Muay Thaiger Book 2 the Beast

By Jermaine Andre

Witness what creates a World class combat martial artist, as Jermaine travels to fight anyone who dares to stand before him! MUAY THAIGER "The Beast" reflects the adult, pro fighting years of Jermaine Andre's life. You are in the driver's seat of each of Jermaine's fights while learning what it took to create the 5x U.S. Champ, 2x World Champ, UFC Vet, author and one of the world's most sought role models. You will also learn that his biggest fights during his pro career were outside the arena, as his challenges as an adult explode with complication. See how he deals with a girlfriend who tries to assassinate his character; life and death situations as a nightclub bouncer & celebrity bodyguard in the worse clubs of St. Louis, MO; a newborn daughter, the splitting apart of the Muay Thaigers and more. MUAY THAIGER "The Beast" is Jermaine Andre's redemption as he does everything he can to stay on the positive path of a simple promise that he made.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329824317

Book preview

Muay Thaiger Book 2 the Beast

MUAY

THAIGER

The Death Vow of Life

Written by Jermaine Andre’

Uncensored and unedited

Rated for ages 17 & up

Book III – The Beast

Muay Thaiger Book III  The Beast

By Jermaine Andre’

©2014AllRightsReservedJermaineAndre

No section, part, sentence or idea of this book may be copied without the direct permission of Jermaine Andre’.

www.JermaineAndre.com

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The

BEAST!

Dedicated to Bryan Madden.  The man who had a vision of NHB fighting before others could even imagine it.  And the man who introduced me to a fight that I never knew existed within me.

At the end of some of the chapters that tell the story of a fight, there may be a link that you can click to view the match right now on your electronic device when you have internet access.

CRANK!

There was no time to waste the next morning.  I hadn’t slept at all.  One has to be comfortable to sleep and there was no comfort in lying on the living room floor next to family.  I got my hands on a phone and got straight to business.  It was time for me to show the most important thing that I’d learned in prison.  How to run $hit!

Yo Steph!  What’s up man!  I spoke as my old buddy Steph answered the phone.  What’s up Jermaine!  You out!?  He responded back.  I sighed while thinking of how to respond.  I knew that traditionally I was supposed to sound happy for being out of prison but I wasn’t.   Yea.  I’m out.  You still got some of the heat that I left you with?  I asked.  Hell yea $igga!  He responded.  What you needing?  I thought for a second then hesitated as I heard my mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs and towards me.  Let me hit you back Steph.  I spoke and hung up the phone.

Good morning son!  My mother spoke as she walked past me.  She always tried to maintain high spirits regardless of the situation that she was in.  This only made me sadder.  I felt that it was unfair for her to always have to struggle financially when she was such a good person who always tried to do the right things.  Where we all fools for trying to do the right thing in a society that had enslaved our people then freed them while offering nothing but hate and rejection?  Was she a fool for trying to maintain a job and suffering while accepting only what society was offering her?  Was I a fool for thinking I was going to come to the streets as a black x-convict and doors would start just swinging open for me? 

I lowered my head as I shuffled through my thoughts.  I remembered what one of the white Aryan’s had told me while I was in the hole.  His words were, I don’t mean to be rude Bam but one of the things that I dislike about black people is that you guys think you’re owed and are going to just get it handed to you.  I mean, the white man kidnapped, enslaved, raped and robbed your ancestors and ya sit back waiting on a welfare check.  It’s my opinion that the blacks should always be at war with the whites for what they did.  Instead I watch you guys sit back and try to fit in with the people who hate you.  I’m sorry but I can’t respect that.  But at least you got up and robbed some white mother #uckers Bam Bam and I can respect that.  You didn’t sit back and wait for a handout.  When I was told this I remember wanting to sink my knuckles into his brain for saying this about my people but I couldn’t.  It seemed that what he was saying was so intensely true that it would be dishonorable to destroy him for the statement.  Conversations such as this happened a lot between us in prison.  We all were strangely brothers as convicts so there were many times that we opened up to each other without being offended.  Shamefully, prison was one of the most honest places on the planet. 

