pore. Yep, he was living it up, living in the moment like a true Buddhist monk. Just being in the prison, day in and day out, seeing the respect, no, fear, in all these fuckers’ faces gave him a bigger rush than smoking crack ever had. If anybody even looked at The... A.X. the wrong way, Max would get into the guy’s face, go, “You got a fuckin’ problem, motherfucker?” Glaring like Denzel in Training Day .
Yeah, no doubt about it, The... A.X. was The King of fucking Attica. His favorite thing was just to walk around and soak up all the respect and admiration he was getting from everybody. Sometimes Max would have some extra fun with it, suddenly rushing up to some fuck’s crotch and making a snip-snip motion with his fingers. Man, the assholes looked like they were gonna shit their pants and Max would start laughing his ass off.
In the yard, when The... A.X. came by people stopped whatever they were doing and they’d say, “Yo, Max,” and “What up, Max, man?” It seemed like the whole prison was in awe of him. Well, except for one little hitch.
The population had to be eighty percent black, but there were pockets of other ethnic groups. There were the Crips, Sino’s crew of, what’re you supposed to call them this week, Latinos, Hispanics, Latin Americans? What the fuck ever. There were also some white people, mostly sissies, but also The Aryan Brotherhood, led by a massive cracker with a whole crew of mutants straight out of The Hills Have Eyes , their mouths drooling and always giggling and cussing among themselves.
Jeez, was that English?
He knew these guys didn’t give a shit if he once cut off a man’s dick or not. These freaks probably chopped off dicks on a regular basis.
The cracker’s name was Arma — short for Armageddon.What was up with these deranged assholes shortening their names? Max wondered if she should shorten his name, start calling himself “The Ma.” Maybe that would get him even more respect. Nah, it would probably have the opposite effect. Didn’t Freud say all guys wanted to fuck their mothers?
If anything he should start calling himself The Ax. Had a menacing vibe to it.
Nah, had to be The... A.X.
Arma fronted Max in the yard, his Aryan brothers all around him, went, “You-all’s the dick cutter, right?”
Max didn’t feel the time was right to say, Grammatically speaking, there is only one of me. The guy didn’t exactly look like he had a sense of humor.
He nodded, his throat choked from fear. This guy had the dead-eyed stare of a fucking serial killer.
The guy said, “Y’all shacked up with the big dumb nigger, what’s with that boy?”
And Max, to his amazement, lied. “I’m working on the inside, we gonna bring them apes into line, we gotta know what they’re planning, you cool with that?”
The guy stared at him and it was up for grabs. He’d either gut Max right there or...
He laughed, exposing a whole row of yellowed teeth and many, many gaps. All that moonshine, no doubt. All around him, the brothers laughed along.
Arma slapped Max on the shoulder, said, “You-all’s one bright fellah. You was one of them high flyers, m’I right?’
Max, so relieved he nearly wet himself, said, “I made my moola off the niggers. We gonna go up against Zog, we need serious bucks.”
Zog? He had no idea really what this meant but on the Discovery Channel he’d heard a Klansman say it.
But, shit, it fuckin’ worked.
And then Max on a roll, tried, “The crips, they’re gonna move against you, soon.”
The riot that was to come down the pike got its seeds right there with Max spouting off crap he’d no idea about.
The cracker frowned, asked, “Them Mex gangs, Sino and ’em, they got weapons?”
Max nodded, as if he couldn’t take the risk on verbalizing the lethal threat.
The cracker handed him a leather band, said, “You wear that, you’re part of my crew, ain’t no one gonna fuck with you.”
Max, learning, improvising all the time, took
Yeah, no doubt about it, The... A.X. was The King of fucking Attica. His favorite thing was just to walk around and soak up all the respect and admiration he was getting from everybody. Sometimes Max would have some extra fun with it, suddenly rushing up to some fuck’s crotch and making a snip-snip motion with his fingers. Man, the assholes looked like they were gonna shit their pants and Max would start laughing his ass off.
In the yard, when The... A.X. came by people stopped whatever they were doing and they’d say, “Yo, Max,” and “What up, Max, man?” It seemed like the whole prison was in awe of him. Well, except for one little hitch.
The population had to be eighty percent black, but there were pockets of other ethnic groups. There were the Crips, Sino’s crew of, what’re you supposed to call them this week, Latinos, Hispanics, Latin Americans? What the fuck ever. There were also some white people, mostly sissies, but also The Aryan Brotherhood, led by a massive cracker with a whole crew of mutants straight out of The Hills Have Eyes , their mouths drooling and always giggling and cussing among themselves.
Jeez, was that English?
He knew these guys didn’t give a shit if he once cut off a man’s dick or not. These freaks probably chopped off dicks on a regular basis.
The cracker’s name was Arma — short for Armageddon.What was up with these deranged assholes shortening their names? Max wondered if she should shorten his name, start calling himself “The Ma.” Maybe that would get him even more respect. Nah, it would probably have the opposite effect. Didn’t Freud say all guys wanted to fuck their mothers?
If anything he should start calling himself The Ax. Had a menacing vibe to it.
Nah, had to be The... A.X.
Arma fronted Max in the yard, his Aryan brothers all around him, went, “You-all’s the dick cutter, right?”
Max didn’t feel the time was right to say, Grammatically speaking, there is only one of me. The guy didn’t exactly look like he had a sense of humor.
He nodded, his throat choked from fear. This guy had the dead-eyed stare of a fucking serial killer.
The guy said, “Y’all shacked up with the big dumb nigger, what’s with that boy?”
And Max, to his amazement, lied. “I’m working on the inside, we gonna bring them apes into line, we gotta know what they’re planning, you cool with that?”
The guy stared at him and it was up for grabs. He’d either gut Max right there or...
He laughed, exposing a whole row of yellowed teeth and many, many gaps. All that moonshine, no doubt. All around him, the brothers laughed along.
Arma slapped Max on the shoulder, said, “You-all’s one bright fellah. You was one of them high flyers, m’I right?’
Max, so relieved he nearly wet himself, said, “I made my moola off the niggers. We gonna go up against Zog, we need serious bucks.”
Zog? He had no idea really what this meant but on the Discovery Channel he’d heard a Klansman say it.
But, shit, it fuckin’ worked.
And then Max on a roll, tried, “The crips, they’re gonna move against you, soon.”
The riot that was to come down the pike got its seeds right there with Max spouting off crap he’d no idea about.
The cracker frowned, asked, “Them Mex gangs, Sino and ’em, they got weapons?”
Max nodded, as if he couldn’t take the risk on verbalizing the lethal threat.
The cracker handed him a leather band, said, “You wear that, you’re part of my crew, ain’t no one gonna fuck with you.”
Max, learning, improvising all the time, took
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