Do It Like Dillinger
A pack of Parliament cigarettes, a half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, and a newspaper article entitled, “Do It Like Dillinger,” this is all the police found at the lowly and condemned residence of Al Walker. Now Al was the career criminal type, he had been working his way through the system since he was 10. He committed his first crime when he stole Ms. Anderson’s dog, Mr. Biggles. He then skinned it and hung it from her telephone pole. Growing up everyone was afraid of Al. He always had this evil look about him. People feared him like a bully, but he was never at school long enough to carry out his bulling duties. I wasn’t afraid of Al, for some reason he never came off as threatening to me.
Al had just gotten out of the juvenile detention center in time for the start of our senior year. Al only got through the first week before he had gotten into it with some boys in gym class, and bashed Seth Robinsons face in with a tennis racket. The Robinsons just happen to be one of the wealthiest families in the city, which didn’t look to good for Al. He was tried as an adult and charged with attempted murder. Because of his violent past it was easy for the state to lock him up and throw away the key. Al was sentenced to 15 years in prison, eligible for parole in 10, but I would see him sooner than that.
After Graduation I attended a small private school up state. I never was one for school, but the freedom of college intrigued me. There was no one there to nag me about waking up for class, so I didn’t. I knew that school wasn’t for me so I had already given up on putting in the effort, but my parents didn’t. I used the money they sent me for books to buy food, alcohol and of course a fake ID. A little later in the semester some Zeta’s came to our dorm and invited us to some fraternity/sorority formal. Now on campus our reputation was well known. We were known as the party guys who could get alcohol, thanks to my fake ID. In reality people would invite us to all sorts of functions just so I could buy them booze. But this event was unlike your typical kegger; this one was special because of a girl. This girl wasn’t just some drunken slut; she was the most beautiful girl on campus, Cassie Anne Whitehurst. She had personally invited us to this formal, and when Cassie Anne Whitehurst invites you to a party you don’t ask questions.
Cassie was a freshman like me, but that’s all we had in common. I used to see her a lot earlier in the year when fraternities were doing their Rush recruitment, but not much anymore. I realized that fraternities were for tool bags and drunks, so I declined. Cassie on the other hand, well she was cut out to be the pride and joy of her sorority. Cassie’s mother, aunt and sister had all been Zetas at different universities, so it was only fitting she join. Cassie was definitely one of those “popular” girls. It was apparent she came from a family of money judging by the beamer she drove around campus decorated with pink and white Zeta colors. She was one of those girls who would go for a guy like Seth Robinson.
Seth Robinson, high school chump, but now president of the Kappa Sigma fraternity. It was unheard of for a freshman to become president of a fraternity, but in Kappa Sigma, rank was based on how big your checkbook was. Seth’s father donated money to have the campus fraternity house renovated, needles to say that guaranteed him a legacy. Seth was one of those womanizing, slip something in your drink kind of guys. Cassie could have done much better than a scumbag guy like Seth.
Anyway we had been drinking since 2pm that day in preparation for our big night. By the time of party we were so loaded we couldn’t physically formulate real sentences, but fuck it, we went anyway. We had a descent enough time at the party to call the night a success, and I’m sure all of us being shitfaced definitely helped. My roommate Ryan was the first one of us to leave the party; he had hooked up with some Indian girl, who was the TA from one of his classes. That left me and the creepy guy from our floor, Mike. Now mike was what you would call a lightweight, so he was in and out of consciousness the whole time. As he spoke gibberish talk to me I saw Cassie sitting on the steps alone. She looked drunk and hadn’t gotten one moment to talk to her with that fucking Seth kid around. In a drunken daze I decided I wasn’t ending my night until I hooked up with Cassie.
As the night winded down the typical “party cliques” started to break up, this was my chance. I ran to the kitchen and drank as many cups of water I could without throwing up, to try and sober up. When I came back out she was nowhere to be found. By this time mike is snoring on the floor in the living room. I figured Seth had come back and they went up to her room to have sex. So with all hope lost and Cassie nowhere to be found I decided to go wake Mike up so we could leave. As I’m tapping Mike he says something to me. “I think that Cassie girl is looking for you bro, she went upstairs all hot and ready for you, she so wants you dude.” Now being in the “thirsty” drunken state of mind I was in this sounded like the break I’d been looking for.
