21 June 06

T-Bone

Fresh from the hole after smashing a prison rapist, African American T-Bone arrived at Yard 4 looking as if he had just walked out of a Conan movie. Almost six-foot-six tall, weighing over three-hundred pounds, with arms that made his 6XL T-shirt look too small, T-Bone has got to be one of the toughest men on the yard. His body is covered in scars from stab wounds - which naturally caused my anecdote detector to start beeping. We talked, and I discovered an incredible story behind each scar. He said he had heard of my good reputation, and that he hoped nobody here has given me "any shit." After divulging his charges (drugs and violent crimes) he told me about a fight with an ex-cellmate.

“What did your celly look like?”
“He was six-feet tall and about 230 pounds. He had gold teeth and long greasy hair. He was a strong man. A cut up dude. He was benchin’ 385, squattin’ 475, and dead liftin’ 400 or more.”
“Wow! Why’d you get into it with him?”
“It came about 'cause he was a raper. He was rapin’ people on the yard. He raped a retarded kid with mental problems, in our cell. I said to him, ‘It smells like crap in here. What’s been goin’ on man?’ He said, ‘Whattaya thinks goin’ on? I just got me some.’ I told him, ‘Man, you’ve gotta get your nasty tail up outta here.’ He said, ‘No. You gotta get your tail outta here. You ain’t nothin’ but a punk anyway, and I’m gonna cut ya.’ He stood up, lookin’ at me all crazy. I hit him with a straight right and broke his jaw in two places. He lost four teeth. Another blow fractured his eye socket. I hit him flush and he was out.”
“What’s flush?”
“Flat. I thought he was dead. I laid him on his bunk and took a shower. When I came back, he was still on his bunk callin’ for his mama. Some white guys came over who wanted to kill him 'cause the dude he raped was a white guy. I stopped that. He was alone on his bunk, bleedin’ and groanin’, and I looked in his eyes and I saw a spark like he was becomin’ more aware.”
“Was he regrouping?”
“He had regrouped. From the top bunk, I moved my right leg. He jumped up. He had a rod of finely-sharpened iron. An eight-inch blade with a rag on one end and a real nice point on the other. I backhanded the wrist of the hand holdin’ the shank. He came at me. His eyes were red with rage. His jaw was swollen up. Blood was comin’ outta the corner of his mouth. He had death in his eyes - black pupils totally empty and void of emotion and feeling. I still have nightmares about the way he looked. He made his move: a lunge. I hit him in the right eye and he stumbled back. I kicked him in his right thigh and I felt my foot penetrate the muscle down to the bone. I knew I had to disarm him. His leg was momentarily numb, so in a split second I grabbed his right hand with both of mine and twisted his wrist. I broke his wrist and elbow, and kicked him in his lung.”
“Did he go down?”
“Oh yeah, he was finished. I put him on his bunk but he couldn’t keep still 'cause of the pain. An hour later it’s count time. A cop comes by. I’m usin’ the toilet. My celly rolled over and blood came outta his mouth in front of the cop. He said I’d assaulted him in his sleep. They took me to the hole. I was charged with dangerous and deadly assault on an inmate. I got a
seven-and-a-half-year sentence that ran concurrent with my other time.”
“So you did no additional prison time 'cause of the fight?”
“No, but the cops thought I was a real bad character after that.”

I now have two books featuring T-Bone, the hard-hitting Prison Time and a self-help book, Lessons from a Drug Lord – both include T-Bone fight stories

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Click here for descriptions of all of the prisoners I write about at Jon’s Jail Journal ranging from Mafia hit men to giant transsexuals.

Shaun Attwood