It's a common misperception that all people who are deemed certifiably insane are carted off to mental hospitals. They're not. More often than not, they are sent to federal prison, and upon arriving, they eventually seek me out. Moreover, in some cases, they're given to me as cell mates. It used to drive me crazy, and it was already a short drive, but now I'm just glad for the fresh material. The latest in this litany of lunatics is my present cell mate Pedro. Pedro is my third cellie here at the Federal Transit Center at Oklahoma City and while he has some strange proclivities that you will learn about in this blog, his most distinguishing characteristic is his snoring. Throughout the years, I've had some cellies that would snore. Jesus, have I. However, Pedro takes the cake. He sounds like Bike Week in Sturgis. Last night it got so bad that I got up in the middle of the night and broke open a razor and sat on the edge of my bunk and used it to cut pieces out of my shower shoes and then I took the plugs of foam and shoved them down my ears and then took a long white tube sock and tied it around my head to hold them in. I finally had to loosen the sock because my eyes were bulging, but it did the trick. Before Pedro went to sleep though he told me his story, as most of the psychos back here, feel the need to do. Pedro is a pot-bellied 50-year-old Mexican from Texas that has a typically droopy mustache and a permanent 5 o'clock shadow. He looks a bit like The Frito Bandito. He has tattoos of his family and various saints tattooed all over his chest, stomach, and his back that tell his life story...as he was so kind to share with me when he stripped off his right after lockdown. He pointed out his Madre and on his chest, then spun around and reached over his shoulder to point out his Padre and little Hector and Maria, and then he lifted up a stubby arm and showed me a picture of a goat with robust horns that he'd had tattooed on his side right underneath his armpit. He identified this as one of his "Show Goats." It was a nice looking goat, as far as goats go. I wondered if it was AGC registered, or if there even is a Goat Registry, but I was scared to ask. After he'd put his arm down he scratched a stubby finger in his whiskers and asked me, "You know anything about goats, Senor?" I replied, "Nahhhhhh. Nahhhhhh" but he didn't get the joke. He proceeded to tell me that he owned over 6000 goats at his ranch in Texas and that it was a very profitable venture. Sensing that he had a captive audience, and mistaking my silence as interest, he proceeded to explain the different kinds of goats and how some of them were Show quality. Who would have known that such a thing as a Show Goat even existed? Certainly not me. Nevertheless, I could picture Pedro down south of the border in a cowboy hat, blue jeans complete with big shiny belt buckle, and pointy-toed cowboy boots, riding around his ranch in his Chevy Silverado pickup truck as he tended to his Goat Empire. After I was sure that he'd talked himself out, he asked me, "Have you ever taken drugs, Senor?" I replied, “I was part of a doping scandal that involved performance enhancing drugs." He nodded and said, "Ahh" as if he understood and then asked, "You took steroids, no?" I said, "No, I took heroin. I was robbing Banks, not cycling around the countryside of France." Then, after feeling a bond with me that only talking about one's goats can bring, he proceeded to tell me why he was in prison. Come to find out, Pedro broke bad. Pedro is doing 20 years in federal prison for conspiracy to distribute Ice. I don't know if you've ever met a true speed freak, but these people completely light up when they talk about cooking methamphetamine. Most of these people are uneducated, but they talk about mixing chemicals as if they're Harvard professors. I've met several throughout the years, but none quite like Pedro. Moreover, none that raised goats. He proceed to tell me how he would get 5 kilos worth of liquid for the cartel and how it came in a bucket with a vented top and was a clear liquid, but syrupy. He would pay roughly $14,000.00 per kilo for the liquid that he would eventually turn into about 7 kilos and retail for $1000.00 or so an ounce. There are about 34 ounces in a kilo, so you do the math. He explained that he would take the liquid and heat it at a temperature of between 140 and 160 degrees for 45 minutes or so. Then he would dip a spoon into it and pull it out with shards attached to it that looked like icicles. The shards would be yellow and then he would spray them with fingernail polish remover, which would have the effect of turning the dope white. He would catch the runoff from the nail polish remover and re-cook it to make more dope. Dr. Pedro would cut his dope at a 50% mixture (500 grams of cut to every 1000 grams of dope) by using horse vitamins, which I thought was very Green of him. I asked him what he did with the wash from all that he'd cooked when he was finished, and he said that he'd sometimes lightly mix it in the goat feed. After he told me this, I pictured Pedro's goats running laps around the South 40 and humping everything in sight. No wonder goats are always head-butting each other. Pedro finally talked me to sleep, which proves that God is indeed merciful. Unfortunately, I woke up to Pedro laying flat on his back with his arm hanging off of the top bunk and making a noise that sounded like an 18 wheeler gearing down on the interstate. As I laid there listening to this Mexican make a monstrosity of noises while I had pieces of my flip flops jammed down my ears, I considered what it might be like to get out of prison and get a piece of property and cook Ice and raise goats and become a Goat Baron. Apparently, they sleep really well.
Jeffrey P. Frye 1/8/14 murderslim.com Bank Robber's Blog @bankblogger2 bankblogger.weebly.com
Jeffrey P. Frye 1/8/14 murderslim.com Bank Robber's Blog @bankblogger2 bankblogger.weebly.com