A Line 2 Die 4

By Jimmy James

A Line 2 Die 4 is a thorough account of one mans troubling life using and dealing drugs. After a lifetime of partying, one little mistake brings his reckless ways to a crashing halt. A Line 2 Die 4 brings to light the dangers of drugs and the questionable motives of the US legal system. Its a straightforward, honest account that doesnt shy away from the realities and perils of a life affected by drugs and corruption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 21, 2009
• ISBN: 9780595620876

Jimmy James

Jimmy James after fighting a long hard battle of 4 years of homelessness is nominated and wins the 2014 Poverty Matters Conference Courage Award for becoming self-sufficient and for helping homeless people out of homelessness.

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Copyright © 2009 Jimmy James.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-0-5955-1920-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-0-5955-0723-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-0-5956-2087-6 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 04/08/2016

Table

of Contents

Black Hole

Party No More

The Letter

Ex-Girlfriend

The Motley Crew

Doctor Cudahy

McKnight

Minutes

Entrapment

Attitudes

uncle-5-4-15.jpg

To my uncle, and to all the great times we had hunting and fishing together

CHAPTER 1

Black Hole

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Jimmy heard the gavel pound repeatedly on the shiny oak bench in the courtroom—Order in the court! Order in the court!—and then Chum screamed out in terror, Get down! Get down! Jimmy started to turn at the sound of his voice and noticed Ms. Sullivan crouched under the prosecutor table. The expression on her face was like she’d just seen a ghost. She was trembling with fear as she looked up at me, her brown eyes large and framed in her face with long, dark hair.

Time felt as if it was progressing in slow motion as Jimmy turned all the way around and looked down at his brother who was trying to shield their mother and sister as they lay on the floor with a fear-of-God look on their faces. Jimmy noticed that his mother was wearing the gold cross she always wore. His sister looked sick to her stomach. Chum was trying his hardest to protect them. All three of them were looking up at Jimmy and Chum was waving his right hand, gesturing for Jimmy to get down. A squeaky wheel sound came closer and closer as Jimmy looked out of the corner of his eye and saw a metal walker crash into the benches right where his family members were hiding for their lives. There were keys jingling behind him and he looked down the aisle at the gunman. Suddenly, all hell broke loose as gunfire lit up the courtroom.

Jimmy felt three shots hit him in the chest as his hands flew back behind his head as he stared at his mother’s face and wondered will this be the last time I ever see her?

The shots knocked him right out of his shower sandals as he flew backward through the air in his bright orange jumpsuit and landed on the cherry table next to Ms. Smith. He lay there looking up at the bright lights in the ceiling and fixed his eyes on a light-blue cloud of smoke drifting over him from the gun battle that had just taken place. There was a great burning sensation in his chest and then he was freezing, his body trembling as the cold swept through it. He could feel streams of warm blood running down his chest and he began to cough, blood sputtering out of his mouth.

Jimmy had been arrested seven months earlier. "Accused Dealer Charged in Death," the headline read. Huntsville man jailed for giving cocaine to a 44-year-old woman.

The Wood County Coroner’s Office said Lisa Amour of Huntsville died on January 27 of a hemorrhage, a ruptured vein in her head caused by cocaine use. A month later, Jimmy was booked without bail into the Wood County Jail on charges of reckless homicide. The DA alleged that he’d given Lisa Amour the cocaine that had caused her death.

Lieutenant O’Brien of the Huntsville Police Department told the paper he hoped to make an example of him. We charged Jimmy James under the Len Bias Law, he said. It allows us to charge dealers with first-degree reckless homicide if a person who obtained drugs from them dies as the result of drug use. There are four or five people involved in the drug use and sale that contributed to the death. We will go as far up the line as we can go to prosecute whoever else had a hand in it. We want to let people know all they have to do is pass drugs to the person next to them, and they can go to prison. We will not take it lightly. O’Brien mentioned that Jimmy owned the house in which Amour and her boyfriend lived.

