Jacques “The Pick”
LaChappel sat at his favorite table in the Cavern. The Cavern was the Warriors
hang out bar. Their numbers had dwindled over that past few years due to the “Biker
Wars.” Many had died from stabbings and gunshot wounds, but it was the other
deaths that troubled LaChappel the most. Someone or something new arrived in
the in East End.
There was always war along the
fringe, a mutual assigned border between the Warriors in the east and the Mob
to the north. The Irish to the west didn’t care much as long as these 2 enemies
eliminated each other. The fringe was basically an old abandoned railway yard.
At times it was called The Dumping Ground.
But 2 nights ago, neither Mob nor
Warrior had every killed that way. The closest he had ever heard of this was
from his old friend Mack Delaney, who was up on some stupid mountain trip he
thought and smiled. He had left word with the Doc a few days ago that he need
the talk to the Englishmen. Mack had told him stories of killings in Albania
and Serbia, when Mack was still in the Military.
He remembered growing up with Mack
as kids, playing hockey in the streets of The Gardens, then as teenagers they would
grew apart, Lachappel to lead Valhalla’s Warriors and Delaney to join the most
elite group his military offered. From time to time they would still see each at
the Cavern to share info when needed and maybe catch the game. There next
meeting would be different.
I take a breath of air, fresh air,
really for the first time, in a very long time. The moon shines from the north,
near my mountain. Somewhere, but not too far, the sounds of the stream. An owl
hoot breaks my concentration, but it was needed. My mind had drifted back to
why I changed my life completely around to this self-imposed exile on my mountain.
The accident? Or was it?
A tear appears, but is replaced by
anger and questions. I don’t cry much anymore, seems there all gone or used up
now. I call it, dry crying. I don’t sleep much anymore, if I get 3 or 5 hours a
night I consider that a victory. I smell the coffee brewing and know what I
must do today. Doc should be here in a few hours. Simon is not a traditional
doctor, but I’ll get into later. Jockstrap makes an appearance, my faithful Irish
wolfhound. I look down thinking what I and old Jockstrap have done together,
and smile, but shiver also.
There will be much planning today
and I knew Jockstrap sensed my feelings. My quiet is broken by thunder. “A storm
is coming old buddy.” I smile to myself thinking in more ways than one.
Vietnam was raging in South East Asia, and I remember the limited nightly news casts. I was of 9 years years of age with dreams of playing professional hockey and being a boxer. I had yet to taste love except for ice cream and my mustang bike equipped with banana seat and sissy bar. My mom weeped with the prospect of my brother's draft number being called, so his dumb ass drove across the border to Plattsburgh, New York to sign up. Being of an American dad us half crazy Canadians could do that. Montreal was about 90 minutes away. Joe Namath would lead the Jets to an amazing Super Bowl win over the heavily favored Baltimore Colts, yes they were in Baltimore then. I would think most of you hadn't taken your first breath of fresh air yet. "The crowd called out for more" and I wish I knew what the hell a Whiter Shade a Pale meant back then, I do now, but I thought it was cool...
would love to live in the mountains, all quiet, mostly with someone I think,
but that depends too. I open the door and the sun has yet to raise, a mist,
almost fog like hangs on the ground. There are noises, but ones I have to
strain to hear. There is a chill, but the warmth of my coffee mug extinguishes
it quickly. I smell breakfast being made and it makes me smile. The thud of a
big pine cone hits the ground.
take a deep breath and wonder what I should do today. A hike to that hill I
noticed the other day that looked promising, or perhaps a trout from the river
nearby. My ears have a slight pain from hearing nothing if that's possible, and
at that moment I wonder why I hadn't done this earlier. I also wonder that the
person cooking inside is someone I miss, someone who makes me smile during
sadness and makes my eyes sparkle with thoughts not suited for this post (lol).
Wow I just realized this could be a short story and one that would be fun to
I have told many stories of my life on my
Blog, from being born in Montreal, to moving to Texas about 25 years later, to
marriage and prison, and getting out and starting a new life. Well a few days
ago another challenge was thrust at me and I have to start over again. I will
not bore you with the details nor ask or seek pity. I have always believed that
the events in our life are a direct result from past events in which we
ourselves put in motion. Have I total confused you now, because I think I have?
Lately my mind has been racing at top speed, no time to really think of what
direction I wish to go or should go.
In saying all this it is not the end
of the world. I have been through a lot worse than this little hiccup. It just
came as a shock and one that at my age did not see coming. Many of you if not
all are going through so much more than I am. I spent 10 years in TDC, not
called TDCJ from 2001-2011. Even then it was called TDCJ, but most of us
including the guards still called it good old TDC. I have been writing my Blog
for over 2 years now and have countless prison stories within it. I have mostly
positive response from my ramblings and have been encouraged to fight the good
Somewhere along the way I have
strayed away from you all and my Blog. I think a big part was because I had no
wish to go back down that road. I had no desire to relive my past behind bars,
within a cage made of concrete and steel. I had a new life and wanted to bury
that old one deep somewhere to be never uncovered. Something has uncovered in
in the last few days and I have had a rush of confusion and frustration descend
upon me again. I have said many time my humble little words were spoken with
the most truth based on my own experiences in TDC in my 10 years.
I cannot speak for others or there
time. I cannot speak of Federal time for I have never done any. I know some
bits and pieces of Fed Time, but that’s about it. I do know that prison sucks,
not only for the inmate but mostly for their loved ones awaiting release or at
least a positive parole decision. You see us inmates do out time and are really
oblivious to what’s going on outside the walls. We may write letters and make
phone calls, we have visits, but a lot is lost in the way words are said or
written. Some feelings are hidden to make matters better. Why make someone
worry when really nothing can be done about it.
Inside I never had to worry about
bills being paid or a sick child crawling in bed in the middle of the night. You
all did and still do. I’m not saying we on the inside don’t worry, trust me I
was ate up with guilt every day and still am. I knew many men inside that had
the very same feelings. We talked about it almost daily. We talked of our part lives,
dreams, and hopes. We spoke of loved ones and times we spent together. We
talked of cooking and beaches, or camping and road trips. We spoke of baby’s
first steps and first days at school.
See society for the most part want
the average “Law abiding person” to think we are all evil with no redeeming
value at all. We have wronged the world and should be punish to the upmost no
matter the crime or circumstances. There was a lot of guys inside who were just
caught up in the moment or wrong people for whatever reason. There are many
inside who are bad people, and living with some over 10 years they would
continue to be bad people upon release. A few bad apples spoil it for the rest
In my eyes it is you “The Loved Ones”
who suffer the most, the ones who cry oceans of tears, the ones who sleep alone
remember a better time. You all get up and dress kids for school, we all get
ready for work, we all pay bills and manage tonight’s supper the best you can
with what you got. You are called names by family and friends for sticking with
someone you love. There are times, and I’ll be honest, I don’t get it. Why you
stay especially knowing they may never come home or anytime soon.
Maybe because mine didn’t and I
respected her for that decision. The word hero means so much too so many.
Sports players are considered hero’s for scoring the winning touchdown or
hitting the winning home run. People in the military, and rightly so are heroes,
EMT’s and for the most part police officers can be heroes, firefighters and so many
more. But whoever says or stands up for you all? The mothers, wives, sisters,
and grandmothers. I thought about this a few years ago how much you all are
really the true heroes. I have said this many times before in my Blog so I hope
I’m not boring some of you with this. Stay Strong, Stay your Course, you all