The Don Con by Richard Armstrong

Author:Richard Armstrong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Linden Publishing
Published: 2019-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

22

Federal minimum-security prison is a) not as bad, and b) not as good as it’s cracked up to be.

I say not as good because some people call it Club Fed. They think it’s a place with swimming pools, tennis courts, golf courses, and surf-and-turf dinners on Saturday night. Trust me, it’s not like that at all. It’s a downright miserable and wretched way to spend two years of your life.

When I say it’s not as bad as some people think, I mean there is no violence. No homosexual rape. No solitary confinement. It’s nothing like the horror stories you’ve heard when it comes to maximum- or even medium-security prisons.

We federal inmates referred to those prisons as big-boy jail, as in “Don’t let the guards catch you outside the perimeter or they’ll put you in big-boy jail.”

The perimeter? That’s right. There were no fences or walls either. In fact, there was no surveillance at all. If you wanted to break out of prison, all you had to do was pack up your kit bag and walk away. There was no barbed wire. No electronic monitors. The only thing keeping you inside was the certain knowledge that if they caught you, they’d take you to big-boy jail. As far as I was concerned that worked as well as a high tower manned by sharpshooters with sniper rifles. I never got within a hundred feet of the perimeter.

Frankly, I considered myself lucky to be there. After all, they convicted me of a RICO crime involving guns in which two men were wounded. The judge could’ve sent me to Leavenworth if he wanted. But he sensed something was wrong during the sentencing hearing.

The judge said to the district attorney, “Mr. Fineman, I’ve read the presentencing investigation report and I’m deeply troubled by it.”

“How so, Your Honor?”

“I don’t see any evidence here that the convict was involved with organized crime in any way, shape, or form.”

I noticed they called me the convict rather than the defendant. I was moving down in the world.

The judge continued. “He’s never been seen in the presence of known criminals. He’s never been convicted of or even charged with a crime. Or arrested. Or even picked up and questioned about a crime. There is no record of him in the criminal justice system at all. Not even a traffic violation.”

“Your Honor,” said Fineman, “the jury convicted him in less than an hour.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Fineman. I had just taken one bite of my steak at Morton’s when my cell phone rang. I’m not questioning his guilt. He clearly took part in the robbery. I’m questioning whether this was a RICO trial in the first place.”

“Well, Your Honor, of course, we discussed—”

The judge cut him off. “Please review your RICO predicates for me again.”

“Well, there was robbery, of course …”

“Yes. And? You’re a federal prosecutor, Mr. Fineman. You must know you need at least two predicates to make a RICO case.”

Fineman started rifling through papers like a maniac.

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