The Tale of Jimmy the Jailbreak

I kept telling them they'd never get me up those gallows' steps. "There's not a jail in this world that can hold Jimmy the Jailbreak, no sir." They never did believe me though, none of the wardens, guards, or inmates. Always thought I was just boasting. Well, of course they did with all the boasting that goes on in jails. But it didn't matter how many jails I sprung from they still wouldn't believe me.

"I'm not too old or too dumb to let a cretin like you slip past me," Warden Meyers had told me. He was though. Dumb and old. His was the first jail I sprung. Down there in Tulsa. Raggedy old cell, the damn bars were rusted half to hell and the dumb old bastard didn't even notice when I lifted a fork from my meal. Used it to chip away one of the bars' foundations, you know where it's mounted on the cage, I snapped the bar clean off. Bet after he seen me gone he wondered how I slipped through a gap that small. It was tight but I was thin as a hangnail back then. That was fifteen years ago, of course, couldn't do nothing like that these days, not with this gut I carry with me.

Walked right out the front door and made my way to Texas. Boy, I'll never make my way there again. Meanest damn place on earth, if you ask me, and everyone there fancies themself a sheriff. Yes sir, everyone there is either outlaw or sheriff, no two ways about it. Can't get away with nothing. Well, that's where I met sheriff Blake. Mean sum bitch that one. He'd sic the dogs on you for snoring too loud cause he slept like a damned rabbit, always on high alert. He trusted them dogs too much though. He'd let them be guards while he was out, the damned fool. He'd leave your cage unlocked some nights and say, "you can walk right out if you don't mind my dogs chewing off your man bits."

Of course, I've always had a way with animals and it don't really take much to earn a dog's love. Just a few scraps of food here and there. Them dogs loved steak too. Funny thing is, that was the hardest part, convincing one of the deputies to share his steak with me one night and making him think I had it all gone. Then you talk to 'em all sweet and gentle like, and it don't take long 'til you get 'em licking brine from between your fingers. Then you just let 'em in the cage with you and close the door behind you on your way out. No one had ever dared to test them dogs 'til me.

My hat trick, that's three jailbreaks in a row, came in Arizona. Golly, what was the name of that town again? Small place, right outside Tucson. Can't even remember that's how small it was. Another raggedy old jail. This town had some flooding right 'fore they booked me there. Rotted out some of the boards in the corner. That guard slept like a bear in hibernation and didn't even hear me kick a small hole out the damned wall. Can you believe that? I'm sure he couldn't.

Sometimes I do wish I could see their faces when they realize I'm gone. I get a kick just picturing 'em. Though, I heard Blake down in Texas put them dogs down on the spot for letting me out. Like I said, he's a mean sum bitch.

Quite frankly I feel all this wanted business is overblown. I never hurt nobody, not really. See, I'm what they call a con man. They calls it stealing but I don't see it that way. I may have fibbed here and there but nothing I ever took wasn't given to me willingly. To me, it's more honest work than anyone in government I ever heard of.

My biggest mistake was being caught in Tulsa. Oklahoma is a mean place. Not as mean as Texas mind you, but it's close. Neighbors in proximity and neighbors in meanness, yes sir. Can't do nothing dishonest down there that don't get you on a chain gang or earn you a hanging. Well, I'm not built for hard labor, and you'll forgive for me not wanting to hang. I heard of guys who take twenty minutes or more to finally parish hanging from a noose. I says to myself, "I ain't sticking round to see which one some judge sends me too." Well, when you jump jail once then you're wanted everywhere you go. They had bounty hunters after me anywhere I went. Shame really. Never really had a fair shake at starting an honest life. Too hard to start over in this country these days.

By Tucson I had learned to hide lock picks so well I could sneak 'em in and out of any jail in the Southwest. I'd pick them locks 'fore they even finished closing the door. Alright, that there is a fib, but I was good dang it. Sheriff down there thought he snagged all my picks but I had one under my tongue and used it to pick the cell. That ain't boasting, that's just the truth. That's when they all took to calling me Jimmy the Jailbreak.