I thought more about what I could do and the type of weaponry that I would need at the moment.  I knew that I was in North City St. Louis and it was a gang infested area.  I had no car so if I even wanted to get an honest job at Church’s Chicken I had to walk to the bus stop.  This would definitely lead to my eventually running into the local gangbangers who would want to know who I was without question.  I know this conversation wouldn’t go well, because I didn’t do well on the receiving end of an interrogation.  I also knew that all of these fools would be packing heat. 

There was no way that I was going to become a statistic in the newspaper, shot by some #itch @ss gangbanger after all that I had been through and proven in prison.  Therefore, the first item for my venture would be a semi-automatic .9mm Beretta handgun which I was extremely efficient with.  I could use the handgun for protection and armed robberies.  Of course there would be no robbing of convenient stores or banks anymore because I had somewhat of a conscious.  I knew that armed robberies such as that would eventually end up in someone innocent getting shot even if it was a hard working cop with a family.  My new target would be flashy drug dealers.  They always carried thousands of dollars on them.  They’d make easy targets because they liked to brag about their money and show off.  Most of them were simple egotistical snakes who would rat everyone out as soon as they got busted by the cops anyway.  Well they ain’t never seen a mother like me and no one would care that they got robbed.  Furthermore, what would the drug dealer do after I rob them, tell the cops!  I’d be so smooth about doing it all alone that they wouldn’t have any idea regarding what hit them.  And if they got jazzy, I’d have no problem smoking them or doing a butcher job on them with my knives that would give their dead grandma nightmares!  Yes!  This was the ticket. 

I looked at my mother in the other room as she went through a trash bag full of our clean clothes.  We didn’t even have suitcases.  My heart imploded more not only at what I was seeing, but at what she would think if she knew where my head was at now.  She would be totally against my plan of action and would load me up with all kinds of religious talk, my soul, hell etc…   All kinds of crap that I didn’t care about hearing about.  I was already in hell and had been in it for the past 6 years.  I’m sorry but Mom’s authority no longer existed.  It was time for me to step up and do what I needed to do to get my family off the floor.  Her plan had failed so she had little to no influence over my decision making.  I’d watched her live her life doing the right thing and getting stepped on and over the whole time.  Life.  I thought to myself.  Who regulates and decides what’s right regarding the life that one lives?  Is it really better to live a struggling, long, drawn out life in poverty while the greedy keep getting richer by keeping you poorer?  Then you end up fat off of Fast Food and in pain in the hospital for the last ten years of your life, while society throws you away in some old folks home where you get beat and molested by some pervert!  Or is it best to go for the fun, fast short life now full of excitement and ending quickly with a bullet to the chest or head?  Who made the decision that a longer life of struggling and pain is better than a short one full of good times?  One day I’ll be dead and that’s all to it, and someday that day is going to be today! 

I turned from my mother and walked outside to call Steph back as I continued to think to myself.  I mean, whose idiot am I?  What is insanity?  Me picking up a gun and risking my life to go after it or sitting behind a desk, or mopping up Fast Food restaurants for a handout paycheck that a slave probably wouldn’t accept?  Gary Starbuck always told me that I was too smart for my own good.  What did he mean by that?  Did he say that because I told him that one has to be a psycho to be one of the world’s great leaders?  I mean, doesn’t one have to be psycho to give the order for 1,000s of soldiers to open fire on thousands of people, or to drop a bomb on a town?    Does the leader of the U.S. or Russia or China or Japan ask his mommy what she thinks before he gives an order for a mass killing?  What makes them any different than me?  I smiled to myself as I figured out why Gary always said I was too smart for my own good.  The difference is they do what the #uck they feel suits the situation for survival and prosperity regardless of what anyone else thinks including their mommies!  