As Jimmy sat in jail on a round metal stool, it made his blood run cold with fear. His hands were tightly secured behind him with steel handcuffs as he stared aimlessly at the white cinderblock wall and trembled with fear of the unknown. His heart was racing out of control and as he swung his leg back and forth, there was an outrageous pain in his right knee. He let his eyes close. His head drooped lower and lower in shame until his chin was touching his chest. He stared down aimlessly at the gray-painted floor, light-headed and all mixed up, not knowing if he was coming or going. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of shiny black shoes and slowly raised his head to see a tall guy with short, black hair and a blue uniform. It was Five-O, just standing there, staring down at him with his dark, lonely scarecrow eyes.

Mr. James, I’m charging you with homicide.

He would scar Jimmy for life with that remark; the way he stated it, in that strong tone seemed to knock him right out of his shoes. He could smell the coffee on his breath as he studied his facial expression: one eye squinting at him, the other eyebrow cocked, those deep wrinkles in his forehead. He stared at Jimmy like he was looking right through him.

Jimmy’s eyes and mouth were wide open. He was baffled, never having heard words like those aimed at him in that fashion. He flushed with anger and his body temperature seemed to double as he swiftly rose from his metal stool to stand toe-to-toe with him. The room didn’t seem as cold as it had just a few seconds before. I will make bail today! he barked at Five-O. You don’t have anything on me! He was sweating profusely. His palms were moist and a second or two went by as drops of sweat rolled down his forehead and burned his eyes. He felt light-headed suddenly and his knees started to give out. His mind went blank for a minute or two as he wondered How in the world could one line of cocaine kill anyone sixteen hours later? What was going on here? He was so confused as he frantically thought, The district attorney had to have something on me, but what? Was all they were doing was sweating me? What else did they have on me?

As he sat, terror-stricken on the cold concrete stool, it dawned on him. His life flashed right in front of his eyes as he wondered if that was what happened to him and Vito a few years ago under the bridge. He felt his life wasn’t worth a pump nickel. It would just be a matter of time before the mob got payback for what happen to Vito that night. There would be no way he would even be able to explain to them what really happened. He swore to God he didn’t kill Vito and his friend Hillbilly that night. Boy, oh boy, that was one nasty-ass gun battle that night.

The Hoovers had pulled a drive by on Jimmy and the boys. The black sons of bitches planed it out pretty good, too. The Hoovers hit them with two car loads. At first, they all just thought it was the waves of Lake Michigan hitting the rocky break water; they were caught off guard. Two cars just came speeding down the gravel road as they were under the endless row of 60-foot cement columns that held up Highway 43. One car came from the south and the other one from the north. The Hoovers hit them with their Mac-11 machine guns.

Vito was the first one to go. It was unbelievable. Jimmy was fighting for his life. He emptied all 15 rounds of his 9-mm. It only took a few seconds. Hillbilly saved his life that day. He was just blasting away at both of those cars with his Remington 20-gauge shotgun. One car took a beating and it took off. Hillbilly went down hard but he saved Jimmy the time he needed to get his 12-gauge Street Sweeper out. That only took three seconds. When he pulled away, that car was nothing but a big-ass fire ball. Even if the mob did give Jimmy a chance to explain, it still wasn’t good for him. How in the hell would Jimmy explain to them what he and Vito were doing when he was killed? They would never approve of that. Jimmy considered this and a thought popped into his head. If the mob knew anything about what had happened that night, they would just go ahead and knock him off, wouldn’t they? He knew that Vito’s Uncle Michael was a captain in the New York Piscano crime family. Given this fact, was going to prison the quick and easy way out of it all?

Jimmy thought hard about how his life might end up playing out in prison. He considered the idea that his life would be over with at the age of forty. There was so much more that he wanted to do. What about his family? He would miss them. Would he ever embrace his mother again? Would he ever get another kiss on the cheek from her or one of her motherly hugs that sent a warm, secure feeling throughout his entire body; the feeling that he could never do any wrong in her eyes? Would he ever bump fists with his brother again or listen to one of his off-the-wall jokes or watch him play a prank on someone? What about his sister Bonita? She always got a big, lovely smile on her face and rubbed her hands together with excitement when she saw him. Jimmy gave her a hug every time he saw her. There were a few homeboys who were sent off to prison and lost everything; most importantly, their friends and family. Was his family going to be there for him? He knew he caused many of the problems in his family, all due to drugs. What about his second family with the Tri-City Bombers? He would do anything for his homeboys. Would they be there for him in his crisis?

