Corruption Officer (10 page)

‘Let me see, umm, this is from last Christmas, and this one
is from her school clothes last year.’
 
A
few months have gone by and now I am sitting in the waiting area at Child
Support Court.
 
I have receipts in my
mouth, and in both hands, and in the Timberland shoe box sitting on my
lap.
 
I am trying to put all of these
“special occasion holiday dad” receipts in order to prove to the Judge that I
take care of my kids.
 
I take a look
around and all I see is a lot of hate and anger on the faces of men and smiles
and chit chat amongst the women.
 
I see
my wife sitting by herself a few benches down from me.
 
We had been coming back and forth to court for
months because she was pregnant.
 
After she
had the baby, which was not mine, she could make the court date.
 
I wasn’t mad that she had a baby by another
man because I knew that I was running through the jails swinging my dick from
left to right.
 
She and I were on
speaking terms for the kids’ sake and that’s it.
 
My situation was not like most C.O.’s
situation where due to mandatory overtime they’re never home and the spouses
tend to stray.

I was sitting there nervous with my heart pounding and sweat
rolling down from my un-kept hair with a little jerry curl juice rolling down
with it.
 
I was now thinking about all of
the horror stories that I had heard from other C.O.s.
 
One C.O. that I knew had quit the job and got
a McDonalds job because it was no longer worth it for him to come to work due
to the garnishment.
 
Another went and
tried to kill his spouse and now he’s doing time.
 
I remember when I first got on the job and
was sitting in the Officers’ cafeteria, a female Officer came over to the table
where I was sitting and started coming on to me.
 
She was telling me how big and handsome I was
and that she would spend a lot of money on me if I became her boy toy.
 
I was flattered until I noticed that she was
talking loud enough for everyone in the area to hear it.
 
Then she stood up and started yelling and
pointing at another male Officer that was sitting at another table across from
us, saying, “That’s right!
 
I
tricks
that money I get from this nigga here every month,
aaalll fourteen hundred of it!
 
Yeeeeah,
and it ain’t shit he can do about it!”
 
She then walks by him, leaving other Officers
laughing and leaving me sitting there looking stupid.
 
I sat there grimacing at the thought of
ending up like him.
 

I wondered to myself why my wife decided to take me to Child
Support.
 
I mean I bought the kids school
clothes.
 
Every Christmas or birthday
either
me
or one of the grandmothers bought them
gifts.
 
So they were always taken care of
one way or another.
 
As I sat there still
pondering why she did it, I gave myself a look over.
 
Messed up hair cut - check, bumy clothes on -
check, no jewelry and unshaved check - check and most importantly my Timberland
shoebox full of “please be enough to save my ass” receipts.
 
I was advised by other Officers, while I was
sitting down with them telling them all of my business, not to come to court
appearing to have a lot of money and doing well for myself.
 
At this time the Court Officer comes out and
calls out our names.
 
We both stand up
and walk over to the entrance.
 
I give a
hand gesture like ladies first and she proceeds.
 
Once we get inside the court room we are
ushered to stand behind a table that is equipped with two microphones so that
we each have our own when it’s our turn to speak.
 
We both are instructed to state our names and
when we do, the festivities begin.
 

The Judge states that we are here to settle the issue of
child support for our kids and then he states their names.
 
I get an uneasy feeling about the way he says
“we” but just has his eyes, which are peaking over glasses, focused on
“me.”
 
Then he states that we have been
coming back and forth with this issue and that we hoped to resolve it
today.
 
My wife had missed a couple of
dates due to her pregnancy so the Judge asked me if I accept her excuse for
missing the dates and I said, “Yes.”
 
My
thoughts were that if I said no she would go and petition for child support all
over again anyway so let’s just get this shit over with.
 
He said, “Good,” then asked me if I brought
the items that the court ordered me to bring.
 
I said, “Yes,” and take the papers out of my shoebox.
 
I fix them neatly then hand them to the Court
Officer.
 

“Mr. Heyward is your W-2 and pay stubs in this pile of
papers?” asked the Judge sarcastically.

“Yes, sir,” I said

“Good,” he said, “So that way we won’t waste time.”

He then pulled out
those
two pieces of paper and brushed the rest to the side.
 
Then he started in on his large calculator
and all you heard was him punching those buttons a-mile-a-minute.
 
I got a little agitated because it seemed
like he was not going to consider my receipts that provided proof of my efforts
to be a father to my kids!
 

“Excuse me, your honor, those are my receipts for all of the
money I spent on my kids,” I said.

At that moment, as soon as those stupid ass words came out
of my mouth, I knew that I had fucked up.