I walked out onto the front porch and let the squeaky screen door slam behind me.  The sun was burning unbearably hot in the humid air reminding me of how miserable my situation was.  I looked around the neighborhood and saw what I expected.  There was someone on almost every porch miserable in the heat instead of at work working.  I thought about what the Aryan had said to me regarding blacks waiting for handouts as I looked at the unmotivated people.  That piece of racist crap is right!  I thought to myself.  I’ll be damned if I’m falling into that stereotype of sitting around and complaining about what the white man did to me!  I was going to do something! 

I looked down at the phone and prepared to dial Steph’s number.  I was smarter now and better at organizing.  I could easily pull my old crew together and lead them into becoming the biggest, secret crime family in St. Louis MO.  We could get paid fast and create real futures for our families instead of sitting around and waiting for handouts or a chance that would probably never come.  Plus, I had a whole bunch of new out of town connections that would aid me in getting my people ahead the old school way. 

I reached a finger out to dial Steph’s number…  I hesitated.  More thoughts began to pop into my mind.  I thought about Dwayne Shillinger and how he ran the prison so it offered positive changes in people.  I thought about Gary Starbuck and all the things that the farm taught me as well as the trust that they gave me.  I thought about how the prison guards gave me the gym to operate a martial arts school and better myself and others.  Then I thought about the Muay Thaigers and how they were all planning to loyally follow my footsteps. 

#uck!  I thought to myself as confusion took over.  Were there really people who existed that were decent and truly wanted the best for others and not just for themselves?  The warden, Gary and even the guards would’ve all gotten paid the same regardless of how they treated us and they treated us well.  Was this where I was going to lead the Muay Thaigers after I repeatedly told them that we weren’t a gang?  Back down the road of crime?  Was I going to turn them into armed robbers and then murderers?  What would Dwayne think of that?  What would Gary think of that?  What would Zoo and Antone think of that?  What is the #ucking definition of true courage!?  To keep struggling or to get up and take what your family needs?  And more so, when do things become a necessity instead a simple want that is turning one into a greedy piece of $hit?!  #uuuuuck!!!  My brain was getting twisted.

Whatever decision you make, is the right decision Bam.  Teardrop’s words popped into my head making things more difficult.  His words didn’t encourage me to feel as if I could just do whatever I wanted to do.  They made me feel extremely responsible for what I chose to do.  Stepping back into a life of crime just didn’t feel right after all that I had suffered to remain righteous while in prison.  I’d even stopped cussing.  How could I come back out and start becoming that which I acted as if I was too good to be when I was on the inside.  …Acriminal. 

$hit.  I thought to myself as I ruled out setting the foundation for my own crime family and/or putting in an application to the mafia.  I looked off to the blue sky and sat down on the porch.  The hot concrete burned my legs as if they had just touched a skillet on the stove.  I took the pain as I realized that I had no ideas.  I don’t know what to do.  I spoke in my head to whatever was listening.  I need you to step in and take over this one.  I looked back down depressed at the dirt yard.  I had no plan on how to start.  I felt once again defeated before I’d even begun to fight.

Dani!  A name popped in my head.  The name of an old High School sweetheart.  We dated strong for a while and then broke up, but even through our breakup we remained good friends.  She was also a friend of the family.  I knew that if I called her at least two things would happen.  She would take me away from the god forsaken city and back to the beautiful county where I could clear my head and breath.  And, she would be more than willing to give me the main thing a man desired when released from prison.  I dialed her number.

Hello.  Dani picked up on the first ring.  What’s up Dani.  It’s Jermaine.  A pause hit the line for a second.  Oh my God Jermaine!  You’re out!? she asked.  Yea.  I responded.  I’m down in the city.  What are you doing?  Dani wasted no time in proving my theory correct regarding how she would respond to me.  I’m coming to get you if you want!  It’s time to party!  I laughed a small laugh as a sense of relief finally hit me.  Yes it is.  I responded calmly.  Here’s the address.  I gave Dani the address and headed back in to inform my mother that I would be leaving for a while.

