PRISON BURGLAR KILLED

This is what happens when guards are allowed to shirk their supervisory duties and retreat into the air-conditioned comfort of the bureaucrats' buildings instead of man their control stations. During the weeks that the guards hid from the heat, the captives have run wild. They have been getting away with assaults,.batteries, thefts, gambling, extortion, protection and now murder. With the successful completion of one crime, the perpetrator is emboldened to try another. Crime, thus encouraged, escalates.

Crime in prison is different from crime against free-range citizens. Guards don't guard, and they don't care. They don't enjoy anonymous snitch-lines to point them at crime like real cops do. In prison, snitches have to reveal their identities to the prison kops in order to snitch-off crime. This puts their lives in danger because the kops can and often do eventually snitch-off the snitches to the prison "gangs". Kops do this out of sadism and malice, but mostly because inmate snitchery is often about their illegal/shady practices; plus, inmate snitrhery puts them to work. Instead of slurping up coffee while sitting on their fat asses, swapping fish stories, someone has to actually get up and "investigate".

Prison crime is also different from free-range crime because here, in prison, the victim will usually help the criminal escape justice! Sounds pretty stupid, yes? No one accuses inmates of being intelligent, but yes, when an inmate finds a guard not supervising, he will sometimes assemble a few of he fellow punks and "ride down" (a Louis Lamour term) as they call it, to gang-beat someone for a personal sleight, or on the basis of some other inmate's rumor or lie, or to extort, steal, intimidate or just our of simple malice/sadism or to gain a "reputation" for not being a target/sissie;. His victim will usually survive and sport obvious sign s of violence such as black eyes, contusions, limps, etc. Amazingly, the victim will then hide in his cage until he heals, avoiding the kops' scrutiny as they watch their captives shuffle to and from the feeding pen. In exchange for this service from their victim, the gang-punks will actually cause food to be sneaked to their victim. If the victim chooses to forgo this inmate policy and gets caught and questioned by the kops about his injuries, even if he tells them nothing, inmate doctrine deems this behavior to be "dry snitching". The victim is also likely to be sanctioned by the kops for NOT snitching via this very same act! As you can see, the inmates are anxious to be their own police, same as all elite groups of a common corruption like to enjoy "self-policing" if they are politically powerful enough to pull off this trick. At the same time, kops don't so much like to police inmates but rather enjoy punishing them as opportunity presents. Kops are usually much too busy grouping-up and socializing amongst themselves to police any of the inmates, who, like livestock animals, can amble between food and shelter by themselves with only cursory supervision. Kops don't patrol, they just enjoy their gravy-laden, low-work, high-perk jobs until an emergency occurs.

The emergency in this case was directly caused by the kops' lack of supervision/patrol efforts. Though this is just word of mouth hearsay, the synopsis is: a professional cagethief hiding behind the "gang" name of "Bray" and thought to really be named "Ingram" has for weeks taken advantage of this heat-wave retreat of the kops from the cage buildings to practice his craft. Normally a cage-thief will watch all the other inmates file out like cattle to eat the thrice-daily slop in the food pen. After every one is gone, he quickly rifles through the cages he has targeted. Bray is a Negro, and as such has much experience in how to steal other peoples' possessions. (While all of you are crying "racist!", try to think a little bit deeper into the subject and realize that a culture of thievery can be forced upon any people due to factors other than race.)

Now, if we can return to important matters, a culture of poverty predisposes a people to become proficient in obtaining necessities (or simple wants) by the most efficient and least dangerous means. From having observed how various thief-gangs of four of the five colors operate, the most impressive and skillful are the Negros, and Bray was very skillful to have gotten away with it in prison for years, with help from the kops and having 24 thousand crooks to hide amongst. The hardest people to steal from are prisoners because most prisoners are themselves thieves. As thieves, they enjoy higher skill levels than free-range thieves, mostly because they have more incentive and higher danger; the cops seldom kill thieves except by fleet-chasing them into high-speed collisions, but inmates will, given the opportunity, gangbeat and kill at mob-whim.

The casual cage-thief begins by observing his neighbors' habits and schedules. (Almost all of these techniques are employed by free-range thieves too in relation to apartment houses, homes, RV parks, even industrial and parking-lot settings, etc.) He loiters where he is about to strike, learning camera locations, lines of sight, blind spots, where the shut-ins are, which car belongs to who, how many people and dogs are in each domicile, who keeps chinks in the curtains and blinds for the purpose of being an "alert neighbor" for the cops or for being alert TO the cops. Thieves like to work in pairs: only one person is needed as lookout; more raise suspicion and decrease shares of already slim pickings. Prison cage-thiefs, though, prefer to work solo, such is the stigma of this profession. Caucasian prisoners rank cagethieves just below child molester and rapist on their shit lists.