“Mr. Heyward, it appears to me that you have been
misinformed,” he said peering out at me, “We are not here to see if you’re
going to pay child support because that’s already been decided.
 
We are here to decide how much you will
contribute towards the well being of your kids.”

Then he took his glasses off completely and went on saying,
“So many times I have witnessed father after father come into my court room
with folders, briefcases, and of course shoeboxes filled with receipts trying
to prove that they are fit fathers to their children.
 
I see the receipts but then I don’t see them
because a real father would never have to prove something that he should be
doing naturally!
 
You think a bunch of
receipts is going to prove to me that you spend time with your kids?
 
That you go to parent teachers meetings or
attend a school play now and then?”
 
I
tried to interject saying, “But I be at work all the time.”
 
He gave me a look like ‘Mothafucka,
I-did-not-ask-you-to-speak!’
 
He laid
into me again.
 

“Mr. Heyward,” he asked, “…how much cash do you give to her
on a monthly basis?”

“Well,” I stuttered, “I buy the kids clothes and stuff and
uumm –”

“Oh I see,” he cut me off
saying,
“You’re one of them.
 
You’re one of those
‘if they need’ fathers instead of an ‘all the time’ father.”

He saw that I had a confused look on my face and he broke it
down for me.
 

“If the child needs shoes, you buy them shoes.
 
If the child needs clothes, you buy them
clothes.
 
But when the next month comes,
you figure that you don’t have to provide any finances because they should not
need anything.
 
Well, you’re wrong!
 
She needs money for food and rent and
unexpected expenses that may come up.”

I was livid at this time and blurted out, “What about
her?
 
I mean, aren’t we supposed to be
doing this together?”

“She is doing her part,” he said, “She has to tend to their
every need while you’re out there…” he paused and looked me up and down as if
he knew that I was full of shit and said “…working.”

Then he went back to punching his calculator and figuring
out how much of my ass he was going to BITE OFF.
 
When he came back with the
numbers, I shitted on myself.
 
Then it got worse because I had already accepted her reason for missing
those court dates.
 
That bit me in my ass
some more.
 
He hit the calculator again,
punching those fucking buttons.
 
I
thought, ‘I hate that fucking calculator.’
 
He then said that since I was so generous and pardoned her from missing
those dates, that I was actually awarding her arrears from the first day that
she petitioned.
 
This move added more
money to my bi-weekly payment and basically shredded my income!
 

“What about me?” I lost it.
 
“How am I supposed to survive?” I yelled.

The Court Officer, who had foreseen this coming and had
already requested assistance, came and grabbed me by the arm.
 
His partner took my other arm and they began
to escort me out of the court room.
 
As
we walked by the Judge’s desk, they picked up my papers and proceeded to the
door.
 
Then they put my papers on my
chest for me to hold.
 
As I looked back
over my shoulder to say something else to the Judge, I noticed that he was
already busy preparing for his next victim and didn’t even look up.
 

As I was waiting for the elevator pacing back and forth, the
door to the waiting room opened and out comes one of the Court Officers who
escorted me out.
 
He yawned and walked
over to the garbage can and threw something in it.
 
It was my shoe box.
 
It landed in a pile of about thirty others.

“Hold up, hold up there must be some mistake!” I said as I
banged on the window of our personnel office where we retrieve our
paychecks.
 

It had been a few weeks since I was in court and I had just
opened my check.
 
The check was for
thirty nine dollars.
 
I am banging on the
window now like I hit the number in the streets and the number man is somewhere
in there hiding so he won’t have to pay me!
 

“Yo, Lopez, open up!” I yell out.

An Officer opens the window and starts to complain, “We’re
closed.
 
It’s payday.
 
You know that we’re closed!”
 
I am standing there sweating looking at him
with a wrinkled forehead and bulging eyes like I don’t give a fuck what day it
is, ya’ll best ta get me my money!
 
He
sees the serious expression on my face and says, “What is it?” like he’s tired
and has things to do.
 
I say “Ya’ll
fucked
up my check again!”
 
He asked for my check stub and I gave it to him.
 
He goes over it and hands it back to me
asking if I took a look at it.
 
I said,
“No.
 
The only thing that I saw was that
thirty nine mother fucking dollars and I knew that ya’ll
had
fucked up some kind of way!”
 

“Rif!” he said.
 

“What?” I said.

“Reading Is Fundamental!” he answered.

“The fuck you talking about?”
I
asked.

“If you read the bottom, it shows you that she has gotten an
increase!” he said.

“An increase?”
I asked.

He said, “Yes, ever so often the mother of your kids can go
to court and get an increase due to the cost of living always changing.
 
So that’s what that is.
 
The thirty nine dollars
ain’t
permanent it’s just until the system catches the payments up and levels it
out.”
 