Dani showed up faster than I thought she would and just as I expected.  She pulled up in a new car blasting the latest rap music.  She was dressed in the freshest gear available on the female market with a $300 hair style.  She stepped out of the car and every eyeball on the block tried to burn her down where she stood.  They did not enjoy her presence in this neighborhood mainly because she was white and about 160lbs.  Dani was what I call Active Heavy which meant she was not a thin girl but she moved and acted like she was.  She carried herself with high confidence, and dressed the body that she had so that those who looked at her didn’t care that she was heavy.  And she was no rookie when it came to dating black men.  She was used to the hateful looks that she was receiving and probably liked the attention more than not. 

Hey Maine! she called me by my nickname as she leaned on the hood of her car assuring that everyone could see her.  I knew that she was going to be causing me some problems in the home that I was currently staying in.  The black women who stayed there wouldn’t be happy to see me leaving with this white girl in her flashy get up.  I walked quietly down to Dani and directed her to get into the car.  I jumped into the passenger seat and we were off.

I could feel my wings expand as we pulled closer and closer into the beautiful, wide open county of Missouri.  Dani and her family always had money so I knew she’d be living in a decent to nice area.  It was a relief to finally get the feeling of freedom and Dani was sure to pump things up as promised. She offered everything that a woman could offer with no hesitation.  It was almost like old times when I used to tell my parents that I was going out for a run and I’d run to her house so we could get busy.  Well, I wasn’t lying to my parents.  I did go for a run and what Dani had to offer when I arrived was motivation to make me sprint the full 2 mile distance.  Then trying to get home back home before my parents could figure anything out was another dead sprint.  Hmmm…  I guess I have to tribute that year of my great fitness in high school to that activity.

After a lot of eating, drinking and recreational activities Dani and I finally stopped for a constructive conversation.  So how are things Maine?  Why in the hell are you living down in the ghetto?!  That’s not like your parents to be living like that.  I mean, ya were the only ones in the neighborhood with a &ucking pool at ya house. 

I chugged back on a bottle of straight Everclear.  It was my personal favorite from high school and Dani remembered.  Yea I know…  I spoke with shame.  My mother and my stepfather broke up again so she’s all on her own with my little sisters.  That’s where they’re staying now.  They don’t even have a car.  I gotta get them outta there man.  I can’t have them sleeping on the floor of someone else’s house. 

Dani took a sip from her glass of vodka and orange juice.  Well what are you gonna do?  Do you know where you’re gonna get a job at or anything?  I accidentally spat liquor through my lips as I laughed at Dani’s question.  The hell if I know!  Like I said, I’m stuck in the hood where there ain’t no real jobs, and I don’t even have a car to get around and hunt for a job with.  I was thinking about pulling the crew together and robbing some punk @ss drug dealers… 

Dani cut me off quickly, You better not Jermaine!  You’re a really good dude and you don’t need to end up back in prison!  I waved Dani off with attitude.  I know got damn it!  But that all sounds good when you got what you need like you do.  I’m working with absolutely nothing here and I’m tired of my mother and sisters suffering and struggling!  Being nice ain’t paying off crap!  How many times have your parents loaned you a couple or ten thousand dollars to get you out of the hole?  Well I don’t have that option! 

Dani nodded her head in understanding.  Well I’ll tell you what Maine.  She hopped on my lap and her robe flew open exposing her breasts and everything in between her naked legs.  I’ll give you a car and you can pay me back for it later.  And anytime that you want to stay here, you can.  I was stunned at Dani’s offer but not surprised.  Her heart was always giving since the day we met and she handed me the keys to her car when I didn’t even have a driver’s license.  I took her up on her offer of the car and her naked body.  THIS was what being released from prison was supposed to be like!  