I walk up the stairs but there aren’t many people around. The president of the chapter Alison Chambers was awake brushing her teeth in the bathroom. She had been pretty belligerent the whole night. Her night ended early at the hands of Captain Morgan. You could tell by the vomit smell leaking out of the bathroom that she was brushing her teeth for a reason. I notice Cassie’s room right away because it was decorated with all sorts of glitter and garland. Her door is half open, which I assumed she left open for me. I walk in and see her lying there in nothing but her underwear and a “wife beater.” I can’t believe this is happening. I lock the door so Mike doesn’t ruin this with his drunken awkwardness. “Hey Cassie, are you sleep?” I take off my shirt and gently lay next to her. I start to rub her shoulders in a caressing manner. She adjusts herself so our bodies fit together perfectly, so I start to kiss her neck. I don’t remember much after that.
I woke up to screaming and police radios. There was blood on my shirt and the sheets, and I could see Cassie out in the hallway looking traumatized. My head was pounding and I could barely see. Something was weird about this scene; police officers were all over the room. These weren’t your typical campus police officers; these were the city police officers. I looked for my shirt but one of the officers was holding it sealed in a Ziploc bag. Despite what my brain was telling me I attempted to approach Cassie to see what was going. I was immediately grabbed and thrown back down on the bed. “You stay right their sir, you’re not going anywhere.” One of the older officers approached me with a stern distasteful look on his face. “Roland Smith?” I nodded my head in acknowledgment, “you have the right to remain silent.”
I was charged with 1st degree Rape. I was guilty before I even hit the courtroom. My story of not remembering anything didn’t wasn’t fooling anyone. Cassie did a lot of crying and called me a “drunken Maniac.” After that theatrical performance it wasn’t hard for the jury to sympathize with Cassie. My parents were so embarrassed by the allegations that I had no money to afford a real lawyer. The fact that my DNA was found all over the scene, and Cassie allegedly had traces of my semen in her pretty much sealed my fait. The prosecution brought up the fact that since I had dropped out of school and was drunk at the time of the alleged crime that there was no other obvious choice for a verdict but guilty. I was kicked out of school for underage drinking and sexual assaulting someone under the influence. I was sentenced to 8 years in prison.
Prison life was not easy for me, I didn’t talk, I didn’t write letters, I didn’t eat, I stayed to myself. I followed this routine for 3 years until one day it all changed. I heard the clanking of the chains and keys as the CO escorted a new prisoner into our block. I always liked to think the warden had awarded me a single cell because of my good behavior, but that just wasn’t the case. I was smaller than every other inmate in the prison and being incarcerated for rape didn’t sit well with the other inmates. Needless to say it was for my own protection. New convicts came into the prison all the time so this one seemed of no difference to me. I didn’t care enough to look to see this person pass by my cell, but then the guard stopped. “Smith, stand up, turnaround and put your hands out in front of you, say hi to your new roommate.” As I turned around and obliged the officer I saw this familiar face, the face that you associate with evil.
It was the face of Al Walker. He looked aged, his arms and neck were covered in tattoos. He was wearing his own shoes and shirt, which is a privilege you only get for being around this place for a longtime. “You’s Roland Smith ain’t cha?” I was shocked he knew my name, but I was more distracted at the fact he called me Roland, which I hated. Yeah everyone calls me “RO” now so that’s what you’re going to call me. I don’t know why I said that to him, I have been in her a little while and learned a few things but certainly not enough to beat this guy’s ass. Waiting for his response I thought of all the ways this guy could probably have me killed in here.
