Read Online Carlito's Way: Rise to Power by Edwin Torres - Free Book Online
Authors: Edwin Torres
Tags: Crime Fiction
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he got spotted as an extra in some flick—ten years he’d been cool on the West Coast. I heard of spitters going down to Honduras and Panama to ice a rat. Now that’s staying mad! With the spics, if a stoolie moves from 111th Street to the Bronx he’s out of the jurisdiction—jive-ass. That’s why they all be in Lewisburg or Green Haven. Wise up, turkey.
If you been in the slams one time, you been in all of them, but if you’re gonna survive in there, you got to be cool. Your rep gets there before you do, but you got to come in mean—mad as a motherfucker.
What you looking at, motherfucker?
You talkin’ to a man, you motherless sombitch!
Don’t fuck with me, I’ll kill you!
Barking and growling—keep a stone face and a tight asshole—jump stink in a minute: they heard you was bad now you got to show ’em. What for? You slack up and they’ll throw a mattress over your head. Ask some young blood from the sticks who goes upstate on some check forgery. I seen some had to have thirteen stitches in their asshole and I seen some jump off their rack with a towel wrapped around their neck ’cause some con was in lovewith them and they couldn’t do nothin’ about it—warden ain’t gonna help you, hacks ain’t gonna help you.
It can get nasty in there. Was a stool up there, black dude, rattin’ his own people out. They caught him in the kitchen; couldn’t hide the body. They cut him into little pieces, then they ground the pieces. There was a nigger in the salad that night. Nobody knowed the difference.
Then you got them little Gem blades that the guys hold in a handkerchief; don’t let them corner you in the shower stall, you naked—splice you into spaghetti. That’s regular, nobody say a word.
And don’t be carryin’ no bad habits over into the jailhouse. Had a thief stole an apple in the mess hall from the wrong guy. Guy put a wooden stake through his Adam’s apple. I saw the thief spinnin’ around trying to pull the stake out. He was all by himself. He didn’t make it.
There’s some rotten motherfuckers in there—I can take the food or the hacks, it’s them criminals in there I can’t stand. Like when you’re short-timin’, waitin’ on your parole, the cons will provoke you to fight—make you blow your parole. Nasty people.
Yeah, Your Honor, check out that probation report real good—not all the kids you put in is ready for the Joint. Yeah, some of these lil’ ol’ boys you put in here is baby lambs and you put them in the same cage with a grizzly bear doing consecutive thirty-year bits. Rough in there, Your Honor—so like if you read the report in a hurry, read it again, ’cause you are fucking with a man’s life. In America, God is dead; you the only one we got left, Your Honor—you a God. When you walk in we standup, when you walk out we stand up. You say who lives and you say who dies—you got no boss and you can change the rules as the game goes along. So check out them lightweights good before you bury them. Now guys like me, you can deal with, ’cause I’ll spit in your eye, Your Honor. I’ll get to your D.A. or your cops or even to you. I may be on your hook but I’m slippin’ and slidin’ and one hitch and I’m gone—shit, I’ll take you all on and I’ll still come out on top!
I was all right in the Joint. My man Colorado was doing a deuce, and he had a little click waiting for me when I got up there. So like at chowtime Colorado is rappin’ to the boys how bad I am—Carlito did this and Carlito did that. One dude, Zuzu, ain’t impressed. “Aw, man, who wants to hear that shit?” Zuzu was bad, but he wasn’t ready—hot soup bowl right into his face. Left hook, overhand right, then a couple kicks to the chest while he was down. Zuzu said we was only playing, but they gave me thirty days in the hole. Solder the door, motherfuckers, I don’t need no bread, no water, no mail, no bed, no nothin’—Carlito is bad, ya hear, bad!
Back in population I
If you been in the slams one time, you been in all of them, but if you’re gonna survive in there, you got to be cool. Your rep gets there before you do, but you got to come in mean—mad as a motherfucker.
What you looking at, motherfucker?
You talkin’ to a man, you motherless sombitch!
Don’t fuck with me, I’ll kill you!
Barking and growling—keep a stone face and a tight asshole—jump stink in a minute: they heard you was bad now you got to show ’em. What for? You slack up and they’ll throw a mattress over your head. Ask some young blood from the sticks who goes upstate on some check forgery. I seen some had to have thirteen stitches in their asshole and I seen some jump off their rack with a towel wrapped around their neck ’cause some con was in lovewith them and they couldn’t do nothin’ about it—warden ain’t gonna help you, hacks ain’t gonna help you.
It can get nasty in there. Was a stool up there, black dude, rattin’ his own people out. They caught him in the kitchen; couldn’t hide the body. They cut him into little pieces, then they ground the pieces. There was a nigger in the salad that night. Nobody knowed the difference.
Then you got them little Gem blades that the guys hold in a handkerchief; don’t let them corner you in the shower stall, you naked—splice you into spaghetti. That’s regular, nobody say a word.
And don’t be carryin’ no bad habits over into the jailhouse. Had a thief stole an apple in the mess hall from the wrong guy. Guy put a wooden stake through his Adam’s apple. I saw the thief spinnin’ around trying to pull the stake out. He was all by himself. He didn’t make it.
There’s some rotten motherfuckers in there—I can take the food or the hacks, it’s them criminals in there I can’t stand. Like when you’re short-timin’, waitin’ on your parole, the cons will provoke you to fight—make you blow your parole. Nasty people.
Yeah, Your Honor, check out that probation report real good—not all the kids you put in is ready for the Joint. Yeah, some of these lil’ ol’ boys you put in here is baby lambs and you put them in the same cage with a grizzly bear doing consecutive thirty-year bits. Rough in there, Your Honor—so like if you read the report in a hurry, read it again, ’cause you are fucking with a man’s life. In America, God is dead; you the only one we got left, Your Honor—you a God. When you walk in we standup, when you walk out we stand up. You say who lives and you say who dies—you got no boss and you can change the rules as the game goes along. So check out them lightweights good before you bury them. Now guys like me, you can deal with, ’cause I’ll spit in your eye, Your Honor. I’ll get to your D.A. or your cops or even to you. I may be on your hook but I’m slippin’ and slidin’ and one hitch and I’m gone—shit, I’ll take you all on and I’ll still come out on top!
I was all right in the Joint. My man Colorado was doing a deuce, and he had a little click waiting for me when I got up there. So like at chowtime Colorado is rappin’ to the boys how bad I am—Carlito did this and Carlito did that. One dude, Zuzu, ain’t impressed. “Aw, man, who wants to hear that shit?” Zuzu was bad, but he wasn’t ready—hot soup bowl right into his face. Left hook, overhand right, then a couple kicks to the chest while he was down. Zuzu said we was only playing, but they gave me thirty days in the hole. Solder the door, motherfuckers, I don’t need no bread, no water, no mail, no bed, no nothin’—Carlito is bad, ya hear, bad!
Back in population I
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