When he's sure everyone is gone, he dashes in his neighbor's cage and rifles through it quickly, looking for, generally, food items that may not be missed, such as two of 20 noodle soup packages, one of a case of pop, a small handful of coffee or mints, etc. Thefts such as these are seldom noticed. If they are noticed, often the other criminal that the victim is forced to live with is blamed. (Most cage thefts are the work of the other person in the cage.) Emboldened by nut getting caught, the thief plans a bigger heist. When he's lucky enough to live near a food-shark inmate or dope-king, he tries to target them. Food sharks have more valuables to count, and thus more to steal and less chance of discovering the theft in time to trace probable opportunities and suspects. Dope inmates usually keep their excess dope up inside their asses, but get careless as they stupefy their brains with narcotics or fatigue. When they stumble out to eat or jawbone with fellow addicts, it is sometimes very profitable to look under their pillows, sleeping matts or racks. A single dropped morphine pill is worth $30. Negros and Latinos often love to wear, buy, sell and steal jewelry. Caucasians sometimes leave out tattoo guns or expensive appliances. The kops' ID numbers can be ground off. these items and others ground in. Though cage thievery is publicly condemned, there are plenty of lies that can be used to easily convert stolen goods into debtors' payments. The kops facilitate these thefts by constantly shuffling inmates between miniprisons for various reasons, and what gets packed off or stays behind is often not what belongs there. When the owner is absent, possession equals title.

Bray had moved up: he was hitting the food sharks before the kops moved out of their control/duty stations in the inmate buildings and into the air-conditioned, isolated, bureaucrats' buildings. Most of the food sharks were Caucasians laundering their drug money. Bray was so successful up to this point (over 8 weeks ago) that several other Negros had snapped to his "game" and managed to insert themselves "into the car", becoming co-thieves with Bray. They combined their observation and intelligence-gathering powers to increase their predation upon the richest class of inmates; the Caucasians.

Caucasians are quite stupid, relatively speaking, about how poverty-driven theft-gangs operate. The poorest Caucasian is higher up the social scale than the richest ghetto-dweller for more reasons than just education; he can get a job virtually any time he wants one. Negros often can't get jobs and thus are forced to live in poverty while barely subsisting on drug sales. Forget most everything the cops, the news-squawkers, silly politicians and even Negros have tried to tell you about drugs. Selling drugs isnot the fabulous occupation of collecting riches that they tell you it is. It takes scores of crackheads and whores' tricks to support one rich Columbian. People who've never had a well-paying job for years often confuse a small pile of crackbucks for a large amount of money. The cop/media alliance tricks millions of viewers into thinking this nonsense every day on the six o'clock news. This myth of drug mega-bucks is what keeps Caucasians from realizing what a serious, professional vocation simple stealing is to Negros. More than this, it's a science to them. It has made them gregarious, since it takes friendly-seeming people to connive essential and opportunistic information out of unwary, gullible prospective targets. The process of uncovering the existence and location of valuable items is more detailed and time-consuming than the process of extracting it and escaping with it undetected. The process of locating valuables is an on-going quest that never stops. Their eyes are always busy. They're window-shopping constantly. When one comes to your door and you catch him doing this, he'll pull out a cover-ruse, such as asking you if M'Butu lives here. Caucasians are usually stupid enough to believe the ruse equals nothing worthy of note. Other vocational thieves, such as Latinos, know better. They see his eyes darting all over the cage, looking for shoes, radios, food, coffee, dope, etc. Much of the stuff he's evaluating, a Caucasian wouldn't even consider valuable enough to steal and sell. To throw off the Latino, though, a more clever ruse is required: "Know where I can get some coke?"

This ploy gets thievery fears out of the man's head and replaces it with visions of profit.

It also sometimes works to get the "Play-yuh" a tour of many other cages to evaluate in terms of the calculus of risk v payoff.

Bray's calculus was missing one term: the food sharks had discovered his thefts. They became alert. The losses were large enough to hurt. The Caucasian community spread the word, set traps, listened, watched, shared information and devised a short list of probable suspects. The Nazi clique warned the Negro cliques, but because Bray's clique was a rogue cell, they either didn't care or pretended not to hear long enough to pull two more burglaries that had already been planned.

