Friday, July 29, 2005

two oh oh in south san ho

the other day Amelia suggested i do a post on either #200 or #106 of that list from the last post. seeing as how a post about how i once jacked off in my office seems kinda boring and typical, im gonna go ahead and tell you about the time i got arrested.

it was me and my other brother. the black one not the white one. his name is Mike, but these days everyone calls him Mike B. back then people just called him Mike.

anyway, we were in San Jose, California and we were 15 years old. it was the first time either of us had been to the south bay suburb and the only reason we were there was because we heard there was this club that had a 16 and up door policy. and even though we were only 15 we figured taking a chance was worth it. if it didnt work out and we couldnt get in there was always the parking lot to hang out in. from there we could still get our teenage kicks popping at the honeys going in and coming out.

so we are dressed in our freshest club 'fits: paisley shirts, Hammer pants, and busted suede loafers. this cat named darren drove us out there, some other dude named sergio posted in the passenger seat. both of them were over 18, so they werent sweating the trip at all. it was just another wednesday night for them. but for me and Mike, this was the first "real" club we would be hitting. we had it in our mind that clubs were a gaurenteed bet. a sure thing. clubs promised at least a couple phone numbers, if not a necking session or back seat grope at the end of the night.

of course mike and i, in our earlier stages of alcoholism, had bought a couple bottles of malt liquer with us to sip in the backseat of the car on the way down there. Darren, and this would prove a significant decision later on in the evening, didnt want us drinking in the backseat. something about getting beer all over the car or him being a pussy ass homo or some shit. so we wait until we pull into the parking lot of a pizza place [so darrens fat pussy ass can stuff his face] and me and mike go around to the back get our drink on.

we stood behind a dumpster. the alley was dark, with just the streetlight from down the streets faint illumination giving us any light. ignoring the smell of piss, shit, and vomit, we crack the brews. just as im about to take my first swig i see a car rolling through slowly from around the other side of the pizza joint. see, the parking lot was L shaped. the pizza joint created the L shape with its corner of real estate in the lot and the bottom of the L [the horizontal part] being the "alley". so we hadnt see the car coming through the lot from the other side. it was rolling so slow i figured either it was someone that knew us, someone that thought they knew us, someone about to jack us, or the cops.

-yo, i said as i discreetly dropped my beer to the ground, who is that? Mike hadnt been looking, he was fumbling with his shirt, preoccupied with the degree in which it was tucked in. not that it would have mattered bacause even at the young age of 15 he had poor eyesight and in that darkness he wouldnt have been able to determine what kind of car it was anyway, let alone who was driving it. i recognized the shape, its unmistakable length and model. a fucking cop.

-aww shit dude thats the cops. he dropped his brew when i said it. right then i noticed how empty the parking lot alley was, how dark and foreign a location we were in. this was not a good situation. the car stopped, a light beamed on our faces from the inside. a voice on a bullhorn boomed in the night.

-come from behind the dumpster. it said. we did. i was already familiar by then with cops and being arrested [i could have written about any one of the numerous times i have been involved with the wrong side of the law, but chose this particular time because it stands out], so i knew we had to accept surrender for for a second until we figured out what he had us on, but this was Mikes first time. he was new to the "getting caught" part.

-let me see your ID's. a standard cop question and i gave my standard juvenile deliquent answer, -i dont have one. now i dont know why i would say such a thing, because i actually did have my ID on me. but my natural reaction was to lie to the cops. i guess im just a rebel like that. i realize now that thats the dumbest thing to do, unless you absolutely have to. always give a cop your ID because if you do, they have no right to search you. if you dont though, prepare for a pat down. which is what i got. and of course he found my ID and when he asked me why i lied i looked dumbly at him,said, -i dunno. and stared at the ground. sigh, i was such a stupid kid sometimes.

