Never Walk Alone

By Randal Smith

Tony Johnson, a.k.a Tone, is the first in his family to get a scholarship to college. When visiting back home for spring break, everything takes a turn for the worse. Now he finds himself in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Will Tone, with the help of an inmate named Conscious, get his conviction overturned, or will he get caught up with some heavy hitters who can lead him down a dark path to a life behind bars?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887318127

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 5.5

Chapter 6

Chapter 6.5

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

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

About the Author

cover.jpg

Never Walk Alone

Randal Smith

Copyright © 2023 Randal Smith

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-811-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-812-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

Check

You are now inside the walls of the most dangerous prison in the state of Florida. Welcome to Santa Rosa department of corrections.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

What!

Name and DC number inmate, barked Officer Neels, looking like he wanted to spit what was left of his chewing tobacco on the inmate's cell floor.

Flowers, B19425, the inmate reluctantly replied.

Officer Neel lingered in the doorway for a few ticks. Feeling satisfied with his small victory, he then sauntered off, keys jiggling from his trousers as he walked through the cell block. As a child, he always wanted to be a cowboy. He imagined the clinging sounds of the keys were spurs on his much-needed shined boots, his can of mace a dirty .22 revolver.

Terrance Flowers (a.k.a Trama) jumped down from his top bunk, standing at his full stature of 6'4", 225 pounds, now agitated from being woken up by the officer. If looks could kill, his bunkie, Charles Ray, would be turning over in his grave.

Damn, nigga! You couldn't wake me up before that cracker came? Trama snarled.

Being warned earlier about Trama's temper, he opted for a more passive approach. I thought you was up, Charles answered in a nonthreatening voice.

That's what's wrong with you old niggas now. Y'all come in here getting all these no-standing, no-lifting lower bunk passes and always in a nigga's way. You didn't have all them passes out there on the streets when you were snatching diapers.

Charles looked at Trama incredulously. What are you talking about?

Stop trying to act like you no chomo! Spit flew from Trama's lips as he stared down Charles. Matter of fact, Trama said, snatching Charles's ID card from the cell doors window, I'm gonna PSI your ass and find out. I'm tired of jumping up and down off this bunk anyway, which I've had to do since you moved up in this motherfucker, with your lower bunk pass-having ass, Trama explained.

Charles sat on his bunk watching Trama's back as he walked out of the cell. All he wanted to do was finish the three years he had left on his sentence in peace. His foot tapped nervously on the cold concrete floor. With his head in his hands, he contemplated his next move. The cell door made a loud metallic sound as it banged open and locked.

Trama was seen bearing down the walkway, looking like a midnight Georgia train. The other inmates already occupying the corridor got out of his way so as not to collide with this human steam roller. Trama reached the cell he was looking for and slid the door open to walk in. Two young cats from Trama's city were chopping it up about the turf.

Do you know Alisha from Thirty-Fourth Street? said Lil-homie.

Yeah, replied Stixx. That ho off the chain. I used to smash that bitch, and she had some crazy head too.

The two noticed somebody entering their cell and think, Who would be crazy enough to enter without permission? They turned and locked eyes with their OG, Trama.

I thought we was gonna have to do a nigga, Stixx began, while Stixx raised his hands to give Trama some pound. Trama gave him a hard stare and nodded his head toward the door.

My bad. I see y'all got some business to handle, Stixx said, while trying to hold his head up so as not to feel like a bitch getting put out his own cell. Lil-homie greeted Trama with their signature handshake.

What's poppin', big homey?

You need to give me the green light to smash ol' boy? Trama pointed toward the door where Stixx just left out.

What's your beef with him? Dude from my city, Lil-homie questioned.

I don't like the vibe of cat. But anyway, go get that thing. I got to handle a few things, Trama replied.

Lil-homie disappeared out the cell door. When he returned shortly after, he handed Trama a cell phone. Trama phoned a white girl he met on the website Plenty of Fish.

