Chapter 1

"What are you going to do with that pipe?"  he sneered.

I did not answer with words.  I swung the pipe as hard as I could and hit him on the upper left side of the head.  Blood squirted all over.  He looked surprised, but the blow didn't faze him.  He came at me again, real angry this time, and again I struck him.  Again more blood spurted.  Some of the fans grabbed me;  other fans grabbed him.  He bucked and twisted, still wanting to get at me. 

I was held until the police arrived.  They handcuffed me and took statements from some of the witnesses.  Those were the days before paramedics.  One of the policemen administered first aid to my wounded adversary before taking him to a local hospital.  I was carted off to jail.  Crow, Mike, and Lizard got away.

"What happened?"  asked the policeman from the passenger side as they were taking me to jail.

"I don't know," I replied from the back seat of the police car.

"You better tell us.  Otherwise, you're going away for a long time."

"I don't know nothing," I returned defiantly.

He Laughed.

"By the time we get done with you , you 're gonna know plenty.  We have ways of making you smart." The policeman driving the car also laughed.

The American justice system at that time was young.  The Gideon case had not yet challenged the Supreme Court for the right to counsel.  That wouldn't happen for another 12 years.  Before Gideon, only the rich could get a lawyer to defend them.  All others had to throw themselves on the mercy of the court.  And God help them if it was fresh out of mercy.  Miranda came even later, establishing protection against self-incrimination.

As soon as we entered the interrogation room, the big, ugly policeman who had been driving the car grabbed me by my greasy duck-tail and slammed me against the wall.

"You little pachuco.  Let's see how tough you are without a pipe."  He said pachuco like it was a dirty word.