John Lee Brook - Blood In, Blood Out. The Violent Empire of the Aryan Brotherhood

Blood In, Blood Out

The Violent Empire of the Aryan Brotherhood

by

John Lee Brook

www.worldheadpress.com

CONTENTS

THE FIRST TIME I became aware of the Aryan Brotherhood was in jail, standing in line to get clean laundry. A deep voice behind me said, I know who you are.

I ignored the voice, because I was nobody. Whoever the guy was he wasnt talking to me.

I know who you are, said the voice again. Only this time the voice wasnt behind me, it was over me. Turning, I found myself staring at somebodys chest. A chest that was about one inch from my nose. Taking a step back, I looked up. The guy stood about six feet four inches and had a shaved head. And, from the muscles that adorned his body like ornaments on a Christmas tree, it was obvious he came from good breeding stock. Unlike myself.

I read about you in the paper, he said. Youre famous.

Sighing, I replied, Infamous is more like it.

He thought about that for a second and grinned. Then he held out his hand, which was attached to an arm as big as my thigh. His forearm was covered in a spider web tattoo. So was his other forearm and everywhere else. I shook his hand.

He told me his name was T.Rex. His real name was Charles Kemp, but everyone called him T.Rex.

Why do they call you T.Rex? I asked.

He paused, thinking about it. Then he shrugged. I dunno.

Because wise men dont go where angels fear to tread, I didnt say anything. I just nodded.

He said hed just arrived. He was being transported down south from up north, where hed been at Pelican Bay prison. I nodded and turned back around. In jail, you dont ask too many questions. If you do, it could mean youre a snitch.

Thirty seconds later, T.Rex growled and said, This is bullshit, man. Putting his hand on my shoulder, he stepped out of the line, taking me with him. He then marchedwith me in towto the front of the line, where the Trustees were doling out clean laundry.

In jail, cutting the line was tantamount to a mortal sin. Anyone stupid enough or crazy enough to try it was immediately challenged by a bevy of angry voices. And since the owners of those angry voices were armed robbers and murderers, persons who didnt think twice about stomping someone, they usually got their way. The line cutter would get back in the fucking line! and wait his turn like everybody else.

But not this time. No one said anything.

Whaddaya need? asked the Trustee.

T.Rex looked at me, raising his eyebrows. Large, I said.

Size large for my dog here, pronounced T.Rex. An triple-X for me.

The Trustee tossed two bundled rolls of clean clothes at us.

As I walked away, I marveled at T.Rexs brashness. I figured it was his sheer size and badass attitude that accounted for the episode. I was wrong. It wasnt T.Rexs size and attitude that caused the other inmates to bite their tongues. It was what he was.

Later, I found out T.Rex was a member of the Brand, which was a nickname for the Aryan Brotherhood. They were also called the AB or Alice Baker. Whatever they were called, they were royalty in the pecking order of prison, where gangs ruled supreme. Their royal status came from the fact that they wereto paraphrase Psalm 23 the meanest motherfuckers in the valley of the shadow of death. Which meant they ran the show in prison.

Which probably explained why T.Rex was in protective custody. Protective custody is jail inside of jail. Its where they segregate the baddest of the bad guys from the ordinary bad guys. You gotta keep em separated, a classification officer told me, or somebodys going to get hurt. This is because the culture of jail revolves around gangs. And gang affiliation is based on skin color.

There were Crips, Bloods, Joe Boyz, Nortenos, Surenos, MS-13, and Nazi Low Riders, just to name a few. Then there was the Aryan Brotherhood. And the truth about the AB was this: no matter where the powers-that-be put them, the Brotherhood did as they pleased. They found a way to reach out and control their environment. Wherever the AB wasinside prison or outside prisonthey prevailed. The way they did that was simple: fear, macho violence, and death.

After I found out who and what T.Rex was, I kept my ears open. Anytime anyone spoke about flagrant events in prison, the Aryan Brotherhood was mentioned. To me, it soon became evident that these guysthe ABwere the Real McCoy. They were the definition of Machiavellian function, because they took care of business. They didnt posture, they didnt negotiate, and they didnt hesitate.

I became fascinated by the Aryan Brotherhood. I didnt want to be one, but I did want to understand how they operated and why they were the way they were.

The purpose of this book is to view the remarkable role that the Aryan Brotherhood has played in the largest and most densely populated prison system in the history of humanitythe penal system of America.

When I was released from jail, I began toying with the idea of writing about the Aryan Brotherhood. I wanted to tell the story of the AB from the inside. To tell how they did what they did. To that end, I started doing research. I contacted acquaintances I had met in jail and asked them to hook me up with AB members willing to talk. I also contacted members of law enforcement agencies.

The AB has a code of silence, which each member vows to abide by. Their motto is lie or die. In other words, never say anything about the inner workings of the Brotherhood. If you do, you die.

Most law enforcement agencies have a similar code. Only without the death clause, of course. Leaking confidential information is frowned upon, especially for active agents. It is considered a breach of faith and a conflict of interest. So mum is the word.

There wereas is always the caseindividuals who were willing to talk. Some were bitter. Some were whistle-blowers. Others just wanted attention. But almost all insisted on one thing: anonymity. They would only talk if they remained unnamed orin some cases if their names were changed. Members of the AB feared retaliation or incarceration. While members of law enforcement agencies didnt want to lose their jobs or become pariahs. And active correctional officers had a very real fear of reprisals from prison inmates.

Of the two groupsgood guys and bad guysthe bad guys were motivated by a lust for approbation. They wanted attention. They wanted the world to know how tough they were, how smart they were, how they beat the system. So they agreed to be interviewed, as long as they could hide behind an anonymous wall.

For example, Arturo Colano, who is my favorite character in the book, had never been arrested or interrogated by the authorities. Oh, they knew he existed, but thats all. They had no name, no description and no photograph. Zilch. In my opinion, when Arturo agreed to be interviewed, he did so out of a need for recognition. Like Zorro he wanted to leave his calling card, his mark. Yet at the same time, he realized that removing his mask would end his career. And he thoroughly enjoyed his career. So he insisted that his real name not be revealed.

In other instances, high-ranking gang members spoke openly about gang activities. They agreed to do so only if their names were withheld, which was their way of taking the Fifth Amendment. They didnt want to incriminate themselves. Under the circumstances, a portion of what they said was possibly embellished, amplified, enhanced and sensationalized. However, its also likely that theres more here than meets the eye. Since they were speaking anonymously, why wouldnt they speak with accuracy? Which means the Devil may be just as black hearted as he says he is.

In any event, the text tries to carefully reproduce their words. These interviews form the primary sources for the book.

Without the interviews of Sam Sauter, Arturo Colano, Wolf Weiss, members of the Aryan Brotherhood, members of the Nazi Low Riders and others, including US marshals, DEA and ATF agents, correctional officers, officers of the court (attorneys), and FBI agents, the story would have been bereft of flesh.