I get in the passenger side, take his gun, force him out and speed off towards the interstate.”Ī short time later, he was spotted, a chase ensued by the State Troopers. I yell at him not to move and tell him to keep his hands on the steering wheel. By the time the driver realized what was happening, I have him in the sights of the gun. I quickly hit him across the head, knocking him to the ground. When we pulled up to the med unit, the passenger guard got out to help me out of the back seat and I pretended that I was still in a daze.Īs he started to help me get out of the back, I slipped the cuffs off and I was able to take his gun. I let the cuffs sit loosely unlocked on my wrist. “They handcuffed me in front and I undid them in the back of the unmarked patrol car, with a paperclip I had in my mouth. They took me to the med unit off the prison grounds,” I throw up after eating a bar of soap and I shake like I’m having convulsions. “How did you escape dude,” I ask him in between sips of my Schaefer. He tells me he’s on the run, that he’s a fugitive. Neither one of us has been up to anything productive. We got to talking, exchanging stories about what we’d been doing. We head over to a basketball court over on 158 St. The best way I could describe Eddie is that he was flagitious, extremely wicked. What I had heard about Eddie when I got home-he had been doing a life term at a prison in Alabama, or a chain gang, as we called it, for participating in a bank robbery that resulted in the double murder of two tellers.
I hadn’t seen him since I left for the Army over two years ago.
He’s a tall, white Irish guy who I knew through my friend, Moe. and Melrose Ave in the South Bronx while I’m buying a couple of beers. One afternoon, I ran into Eddie at the Bodega over on 159 St.
0 kommentar(er)
