Saving the Stash

Hey just a little "flash fiction" to kick off the weekend. Hopefully you will find this to be a quick and enjoyable read.

The Super bowl was days away. Before he came to prison Prince hadn't gotten caught up in sports of any kind, however the degradation and deprivation that came from being incarcerated gave few outlets. Prince and two of his “brothers”, meaning two other “Vice Lords” had pilfered some buckets and were brewing up about 18 gallons of homemade whiskey.  The powerful bootleg alcohol known as “Buck” or “Hooch” was almost perfect. The plan was to sell the liquor by the cup during the game. Prince and his fellow Vice Lords had gotten the yeast, sugar and fruit from the prison kitchen. The trio had put a lot of time and effort into getting the stuff just right.

It wasn’t that Prince needed the money. His family had money and cared enough about him to make sure that he always had money on his “books”, No what Prince required and felt that this venture would give him was the respect of his fellow Imperial Insane Vice Lords.

Prince needed for the other members of the criminal organization to understand that just because he had finished High School and started to attend Meridian Community College that he was just like them. So what that he used good diction and proper grammar. He was Almighty. 

Prince, knew more of the Vice Lord literature than anyone that he was incarcerated with. By all rights he probably should have been the man in charge, but his baby face and his proper way of speaking precluded that. Despite the fact that the organization encouraged its members to pursue further education that by pursing his further education Prince was actualizing the dream that the founding fathers of his and every other “Organization” had fought for, in Mississippi people equated intelligence with weakness. Especially in the Mississippi Corrections Department.

This simple sale of buck was going to solidify Prince as part of the click. Forget the fact that unlike many of his fellow Lords, Prince was affiliated before he came to prison. Forget the fact that Prince was locked up for “Handling Nation business”, Prince still had to prove himself.  He had to prove himself because of his education and his light complexion.

Black people hate to admit it but lighter skinned black people are often seen as less black, and as a result feel the need to “Act blacker” then their peers and contemporaries.

The Buck was nearly perfect, it could be drank right now but the bubbles would probably cause the drinker to have severe gas. Another day and the concoction could be dunken smoothly without the excessive belching.
Prince, who had no nickname, and his brothers “Stutter” and “Tattoo” had been loosening the lids of their stash to breath the homebrew when a none affiliate saw them. Stutter who was naturally paranoid felt that they should move the hooch but Prince said. “Aye people, anit no nigga in they right mind bout to snitch on a Vice Lord!”
So the cache remained where it was.
Following the evening meal, the dormitory lookout spread the word that the C.O.’s were on their way and that they were ‘rolling deep’, meaning that there were a lot of them. The lookout announced that the officers, which he called “roaches” were “Locked, cocked and ready to rock”.
The dormitory became a sudden flurry of activity.  The call of “Them roaches crawling and they locked cocked and ready to rock!” meant that a shake down was imminent.

There was nothing that Prince could do. The buckets of Buck were too big to hide, there were too many of them and if the dormitory got caught with the contraband, there would be consequences.

Even if Prince owned up to being the one who made the liquor the entire prison would suffer. Prince’s goal of being accepted as one of the “bros” was fading, despite the fact that, Prince was legitimately one of the bros.
“What we gone do people?” Tattoo whispered to Prince. “I ont een know yet 5. Give me a minute I’ll think of sump thin.” The question from his bunkmate and friend was echoed by the Vice Lord leaders, left hand man “Slide”.
“Aye 5, big peoples wanna know what you gone do bout your hooch?”  Slide, was a greasy shifty character and not that smart, it was patently clear that “Uzi “ the leader of the Vice Lords kept him around for other less evident skills.
 Just the day before Slide had called it our Hooch.
Prince cast a glance towards Uzi. The Vice Lord general was talking to “Six Pack” and “Gee Whiz” the leaders of the Gangster Disciples, the Vice Lords enemies.  If he was parlaying with the opposition then the situation was serious. Prince had to do something.
“Give me a cigarette.” Prince directed Stutter who handed him one of his pre-rolled bugler cigarettes. Prince then stripped down to his boxers, and had just enough time to sit on the toilet with the lit cigarette as the goon squad hit the door yelling.
“You on the toilet can you pinch that turd off?”  The leader of the Correction Emergency Response Team or C.E.R.T. asked Prince.
“No sir boss, I anit feeling too good.” Prince responded. “I’m bed B-19 sir top bunk” Prince followed his pronouncement with a loud pained groan.
As the C.E.R.T. began their search Prince groaned loudly again and said, “I think I need some…” without finishing his sentence Prince pitched forward face first off the toilet his arm landed atop the cigarette he had been smoking and as his butt was in the air his bowels moved causing feces to stream out of his rectum in front of the entire dormitory. He remained still. The cigarette was burning a hole in his forearm. The booty bandits were looking all up in his butt. The officers were disgusted. Prince didn’t care.
As he was lead out of the dormitory on a stretcher, and the would be searchers made sure he was okay Prince Felt a distinct pride.
He had saved all the contraband and the dormitory. The way Uzi looked at him as they rolled him out and said “Aye People, get better. We’ll be here when you get back” told Prince everything he needed to know.