Which story is better?
This guy has committed at least a half dozen murders on behalf of Nuestra Familia. He’s in for murder. He might be willing to flip, to turn state’s evidence. He’s already locked down because he’s in a jam with the rank and file members of the Nuestra Familia, a very violent gang. His brother, gangster Mendoza, had contract to murder me because of my involvement in this federal investigation. My son had already been followed home from school in Fresno area.
Joker, an unusually large Hispanic of about six feet, is a weightlifter. He’s got a denim shirt on, which he’s torn the sleeves off like a tank top, denim pants torn off ragged-edged, flip flops, tattoos all over, a very tough looking character.
Entering with me is an officer from the Department of Corrections internal gang unit.
As we introduce ourselves, Joker turns to me and says, “I’ve heard of you. I’ll talk to you. But I won’t talk with this motherfucker in here.”
The guys turns to me and says, “It’s up to you, Byron.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll talk to him by myself.”
The guy says okay, excuses himself and walks out, leaving joker and myself in this very isolated room at the end of a hallway with the door locked from the outside. About ten minutes into the conversation there is a power failure. The lights go out and we’re plunged into total darkness. Dead silence follows.
It seems like hours go by, but it’s probably thirty seconds. For some reason I start laughing. And then in the darkness, he starts laughing . At one point I hear his chair shuffle.
He says, “You know, you’re in deep shit.”
In the darkness I say, “well, you don’t know what’s pointed at you right now.” We’re in a standoff. Then we both laugh again.
I say, “I guess we’re both in deep shit.”
He says, “Yeah.” And we start talking.
In about forty five seconds, which seems like hours, I see rays of light, and hear guards running down the hall, anticipating a scene of total carnage, that joker has ripped me physically limb from limb. They crash through the door, light us both up with the flashlights, and we’re laughing. I’m kicked back with my feet on the table, and joker’s over in another corner with his feet up.
These guys are befuddled. The lights come back on. Joker tells them to get the fuck out of there.
I have no idea of why I started laughing. I guess to him that was a sign of bravado. You revert to some basic instincts, like smell and taste. You almost become a predator.
“You talk about scary. It wasn’t the time for me to put people down. But that’s my act.”
“A drunk guy–really drunk–makes his way up though the audience . He’s yelling from the back as he’s walking up. And I’m saying stuff back to him, which is pissing him off. The audience is loving it. The stuff I’m saying is about the size of his dick, among other things. I’m playing to the audience, saying the things I think will insult him enough that he’ll go, ‘OK, you win.’ that’s really what they want, to be put in their place. “
The drunk approaches the stage and shouts, “I’M A MARINE! I’M A MARINE!”
“That’s the last thing I want. I’m not a Marine, but if I had had a gun at that moment, I would have taken it out and used it.”
The drunken Marine moves toward the comedian.
Suddenly a man in the audience rises.
“He was a little guy, and I mean a foot shorter than this guy. But he bars the way, stops this guy. I was amazed. And he stopped him without throwing a punch. It was David and Goliath. Unbelievable! The guy takes a swing at him, but this little guy just kind of ducked, and started propelling the drunk out of the room.”
Afterwards the comedian bought his defender a drink, gave him a hug, and praised him to the audience.
“They gave him a standing ovation, this little guy. He was a master sergeant, so he was probably just very clear that he could handle this situation. He handled it. I couldn’t believe it.”