As professional and as cordial as
he was, I still didn’t like what he was saying.
 
I turned to walk away and heard him yell as he slammed the window down, “Don’t
spend it in one place!”
 
I stormed out of
the area cursing to myself, “This is some bullshit.
 
How do they expect me to live?
 
I have rent to pay, my car note and other
bills!
 
How am I supposed to make it?”
 

As I am walking in the corridor on my way to my post, I see
an inmate that I know from the streets.
 
That happens now on the regular.
 
He
says, “What’s up?” then winks and says, “Whenever you’re ready, Wood.”
 
I am in no mood for his begging for me to
bring something in for him, so I blow him off by picking up my pace and saying,
“Yeah, yeah.”
 
I thought to myself if I
had a dollar for every time an inmate approached me and tried to get me to
bring in something for them I’d be rich.
 
It’s so tedious for me to blow up on him and get mad because an inmate
feels comfortable enough to ask me to do that because writing him up for asking
has no effect on anything.
 
It’s just
more work for me to do.
 
That took space
up in my head for about two seconds because I was back to a more pressing issue
like my money!
 

I arrive on my post and I see that
my partner for the day was Officer Parks, a good friend of mine, but more
importantly a drinking buddy - and that’s just what I needed.
 
As soon as I got on post I regulate these
motherfuckers.
 
I yell out for them not
to ask me for shit and tell them that they’re dead today on getting anything
because I ain’t in the mood for no bullshit!
 
I hear grumbling for a few minutes then they go back to watching
television and working out.
 
After the
supervisor makes his tour, Officer Parks does his usual and breaks out his water
bottle and let’s just say, Poland Springs
ain’t never
made water that taste like this.
 
We
start sipping and I start venting about my child support situation.
 

“Yo, Parks, I don’t know how I am
going to make it,” I say to him, “Ever since I got hit with this shit I’ve been
running myself ragged trying to make ends meet!
 
Check it, I do overtime whenever they have it and I moonlight on my days
off doing unauthorized security at the local clothing stores.
 
This shit has me doing risky bullshit just to
stay afloat.
 
Sheeit
, the other day I almost got jumped by a couple of dudes
trying to steal clothes from the store!
 
I
am fighting and tussling with these mother fuckers over a shirt and I am only
getting a buck a day!”
 

“So what did you do?” he asked me.

 
“I let the motherfuckers go and they hauled
ass up out of there!” I said.

We both laugh.
 
I fill my cup up again and continue.

“I was doing all kinds of Kamikaze
shit like working two shifts here from 7 am until 11 pm (of course, sleeping
most of my second tour letting whatever inmate that had the most power run the
housing area) on my last day before I get my two days off, then leave from here
go straight to a strip joint up in the Bronx, work there ‘til the morn…nin…ng…”
I said.
 

My words began to slur because a
brother is feeling no pain.
 
My face is
numb and little beads of sweat are coming down the sides of it.

“I had to give the strip joint up
because one time while I was checking I.D.s of everyone coming in, a stripper who
worked there showed me her high school I.D. card.
 
So I denied her entry.
 
The owner went crazy saying that she was his
best money maker.
 
That was the last time
I did that.
 
I was not going to be
responsible if that place got raided,” I said.

At this time an inmate comes up to
the bubble (the Officers’ station) and asks for toilet tissue.
 
I barked on him and said, “You ain’t getting
shit!
 
Go wipe yo’ ass
with your hand!”
 
Then I continued
my conversation while he stood there for a moment staring at me.
 
Then he stormed off saying something that I
couldn’t hear but that drew attention of the other inmates.
 
I didn’t like that shit.
 
He then comes storming back up to the bubble
with the inmate rule book in his hand waving it in the air yelling and going
off about what he’s entitled to and so on, drawing more attention to the
situation.
 
He starts ranting and raving
about how we as Officers use our power to take advantage of them and treat them
like slaves but don’t realize that we are the real Uncle Toms doing the White man’s
dirty work for him by oppressing our own people!
 
Now he has my blood boiling ruining my
peaceful tour with this bullshit so I get back at him saying, “Is it my fault!?
 
Huh!
 
Is it my fault you robbed that old lady!?
 
Huh, or sold them drugs!?”
 
Then I hit him with the ultimate insult.
 
I said, “Oh or maybe you’re one of the ones
that like to play with little boys!”
 

The response from the other
inmates enraged him when I said this remark.
 
He comes back saying, “Ya’ll come up in here
like ya’ll better than us!” I say, “I am!”
 
He continues, “Like just because we committed
a crime you as a C.O. can shit on us and violate our rights!”
 