“Ro eh?” “All right then, Ro it is.” For the next 10 or so hours Al told me chilling stories of prison life and the things he had seen. It was weird how Al would tell these stories with absolutely no emotion at all, even the gruesome deranged parts. We talked way past lights out, but because Al had such a reputation the guards just let him be. Over the next few years Al and I became one in the same, we lived breathed and trained our minds to be alike. I was nearing the end of my sentence and was up for release soon. I didn’t know how I would break this news to Al. One day after yard time I decided I would tell him, but Al had a different plan.
Al requested we be locked in our cell for the rest of the evening. He proposed a plan to me, a very intricate and structured plan, a bank heist. You could tell he had been planning this for along time, I sat and listened to him for hours trying to sell me this plan. He didn’t ask for a response from me right away. He said we would talk about it after my parole meeting. The next day was my parole hearing. I went to this meeting nervous, but not because there’s a chance they could deny my parole. I was thinking more about Al’s plan, and what he would do to me if I declined his offer. The meeting with the parole board went great. If you consider registered sex offender for 10 years and a felony great news. After my parole meeting before heading back to the cell, I had made up my mind; I was going to do it. I figured what did I have to lose, I doubt jobs will be competing for my service. I came back to the cell with news to discuss with Al but the cell was empty.
I was released from jail a few days later; I hadn’t gotten to see Al before I left, but I had to know what happened. Al was known around the jail as a “hot head.” Hearing Al stabbed someone in the library just for chewing gum while he was reading wasn’t unheard of. Because of Al’s rep you rarely found people talking about Al’s confrontations, for fear of having their own confrontation with him. We got all of our news from the guards. They weren’t supposed to discuss “incidents” with the inmates, but give them a little weed or a cigarette and they’ll tell you whatever you want. Apparently Al had gotten into some sort of fight at his job in the laundry room in which he stabbed a fellow inmate 9 times, in self-defense, allegedly.
Al was very conscious of his perception in prison and it paranoid him. He always thought his death would come in prison from a stab wound in his sleep. So the idea of Al stabbing this guy for no apparent reason wasn’t unlikely. Al always insisted that his actions weren’t because he was a criminal or psycho, but out of mere self defense. Every time Al was taken from our cell for some incident, he would turn around, look at me and say, “Self Defense.” When I got out life being rough was an understatement. Being on parole and trying to find a job was a nightmare. No one wants to hire an ex-con, felony sex offender, not even Subway. After eight months or so I finally found someone who would give me a job.
I got a job working at the burrito stand downtown. I kept trying to find other work but there’s not much of a market for a convicted sex offender. After a year my life on the outside seemed very grim. During that year I acquired an expensive drug addiction, so expensive that it took whatever money I made at the burrito stand. I tried beating it, my parents even paid for rehab. They sent me out to California to some sort rehabilitation facility where we did shit like yoga. They kept preaching to us that it wasn’t our fault, and that the addiction was a disease. As soon as I got off the plane, that disease kicked in and I relapsed for a week.
I finally had reached rock bottom, I failed rehab and achieved my parent’s disownment all in one flick of the lighter. After a while I found myself right back in the place I had been trying to escape. You don’t go 5 ½ years in federal prison without picking up some bad habit along the way. A couple months later I was facing a 3-year sentence for some petty burglary. They say one night I broke into Cassie Anne Whitehurst’s car, I had been drinking. While I was in county jail awaiting trial, I overheard some guys telling a story about a man who was killed trying to rob a bank. There was nothing unusual with jailhouse gossip so I paid it no mind. As the guys continued to talk I heard them say the name Walker. With curiosity and worthless time to burn, I decided to request some library time, so I could check the newspaper. I looked through all the newspapers from the last two weeks and there it was, “Man Calls cab to make robbery getaway.” It read,
Career criminal Al Walker, 29 was gun downed after he pointed an armed weapon at police. Walker called a cab after robbing the Westbury bank in Boston, MA. Walker had recently been released from prison after serving 15 years. Walker was linked to the murder of fellow inmate Jose Juarez, but was later acquitted on the claim of self-defense. Authorities searched Walker’s home in hope to figure out a motive. All that was found was a pack of Parliament cigarettes, a half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and a newspaper article entitled, “Do it Like Dillinger.”