Cassie had a middle-class upbringing, housewife, married to a well-off passive white boy, career-orientated guy who made little time for his wife. She couldn't remember the last time they went out together. The last time they had sex was when Mary breastfed Jesus. When she encountered Trama, it blew her mind. To her, Trama was very charismatic, a good listener, could hold a good conversation, and he was aggressive, something she was not used to. He caused her to do things she wasn't accustomed to. And the phone sex was the best sex she was having. And it made her very excited to imagine what the real thing would feel like. This would also be her first interracial relationship. There was no way for her to pursue this kind of relationship growing up in her small Christian town, where the only black people you see is the hired help.

Damn, baby, you not gonna pick up the phone for me? Trama said over the phone.

My husband was late leaving the house for work. I didn't want him to catch me on this phone. He doesn't know I own this phone, Cassie retorted.

I told you about that though. I come before everybody. You hear me? Trama whipped.

I'm sorry, baby. Please don't be mad at me. It won't happen again, Cassie pleaded.

Aight, sweetheart. Anyway, how your day been? Trama said, changing the subject. Trama half listened to Cassie as she talked about her day.

So what do you think? Cassie asked Trama.

I think he needs to be more supportive in what you want to do. I mean, everybody has a dream, and you should go for yours, Trama replied encouragingly.

Aww, that's sweet, bae. That's how I know you got my back, Cassie said.

You received the video I sent you?

Oh my god. I never seen a dick so huge before on a man. Only on horses. And damn, you have a lot of spunk. It must be from all the time you have spent in there. And damn, I never seen so much cum before.

Now don't be getting all scared on me now. You know I don't even play that, Trama urged.

No, no, no, never, Cassie insisted. There was a fifteen-year gap between them. He made her feel like a teenage girl sometimes.

You pick that money up from the Western Union like I told you? Trama asked.

Yes, Cassie replied.

Did you handle that drop yet? Trama added.

Cassie hesitated before she answered. She was scared. She already made Trama mad earlier, and she didn't want to piss him off again.

No, Cassie mumbled.

Listen, Cassie, I don't want you to think that this is a game. When I call you back, please have it done. Trama hung up the phone, not even waiting for a response, and handed it back to Lil-homie.

How you know she going to handle up? You just hung up?

You see, young buck, you got to understand the nature of a woman and to understand how to control her. She probably came on herself. These white girls love a dominating black man. Trama slid his bunkie's ID over to Lil-homie as well. Look that nigga up for me. Trama had been down since he was twenty-eight. That was eleven years ago. They didn't have touch screens and all that back when he was out.

What's good? Lil-homie asked.

I just need the info, bruh.

It says, ‘Lewd and licentious, acts with a minor under twelve, soliciting sex with a minor, in possession of computerized material with minors committing sexual acts,' Lil-homie reported.

I knew it. Go put that jack up. We got to handle that chomo.

Lil-homie stepped out the room and quickly returned. It looks like your bunkie checked in, Lil-homie said.

Trama stepped out of the cell and leaned over the rail of the upstairs tier, looking out over the atrium. He noticed his bunkie talking to Officer Neel. Officer Neel turned Charles around and slapped cuffs on him and escorted him out of the cell block. Trama and Lil-homie walked back into the cell.

Change of plans. Tell Stixx to go to my cell and pop my bunkie's locker and take anything of value before the officers pack up his shit, Trama instructed.

Chapter 2

Trick or Treat

Inside the prison chapel, the Mandrain was calling the prayer. Some gathered to the call, prostrate on rugs and still performing woosah. The man leading the prayer was Wallah, a very disciplined and prudent man. And in his twenty years of incarceration, he had earned the respect of his peers for being a loyal servant of Allah and allowing nobody in his fold to bring shame upon Allah.

Allah akbar, Allah akbar. Ash-ladu Alla…ilaala…illal-laah. Ash-hadu anaa…Muhammadar Rosoolal-la…al. Hayya'alas-salah…h, Hayya; alal fala…al. Allah…Akbar, laa, laaha…illal-la…ah. Wallah made the prayer call from his soul.

After prayer, the brothers in the congregation embraced in the traditional manner. Wallah looked around. He took a particular interest in a new face and approached him.

Shalom ack. It is good to see young brothers in the service of Allah. How long have you been a witness and servant of Allah the Benevolent? Wallah greeted with a smile.

