By Randall Radic
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Additional info for A Priest in Hell: Gangs, Murderers and Snitching in a California Jail
Ask for Martin. Tell him you know me. ” He taps his chest with his fingers. ” I read the piece of paper. It is hand printed, in pencil: “Need bail? ” Then it gives a phone number. “If I find any money, I’ll call him first thing,” I say, wondering how come he’s not out if his cousin is a bail bondsman. ” “Sure, anyone,” he says. ” I just look at him. “No problem, no problem,” he says, raising his hands. He 46 A PRIEST IN HELL walks over to John Stofft, who is standing alone, fists pressed to his temples.
The mattress is three inches thick and hard. Tears run down my face. I have nothing left. No energy, no thoughts, no possessions, no food, no personal items, no cup to drink from. No job, no house, no car, no money, no one I love. No book to read, no paper to write on, no pencil. All I have is the orange clothing I wear, and it is not even mine. I rise and walk to the window. Across the way, I see other cells, most of them dark. Over to the right, I see one cell with lights on. A figure appears in the window, turns, and disappears.
I jump up and move to the window. I watch him circumnavigate the unit, checking each cell as he passes. When he finishes his rounds, I see an orange-clad inmate wearing a plastic apron and a white plastic cap. He is pushing a cart heaped with plastic trays. Parking the cart, he begins rolling out collapsible tables, which he unfolds with a bang. He 42 A PRIEST IN HELL places four gray plastic chairs around each of the six tables. He says something to Palmer at the podium. Palmer nods. I hear popping noises around the unit.