15 Oct 08
Real Prison Fight: Warrior v Big E. (by Warrior Part 2)
Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce.Part 1 left off with Warrior arriving at Buckeye prison and Big E. taking an immediate dislike to him.
I was on the push-up station doing some sets with a guy named Gangster. Just then Big E. and Ghost walked up. They started small talk with Gangster and asked to join in a couple of sets. Then the hostility talk began:“I can’t stand fuckin’ chumps on this yard,” Big E. said, glancing at me.
I was watching him out of the corner of my eye as I did my set. I could tell it was directed at me.
“I hear ya, dawg,” Gangster said, unaware I was the target of Big E.’s hostility. “But that’s a part of doing time.”
“A lot of dudes think they can hold their own or fight,” Big E. said. “Chumps just wrestle and can’t scrap. There are very few dudes here that can fuck me up.”
Later, I found out that a few other faces that knew me from other yards had spread the word that I knew some martial arts and I was a good fighter. These faces saw me before I ran into them. This is where the wrestling comment from Big E. came from.
“What’s up Big E.,” I said.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head and scowling, still giving the air of, I don’t like you. Big E. turned to Gangster: “You think you can take me?”
Unsure whether Big E. was serious or not, Gangster laughed the question off.
“Ghost can’t take me,” Big E. said. When he glanced at me everyone became silent.
I knew what was coming next so I decided to beat him to the punch. “Well, I guess that only leaves me, right? I can take you,” I said calmly and with the utmost confidence.
I could tell by the look on his face he was surprised. Right then, I knew Big E. wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of being called out. I’d removed him from his comfort zone. Part of the battle was already won, I thought.
Gangster and Ghost looked at each other curiously, aware and alert that the situation had just escalated. They just weren’t sure whether the event would explode right then and there or elsewhere.
“Is this vato fuckin’ serious?” Big E. asked the question as if he were in shock that someone would challenge him.
“Hell yeah, I’m serious,” I said firmly.
“Alright then. I never turn down a challenge. But what are we gonna fight for?”
“We’re gonna fight for bragging rights and fun. Just general purposes, baby. You know: GP,” I answered in a cold detached tone, my mindset switching into battle mode.
“Where we gonna do this?” he asked.
“Gangster chimed in, “Not in the cells. Roberts’ working the control tower today. He watches everything.”
“In the Octagon. Take it there,” Ghost said.
“Yeah, we’ll do it in the Octagon after rec,” Big E. said and walked away with Ghost.
We called the handicap shower (Shower 1) the Octagon. It was in a blind spot the control-tower officers couldn’t see. It was 15 by 15 feet and designed to accommodate wheelchair-bound inmates. The population called it the Octagon because everyone went there to handle their problems with each other. It’s anyone’s guess as to how much blood was spilt there, or rather, mopped up.
“What the fuck was all that about?” Gangster asked.
“Fuck that motherfucker! He’s been eye-fucking me all rec.”
“Man…that shit just came outta nowhere.”
“Hey, I’m gonna walk a few laps. I don’t wanna burn up all my energy. Can you handle the details to get us out of our cells to fight?” I asked,
“I’ve got you covered, dawg. I’m gonna get at JJ.”
Gangster went to talk with JJ, the building barber. JJ's job gave him the privilege to let the C.O. know which cell he needed open to let whomever’s hair he was cutting come out. He was one of a few guys you’d go and talk to if you needed your cell door open for whatever reason.
Rec was over, so I headed inside to lock-down.
I was in my cell when JJ came to my window. He already knew what was up. “Hey, homeboy. I heard. Gangster got at me. This is what we’re gonna do. I’ll pop your door. Go down and sit in the chair and I’ll pretend to clean your hair up. Take your towel, then pretend to hit the showers, but hide in Shower 5. I’ll get the Octagon open, and pop out Big E.. Give me a few minutes. When I say it’s cool, come down and go in and handle your business. He’ll be in there. I’ll keep point to make sure no cops come. If you hear me whistle, be cool ’cause the cops are comin’. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Alright, I got it,” I replied.
Fights are dangerous in prison, especially in cells. Steel lockers, desks, beds, all with sharp edges that you could trip and hit. You don’t know whether the dude will pull out a piece of steel (shank) on you – or afterwards because he couldn’t stand losing. Back in the days, you’d win some and lose some but hold no grudges. These days, too much ego never lets anything die down. Even prison isn’t immune from narcissism.
If I was glad for one thing about the Octagon, it was to be fighting in an open space.
I got ready in my own way. Took my shirt off, so I couldn’t get grabbed by the shirt, have it pulled over my head, or get blood on it. Put my rec shorts on; long enough to protect my legs but short enough so as not to restrict my movement like pants would. Tied my shoelaces tight, so my shoes had no possibility of falling off through all the tussling. Then drank a thick shot of coffee for the boost.
Just then my door popped…
Does Warrior have the skills to smash Big E. in the Octagon?
Click here for Warrior v Big E. Part 3
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