A nasty, sharp pain in his stomach doubled him over and for some reason Debbie’s name kept popping up in his mind. Debbie, the short, chubby coke whore. She had to have something to do with it.

The county guard’s keys jingled behind him as he changed into a 2X orange jumpsuit and shower sandals to match. Grab a bedroll! the guard demanded.

Jimmy stepped off the elevator with two guards, one on each side, who escorted him down a long, white-painted cinderblock hallway with blue-steel-framed windows. As they proceeded along the gray floor, both officers found it necessary to restrain him, as if he could do anything with handcuffs on his wrists and the filthy flat thing they called a bedroll in his arms. As he looked to his left, he noticed the cellblocks were marked A, B, C … they just kept on going. He wondered which one would be his new home. Would he be safe there? Would he fight with people? His eyes were glued to each cellblock he passed and he felt like a spectator at the zoo, knowing that soon he would be one of those animals, just as they were portraying him to the media.

They finally stopped in front of P block. There was a buzzing noise as a red metal sally port door slid open. Immediately there was a strong stench and Jimmy was puzzled. He’d worked on the kill floor of a slaughterhouse all his adult life and the slaughterhouse smell didn’t come close to what was coming out of that cellblock.

He heard the guard unhook his keys from his belt as he bellowed, Five! They walked slowly into the sally port, the buzzer still sounding off. His street smarts kicked in and told him not to even waste his time reading this room: it was nothing but red cinderblock, about twenty feet high with a camera pointing down from the ceiling. The metal door slammed close behind him and sent a chill down his spine. As he stood there and waited for the next red metal door to open, he knew he was on his own there. On the streets, he always had Juan and the homeboys watching his back, but he knew he couldn’t even call them for help now. Even if he could, they wouldn’t answer the phone. They wouldn’t want to get involved with a case like this one. Jimmy knew that as a fact.

The guard behind him held his keys in his hands. Back up to the sound of my voice! he demanded. As soon as the handcuffs were removed, Jimmy rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs had been. They’d left indentions on his wrists. It felt good knowing his hands were free, especially since he didn’t know what to expect on the other side of the red metal door.

Suddenly, the door slid open and he immediately spotted Angelo as he came into the sally port. A familiar face! He didn’t feel so depressed. He knew Angelo from the streets; he was holding what looked like the remains of a bedroll, two worn-out sheets, and a blanket that looked like it was from the World War II era. Angelo was from the Big Apple, New York City. Chum had hooked Jimmy up with Angelo a few months ago. Chum told Jimmy that Vito and Hillbilly basically dealt with three people in Huntsville. One of the three was Angelo and he was a straight-up shooter, in both the figurative and literal sense. He proved himself on the night that he dealt with the Lubinski brothers. The Lubinski brothers were the ones that planted the seed in Stacks Jones’ head. Stacks was the leader of the Hoovers. He was the one that set the whole thing up. He thought that the whole city of Milltown was his new criminal playground. He was way out there. They just weren’t at war with the TCB, they were at war with the Milltown Piscano Crime Family, too. Stacks was sending out all of these EBK (Every Body Killers) they were just pulling drive-bys on everyone. Stacks was putting up a fight. Jimmy knew that Stacks didn’t even care what happened to the Lubinski brothers the night Angelo got done with them. They were expendable.

Jimmy was relieved to see someone he knew and that would have his back in case something went down in there.

Hey, said Angelo as he grinned in his standard top-teeth shining smile. He was excited to see a familiar face, too. I just got done calling you. There was a buzzing noise again as the red metal door slammed shut in front of Jimmy and someone shouted over the PA system, Angelo, let’s go!

Angelo didn’t understand what was going on with Jimmy. Let’s go, he said, as he grabbed the top of Jimmy’s orange jumpsuit.

Jimmy shook his head at him, depressed. He yelled at Angelo over the sound of the buzzer as the other sally port door slid open. I don’t know what’s going on? They’re saying I killed Lisa!

Angelo looked confused. He pulled his head back and let go of Jimmy’s jumpsuit. With what? he puzzled.

Angelo! Let’s go now! the PA system bellowed again, and Angelo left quickly, like anyone else would from this zoo.