I've only been on my dean for three months. I was a gang member before learning about Islam, Polo stated.

I hope you are seeking the truth for the right reasons. Too many guys join these days because they are running from something or someone, Wallah commented.

No way, not me, sir. I'm truth to what I feel is right, assured Polo.

I hope so. The two shook hands before parting.

Asalom alakum, Wallah said.

Walakum salom, Polo returned.

Wallah then walked over to his right-hand man, Abdull. Before meeting Wallah in the joint, Abdull was a renegade. Wallah always encouraged the man to find peace in Islam with Allah. They started reading the Koran together. Abdull was intrigued by some of the servants of Allah, how they were soldiers. Wallah seen this and persuaded Abdull that Allah could use him in the same manner for righteousness' sake. Now Abdull was a member of a tight-knit circle called the Hand of Allah. These select few men brought penalties upon those who were in clear violation of the codes of Islam.

Abdull, put your eyes and ears to the land and find out if that brother is walking the walk, instructed Wallah.

No problem, Abdull said, nodding his head.

Polo left the chapel and made his way down the black top. On his way back to his assigned housing unit, he was approached by an inmate by the name of Tootsie. Tootsie was a well-known sissy on the compound. And Tootsie loved men, especially the younger ones who were very impressionable, considering his lifestyle.

I told you about stepping to me after Jumah service, Polo said, looking around nervously.

I know, I know, but this couldn't wait. The package came through today, Tootsie explained.

Where is it right now? Polo exclaimed anxiously.

I got it on me right now. Walk with me to my dorm so I can give it to you, Tootsie said proudly.

As they approached Tootsie's housing unit, Polo noticed that the door was locked shut.

Damn, how the fuck are we supposed to get in? Polo complained.

Chill, boy, I got this, Tootsie said, as he walked over to the door and banged on it while peering through the glass window. The loud banging got the attention of the female officer, Ms. Brown, who was chatting away on the office phone with her girl. Ms. Brown had been working for DOC nine years, two years longer than she had planned. Ms. Brown had to have the best of both worlds. She would chunk a month's pay to feed her lustful desire. Now she was behind working overtime.

Who the hell is beating on my glass like they don't have no sense? Officer Brown snapped. Ms. Brown looked through the window and saw it was the inmate Tootsie, so she pressed the button to release the automatic lock on the door. When Tootsie sashayed in, Ms. Brown dropped the officer station flap so she could be heard without yelling, Girl, is you crazy banging on my door like that?

Bitch, please, instead of crying on the phone about all your problems, you should be doing some work, Tootsie teased.

While the two catch up, Ms. Brown peeped Polo trying to slide into the dormitory. She beat on the glass to get his attention. Inmate, you are in an unauthorized area. I know you don't want any paperwork. You best leave immediately, Officer Brown ordered.

He with me, Tootsie cut in.

Girl, you know I don't let that go down in my dorm.

Child, please, it ain't nothing like that. We got business to handle, Tootsie corrected.

Girl, you better hurry up before the sergeant get back, Ms. Brown stated before closing the flap and jumping back on the phone. Polo and Tootsie slid into the bathroom together. Tootsie began taking off his clothes When Tootsie took his shirt off, it revealed his D-size tits in a mesh bra. Tootsie had spent over twenty thousand dollars to look like his favorite idol Jennifer Love. He got hips, ass, tit, and lips on full display. The only thing he had left to do is snip it, which he had tucked between his cheeks. Polo got wrapped up staring at Tootsie's tits, standing there in a homemade thong.

What the fuck are you doing? Polo said, surprised.

Boy, shut up and help me unwrap these cigarettes, Tootsie protested. Tootsie was strapped with cigarettes from his stomach down to his ankles. All together it was forty packs, which went for fifty dollars a pack for a hundred.

Hold up, let me get a laundry bag with some clothes in it. Polo wrapped the cigarettes in the clothes and stuffed them in the laundry bag. This precaution was taken just in case he was approached by an officer as he was walking back to his dorm. He could tell the officer he was coming back from picking up his laundry from his old dorm.