Then there was Santa Fe and Albuquerque, where I sprung from twice. I count it twice anyway, I got outside. Course it wasn't a clean getaway, they nabbed me the next morning but I did get out. It counts.

Boy, I sure did love New Mexico. Course, I knew I should have left the Southwest. Could have gone up to the coast and started fresh but that dessert had my heart and I couldn't let it go.

Then there was Moab where I let out all the prisoners in the joint. Some I let out seemed mean. They didn't talk much, they just had a mean look to 'em. I thought twice about letting them out but they was in a cell with my buddy Joe. We met in that jail and I don't know how's I knew it but I knew, Joe did not belong in that jail. That's why I sprung him. He just wanted another chance to start an honest life.

After I sprung from jail in Durango some group of Federal Marshals tracked me down in the Rockies. Those feds did not play around, I'll tell you. They had no sense of humor. First time I sprung the cuffs they didn't even smile. I handed 'em right back to one of 'em and said "I believe you dropped these sir." Well after that they used rope to tie my hands and watched me in shifts. We didn't stop 'til we got to Denver.

They managed to hold me all the way through my trial. That Denver judge said it was high time I paid for my crimes and springing jail eight times was enough evidence for him that I was too hard to contain and that they'd be needing to put me to death.

Those city prisons, boy, they are something else. Had guards on me at all times, had me wearing prison clothes so I couldn't sneak nothing in, even checked under my tongue this time. Sometimes, they'd put me in a room with no windows, just a door. Warden told me, Warden Wagner, that is, "the devil himself couldn't break out of this prison." He might have been right about that, but the devil is a warden himself, what's he know about prison breaks? Besides, the devil ain't half as clever or half as liked as me.

Remember my buddy Joe I mentioned? Well, turns out he did make an honest man of himself after all. He had moved to Denver and became, of all things, a baker. He wrote me saying that when he read about my case in the paper and felt obliged to help.

So, when they asked me what I want for my last meal I says, "Carrot cake. Like mama used to make. And I don't want it made by no prison chef either. They can't cook for shit." Course, my mama never made a decent cake in her life but they didn't need to know that. And there is only one decent baker in town who happens to be my best friend and they don't need to know that either.

Then, when they roll in a giant chocolate cake first thing I tell 'em is, "I don't know which one of you damned fools placed this order but I'm deathly allergic to chocolate. I'll drop dead before I even see the noose." Of course, that was a fib too.

They asked old Joe why he made it so damn big. He said he gots to get rid of extra ingredients 'fore they go bad and he can't see a better reason to celebrate than the hanging of the most notorious jailbreaker in the four corners. And, when I tell you this cake was big, I tell you what, it was big as Mount Evans. They had to bring it inside in sections.

Well, they all figure it's better not to waste food and someone might as well enjoy that cake. It fed all the guards, the warden, the prison cooks, hell, they were handing slices to guests who come to see me hang. Why people want to gather around to see a man die beats me. Makes 'em worse criminals than me in my book.

Man, my buddy Joe, he sure is one hell of a baker. Nobody makes a chocolate cake like him. Even with as strong a sleeping draught as he mixed in that chocolate, couldn't nobody taste it. In half an hour the whole prison was 'sleep. I snatched the picks he baked into the middle, snatched some clothes from one of the guards, and walked out like there was nothing to it.

Joe met me outside and we head up together to Iowa to start fresh. I'm not as good a baker as he is but I do my part. I've thought about going back and trying for my tenth breakout. Double digits sure would be nice. But I was just a few hours from the noose and that's the closest I ever want to be. A hat trick of hat tricks, that's what I call it, will have to be good enough. Of course, some folks say that Denver breakout was a prison break, not a jailbreak. I can have jailbreaks or prison breaks but I can't lump 'em in together. I never did like people who sit on technicalities like that.

I sure do miss the Southwest though. I'd go back if they'd take me without hanging me. At the very least I hope to be buried there one day so my spirit can watch that sunrise every morning. And if that warden, the devil, thinks he can keep me from it, he's got another thing coming.