Unit 2

by | Oct 26, 2015 | 0 comments

I am not sure how long I was in the hole, I think around a week, but I do know that there was some discussion while I was there about whether or not I would be changed in outside court for attempted escape. I still had court dates ahead of me and so still did not know how long I was actually doing. An attempted escape charge may send me into a federal pen instead of staying here in HMP. But after a couple of days I was brought to disciplinary court where I stood in front of the assistant superintendent, Mr. Saunders, who never looked up farther than your belt while you were before him for disciplinary action. Outside of kangaroo court, I would find later, he actually could look you in the eye. Not so in court however. He spoke without ever raising his eyes.

I was sentenced to a few more days in the hole and a couple of weeks of cell time afterwards. That was great news. Now I knew I was not going to be charged in outside court.

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Fast Forward

I recently came across some old journals, one of which was from one of my bits in HMP. One line caught my attention:

“I haven’t seen G since I threw him down the stairs last week.”

I have no idea who ‘G’ was, and no recollection of ever throwing anyone down the stairs. I was most likely wasted when it happened as is the case with a lot of the things I have done.

These are the things that my nightmares are made of.

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‘Time stops for no man’, that is true, but in the hole it comes damn close to it. There is no time longer than solitary time, with no way to escape your own mind. When my time was over (five or seven long days later) I wanted a cigarette or ten and a shower, in that order. I looked forward to getting back to the West Wing.

I was very disappointed when the guards told me that I was not going back to the wing. They were instead taking me to Unit Two. I was instantly filled with anxiety – I knew everyone in the wing, was used to it there and was somewhat comfortable. Now I was going to a strange unit with a bunch of guys I didn’t know. Unit Two had a very bad reputation, one side of which was referred to as The Jungle. Of course that was the side they were putting me on.

The fact that I was on lockup for the next two weeks and would never be outside of my cell actually made the transition a little easier. So did the fact that I had just come out of the hole for attempting to escape. That had earned me points with people I had not even met yet. I had guys coming up to my cell door to talk to me about it – and pass treats under the door to me; cigarettes of course, and hash! 

Of course I knew some of the guys on the unit, mostly from seeing them around the jail and some were well known names in  the Lakeview Hotel. Here in The Jungle were most of the ‘heavies’ in the institution. Guys no one messed with.

I would later be told there were no such thing as a ‘heavy’ in a provincial institution, and now, having done federal time, I get that. Everyone has a lot to lose in provincial because  everyone is doing small time – less than two years. But back then I was barely fifteen years old and knew these guys received more respect than nearly everyone else in the jail. The Jungle was a solid unit during that time. It was kept that way. Anyone who came on the range that was not wanted usually did not last the day before they were begging to be transferred. 

Those two weeks, locked up 24 hours a day, was the best cell time I had ever done up to that point. The guys looked after me, keeping me supplied with cigarettes, hash and pills. And not just jailhouse bug juice pills: Real stuff like Valium and Percocet. 

After seven straight days of lockup the rules stated that you would get one hour a day ‘recreation’ time out of your cell. During this time I got the chance to talk to the guys on the unit and soon found that my initial fears were unnecessary. There was not a person on the unit (16 of us in total) who did not seem like a good guy. If this was what The Jungle was all about, then I was happy being one of it’s animals. There was more dope on that unit then I would have every thought was in the entire jail. 

The guys liked this cocky little 15 year old (because I was cocky with the staff and not the inmates) and treated me very well. What was more, once my cell time was over and I was again able to circulate around the jail I did so with a lot more confidence. I lived in The Jungle, so that itself brought me a little protection.

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“Hey Veinotte, come here.” Bret said as I was heading to my cell. I was high and tired and wanted to go to sleep for a while. But I went over to where he was sitting with a couple of the other guys. There were two metal tables in the unit, bolted to the floor. They were sitting at one of them, each of them leaning in obviously in deep discussion. I sat at the table.

“Here, take these first,” Bret said, passing me two blue pills that I assumed were valium. I popped them into my mouth without really looking at them. “You see that guy they just brought in?” He asked. I stated that I had – a tall, scruffy looking dude had come onto the unit and was in his cell across the range from mine. “Well, he is a rat and we have to get him out of here.”

“Ok, so what do you want me to do?” I asked, suddenly not tired anymore. Now I was nervous.

“We want you to take care of him.” Bret said, looking at me intently. “When he goes to get a shower, go in behind him. Beat the fuck out of him. He is a pussy and probably won’t even fight back.”