MOVING AHEAD

My mother and sisters were surprised to see me pull up early the next day in a blue, four door Caprice in mint condition.  Their eyes lit up as they realized that I was serious and making moves fast!  Jermaine?  My mother asked cautiously but not offensively.  She knew how I had grown in prison and was expecting positive things from me.  Where’d you get that car?  I smiled as I responded.  Dani hooked me up.  Gave it to me.  She said I can pay her back for it later. More satisfaction filled my bones as I watched a sign of relief and hope stretch across my mother’s face.  I put a hand on her shoulder, And now all I have to do is go find a job and get us to an apartment.  A smile stretched across my mother’s face.  I have an idea for that one.  We’ll go tomorrow!  I nodded at my mother then headed for the bathroom.  Let’s not wait until tomorrow.  I spoke.  Can we do it today?  My mother nodded at me with a smile.

My mother proved to have been very busy while I was in prison.  The full time that I was locked down she was out gathering people and signatures regarding my long incarceration at such a young age for a first offense.  I was very well known.  And when the people that she told about me saw me, I was a regular celebrity to them.  Many of them didn’t even believe that I existed, and when they learned that I did they didn’t believe that a human could build his body the way that I had built mine. 

My mother took me from place to place to see who could offer me a job. I finally landed one with a group of Africans that owned a moving company.  It was a low paying job that would require hard work but hard work would fit greatly into my regimen.  Plus, I would be working with pure blooded Africans!  I had never met a real African before and I was super excited to be with them.  I mean, they were my people.  And boy was I right to be excited!  Work started immediately with them and you wanna talk about culture shock…

MOVING THINGS

Man what the #uck are you doing!?  The African Zeeme yelled at me in his African accent as I ran three large boxes to the top of the stairs.  I’d been on the job for over a couple of weeks and was getting well known for my enthusiasm.  I looked at the long limbed and slender Zeeme while I picked up a large stack of more boxes that weighed about 200lbs together.  What’s wrong?  I asked as I stood and prepared to run up the stairs as fast as I could.  Why in da #uck are you working so hard!?  Running the boxes up da stairs and $hit like you’re #ucking crazy nigga! he asked with a scorned and disgusted look on his face. 

I looked at Zeeme amazed for several reasons.  #1. He was a manager so he should’ve been proud of my work and #2. That an African who was I was supposed to be proud of trying to be like used the word nigga in a negative manner to put down a black person.  Well…  I responded while trying to figure this African out, I’m trying to get the job done as fast as I can and I’m using it as a workout.  Zeeme scrunched his nose at me.  A #ucking workout!?  You’re doing more than a workout!  What you need to do dat $hit for anyway!  I rolled my eyes at Zeeme.  His line of questioning and repetitive foul language was becoming offensive.  I’m planning to fight professional soon so I have to be in the best shape that I can be in.  Zeeme laughed a loud African laugh and looked at me as if I was ridiculous.  What nigga!?  He yelled out loud enough for the people who we were moving to hear.  You’re a mover nigga who makes about $10 an hour!  You ain’t gon’ be no fighta!  You’re a mooboo! 

I looked at Zeeme and measured him up.  It would take me about 3 seconds to rip his African head off.  No one had spoken to me in that manner since I was in grade school.  And with the code that I’m used to I should be cracking his rib cage in half with a Muay Thai Round Kick right now!  Be cool Jermaine.  I thought to myself.  "He’s just a dumb ass and you’ll kill him.  I took a deep breath and calmed myself as Zeeme walked off laughing.  Stay focused on what you’re doing." The voice spoke.  You’re headed the right way.

The three of us finished up the move and headed for the moving truck.  As we headed to the next job Zeeme and the other African mover Marko spoke back in forth.  I felt a small sense of jealousy when I heard them switch from English to African.  Sometimes I would even get pissed as I thought to myself that they were speaking the language that was stolen from me and my ancestors.  However, it was nice to hear them talk and watch their mannerism.  They were very proud and loud with no shame and they seemed to be fearless.  I kind of looked up to them.  These dark skinned loud individuals didn’t seem like they would ever sit around and wait for a handout.  They even carried energy as if they were better than the white man and would smack his silly @ss if he tried to enslave them.  This was what all of the rappers such as Public Enemy, KRS-1, Queen Latifah and more had spoken about.  I was in the moving truck with my true people!  Real, 100% Africans.  And I was accepted by them!  It felt good to be with them.  I’d have to pick up on their language just like I did the Mexicans and the Indians while I was in prison.  Ooops, not their language… OUR language.

