MONEY LAUNDERER by Kenneth Rijock
After I gave testimony in camera, describing the circuitous path my clients' narcotics profits took, ultimately ending up in Switzerland when the clients themselves, seeking to hide the final destination from even yours truly, quietly moved their wealth there, the government advised that it had other plans for me. I was to be moved to another institution, with a number of other inmates, this time located in Central Florida. The new location would turn out to be much more user-friendly than I anticipated. It all started when I asked a more experienced inmate about the jail conditions at my destination. His answer, which led me to believe that he was suffering from some sort of mental condition, was "when you get to the county jail at xxx, you won't want to leave." Was he crazy? What prison inmate actually likes the place where he is confined? It sounded like extended incarceration had affected his mind. Whilst enjoyable conditions, if that term can ever be described in connection with serving time, might be portrayed in such Hollywood movies as "Goodfellas", they certainly do not exist in real life. Or do they?
- We were transported by the US Marshals to a very small county jail, in a rural Florida county where the tiny country seat, Trenton, (centre of local government) was surrounded by wetlands and lowland swamp, the county itself having been the newest one in the state, carved out of a larger entity in the 1920s. I immediately had visions of a television situation comedy set in a sheriff's office in the South; it was that sort of place, rustic and rural.
- The jail had only eighteen beds, and was evenly divided between an area where Federal prisoners were housed, and a section where locals were imprisoned. When there is no Federal Prison in the area, inmates are temporarily assigned to county jails. Since the per diem rate paid by the US to the county was a handsome sum by local standards, the jail had become a regular stop for the Deputy Marshals serving the local US District Court in Gainesville, encouraged by the local sheriff.
- When we arrived at the tiny building, I immediately noticed that this place did not exactly conform to Florida's traditional notion of a correctional facility. The desk sergeant was a small woman (shorter than 5 feet) in civilian clothes, because there were no guard uniforms in her size. Amazingly, we were told we could wear our civilian clothes, and that additional clothes could be sent in to the property room. I immediately asked my sister to send in some suits and accessories for anticipated trips to the US Attorney's office.
- The lieutenant advised us that we could keep a certain amount of money on our person, to be used to purchase items at the jail (see below) and I later negotiated an increase in the cash we could possess. Sometimes those old lawyer skills came in handy.
- The way that the jail earned additional revenue from the federal prisoners was by adding 25% to the cost of anything they bought. The first night, the trustees, the experienced federal prisoners trusted to serve the inmates in various ways, came around with a cart brimming with hamburgers and assorted fast food.
- Other times, they would send a jailer to the local pharmacy with our lists, to return with toiletries and over-the-counter items. The trustees not only cleaned up around the jail, they actually drove a truck to town, on "official business", to pick up things that were needed to operate the jail. Though these were long-term federal inmates with no violence in their cases, I am sure that the Bureau of Prisons would have been very unhappy to learn about this little detail.
- The term custody was very loosely interpreted there; if you received a call from someone in law enforcement, they didn't throw a telephone into the cell, they brought you out, to the counter where the desk sergeant sat, and she handed you her phone.
- The trustees went weekly to the town supermarket, to purchase fruits and vegetables for us. Understandably, all this service made my stay there much pleasant than it has been at my previous institutions. I was beginning to see why the strange inmate at my last address had made that obtuse claim that I would not want to leave.
- When I got there I saw that the inmates had many, many video tapes. The jail had a rooftop antenna, and access to the Home Box Office channel. The guys were taping the first-run movies, and mailing them out to their friends and relatives. I wonder how many were making money on that activity.
- Out behind the jail, we had a weight-training area better than those at most apartments buildings in the US, for some of the cash profits were used to purchase state-of-the-art recreational equipment for us. It was a nice way to get exercise, being outside each day, using the weights.
- On Sundays, the jail allowed not only contact visits, but allowed visiting relatives to actually bring in any sort of food that they wanted to share it with the persons being visited. Good seafood was always being shares amongst those who did not receive visits.
- I received an order from my sentencing judge, reducing my sentence from four years to a mere two. To say that I was extremely happy is an understatement. I was elated that two years of my life were being given back to me. The next question I had was: could I get it reduced even more?
Next Week: All "good things" must come to an end.
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