“No fucking way man! Look at the size of that guy! He will kill me!” I said, beginning to panic. I did not want to say no to these guys. That was just not something that would work out well for me. I felt I owed them with all the drugs they had given me, but this was suicide. The rat was a hell of a lot taller and bigger than I was. He was pretty skinny from what I had seen of him as he came into the unit, but was at least six foot three. Me, on the other hand, stood about five foot ten and  had a twenty-six inch waist. Yet they wanted ME to take care of this.

“Come on now Veinotte. You know we got your back. If you get into trouble just yell and we will come in. If he is smart he will take a beating from you rather than from us.”

The three of them were looking at me intently. I didn’t know what to do. Did I actually have a choice? If I did not do this, would I be left to fend for myself? Would they turn on me? I did not know. I could not ask. I really wished that I was no longer high, that I could think straight. 

I did what I was expected to do; I said yes.

I went into my cell to empty my suddenly full bladder, and splashed cold water on my face trying to clear my head. I was shaking uncontrollably. I was certain I was about to take a beating, the question was just how bad was it going to be? I had been beat up before, but this was walking into a losing battle and I was scared.

I went back out and sat  down at the table again, staring at the television, silently waiting. The valium kicked in before long and I began to think that this guy was not going to go to the shower room. How could he not after coming up from lockup? The guys assured me that he would and that it wouldn’t be long.

They were right. He walked out of his cell carrying clean clothes and a towel. Once he was in the shower room I stood, took a deep breath and looked at Bret, hoping this was a joke and he would laugh at me and tell me to sit down. Instead he said “Don’t worry. We got your back.” So I headed in. If this was going to happen it was going to happen while he still had his clothes on. I had no desire to fight a naked guy.

I startled him as I walked into the shower room. He had been hanging up his towel and turned towards me, fear already in his face. “I hear you’re a fucking rat!” I said. I didn’t give him the opportunity to reply – i punched him in the mouth, nearly having to leave my feet to reach his face. He crumpled. He just went down in the corner with his knees pulled up to his chest and his hands over his face. I hit him again, suddenly angry. How could he just drop like that? What kind of a man acts this way? I was disgusted by his cowardice and it fed my anger. I punched him repeatedly, swinging with all the strength I had in my skinny body, most of the punches landing on the sides of his head as he protected his face with his hands. Then I switched to my feet, kicking him several times, my feet smashing through his hands to his face.

I stopped, breathing like I had run a marathon. Now I would be going to the hole, of that I was sure. There was only one slim chance of that not happening, so I leaned over him and said “Now you are to get the fuck off of this unit and if you tell the screws who did this to you I will fucking kill you. I will come to PC to get you, you understand?”  (PC is protective custody)

I didn’t get a reply and didn’t want to be here any longer. I walked out of the shower room and headed for my cell. Before I got there the guy bolted out the door and headed to the control room, pounding on the window. “Get me out of here! Get me out of here!” he began screaming. There was blood on his face as he looked back at us, me standing with my hand on my cell door, the other guys still sitting at the table. The look of total horror on his face sickened me. I caused that look. I did that to him. 

The unit door unlocked and he raced through it. We would not see him on Unit 2 again.

I walked into my cell, deciding to get rid of any contraband that would get me into more trouble and earn me more time in the hole. I heard one of the other guys go cell to cell warning everyone that we were going to get locked down and get ready for a search. Bret came to my cell. “Good job Veinotte. I told you it would be easy!” He smiled at me and walked away. “Hide your shit guys. The goons are coming!”

The unit filled up with guards, one of them yelling “Lock down! Everyone in your cells!”  I sat on my bunk, waiting for them to come grab me. Instead my door was locked. I couldn’t believe it! I wasn’t going to the hole? He hadn’t told them who beat him? 

As the hours passed so did the chance that they were going to come back and get me. I guess the guy was too afraid to tell the guards who had done this to him. 

After a couple of days the lockdown was over, we were back to our normal routines and everyone was talking about me. I was “Fucking crazy!” and had “Beat that fuck out of that rat!” and had gained in jail terms. By beating up another human being I had gained respect – and for me that meant a new level of security. Inside however, it fed my guilt. While the guys praised me for what I had done, the shame I felt grew. I kept recalling how the guy had dropped and how enraged that had made me. It would be added to my list of nightmares, but in most of my dreams the guy fought back… in my dreams he beat me and beat me and nobody came to save me.

When I left the unit to go to the gym I had guys coming up to me, whispering that they had heard what I did. Some that knew me already shook my hand. I kept thinking “Holy fuck this is sick.” And it was. So was I.

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