After the task was done and everything was together, Polo made for the door to leave. As he neared the door, a member from his old gang called Money got the jump on him. Money was a brown-skinned, skinny, tattoo-covered Jit. He pressed the tip of an ice pick to Polo's back. Damn, homey, looks like you're trying to leave without paying the tax.

Whh-what do I owe you? Polo asked, scared as shit.

Twenty percent of whatever you got, Money spat.

Polo reached inside his bag and pulled out five packs. He handed them over to Money. Money looked at the packs, then Polo. Money snatched the bag from Polo and dumped the contents of the bag on the floor, where Money did his count. One, two, three, four…forty. I see forty packs here. I guess you take me for stupid. Tell me if I'm wrong. Twenty-five percent of forty packs is ten packs? Money reasoned.

Ye-ye-yes, Polo said, scared.

Then why you trying to hand me five packs? Money asked.

I-I-I…, Polo began to stutter.

Shut the fuck up! Money sneered while bending down and retrieving thirty-five packs.

Man, please don't do me like that. I owe people, Polo begged.

Next time you know not to lie, Money said as he walked away. Before he disappeared, he turned toward Polo. One more thing. You can't hide behind that kufi forever, Money warned.

Chapter 3

Welcome, Boys

Drive! Drive! Drive! What the fuck you doing, Tone? Nigga, drive! Rebel yelled.

Rebel pulled out his .45 and pointed it right at Tone. Tone looked at the gun, then at his rearview mirror, where he could see blue-and-white flashing lights approaching fast in the distance. Tone was hesitant in his decision, but with no other options, he stepped on the gas and sped out of the service station.

You are now in the hands of the Department of Corrections, yelled Officer Anderson.

Tone didn't know exactly if it was the stench of different inmates' piss mingling together and running down the walkway of the bus or the country cracker's voice that pulled him out his dream. But he now was awake and aware of his unpredictable predicament.

We are not your mothers, and from the looks of it, your mothers didn't know how to raise you. Officer Anderson looked over the new detainees. Ninety-five percent of them were black and carried smirks on their faces.

First off, you will address my officers as well as all staff as ‘sir' and ‘ma'am.' You will listen and comply to my every command if you plan on going home. For those of you that don't care or have no release date, if you even think to try me or my staff, I will personally make the time you do have left on earth as miserable as possible. Have I made myself clear! Officer Anderson demanded an answer from the inmates under his control.

Yes, sir, the inmates shouted in unison.

Now stand up and grab your shit, Officer Anderson instructed.

Tone bent down to picked up his bags and noticed an old head across the aisle looking at him.

What? Tone said, agitated.

Young Blood, listen to me. Do everything these crackaz tell you to do. These shit eaters play for keeps. They don't mind putting they hands on you. And them putting they hands on you is the least of your worries. They looking for an excuse. They looking for any reason to take a black man's life.

Tone took another look at the officers. He noticed they wore tattoos of racial slurs and hate symbols seen promptly on their persons. The inmates were made to get off the bus in an orderly fashion and to stand below the yellow line. The thirty or so inmates lined up in a single file. The guards stood on the other side, looking like they were once part of the original Four Horsemen. All these crackers looked like they should have been on WCW, rocking medium shirts and cowboy tight pants.

Place your property out in front of you, ordered Anderson.

The inmates bent down to place their bags down and stood back.

Now remove all your clothing, except for your boxers, Anderson continued.

The officers went down the line, taking the inmates' clothing and uniforms. The inmates were standing in nothing but their boxers.

Take your boxers and throw them out in front of you, Officer Anderson said. As the officers walked down the line to collect the discarded clothes, they noticed an inmate still had his clothes on.

Boy, one of the four horsemen said. Why in da hell… Rick Flair paused while moving a piece of chew around his mouth. You still got on them… Rick Flair paused again, but this time he spat right at the feet of the inmate. Boxers?

Two other guards closed in on the inmate.

I-I-I- the inmate stuttered.

The officer gave the inmate an open-hand slap to the face and two solid punches to the body. The inmate doubled over in pain.

Do you think I'm something to play with? Rick Flair scoffed.