Jimmy stood blank-faced as he heard the buzzing noise and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Suddenly, the sally port door in front of him started to open. His heart rate was out of control and he breathed heavily because he knew he had to read this room quickly. He stepped through the red metal door and found himself staring at another door—this one yellow with a number three painted on it in red. He cut his eyes over to the left and saw two more yellow doors and a red metal door connecting this cellblock to the next one. Farther to his left were two silver shower doors. The red metal sally port door slammed close directly behind him.

In all, there were seven yellow cell doors in front of him, each with a red number painted on the front. Then there was a second tier of cells with a five-foot-high yellow rail running the length of the tier and stretching all the way down the twenty steps to the gray floor. He stood alone, unfamiliar faces around him. He felt them sizing him up and wondered what he was in for. What were their stories? Traffic offenses? Public drunkeness? Wife-beating? Dealing? Or was it the big one, murder? Jimmy walked by two inmates and held his head high as he tried to make the meanest face possible and flex all of his muscles at one time. Two white boys were playing chess; one of them was standing up as he yelled out at the other one, Touché! Your move!

A 27-inch TV was blasting away from where it sat on its yellow stand. Jimmy walked past it through the yellow doorframe and into the cell with the red number five painted on it. Two inmates were in the cell. Jimmy threw his bedroll on the top bunk and said, Where the hell is the phone up here?

The smaller guy pointed and said with an attitude, In the day room over there, on the wall.

Jimmy marched out of the cell and to the other side of the day room where two blue phones about two feet apart were secured to the red cinderblock wall opposite the sally port. He knew he had to shape up and pull himself together. He called Chum. Hey, Bro, what’s up?

Chum was losing it. I know where you are! he yelled. You’re in the county jail! The police just raided my house about an hour ago!

For a few seconds, Jimmy just stood there and stared aimlessly, speechless while Chum kept on yelling into the phone. What was this all about? This whole thing was getting bigger and bigger as it went on. Hey, Bro, calm down, he said. Is everything cool?

It’s bad! Chum shouted. This Lieutenant O’Brien is way out there. He told me if I was willing to cooperate with him about you, he would dismiss the possession of drug paraphernalia charge—the marijuana pipe that he found in my house. The tone of his voice began to change and grew more excited as he talked.

Jimmy stood like a statue, paralyzed, the blue phone up to his ear as his mouth hung open in disbelief. Suddenly it came to him that maybe Chum was just playing a prank on him. He thought, there is no way my own brother would flip on me—not for a marijuana pipe, not for anything. He would never flip on me, no way in hell!

Chum described in detail how O’Brien had gotten out his little police notepad and said that he was ready for Chum to talk, but it had to be something really good about Jimmy in order to get the charges dismissed and how Chum had given him some inside information—something good about you, something really good.

Jimmy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t playing any prank; Jimmy could tell by tone of his voice that he was dead serious. His brother knew a lot of stuff he’d done in his life. Just what had he told O’Brien about him—and over a marijuana pipe? Jimmy felt another sharp pain in his stomach as it hit the floor. He started to sweat bullets and his feet got as cold as ice cubes. What in the hell did you all say about me? he asked, petrified.

That you’re 190 pounds and six feet tall, with brown hair and brown eyes. Chum recited the line in a clear, firm tone.

Is that all you said, Bro?

No. I asked him if the charges were dropped now.

Jimmy laughed in relief at the depth of his younger brother’s integrity. He knew his brother would never flip on him. Now he knew he had some of his family on his side. He was curious to hear what happened after Chum had made that outlandish remark.

What did he do then? Jimmy asked with a big smile on his face, thinking Chum had gotten him good with that one.

He turned red in the face and got very upset and angry. He gave me this ridiculous look, like he didn’t get it, so I got right up in his face and said, ‘That’s all I’m going to tell you about my brother. Did you get it, or do you need for me to repeat it again for you?’

Jimmy laughed again. Hey, Bro, what happened after that?

He kept shaking his head, saying I was making a big mistake. He gave me a ticket as he was leaving and slammed the door on his way out.

Just then, Jimmy heard his name called over the PA system. He had to go see a public defender. The brief moment of bliss was gone.

