There was only three Black men that worked in the Annex when I was there, Carr, Jackson and Cooper, we called him “Coop” for short. Coop was very dark skinned and had a White wife. We were cool, because I had a White boyfriend. I knew Coop knew, too, because of the way he treated me. All the Black women would call out, “He likes White women”, sometimes when he came into the pod. Information they needed to know, because Coop was good looking. Tall, dark and handsome, and the “women” were always looking to one up their stay by having sex with a deputy, and maybe they could go in the Trustee pod, where they get ice and free hot food every day. That’s burgers, wedges, calzones and Pepsi. Coop was cool, too. He mostly just sat in the control room, “the bubble” and ate. I don’t think they were supposed to do that, but they always did it. Claus and Bowerman ordered pizza, one of the sergeant’s got Popeyes from across the street and the big deal was Hungry Howie Cheesy bread sticks. Inmates traded sexual favors for cheesy bread sticks.
One day I was talking to one of the Angels. In the span of seven years, I met four Angels while in Oakland County Jail. This Angel was a street walker from Detroit. She’s the one who stayed up all night and slept all day, because she didn’t want to break up her routine, because when she left there, she was going right back to the streets. She told me all about her boyfriend and I told her about mine, who at the time was a Pontiac Police Detective. He is also my first so-called victim. She didn’t believe me. She thought that like most people in jail did, I was lying. She is also the Angel that had gotten so skinny that she could fit through her food slot and at night she sits and talks to the deputies and have sex; of course. She was telling them what I said about who my boyfriend is and they said I was lying, and she would come back with some heavy questions. To this day, they tell people if I talk to him, I’m going back to prison. So, I keep away from talking about him to people. One day, however, I got fed up with Angel’s doubting and questions. She even tried to say I was still stalking him, because I knew he likes Honey Nut Cheerios. I know more than that. He is my man and finds a way to tell me things. Like before I came home from prison, his corrupt peers told the dope man where he lives in Pontiac and forces him to move an hour away and take the Amtrack every day an hour both ways. Things I don’t know are how long he did that for. He works here only once a week now, Ted Quisenberry refused to allow him to work on the drug task force, once OCSD took over the Pontiac Police. He got a new job and came back as their boss.
The Angel woman lived next to me in cell 16, and I lived in front of the staircase in cell 17. One day while she was questioning me about my man, Coop was coming up the stairs. When he got to the landing, right in front of my door, I called out to him, “Coop, who is my boyfriend?” He never slowed his pace, so he had to look over his shoulder towards me and answered, with my man's name. He said it was not me! Sadly, at her next orgy with the boys, she told them who Coop had said my man was. He was in big trouble. The next time he came into the control room and sat at the desk to eat a sub, about six White male deputies stood over him talking like he wasn’t even there. Just chatting away, like he wasn’t there eating his sandwich. He kept hesitating when he took a bite, one of them took a bite one off them would make a hand gesture or raise an elbow towards him and his food. “That whore had gone back and told them”, I thought to myself, and now Coop was in trouble. I felt bad for him, but there was nothing I could do for him. They were mean to me, too.
I loved to sit in my food slot and watch what went on in the bubble. Like the fact that Beane had a user id and password that he had access to everything. He could look up anything, but mostly he would sit there and order all the commissary and hot food for the women with it. I would sit in my food slot and watch him do it. Like I said before, it was probably the username and password to a friend of his he “come in” with, and was now a Sergeant or lieutenant now, who was into prostitution and used him to take care of the girls. Like Della Reese in “Harlem Nights”. When I kept writing about it, they took his illegal username and password away. Bowerman came in one day lost; he wanted to know what happened to open access. Oh yeah, I made it my business to see what went on in the bubble from my vantage point. I could never get Coop to say his name out loud again. You can’t get him to admit to a corrupt cop that he’s my man, either. In 2002, they planned to say he was the cop helping my brother and his co-defendants sell drugs in Pontiac and take him down with them, if he didn’t say I was stalking him. He had just got his promotion and his mother was sick. 650 grams of drugs is a lot and no cop, especially a good cop deserves to go to prison when he’s not guilty of anything. We weren’t even that close in 2002, but now, I’m 10 toes down for him.
It’s been 24 years, and 18 years since I been out of prison. The pimps at OCJ can’t stand it, but it’s true. Cooper knows it, and they know it, too. If they know that for a fact that I’m more than a stalker. They kept making him get bogus PPO’s and trying to send me back to prison. He had to go to court the last time they charged me and got caught lying to make them stop. I don’t know if this blog won’t spark a new case. He’s scared. Look what they did to Jackson! My man isn’t Black, it’s true, but I am. I have had three other men claim I’m stalking them since my case with him in 2002, and I’ve never stalked anyone, not even him and I did four years in prison for it. My brother did 19 years on his case, but they still want to pin a lie on an innocent man, but at this point, they’ll just like to pin something on me. My blogs are lethal to their hustle and people are listening and pulling FOIA’s requests and stuff. They say I want to be famous, but I just want to be heard and the truth to be known. Oh, and my man, I want my man.
"Do not be deceived, bad company corrupts good morals" 1 Corinthians 15:33
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