Too bad; so sad. Bray was spotted by a watcher. The Nazis returned from slop, were informed of the culprit, got their men, weapons and plan, then got their sneak on Bray. It was very easy this time. The thief was left in ignorance of having been caught. No guards were around to see; they were both busy sucking coffee, downing donuts and other goodies that they are allowed to bring in, huddling in the air-conditioned comfort of the bureaucrat's office. They couldn't see or hear anything going on even if they'd wanted.

The stalk was on. The "getter" had a finely-made knife crafted out of high-carbon steel smuggled out of the fabrication plant. It was both compact and sharp, designed for stabbing rather than slashing. The two "dogs" had more crude knives, and were to stay between their target and either exit he may break for. Four others had bludgeons concealed within their clothing. Four more had moved their daily weightlifting routine to the other side of the miniprison, near Bray's cage. Their weapons were four broken broomst;icks-spears that they were usuing as handles to lift their dirt-bag "weights". Only the Nazis and food sharks know who else was involved or knew about the impending attack. They all felt fully justified in what they were about to do, since they HAD warned the Negro leaders and been ignored, or at least seen no results, having suffered more losses since.

By this time almost ALL fight-able Caucasians were determined to nail the cage thief, not just the Nazis, dopes and sharks. It was a community effort to crack down on crime, same as cops and news-hawkers like to vend to the public on their broadcasts.

The trap was set. The target blundered into it with two of his friends. The trap was sprung. Getter non-chalantly moved to go down the stairs as Bray and his clowns shuffled up them while innocently yakking loudly about sports. Bray's eyes slammed wide like doors in a dark theatre opening into bright sunlight. He felt Getter' s knife slide into his throat and grind into his backbone. Bray began shrieking incoherently as Getter kicked him backward down the stairs. Getter landed on top and kept stabbing. While the two clowns gaped, the dogs attacked. Six people writhed in a pile at the bottom of the stairs as the four weightlifters ran in with sharp sticks. Blood gushed out of Bray's neck. He stopped screaming. The sound of many slamming doors echoed with the cries of alarm. The weak, old and scared locked themselves in their cages. Most people came out to gawk. One of the clowns squirmed free of the pile, dove under the railing and ran to spread the alarm to his kin. The other clown got free; he raced to lock himself into a bystander's cage, but the dogs got the door before he could slam it shut. A group of curious Negros piled in, unarmed, to rubberneck the tableau. Some stayed at a safe distance to scream idle death threats; others ran out to hide, be first to snitch the attack off to the kops, get reinforcements/weapons or bring in crap to throw. At least two of them were found to have ran to tell the kops. :

The kops hid safely in their locked, impregnable, air-conditioned office and called their fellow kops. The kop-response time was very sluggish and bottlenecked because their panic button was inaccessible inside their duty station. If these two kops hadn't been in the wrong building, 50 feet away from the right building, they could have just reached over, pushed their panic button and a red strobe light would have been switched on, telling every guard in each of ten miniprisons to lock up their inmates and come running with their weapons and armor. Since no kops were at their duty stations, they had to use the phone to call the switchboard girl. She had to connect them to the tower kop, and the tower kop DIDN'T do what he SHOULD have done. The tower kop has a megaphone that he uses to harass the prisoners. It's so overpowered that they can hear it clearly at the Indian gaming hall half a mile further away. Instead of screaming, "EMERGENCY! MINIPRISON SEVEN!" over it in hopes of being lucky enough to find at least some kops outside their air-conditioned bureaucrats' offices, he decided to use the phone and call around to each miniprison 'crat office to rouse the kops, two at a time. (Radio reception within the 'crats' offices is spotty at best.)

Bray bled to death while this confusion was occurring. There simply was no policy or plan that took into account the kops being permanently away from their duty stations during the heat wave. Another thing that escaped the kops is all the evidence. The knives got washed and put back into their hiding places. The bloody gloves and clothes all got safely carted off in the trash. Clown II ran to the clinic but didn't snitch. The other guards eventually got alerted, gathered at their staging room, pulled on their armor, grabbed their weapons, talked strategy, got orders and then trudged out to confront the aftermath. Their job consisted of nothing more then telling the gawkers to get in their cages and lock their doors, calling medics to remove the corpse, and standing around and acting tough while, hours late, the inmates were allowed to walk to slop and back to their cages for more lockup time.

The best thing about these prisons and the overpaid flunkies who work in them is that, thankfully, they pretty-much run themselves on a type of automatic pilot, without any help from the kops beyond a couple of scowls and an ocassional verbal threat.

Hurrah for operant conditioning: without it, we'd all run amok.