God Will Give Me Justice

By John Bielski

They took roughly 3 years from his life. He will never be 28 again. Time can never be returned to him. It is lost forever. Read about John Bielski and the story as seen through his eyes. Go inside one of the most horrific jails in the United States. Underfunded, overpopulated, and corrupt. Learn about how a law abiding citizen ended up spending twelve months waiting for a trial in what can only be called a certain kind of hell. Our constitutional rights are being violated, and this book is an account of real events that demonstrate just how that happens. The names and locations have been purposely ommitted to avoid any backlash from the authorities, but this is a true story. In the land of the free, John Bielski believes that only God can give him justice.

I went over my whole life and recounted every time I came in contact with the authorities . . . police officers. I also wrote about the events leading to the arrests as well as what happened to me once in custody. Some of this is scary . . . really scary.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499055146

John Bielski

John Bielski (born October 1, 1980) came to the United States from Poland in 1991. He holds a Bachelor's Degree in Business Administration with a major in Marketing and minor in Philosophy from Loyola University in Chicago. The subjects he found most engaging at the university included ethics in life and in business, questions of God's existence, and world religions. He currently resides in a Polish neighborhood on the northwest side of Chicago.

Book preview

1.jpg

Copyright © 2014 by John Bielski.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014913322

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4990-5513-9

   Softcover   978-1-4990-5515-3

   eBook   978-1-4990-5514-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/23/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

650482

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 1

There is an awesome fight tonight. St. Pierre is fighting again. He is the best. The champion. I don’t remember him losing since he lost one fight against Matt Hughes. St. Pierre ended up beating Hughes and every challenger since, unless I missed something. He’s like a machine out there; doesn’t seem to get tired, just keeps on beating on his opponent. I wonder what the fight will be like tonight. After all, he’s been champion for a while and might be getting old. That’s beside the point.

I’m thinking that there might arise a situation where some of the guys out there would want to fight. I’m thinking that I don’t need that kind of trouble. If any guy tries to get rowdy with me at the bar, all I’m going to say is that I don’t need the trouble.

I’m 33 years old. I spent 3 years of my life in jail and in prison already. I have a lengthy criminal record that includes 2 convictions of battery against a police officer and one of assault against a police officer. I never hit a cop. The cops know that. I know it. I’ve been through a hell and they don’t serve beer there. It is like hell; one does not know when it will end and if ever it will…

St. Pierre didn’t do so well. They did not take his belt; however, the fight could’ve been scored in favor of that other guy. It seemed as if he was a little sick, a bit under the weather, maybe weakened by a virus or some sort of biological threat, a bacteria. He was pale and clammy looking. Considering he might have had a fever and a full blown cold while fighting; he did well. For a healthy St. Pierre: performance was lethargic. I’m now a big fan of the Mortal Kombat video game. Once, when I was in the cell with this German guy, we played Mortal Kombat as if we were adolescents. We became a character and played with our imagination. It was fun, until we got a little physical testing each other’s strength. I’ll get to that guy too, later. I’m trying to keep my writing chronological and on subject. I fear, I think, or I believe it might be less interesting that way; therefore, maybe I’ll stick to my style of writing. Whatever thought comes to mind, loosey goosey, kind of a free American style of wrestling, writing, whatever… I like how some people choose to say I believe before saying what it is they mean to say. One could say I think for example. It takes away from the truth of the statement. It is merely their opinion now. Not necessarily an objective truth. Sometimes they pause as if there is a period after I believe as if they are reaffirming their faith in God in front of little old me. I believe… the weather is cold today. What? You believe? Good thing we have a thermometer to tell us. You know how sometimes it feels real hot when the temperature is low, or it feels real cold even though the temperature signifies warmth? It’s as if all of the energy is drained from my body and I’m shivering. It’s cold, it’s cold, tell my wife I loved her. As if I had a wife. That’s what happens when one gets arrested. They drain our energy. First thing is we are at the police station. Next we are questioned even though we don’t have to answer any questions until the lawyer thing. Then we are put into a room with no wood, just stone and metal. Last time I had my jacket on. Once I had a t-shirt made of cotton, Egyptian cotton, made in Egypt. It was a gift from someone special, purchased in Warsaw at an open air market. It had a little alien on the front and the alien was wearing sunglasses and a hat. The writing on the shirt was ALIEN’S DAD. It was awesome: beige for the desert. I was so cold. They keep us overnight. The whole night. Shivering. Shivering. Cold. I crawled inside the shirt, or the shirt stretched so much, or I got real small, or the shirt got super large. Maybe it was magic, maybe it was alien technology. I don’t know. I fit inside the t-shirt. My whole body. It was at a suburban police station. I was talking to the ceiling. How did you get yourself your own F-16? I remember the police officer came to the door and told me to crawl out of the shirt. I talked the whole night. I thought they were watching. They said to crawl out of the shirt so they know if I die or not. They did not want me dying in the shirt and not being able to know until next morning, I believe :) I suppose, actually. Anyways, that was another time I got arrested. Separate from the time I met the German in my cell. The incident with the shirt was in 2006 I think if I’m not mistaken, while the incident when I was housed with the German was in 2010. Dates. I got arrested and detained about once every 2 years. There was a pattern. One might think there was a pattern. One might believe. One might fear. After watching Seven Samurai I learned that the village people are the ones who fear. They fear a lot. All the time. Fear is their guide. They also use fear to control others. The Magnificent Seven, the Seven Lanterns of God… the samurai worked for food… . Will work for food. I saw them. I saw the lanterns in 2010. I just got punched in the face. I prayed. Back then I prayed every day. Once in the morning. Sometimes for hours on, and on… Just to be able to watch a football game. Just to be able to focus. Just to get through the day. Just so my tooth wouldn’t fall out after that punch. Just to thank.