Mike, on the other hand, was trying to be a perfect gentleman with the cop, who was a tall, thin, asian man with a calm demeanor who we later found was named Sun. he was being extra agreeable because not just is he a pretty polite guy, but he also had one of those fake ID's that you can buy at cheesy novelty spy shops. we got a couple one day on a whim, learning from a friend that a lot of liquer stores would just accept them as valid identification and sell us beer. so Mike is trying to conceal his fake ID while show his real ID when another car screeches up and two cops bounce out of it like theyre fucking Starsky and Hutch or some shit.

the first thing they do is start pushing around Mike, who was standing in front of Sun as i was leaned against the cop car. of course i start asking sarcastic questions. whats the problem officer? is all that physical abuse neccessary officer? what have we done wrong officer? etc etc. just being annoying to the cops who, to my credit, were being unneccessarily pushy with Mike, who, to his credit, was just trying to not get arrested and keep his tone innocent. eventually the pushing escalates, mike drops his fake ID, which they instantly figure is contraband thus prompting more violent shoving and pushing and me asking more wanna be spike lee approved inquieries on why there had to be such brutality involved with asking two young black men for their ID's. you can guess that my attitude did not help Mikes matters much.

so me and officer Sun are just standing there watching while these two other cops, in plain clothes, one a stocky asian and one some white dude, pretty much are shoving and pulling and pushing mike like a fucking doll. and i should point out that mike, if i could compare him to any pop star, would most resemble Prince in looks and manner [at least back then he did, now that fool most resembles R. Kelly minus the peeing on kids], so he wasnt the biggest cat in the litter if you get my drift. Starsky and Hutch are all up on this kid and Mike starts to scream -your braking my arm! youre breaking my arm! and i thought to myself right then holy shit im going to have to jump into a fight with two cops to protect my friend and i was totally prepared to do it too. im down for my homies like that.

then Mike does when every black man in america knows is the worst possible thing you can do when a cop is roughing you up to the point of bone breakage, he turns around and hits one of them then flees.

now Mike is a fast motherfucker so when i saw him break free from the shocked cops clutches i smirked a little because i just knew he was gone for good. both Starsky and Hutch made chased after him and i was immediately put in handcuffs by Sun. i didnt care though, i hadnt really done anything but stood there and lied about having my ID [which i did so it wasnt really anything they could hold against me]. i just let myself be lead to the cop car where planned on saying "i dont know" a lot.

just as i was getting to the car the cop who got hit, the asain one, came back from the chase all out of breath and of course, sans Mike. upon spotting this moment of weakness in him i go into an ill advised tirade about how i did not do anything, did not deserve to be in handcuffs, was outraged, yada yada. and he then tells me to shut up. HA! shut up? shut up? fuck you i have my rights! ill talk all i want! i didnt do anything! fuck that, this is fucking america, im not rodney king. fuck you! fuck you! get your-

thats when the cop just starts pounding on my face. and i mean POUNDING! just beating the spirit out of me. really working me over. and remember, not only am i in a dark alley, in a strange city, getting the crap beat out of me, but im in fucking handcuffs as well! and i couldnt call out to anyone because who do you call when you are getting beat upon in the street? you call the cops! and seeing as my protectors were now my attackers i couldnt call anyone. i just had to stand there and get punched over and over and over again. oh joy.

finally i guess his whimpy fist got sore from smashing against my hard steel-like dome and they shove me into the back of the car. we drive about a block away where i see that Mike, much to my chagrin, did not get away. and they had beaten him down too. ten times worse than me. it looked like they dragged his head along a loose gravel pavement. his pretty boy face was one gigantic scab for about a month after taht.

inevitably they took us to police headquarters, in seperate cars [he had to go to the hospital, i just went straight to the station]. at the time my life was about as ghetto as it would get and we had no phone at home. like i said they didnt have me on anything so if my mom would have answered than she could have just picked me up and took me home that night. as it is since she didnt answer [and the cops refused to belive that i just didnt have a phone line at home] i had to stay in San Jose juvenile detention for 3 days until Mikes mom finally came and got us out.

we sued the San Jose police department for the beating but Mike got found guilty of hitting the cop so his case didnt go anywhere. mine, on the other hand did, and 4 years later, when i was 19 years old i was awarded 35k. after paying the lawyer and giving Mike a cut i was left with 12k, which i spent on records, drugs, hookers, and bacon. and thats the story about how i was arrested that time in San Jose.

oh yeah, and i never saw that punk darren or sergio again. i wonder what happened to those fools?


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:gray matters: by jkg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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