind her, suddenly getting hit on by physically fit young men in their 20’s and 30’s. Ms. Sentara was about 57-years old and as single as single could be. When she went home after work the most action Ms. Sentara got was watching Game Of Thrones and Sex In The City. Cougar shit. For a dude like Blakney, a woman like Ms. Sentara wasn’t one of those things you come across every day. She was more than willing to bring his drugs in for him in exchange for some sex from the physically fit, smooth talking playboy Marcus Blakeney. If Pitbull’s guess was right, losing Ms. Sentara was definitely something that Marcus Blakeney would go all out for. Just the thought of losing his drug mule and personal stress releaser was something that would probably be enough to drive Blakeney crazy and cause him to lash out. The only question left was who would ultimately catch Blakeney’s wrath when he decided to lash out? Pitbull or Ms. Sentara?

Pitbull knew that even thinking about going to Blakeney and asking him if Ms. Sentara was his babe would have been drawin’. Pitbull had been at this prison for 10 years and Blakeney had been here 4 and a half. In all of that time the two had never even acknowledge one another. It wasn’t a beef or anything. It was simply the two ran in two very different circles. Pitbull only hung out with fellow scammers. Blakeney was as close to a shotcaller without a gang that you were going to find around here. Blakeney was basically “the connect.” Everybody fucked with Blakeney. Pitbull decided that the best person to get confirmation from was Blakeney’s cellmate, white boy Mike. If anybody knew about Blakeney’s “going ons” it would likely be his cellie. Pitbull just needed to be sure that the topic came up in a casual conversation and white boy Mike wouldn’t catch on to what type of information Pitbull was attempting to extract from him. If that happened white boy Mike would likely run back and tell Blakeney. If that happened everything would be fucked up. Mike had been at this prison as long as Pitbull had. The two were casual. Not friends, but they always spoke and sometimes even conversated about this and that. Mike ran the store on the unit. Pitbull had done a lot of grimey shit here in prison, but even Pitbull had enough sense to pay the store man when he owed him. Being on bad terms with the store man was a bad way to do time at any prison. You never know when you might need to borrow something for a week or so until your money hit your books, and whatever it was that you needed there was a 99% chance the store man had it…..or could get it. Pitbull was fortunate enough to had maintained good credit with the store man over the years. Pitbull went to Mike and Blakeney’s cell to hit Mike up for a couple of soups, a summer sausage, and some Cheese Curls until next week as a reason to spark up a conversation with him. Pitbull had been inside Mike and Blakeney’s cell a few times over the years. This time he paid close attention to everything in this cell. He was looking for just a small sign of anything that showed him that his theory that Blakeney and Ms. Sentara being an item might be true. There were no pictures of the two hanging on the walls or sitting on the desk. (duh) Pitbull didn’t see signs of any love letters or anything lying around. But what Pitbull did see inside the trash can was something that should not have been in there. An empty hamburger wrap from Mcdonalds. There was only one way an inmate was eating Mickey D’s up in this bitch. Someone had brought it in for him! Pitbull got his items from Mike and made a little small talk about the football games coming up on Sunday. As he was leaving out the door he purposely looked in the trash can so Mike could see and turned and looked at Mike.

“I see you eating good up in this bitch.”

Pitbull said it so nonchalantly that Mike misunderstood the search for info as a compliment. He made the mistake of trying to play humble secondary “bigshot.”

“Naw, that’s my cellie. Got one of those c/o bitches in check. Major check! That bitch do anything for O.G. You know how cellies roll though. We look out for each other. But you know, if I was him I’d play it a different way. I’d just use the chick for what it’s worth. My cellie, I think he’s falling in love with this bitch.”

Pitbull nodded and attempted his best “impressed” act.

“Sheesh! I’m tryna get like ya’ll! I’m downstairs living like a savage!”

Pitbull totally acted like he wasn’t interested in the last part of Mike’s statement at all. Mike was none the wiser to the fact that he’d just dry-snitched either. Mike and Pitbull both laughed before Pitbull continued.

“Yeah, but I’m a get this stuff back to you on Tuesday aight?”

Mike nodded before he shook Pitbull’s hand. Pitbull left the cell and walked down the hall managing to keep a straight face the whole time. He hit the stairs and walked down the unit to his cell, still managing to keep a straight face. When he got to his cell he put his towel up on the window. Pitbull laid in his bed and finally cracked a huge smile. He had just found his ticket out of this bitch!

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