I sat $itch in the middle seat of the truck to show respect to them as the new guy.  I chimed in and tried to pick up on the conversation between Zeeme and Marko.  They were speaking more English than their native tongue so I was beginning to understand them.  They were talking about another one of the black Americans who worked with us.  They laughed and slapped handshakes as they spoke.  Zeeme was the loudest. 

Yea!  I told that little black motha #ucker that he ain’t $shit!  He ain’t no #ucking African!  He’s just a mooboo!  Ha haa!  They laughed together as I picked up on the word mooboo again.  I was beginning to think it was an insult like a white person calling a Black American a nigger.  Zeeme continued.  He was being very arrogant.  Yea yea… I told that mooboo mother#fucker that I’m African King blood and you ain’t nothing nigga!  You a slave and dats all!  Ha haa haa! 

I was starting to understand that Zeeme wasn’t speaking nicely about Black Americans and it was pissing me off.  I’d held my composure long enough regarding breaking this black mother #ucker’s face.  I knew I couldn’t hit him like I wanted to and so did he.  They all knew I was on parole so I figured this piece of $hit must’ve been testing me.  Furthermore, the owner who was also of African nationality hired me, an x-con armed robber and even asked if he could trust me.  I told him that he could trust me and I would never betray him.  That held priority at the moment and for some reason, it allowed me enough peace not to try and push this black bastard’s facial bones into his brain.  No matter, I had to slow them down and I definitely couldn’t allow them to think I was a $itch. 

Yo.  I spoke calmly.  What’s a mooboo?  They both went quiet for a few seconds.  I continued.  I keep hearing you use this word mooboo.  What does it mean?  I balled my fists in my lap in the manner that a police officer would put his hand on his gun as a warning.  Even though I was holding my composure at the moment, that didn’t mean that I would continue to hold it. 

Zeeme swallowed a hard swallow and looked at my fists out the corner of his eye.  He understood my message.  He responded.  A mooboo is black American!  He tried hard to maintain his cockiness even though a bead of sweat ran down his forehead.  I continued my questions.  Well I heard you say that you’re a king and of king descendant and he’s just a slave and mooboo and all of that crap.  Is that an insult from African’s to all Black Americans?  Is that how ya’ look at us?  The cab of the truck grew quiet again.  Marko turned and looked out the window.  Zeeme responded with stumbled words, No it’s not insult.  I’m just saying we’re from Africa kings and queens and black Americans are from slaves!  It’s just the truth.  Mooboo just means black American. 

I turned to look at Zeeme and nodded.  Is that right?  I sarcastically asked.  Hmm…  That’s messed up man.  I continued as I shook my head in shame.  You know Black Americans have been through a lot in this country and we were just getting taught that Africa was our home and ya were our true brothers.  We even looked up to being African.  I even looked up to being African.  I was so happy to meet ya.  I thought ya had heart for us Black Americans but we’re just mooboos huh?  I actually looked up to ya being able to speak the native tongue, and just being pure African but now I see that ya just a bunch of niggas too.  Niggas that hate niggas.  Wow.  I’m in the truck with a couple of wanna be gangbangers.  I unballed my fists and shook my head.  Zeeme and Marko kept quiet as shame seemed to hit them.  I might have whipped their @sses without my fists but they had broken my heart and caused me more confusion regarding who I was.

I realized that my job at the moving company wasn’t going to last long.  The boss and main guys of the place were ok but the ones that I had to work with were extremely testy.  Eventually, I was going to unload on one of those fools.  I used my spare time to look for another job and quickly landed one as a janitor.  It wasn’t great cleaning up bowling alleys and bars during the late hours after they were closed but I enjoyed the peace.  I always had quiet while I mopped up piss, emptied overfilled ash trays, scraped bloody tampons off the walls and plunged turds down the toilet.  As long as I kept my mind focused on how all of us convicts wished we could do a job like this in the free world when we were locked up, cleaning someone else’s mess was a great time.  Besides, the mud, crap and blood of the Honor Farm had turned me into a true soldier.  I could’ve licked the insides of one of those toilet bowls if I wanted to and not even flinched.  Discipline was my M.O.

