Read Online Mr. Blue: Memoirs of a Renegade by Edward Bunker - Free Book Online
Authors: Edward Bunker
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floor.
It made me cry out. "Again," someone said. I hey did it several
times.
Finally, they tore off my clothes and dumped me in an
empty cell. One paused to leave me with the comment: "I'll bet you won't
assault another officer."
My retort was silent but true: "I've just begun
to fight."
Without a mirror, I had to use my fingers to assess
the damage. There was a big lump on the back of my head where it hit the floor.
My scalp had a gash from the sap. Blood ran down my cheek and neck and caked on
my shoulders and chest. It had been a savage beating, but not as bad as at
Pacific Colony. All things considered, I was in good shape — and not ready to
quit.
An hour or so later, an inmate was mopping the walkway
outside (he cells. I had him give me the mop. I put the handle in the bars and
snapped it off in the middle, took off the mop head and bent the frame prongs
out so it vaguely resembled a pick or a mattock. Then I reached around the bars
and stuffed splinters of wood in the big lock.
Soon a guard peeked around the corner. "You don't
quit, do you?"
"Not yet."
He gave a tsk-tsk and shook his head. Then I heard him
making i phone call but couldn't hear what he said. Half an hour later, he
peeked around the corner again. "The Captain's on his way and he's got
something for you."
I heard the outer door open and Captain Nelson's
voice. He and a small-boned sergeant named Sparling came around the corner.
Both of them had gas masks around their necks. Captain Nelson had a tank
strapped to his back and a wand-sprayer in his hand. It looked as if he was
going to spray plants with insecticide. "Hand it over, Bunker."
"Come and get it."
"Okay." He smiled and pulled the gas mask
over his face. Sergeant Sparling did the same. The Captain raised the wand and
sent forth a wet spray. What the . . .
When spray touched my bare skin, I felt on fire, as if
the spray was gasoline set afire. I later learned it was liquid tear gas. At
the time, I thought it was killing me. I threw away the mop handle, rolled on
the floor and tried to run up the wall. I behaved like a fly acts when hit with
fly spray. My eyes burned and ran. It was terrible. Inmates in nearby cells
were screaming in torment.
Nobody could be left for more than a few minutes in
such a concentration of tear gas. They started to unlock the cell but the wood
splinters in the lock stopped them. It was hard for them to see behind the gas
masks. By the time they got it open, the worst of the gas had settled. It still
burned, but far less.
"Raise your hands and back out," Captain
Nelson said. He stood to one side of the gate, the Sergeant to the other.
I backed out, with my hands up. As soon as I cleared
the gate, I reached out with my right hand and pulled the Sergeant's mask off
and punched him with my left hand. Down he went.
Captain Nelson jumped on my back, trying to choke me
down, but I managed to lunge and spin around and slam him into the bars.
The Sergeant scrambled up and ran outdoors where a
squad of guards without gas masks was waiting. Meanwhile, Captain Nelson and I
were throwing punches in the corridor outside the cells, both of us with snot
running from our noses and tears from our eyes. His gas mask was askew and he
looked ridiculous.
A
herd of guards cursed me. With the tear gas burning their eye, they dragged me
outdoors. Behind us the other convicts were yelling for respite. I was naked in
the burning desert sun. I stood under a gun tower and they took up positions
surrounding me at a distance of ten feet or so. The asphalt was so hot that I
had to dance from foot to foot. It must have been a weird sight, a naked
fifteen-year-old dancing in front of guards with watering eyes. Before he left,
Captain Nelson had someone get me a towel to stand on. I had a tan over most of
my body, so I didn't burn but my ass had never been exposed to the sun, much
less the afternoon desert sun.
An
hour or so later a station wagon pulled up. A lieutenant got out and handed
It made me cry out. "Again," someone said. I hey did it several
times.
Finally, they tore off my clothes and dumped me in an
empty cell. One paused to leave me with the comment: "I'll bet you won't
assault another officer."
My retort was silent but true: "I've just begun
to fight."
Without a mirror, I had to use my fingers to assess
the damage. There was a big lump on the back of my head where it hit the floor.
My scalp had a gash from the sap. Blood ran down my cheek and neck and caked on
my shoulders and chest. It had been a savage beating, but not as bad as at
Pacific Colony. All things considered, I was in good shape — and not ready to
quit.
An hour or so later, an inmate was mopping the walkway
outside (he cells. I had him give me the mop. I put the handle in the bars and
snapped it off in the middle, took off the mop head and bent the frame prongs
out so it vaguely resembled a pick or a mattock. Then I reached around the bars
and stuffed splinters of wood in the big lock.
Soon a guard peeked around the corner. "You don't
quit, do you?"
"Not yet."
He gave a tsk-tsk and shook his head. Then I heard him
making i phone call but couldn't hear what he said. Half an hour later, he
peeked around the corner again. "The Captain's on his way and he's got
something for you."
I heard the outer door open and Captain Nelson's
voice. He and a small-boned sergeant named Sparling came around the corner.
Both of them had gas masks around their necks. Captain Nelson had a tank
strapped to his back and a wand-sprayer in his hand. It looked as if he was
going to spray plants with insecticide. "Hand it over, Bunker."
"Come and get it."
"Okay." He smiled and pulled the gas mask
over his face. Sergeant Sparling did the same. The Captain raised the wand and
sent forth a wet spray. What the . . .
When spray touched my bare skin, I felt on fire, as if
the spray was gasoline set afire. I later learned it was liquid tear gas. At
the time, I thought it was killing me. I threw away the mop handle, rolled on
the floor and tried to run up the wall. I behaved like a fly acts when hit with
fly spray. My eyes burned and ran. It was terrible. Inmates in nearby cells
were screaming in torment.
Nobody could be left for more than a few minutes in
such a concentration of tear gas. They started to unlock the cell but the wood
splinters in the lock stopped them. It was hard for them to see behind the gas
masks. By the time they got it open, the worst of the gas had settled. It still
burned, but far less.
"Raise your hands and back out," Captain
Nelson said. He stood to one side of the gate, the Sergeant to the other.
I backed out, with my hands up. As soon as I cleared
the gate, I reached out with my right hand and pulled the Sergeant's mask off
and punched him with my left hand. Down he went.
Captain Nelson jumped on my back, trying to choke me
down, but I managed to lunge and spin around and slam him into the bars.
The Sergeant scrambled up and ran outdoors where a
squad of guards without gas masks was waiting. Meanwhile, Captain Nelson and I
were throwing punches in the corridor outside the cells, both of us with snot
running from our noses and tears from our eyes. His gas mask was askew and he
looked ridiculous.
A
herd of guards cursed me. With the tear gas burning their eye, they dragged me
outdoors. Behind us the other convicts were yelling for respite. I was naked in
the burning desert sun. I stood under a gun tower and they took up positions
surrounding me at a distance of ten feet or so. The asphalt was so hot that I
had to dance from foot to foot. It must have been a weird sight, a naked
fifteen-year-old dancing in front of guards with watering eyes. Before he left,
Captain Nelson had someone get me a towel to stand on. I had a tan over most of
my body, so I didn't burn but my ass had never been exposed to the sun, much
less the afternoon desert sun.
An
hour or so later a station wagon pulled up. A lieutenant got out and handed
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