A Day In The Shade

As I was reading my favorite ex-con this morning, it dawned on me that I know a large number of people who’ve served time in various state and federal prisons. I’ve got a little shady side beefing up my respectable credentials and a visit to those old stomping grounds almost feels like foreign territory after my long stretch of straight laced goodness. Since it’s my birthday, I think I’ll reach into my snatch bag of life and share some back stories with y’all.

My eldest son’s father was released from prison last year after spending twelve years in a federal facility for moving a reefer load full of dope and coke across state lines, the Rico act and tax evasion came into play on top of the drug charges. He wasn’t in the truck of course, but it was his haul of goods and the DEA had been watching him for at least a year before shutting down his lucrative business. The funny thing was his front business, the shell he used to cover up the dope slinging, was a church. He ran a tiny Pentecostal church with maybe fifty members. Led them as their pastor. The man had some gall.

I wasn’t surprised or saddened by his arrest, I knew what he was doing for a living. Besides, the son of a bitch was ten years behind on child support for no good reason other than spite. None of it was easy on our boy, though. He built up fine layer of resentment and developed a thick skin around his heart when it comes to dealing with his daddy. The man keeps reaching out to him now, seems confused by the constant cold shoulder that meets his efforts. My boy just shakes his head and says he’s done with that hot mess.

The most interesting convict I’ve known is still in prison, another guest of the federal government who deemed him worthy of twenty five years under close supervision. His name is Fargo Chen. He was a triad boss from Hong Kong operating out of Houston. He owned high end restaurants, night clubs and commercial real estate. He also bought nice rice farm, chock full of sweet crawdads, dead east of town the year before his arrest.

Dressed by London tailors and donning the manners of a sophisticated gentlemen, he looked perfectly legit from all the right public angles. Behind closed doors was a different matter. Tall, handsome and soft spoken, you would never guess he ran Houston’s Chinatown with a harsh fist, imported first grade heroin, dealt in arms and arranged assassinations of various individuals who got in his way.

It was the latter that got him in hot water, he wanted a Taiwanese government official dead and one of his killers showed up at the planning session wearing a wire. Seems the tattooed man had been flipped and Mr. Chen was clueless to that important fact. The discussion of a cocaine purchase and a small arms shipment also caught on tape didn’t help him much at his trial. I liked Fargo quite a bit.

I’ve been to jail once. I was picked up hitchhiking off I-10 in Kerrville by a local cop. Fourteen years old and heading for a dream located anywhere well past home. I had a ham in my purse, five bucks in change and a fierce intention to find someplace better. I spent two days in their three cell lock up before my mother flew in on a friend’s private plane to retrieve my wayward ass. She didn’t even know I was gone until the cops called her, I was supposed to be under the supervision of my recently rediscovered deadbeat father and he didn’t bother to tell her I’d gone missing.

Her pilot friend offered me a fat blunt and the use of his zippo when we landed back at his house, said I needed to chill and hit a hot shower before dealing with my enraged mother. Not bad advice, except she was even more annoyed when I strolled out to the pool clearly baked out of my mind. The man had primo dope. I guess my mother had her little shady side , too.