The first time I ever came in contact with the police was when I was a little kid in Poland. It was sometime after 1989. We had already moved to a larger place in a new construction neighborhood and I was running with stickers in my hand after some duface yelled from his window to detain us. Some dude was looking out the window and saw what we were doing. I was like between 9 and 11. At nine we changed schools, at 11 we won the lottery and came to the USA. It was cool.

So this duface sees a little boy and yells at the cops, policia, or milicia, depending on weather it was after the fall of communism, or before. They were wearing blue. I was realizing my idea. I had this awesome idea. We had these rolls of stickers at the house and they were just so idle. No one was using them. The stickers were about the size of like, maybe, four inches by two inches. Enough to cover up the letter on a license plate. I thought… I believed it would be a fun and innocent prank to go around the place and put stickers on people’s license plates. That way they are more anonymous when they’re driving their little vehicles. They were little (600cc cars, lol). Large engines were like 1.8 Liters. There were two officers. They stopped us. I stopped and was super cool Vanilla Ice haircut man. I was like Hey officers, we got these stickers from home, my dad is a press man, he prints them and we have so many, why don’t you guys take these from us and give them to your children. They were like OK. And I was like, that’s how you deal with them. Poor children now have stickers. I assumed that they might be poor, after all it was Poland under Soviet command. Kind of. Kind of poor country… Jewish lady said Oh, Poland, what a poor country. A better translation would be not the word poor, but unfortunate, or unlucky in the past three hundred years or so.

I did not get arrested. We made it home. Stickers were gone. I never did that again. Now I know how these people are. They called the cops. I see license plates now, cameras… I still think about running around with a spray paint can, white for Illinois plates, and covering up a letter, or a number. Not the whole plate. Just so they don’t know automatically which car it is. Just so they can’t give someone a ticket when the camera, or lights malfunction and one cannot possibly stop nor can he or she cross the intersection without getting fined 50 USD for running a red light. The lights switch way too fast sometimes in Chicago for some of us. It’s like an organized Nazi effort to get some of us to pay more to drive… they call driving a privilege and not a right here in Illinois. They say a driver’s license is a privilege at the driving school. They say it is not a right. Well, I say, I believe I’ve run into many a people in the Cook County Jail who claimed to be in jail for driving without a valid license. Maybe they do not believe that driving is a privilege in these United States of America. Maybe some believe that driving is an inalienable right in the land of Ford, Chevy and Cadillac. The land of the free, and the home of the slave. The place where the inventors made the first car for as many people as possible, the country where automation found its roots in the industrial revolution, where the first mass produced automobiles were sold for such a low price that our wonderful middle class was able to purchase them. The people who built them are able to own them. Wow. This is the place. We drive here. Drive. And the streets are wide enough and simple enough for a 90 year old grandma of 4 to easily go from point A to point B. And whoever thinks that a car is a giant bullet should have his or her head examined and stop messing with mine. Thank You for not arresting me that time. There are good cops out there.

CHAPTER 2

I typed in pornography. The google search engine in the year 2013 gave me no pornography. Now, what I came across was the Wikipedia definition of the word. Some websites that were probably not pornography and one that mentioned Jesus Christ the Savior and overcoming this pornography. Naturally, I clicked that one. It was interesting. I have this female neighbor whom I can hear through the wall, kind of. She is Ukrainian and has a boyfriend who is away driving a truck across the USA most of the time. She’s young and kind of attractive so naturally there’s a lot of tension here. Many thoughts. I thought about knocking on her door and asking some question about sugar or flour, but thought we might just start making out or whatever… I also heard the water running and assumed she’s in the shower. If there are angels and they are in pairs, she gets visits from the man angel and I get them from the female. We are very unlikely to have sex with each other. I have rules, and she probably does too, even if the boyfriend would not care and felt like she’s just a bitch. An animal. Monkey, dog, sheep… whatever they try to reduce us too. Ninja bible. More like satanic bible. Evil angels, demons… I’m glad to be back in the war. Whites see me as a nigger, blacks see me as a honkey. Go figure.

