~ Price of Pride ~
Written by: Jimmy Maxwell
I was sitting in an isolation cell full of anger and despair — in the same jail as my nineteen year-old son, Brandon, whom I had not seen in years. He was having trouble dealing with his tragic situation and was in isolation, himself. However, he was at the other end of the long, sprawled out facility. He needed me more than he ever had and somehow I was here…
The television show ‘Lock-Up’ had picked up on us due to my status as a leader of the Aryan Brotherhood in Oklahoma and my sons high profile murder case. They were going to come get me out of my cell soon for an interview. Hopefully, it would include Brandon, giving us a chance to see one another after so long; my only reason for agreeing to be interviewed in the first place.
I was sitting there contemplating how our lives had got to this point when the guard yelled at me to come to the door and: “Cuff-up.” It was time, I looked out the window and saw Susan, Brad and the rest of the film crew standing out there waiting to catch the shot of the big, Universal A.B. ramrod emerging from his cell. Glancing in my mirror, I saw the reflection of a tall, heavily-muscled, tattooed, aging man staring back at me through tired and hard-traveled brown eyes. Flattening my short, dark, shaggy hair I walked over and stuck my arms out the bean-hole to be cuffed. I wondered how I’d make such a mess of things? Wasn’t it just a few years ago I was getting out of prison, after almost two decades… sure I was never going back… full of hopes and dreams of a promising future for me and my family? How could I end up back here? It seems like Ive been in trouble all my life and now my son was following right behind me!
“Passenger, passenger, put your hands up!” An officer from the violent crimes fugitive task force, yelled. They had been sent out to find and apprehend me. Along with, a dozen members from other law enforcement agencies, including the F.B.I.
Twelve hours before, I had escaped from the North Eastern Correctional Center N.E.C.C. of the Oklahoma Department of Corrections. Where, while laying in a ditch, I had reset the shoulder I’d dislocated by falling from the top of a fence and landing on it in my flight for freedom. Still hurting, I grimaced and growled under my breath, at the men aiming their guns at me from behind the safety of their cars.
“Passenger comply or we will shoot!” Another of the officers repeated. They had just pulled us over by blocking off a six lane highway, ahead and behind us.
The driver of the truck I was in, had already thrown his keys out and exited the red pickup. He was laying face down on the roadway where the officers had directed him. Stephanie, my oldest daughter, was sitting in the middle of the pickup’s seat, begging me through her tears to raise my hands and comply with the officers demands before I was killed.
Sitting there, angry and disgusted; stunned at the sudden change of fortune. I finally shook myself. I slammed my phone against the dashboard, not wanting the police to retrieve any incriminating evidence against those who may have aided me in my escape. Then I stuck my address book in Stephanie’s purse and exited the vehicle. I defiantly stood and challenged the small militia that was gathered and threatening me with their guns, locked and loaded, all aimed in my direction.
I have no death wish, but my life’s been one jail and prison cell after another and I have become completely worn out and disabused with crime and doing prison time. I did not want to be caught. I’d put a year of planning into this escape. To say that I was extremely angry and disappointed would not even begin to describe how I was feeling as I was facing the men and the open bores of their guns. I flipped them off and yelled at them, to “just shoot me!” Then one of the officers who had chased me for so long a couple of years before ran up, pointing a shotgun at me.
I turned and ran.
I heard the BOOM! when the firing pin struck the cap of the shell that was loaded in the officers shotgun, causing the load to explode from the barrel, as he fired the gun. I was immediately slammed from behind as if I’d been kicked in the back by a mule. I was hit hard enough to knock me to my knees. It surprised me how calm I felt as I realize that the end had come. My mind seemed accepting and almost relieved that my struggles we’re finally over.
Copyright 2015 J.S.Maxwell