P.O.

I tried to stretch out the inevitable that all x-convicts attempt to dodge but the time had finally come for me to face the music.  It was time for me to report in to the parole officer.  I imagined that my parole officer was going to be some unsupportive asshole who was just looking for a reason to send me back to prison.  I’d never heard any good stories about parole officers from the inside or out.  Everyone who ever dealt with them only complained about them and their dealings.

My parole officer’s office was downtown St. Louis which only reinforced that he was probably going to be some rough jerk who had already dealt with some of the worse of the worse.  I was sure that he would displace his anger on me as soon as I walked in the door of his office.  I programmed my brain to seal away my emotions while preparing to deal with an arrogant little desk boy who was saturated with Cop’plex.  I’d have to keep from ripping his little head off and tossing his body into the street as an example of, You shouldn’t poke sticks at human Pit Bulls.  I sighed a relaxing breath and headed in.

KNOCK!  KNOCK!  I knocked on the door to his office and took another deep breath.  I knew I would have to remain disciplined while this little punk @ss took this opportunity to insult and dare a big, muscle bound x-con.  Come in.  A female voice responded.  I stepped into the office and looked at whom was sitting behind the desk.  It wasn’t a rough looking white x-cop or delinquent who failed the officer’s test.  Sitting in front of me was one of the most beautiful black women that I’d ever seen.  Too beautiful to take a job dealing with losers.  I must’ve been in the wrong place.  I’m sorry.  I spoke.  I’m looking for my parole officer.  My name is…  Jermaine Andre’  She quickly cut me off.  Yes I’m your parole officer.  My mouth fell open at how such a beautiful and well dressed women would be a parole officer and how she knew my name.  This couldn’t be possible.  She was probably going to be a serious bitch!

My name is Mrs. Dean.  She reached out to shake my hand as if we were equals.  I tried to get a reading on her manner and it didn’t seem correct.  She seemed nice and inviting while respectful and full of hope.  She wasn’t looking down on me or tired of her job and the day to day x-cons that she had to deal with.  She seemed different.  It was as if she was sent from the farm or maybe somewhere higher.  I sat down and we went over my parole conditions.

Our dealing with each other went smooth and straight.  She talked to me instead of down at me, while behaving as if she was in no way threatened or intimidated by me.  She reminded me of Ms. Jeffries from grade school.  I felt an immediate connection to her and suddenly she was on my list of people not to betray or fail.  I wanted her to succeed with me while even reporting back to her husband that I was a great guy of honor.  I didn’t want to embarrass her and put her in a position to have to send me back to prison, and feel as if she couldn’t handle the job that she had taken.  I wanted her to win not just with me but in life.  Her character demanded my honored support in any way that I could offer it.  Her character offered an unexpected burst of supporting energy to keep me geared in a positive direction.  Once again this moment assured me that something out there was watching over me, and pulling strings to keep me from going whack job.

GETTING $HIT DONE

In about a month I had enough money to get an apartment in North County for my mother, sisters and I.  We moved quickly as hell into the decent neighborhood of Spanish Lake.  This would put Cim and Carmen back into a great school district and me in an area with people who were trying to move forward.  The attitude would be positive and Spanish Lake itself was far enough away for me to run to for a daily workout.  We got us a two bedroom apartment.  Ma’ would have one room, Cim and Carmen would have the other and I would have the living room floor.  That was perfect for me because I had very little intention of getting comfortable.  I had a car.  I had two jobs and now I had money to pay for the most important thing in the world to me…  MUAY THAI TRAINING!  I picked up the Yellow pages and looked through the phone book for a Muay Thai school.  My eyes fell upon Ron Smith’s Muay Thai name and it seemed to stand out.  I called and was invited to stop by and take a look.  I wasted no time.