The second time I came in contact with the police was in the USA. We were about sixteen years old and trying weed for the second or third time in our lives. We spent the evening at my friend’s apartment about two blocks away from my house. I remember walking around on all fours like an animal and bobbing my head up and down. The stuff made us crazy. Me. My friends just stood around and laughed, or did not laugh… I don’t remember a whole lot of what others were doing. We did a fair share of laughing though. I did. Of course I wanted to try sex in the altered state, but since I was too young and innocent for a partner, I mastered the art of masturbation and tried it while under the influence of marijuana. The stuff affected me greatly. My brain was in a weird state from which I might have side effects to this day. It wasn’t a good thing either. I prefer being sober now that I’m almost twenty years older.

It was a good few hours and we sobered up. My buddy had a nice German car in high school and offered to drop us off at home. We could have walked. As soon as we got in the car and took off a police officer spotted us and pulled the vehicle over. Maybe he was waiting for us, probably not. He cited us all for a curfew violation. We were not allowed to be out of the house past 11:30 or so. Our parents had to come and pick us up two blocks away from the house. What a joke. What a waste of time. I wasn’t at all scared, kind of mad. Kind of disgusted. I remember people used to say that these cops have nothing better to do, but to pick on us. I remember people saying that they don’t have drug dealers, and shootings, and gangs to worry about so they pick on us. Where did we get the drugs? Drug dealers. Hello! Gangs started to try and influence the suburbs a few years later. There are now shootings in the suburbs too. Thank God for the good old years when the cops had nothing to worry about except for some curfew violations.

CHAPTER 3

I had a whole bunch of run-ins with the law as I was growing up on the level of traffic violations. Nothing out of the ordinary. I learned that the officers had a soft heart for the army, and that it was possible not to get a ticket sometimes. I once almost cried talking about my father taking the car away. Twice… three times. The third time I got the ticket, but the female officer wasn’t being mean when I mentioned Father. We all have Father issues, I guess. They understand.

Once I almost got a DUI, but ended up with just a ticket. I turned on red. It was late. There were no cars. I was happy to get a ticket. I had a lot of whiskey to drink with a girl that night. Girl was another magic word.

Where are you coming from?

Girl’s house. Not a disco. Disco would have implicated me drinking. Girl implicates me getting to third base. I was young. Once I did get a DUI. When I applied to the army the guy said it was one of the three strikes keeping me out. I could’ve been a gun carrying soldier in the US armed forces if these guys would just have accepted me. What’s a DUI have to do with anything? Are we playing baseball? What are these three strikes? I’m glad anyways. I’d be stuck somewhere with my will taken away, following orders and… following orders. Great life. Being told what to do at all times. I’m glad I didn’t get accepted. The only upside would’ve been that I’d get to fire a weapon.

Finally, there was one interesting traffic incident with the city police. I was driving to my friend’s apartment from work in order to smoke weed and play video games while stuffing myself with chimichangas and pico de gallo. I was on the cell phone talking when some guy pulled out in front of me. He pulled out of a church parking lot. I considered ramming him for the insurance money, but hit the brakes anyways. My car struck his slightly. There was no damage on my beautiful Honda Accord bumper, while his car was damaged. The idiot thought that I would stop. He had no right to pull out. I had the right of way. They were all Latinos and well organized. Quickly they produced a witness who testified that I was on a cell phone. The stupid insurance company blamed me for 25 percent of the accident. I had the right of way!!! He broke the rules!!! They said that maybe I could have avoided the accident if I were not on the phone. I did not have to avoid the accident!!! I had the right of way. I could have rammed him and claimed even more money for bodily harm… whiplash. I could have damaged my bumper and have a new one installed. They’re lucky I used the brakes. This guy was leaving a wedding. Obviously he had been drinking. The cops talked to him for like 20 minutes on the side. There were three of them. He didn’t have to take the Breathalyzer. Nothing. There were no tickets issued. We went to the police station to file the report. Guess what he said at the police station. He said HE WORKS FOR THE WATER DEPARTMENT. He works for the water department. What the f… . does that have to do with the accident? Was he threatening the Police Department? This is before they made the Batman movie with that evil guy poisoning the water supply with drugs. Think about it. If I’m working for the FBI and someone says they’re gonna wack somebody I’m not thinking about a clown, I’m thinking murder. The officer said so what. This is before private companies were moving in on the city. This was the year 2003. The officer did not even let in the thought of an implied threat into her pretty little head, neither did I. I thought he was just boasting that he’s connected. Like one of those Soprano guys: I’m in waste management, I’m connected. Lol. Waste management. But seriously, think about it. Latinos, umpa lumpas, magic candy, drugs, water department, batman, people going crazy, schizophrenia rates going up. This was just the beginning. They actually mentioned on the news that traces of some of these drugs were found in our drinking water. I found evidence when I was in jail later for where they come from. It’s all legal too. Interesting traffic violation.

CHAPTER 4

I’m