"Tedesco! Tedesco!"(German! German!)
We heard a voice, coming from somewhere outside through the window of our cell.
“Si!“ I answered, wondering what that was about.
It turned out, there was another German right in the cell next to us.
The prison grapevine must have brought the news of my arrival in the Queen of Heaven to him.
We agreed to meet during the next walking session outside in the yard.
When I met him, he looked really stressed out and said, almost crying,
“I have to get out of here, or at least into another cell. Those guys in my cell, they keep beating the shit out of each other all day long, I can´t take it any longer!“
So I had been right about the sounds I had kept hearing from the cell next to us, they were fighting in there.
“Tough luck!“ I said, but there was nothing I could do for him.
He did not seem to get much sleep, probably afraid that they could turn on him in his sleep.
Another reminder of just how lucky I was with my guys.
I had been arrested on a Friday, now it was Sunday, I had already survived two nights in prison.
I had no idea how long I would stay there, nobody had told me anything, but the German guy thought, that the next day, so on Monday, I was quite likely to see a judge. At least if the Italians were planning to stick to the 72 hours rule, according to which a prisoner must either be released or brought before a judge after 72 hours max in custody. He said, it was just my bad timing to get arrested on a Friday with no judge working during the weekend, otherwise I might have seen a judge even earlier.
After the treatment at the Carabinieri station I was not too optimistic that there were any rules at all, but suddenly I had my very own “Domani matina!“ to look forward to.
And sure enough, next morning after breakfast I was brought before three guys, a judge, an interpreter and another guy. Not that the interpreter spoke any German, that would have been asking too much, but he spoke English at least.
So after I explained my situation, the judge came to the conclusion that apparently I was no threat to national security, just plain stupid to bring uno proiettile d´arma da guerra into Italy and handed me some forms to sign. I was even allowed to keep one copy for myself.
“This is your residence permit for Italy.“ the interpreter explained to me.
“Thank you“ I said, wondering what I, as a German citizen and Germany and Italy being EU members, needed a residence permit for in Italy.
“It is valid till the day after tomorrow midnight.“
Ha ha, them funny Italians, they were kicking me out!
“If you have any questions you can discuss them with your lawyer now.“
“My lawyer?“
“Yes“ the interpreter answered puzzled, pointing to the guy next to the judge “this is your lawyer!“
Wow, my lawyer, suddenly they were going full constitutional on me!
I had no further questions, but the lawyer still handed me his business card together with a friendly “If you have any questions give me a call!“
“So this afternoon, you will be transfered to the transit area, tomorrow morning you will be released.“ the judge, according to the interpreter, declared solemnly.
“Domani matina!“ Hooray!
When I came back to my cell with my new trophy, my certificate of eviction, or whatever the legalese for kicking me out of Italy was, the other guys were more excited than I was.
“Domani matina, domani matina!“ they kept shouting and laughing while slapping me on the back.
Finally “Domani matina!“ seemed to work for somebody, so maybe for them soon, too.
I was last in first out, something they didn´t seem to get there very often.
After lunch, twice as always, much to the amusement of my cellmates I had never deviated from that routine while with them, because you never know if they keep giving you food in prison, so, in absolute survival mode, I kept stuffing myself with whatever I could get my hands on, a guard came and yelled something which by now I knew to be the Italian version of my name.
“Transito!“ he hollered, waving his baton loosely in the direction I was supposed to go.
When I look at pictures of guards in Regina Coeli in the internet now, they all look so friendly and civilised, but in those days I never saw a guard without a baton in his hand, ready for action.
Maybe they ´re doing PR even in the Queen of Heaven nowadays.
When we entered the transit area after passing through a number of "open gate!-close gate!"-rituals, I noticed the difference at once.
All the cell doors were open, something I immediately disliked, there were a bunch of guys in the corridor and I was running the gauntlet through the crowd. I was carrying a bundle of stuff with two hands, sheets, towels, soap, and some joker nicked the soap from me. I did not know how to react, I had my hands full anyway with the rest of the stuff, the guard couldn´t be bothered to help me either, so I just kept walking, hoping for the best, never mind the fuckin´soap. The guard waved his baton toward some open cell door, mumbled something in Italian and fucked off.
So this, apparently was my new home, there was only one problem.
The door was blocked by a blond giant, seemingly unwilling to let me pass through.
“German?“ he asked me in German. News travels fast in prison! I nodded silently.
“Don´t let them take your stuff from you! It´s not good!“ he reprimanded me sternly, then turned ever so slightly, so I could just squeeze through the little space he had made for me in the door to allow me to step into his cell. He had been alone in there.
I guess the guards have a nose for trouble, so they kept the other prisoners away from him, but thought it a good idea to put me together with him since I was also German.
Turned out he was a member of that venerable blood in-blood out-society, the Hells Angels.
He was from the Hamburg chapter.
In those days the jackets with their club insignia had not been forbidden yet in Germany, so he was proudly wearing his angelic frock in the Queen of Heaven.
I wondered why the guards had allowed him to keep it, maybe as a hint for the other prisoners to stay out of his way.
He was happy to finally have someone to chat with in German and was quite amused by my terrorist story. He told me he was in prison because he, in need of a new engine for his Harley had bought one from a fence. It was of course a stolen one and he got caught with it by Italian police, another holiday turned sour.
After some time he left the cell for a few minutes and when he came back, he grinned and threw a piece of soap on my bed.
My guardian angel! 😍
The Archangel Michael by Guido Reni
I just realised that this prison story has already become a small series.
Check out the other parts:
- Likedeeler Goes to Jail
- Likedeeler in the Queen of Heaven
- Likedeeler Gets Jabbed
- The Likedeeler Always Eats Twice
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