I paid my dues to Ron Smith and began training immediately.  Three times a week I went to visit Ron and on the other days I ran to Spanish Lake Park where I would kick, punch, elbow and knee a giant oak tree to toughen my body.  Everything was going well.  I would go to my job at the moving company from 8am – 5pm then train at Ron’s until 9pm, then hit the janitor job until around 5am.  I would then return home and sleep for a couple of hours then do it all over again.  I didn’t get much sleep but neither did I need it or care.  I had slept enough in the State Club, and could sleep more when I was dead.  I was six years behind the rest of the world and I had goals to accomplish that I had yet to even start. 

CALLING THE FOUR CORNERS

Things were starting to work out in my favor and I was feeling it!  There was no way that there wasn’t some divine power involved in how smooth my rough road was starting to turn out.  It was time to show some appreciation, and to remember my true, earned roots. 

I hit the park one beautiful day and pulled out the Peace Pipe.  I loaded it with Kanickanick and smoked it while thinking of all of my brothers who were now counting on me.  I thought about the lessons of the farm also… respect, responsibility, Samenow’s Criminal Thinking Errors… anger issues…  blah blah blah…  I prayed to whoever was listening and always watching over me.  I asked for protection and guidance for the sake of those whom I love and those who love me.  I thanked him for watching my back and answering me so quickly whenever I call upon him.  Out of all that I had been through I never understood how anyone could ever believe that there was no God of some sort, or powerful conscious being that created and watched over us until we returned immortal to him.  I always knew he was with me even through hard times.  Well now it was time for me to show HIM what I could do with what he had given me.  I took one last puff on my Peace Pipe and meditated on the spirit.  Yo.  I spoke in my head to him.  Watch this!  I’m gonna see if I can impress you.  Watch over me because it is #UCKING on!  Excuse my language please.  

With the closing of those words peace and happiness touched me.  A calm and warm breeze blew across the grass and lake as if it was God himself breathing life into me…  And it was.  Adam had been reborn!  I had been re-baptized!  I had been ordained by GOD!  NOTHING would be able to stop me unless he gave it permission.  I was indestructible now because failure would only be God almighty’s decision!  And if it was his decision, I hadn’t failed.

A NEW WORLD!

Everything was working well.  I was making good money at my jobs and training was going very good with Ron Smith.  He was teaching me to calm down my power and aggressiveness which was giving me precision along with my deadly weapons.  But something was missing.  No fun or excitement was included in my life and neither were any super hot women.  Dani and I still hung out occasionally but my emotions towards her in that manner were dim.  I had to find some excitement in the right way.  Hmmm…  I thought to myself as I proudly figured out the answer.  I’d go and seek my answer on Saturday night.

What’s up man!  I spoke out as I walked up to a bouncer at the nightclub Tazmania.  The bouncer was a bald, muscular black dude who stood about 6’5 and was well over 250lbs of solid muscle.  He wore a dog chain around his neck and carried a look of pure intimidation.  He offered no smile as he shook my hand firmly.  I’m Jermaine.   I spoke while giving a friendly smile.  The bouncer stuck his chest out and placed his hands on his hips.  I’m Sean.  How can I help you?  He spoke in a deep voice that fit him perfectly while maintaining a stern look into my eyes.  If I had ever in my life had a vision of what the perfect bouncer looked like, this guy was it.  I responded to him as gently as I knew how to.  I wasn’t there to intimidate him. 

Well, I was just stopping by to see if you fellas needed any help with bouncing?  Sean looked down at me and sized me up.  I was in a tank top so the evaluation went over well.  Well, I’m the head of security and we don’t need any help now but I’ll keep you in mind.  I smiled and shook his hand.  Thanks Sean.  I had no need of giving him my phone number or getting a phone number from him.  He would be seeing me every night that they were open until I was hired.  This was where I needed to be.  I needed some