Now I am hyped and drunk, mind you, when I
come back at him, “I am the fuck’n judge!
 
Is it my fault that you got caught!?
 
I didn’t put you here.
 
You put you here!
 
Don’t blame me because you put yourself in the
position for me to treat you like a slave!”
 
He comes back with, “You’re supposed to be a Corrections
Officer but what are you correcting?”
 
Then he mimics me, “
Wipe
yo’ ass with yo’ hand!”
 
He starts waving
the inmate rule book towards me yelling, “What are you correcting?
 
Did they teach you that in the Academy?
 
Tell me that ain’t some master to slave
shit!”
 
Now he has an audience and
continues, “Did they train you in the Academy on how to correct somebody and
make them a better citizen when they come home?”
 
He answers himself, “No, so why do they call
ya’ll correctional Officers!?”
 

I see the other inmates nodding
their heads in agreement.
 
He sees it and
now he feels that he’s on a roll.
 
He’s
now standing there with his arms folded when he says to me sarcastically, “The
judge didn’t say for you to further punish us after we were sentenced.
 
And it ain’t even the Krackers here on the
Islands,
it’s our own kind that do it to us.”
 
He throws the rule book in my direction; it
hits the gate that separates us, as he walks off back to his cell.
 
Now I am really pissed!
 
I am pissed that this mother fucker got the
best of me, that the child support Judge got the best of me, and
 
at the fact that I have a thirty nine dollar
check in my pocket and it ain’t shit I can do about it! I open the gate and
storm in behind him.
 
My partner does the
ultimate no-no and comes in behind me ordering all the inmates to go inside the
day room.
 
This move was crazy because
even though we have our body alarms that alert the Officers in the control room,
if we are in trouble and need assistance, we have the keys to let them in.
 
We are both now on the floor with the inmates who
could kill us both before anybody can get there to help us.
 
I go down the walkway to the inmate’s cell and
when I get there he’s standing inside it with a smirk on his face like ‘What
cha’ want to do?’
 
I don’t hesitate and
neither does he, we lunge at each other!
 
We both swing, him hitting me in the chest, and me hitting him on the
side of his head!
 

Now all I see is that Judge’s face
and all I hear is the tapping on the keys of that fucking calculator adding up
my money.
 
I blacks out on him and start
punching wildly screaming, “I take care of my fucking kids!”
 
He looks at me confused but does not stop
putting up a fight. Good because I don’t want him to.
 
I want this right now.
 
No, I need this right now.
 
I wanted to hit something, somebody, anybody
and he was the prime candidate.
 
He
catches me on the side of my jaw.
 
Pow
!
 
I don’t feel
shit.
 
My face is numb.
 
I head butt him and he goes down.
 
I then grab the Judge in a choke hold from
behind.
 
He grabs at my arms trying to
break free.
 
He can’t.
 
I start yelling again over and over again “I
take care of my fucking kids!”
 
In my
head all I hear now are voices echoing “A REAL FATHER DOES NOT HAVE TO PROVE
HE’S A REAL FATHER!”
 

The next thing I know, my partner
is yelling at me to let him go because his face is losing color!
 
I do and the inmate drops to the floor holding
his neck and gasping for air.
 
I steps
over him leaving him there on the floor and my partner backs up my attitude by
throwing the inmate rule book at the inmate and slamming his cell close.
 
We walk back to the Officer’s station.
 
My partner yells for an inmate named
Murder
, the local gang leader who runs
all of the inmates, to go and check on the “civil rights leader.”
 
We sit down and he, like the caring co-worker
that he is, pours me another drink along with himself.
 
Then he lays into me, “Motherfucka, are you
crazy?
 
You could have killed that
nigga.
 
Now I am all for backing up my
partner no matter what but I ain’t about to throw my shit away on some bullshit
like this!”
 
He said, “You better get a
hold of yourself with this child support shit because it will back you into a
corner and have you doing wild shit that you would not normally do!”
 
Murder came back and told us that “Mandela”
was okay and just wanted to know if he could get some hot water for his soup.
 
Parks lets him out and he comes pass the Officers’
station and yelled, “It’s all good C.O. ‘
cause
I jails
for real.
 
Ain’t no snitching
here.
”
 
I nod and he
goes and gets his hot water.
 
Parks told
me that most likely Murder warned him not to make the house hot by going to the
clinic.
 
I chilled out the rest of my
tour,
then
bounced.
 
I went, changed my clothes, and was waiting
for the route bus to take me from the jail to the Officers’ parking lot.
 
While waiting for the bus I over hear another Officer
bragging about his new phone that has a calculator in it.
 
I look over at him like if he only knew what I
wanted to do to that phone right now………