The inmate was clearly stunned and embarrassed by the physical confrontation. No, sir, the inmate answered. Tone looked on in disbelief, thinking, How can a grown man sit there and take the physical, verbal belittlement the officers are dishing out?

Listen up. Follow my directions. Take your hands away from your peter, hold your hands above your head, spread your fingers, turn them around, run your hands through your hair, hold your ears back, open your mouth, lift your tongue, run your fingers along your gum line. Now take your nuts and dick and lift them. Separate them. Listen closely. Turn around, bend at the waist, grab your butt cheeks, spread them apart. I want to see everyone's moneymaker.

Every inmate was bent at the waist with his asshole exposed to the probing eye of the guards. Tone could feel his manhood being stripped from him. Officer Anderson walked down the line of depleted men. He stopped directly behind the inmate that was slapped like a bitch earlier. Now I want you all to cough.

All the inmates coughed together and stood up.

I didn't see that thing wink, Officer Anderson teased the inmate that was slapped earlier.

The inmate didn't want a rematch with Anderson, so he did as he was told.

Look at there. It looks like you been tampered with, Anderson mocked.

The inmate stood and turned with an embarrassed look on his face.

What have I gotten myself into? Tone thought to himself.

Chapter 4

What's It Gonna Be?

Trama heard the door to the cell block opening.

It was count time. He thought to himself, Ms. Hawkins works today. He peered out of his window, and he saw Ms. Hawkins doing her count. Trama was positioned on the top tier of where she was at. Trama thought to himself that he had the time before she made it up to him. He lay on his bunk and pulled his meat through the hole in his boxers. He grabbed a pack of mayonnaise from the head of his rack. He opened it and squeezed the contents into his hands as a lubricant and massaged it onto his dick while fantasizing about Ms. Hawkins's thick red ass and lips. Trama was primed up, all thirteen inches of his thick-as-a-wrist dick. He closed his eyes and pretended like he was asleep. Trama could feel the presence of Ms. Hawkins at his cell door. He peeked through his eyes and saw the awestruck look on her face. Ms. Hawkins was momentarily stuck at Trama's door. She was blinking rapidly. Trama believed she was taking a mental picture or was in disbelief at the size of his penis. At last Ms. Hawkins gathered herself and finished her count. Trama was left smiling to himself.

Minutes went by. And the sound of metallic steel doors being rolled open was a signal that count was now clear. Trama stood up and put his pants on. Seconds later, his partner, Lil-homie, was at Trama's door. Trama waved him in.

What's poppin, big homey? Lil-homie said as they shake up.

Nothing much, just boolin'. You got that?

Lil-homie handed Trama the cell phone.

Put the sheet up, Trama said, cutting on the phone. The sheet was used to block the view of inmates who were trying to investigate the cells, being nosy. Trama phoned Cassie. She picked up on the second ring.

Hi, baby, Cassie beamed. You could hear the excitement in her voice. Trama always lit up her day.

Bae, how was your day? Trama responded.

Same old bullshit—trapped inside the house with nothing to do. My husband been on a business trip for the last three days. I'm just so tired of the shit. I don't know what to do, Cassie complained.

Don't stress yourself over the small shit. You got to look at the whole picture. Any day now I should be hearing from the courts. He used this to string her along. Then you won't have to worry about none of that bullshit. You can have your big black shining knight all to yourself, Trama said, consoling Cassie.

I can't wait for that day, Cassie returned, lightening up.

Did you send the visitation papers? Trama asked.

Yes, I can't wait to see you, Cassie answered anxiously.

You handled that package? Trama continued.

Oh, babe. Let me tell you. I got lost like three times before I found the street I was looking for. I kept passing over it. It's a little dirt road, and if you don't look closely, you pass by it every time. So when I get there, I do what you told me, right. I'm putting the package where it needs to be, and I feel something in there, so I pull it out, and I take a picture of it. I tied it back up and put it back. Then I put yours on top of that one, which I also took a picture of, Cassie explained.

Okay, send me those pictures, Trama said, trying to sound calm. She sent the pictures. Trama examined the pictures. He