Hey, Bro, I got to go. They’re calling my name, he said. As he approached the red metal sally port door, it slid open and the buzzer sounded. Jimmy walked through the door and looked up at the camera. It took a minute to go through both sally port doors.

He heard the second door slam shut behind him as he walked down the long white hallway, one guard on each side of him, to the attorney visiting rooms. There were several rooms all made out of the same white cinderblock as everything else. A guard directed him to the one he would be using. It had a concrete table connected to the wall and two plastic chairs. It was so small Jimmy felt like he was sitting in a closet. Coldness swept through him as he sat down. He clasped his hands together and felt his heart beat rapidly against his ribs like a wild bird trying to find freedom.

A gray-haired man of about fifty entered the room. He wore a brown suit and glasses. My name is Mr. John Rohde, he said. I’ll be your public defender today. As he set his brown leather brief case on the table and started to pull out all of these case files, Jimmy’s first impression of him was that he was disorganized as he fumbled through all the criminal complaints. Here we go.

As Rohde read the State’s charges against him, Jimmy sized him up. He could tell from his street dealings that this man was a weak-minded person, someone who would always take the easy way out. He wasn’t a fighter; not at all.

After his attorney finished reading, he took off his glasses and placed them on the table. Do you have money to hire a private attorney? he asked.

Jimmy remembered back to the cold white cinderblock room, those scarecrow eyes staring through him as the policeman read him his rights, especially the part about: If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the State. As Jimmy made eye contact with Rohde, he started to get a certain vibe from him. Something was wrong with this person, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He just seemed like this person who was always being bullied around by someone and there was nothing he could do about it. There was no way he would be going with this person—not if his life depend on it. And it did.

Yeah, said Jimmy, wanting an out from this public defender. I do have some money.

Suddenly the blue door swung open and hit the white block wall. The man in the doorway stood six-and-a-half feet tall and weighed about 250 pounds. He was thirty-five or forty, clean-cut with dark hair. Jimmy reflexively jumped up out of his seat and the chair tipped over behind him. He looked straight into his eyes—in shock, confused, scared, thinking, who is this person and who in the hell does he think he is, coming into a room like that? What does he want? Jimmy was caught off guard and stood there defensively with both fists clenched, ready to protect himself at any cost.

The large man remained expressionless. I’m Steve Wolf from the Wood County Sheriff’s Department. And are you Jimmy James?

Yeah, Jimmy answered quietly. He did not let his guard down despite the droplets of sweat that ran down between his shoulder blades that made him shiver slightly.

I know about all the trips you were taking to Milltown for your drugs, said Wolf. If you cooperate with me, I’ll do everything in my power to help you out.

Jimmy was appalled at what he heard. The people cut from that cloth were the kind of people he despised. He turned to face his attorney and for a brief second or two, Juan’s name popped into his head. He was thinking about his second family, about the devastating ripple effect. Who does this guy think he is? Jimmy said loudly.

Mr. Wolf, I’m Mr. James’ attorney, Mr. Rohde announced. Do you have any other questions for my client at this time?

The detective looked at Jimmy steadily and continued to try to persuade him. This is your last chance to cooperate with me, Jimmy. You’re in a bad situation and I could help you out.

Jimmy frowned, his fists still clenched. You don’t have anything on me—nothing at all! he snarled. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

After the detective left, Mr. Rohde put his glasses back on. He looked evenly at Jimmy and asked, Do you work? And are any of your family members going be in the courtroom today?

Jimmy picked up the chair and sat back down. He was breathing really fast, like he’d just been in a street fight. He took a couple of deep breaths. I’ve worked all my life and I own a house up in Huntsville. My family won’t be in the courtroom today, but they are in my corner.

I don’t want you to talk with any police officers at all, Rhode cautioned him. Especially don’t talk with anyone in the cellblock about your case. And watch what you say over the phone—they will be listening to you on the phone. It’s great that your family is behind you. Maybe they can help you get a good attorney. He stood up to leave. "I’ll be at your arraignment hearing today, just in case you don’t have a private attorney

Reviews for A Line 2 Die 4

[stevetempo_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An interesting survey of world history with Wells' biases.

[cakecop_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wells develops the idea of different races of mankind. He is balanced in his review of races and rejects the idea of any racial superiority. I enjoyed this topic because it explains many of the conflicts in our world society.