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Missed Signs

ALIGULA is the Michael Alig story. 

Michael Alig is currently re-drafting the book for publication.He has generously given BLUEPRINT an early draft of the minutes leading up to his and Freeze's sentencing

They had awakened me for court at 4.30 this morning and had taken me to the first holding pen of the day, the one at Riker's Island. I had waited there for nearly five hours in the overcrowded space, the floor littered with stale and smelly remnants of last night's sandwiches of bologna and government cheese.  The five hours wait wasn't unusual. I would be 16 hours I'd be in bed in my dorm at the C-95 building, and about fifteen of those would be spent in one cage or another, all of them pretty much like this one. The old-timers and career criminals called it 'Bull-Pen Therapy' because after eight or ten hours under conditions like these, you were in no shape for court. You walked in broken and beaten, exactly the way a guilty man should look.  They had finally called my name around 9.30 am, and then I had gotten shackled and put onto a rickety old school bus which had brought me here to 100 Center Street, NYC's Criminal Court Building.

After a few hours in a large pen at the courthouse, I was taken to a small one just outside the courtroom where Freeze was sitting alone, smoking a cigarette, It was 12.30, this was our last day before sentencing, and afterwards we would turn around and do it all over again in reverse.  I hadn't seen Freeze in a while. At our arraignment, the judge had slapped a separation order on us, and we were being housed in separate buildings on the island. He looked so different without his makeup, and the bleach blond had been cut out of his naturally red hair. But when he took a drag of his cigarette in that bored and slightly imperious manner, I saw that it was the same old Freez.

"What building are you in?' I asked.

"N.I.C., it's the one for high-profile cases. I'm surprised you're not there.'

'It must be that separation thingie. I'm in C-95.'

'Oh, I was in C-95 for the first three months, when I was detoxing.'

Just then I heard the unmistakable clang of a heavy gate closing somewhere in the labyrinth of the corridors which led to the pen area we occupied. Shortly, the sound of approaching footsteps and the jingle of keys drew our attention to the gate at our left. The gate opened and a guard led a young, tough-looking Puerto Rican in the pen adjacent to us. He didn't even look our way as the guard locked up and disappeared into the labyrinth.

'Oh! Detoxing!' I wailed, 'That was awful!'

'I know, but at least they didn't cut off the methadone all at once.'

'Yo!' Hollered the young Puerto Rican, 'Lemme get a bone!'

'I don't smoke,' I told him, feeling for the first time a little sorry that I didn't. He was so cute!

'I do!' chimed Freeze, eagerly, fishing in his pocket.

Freeze got out a cigarette and was about to toss it over.

'Wait!' I said, grabbing Freeze's arm, 'What do WE get out of this?'

I looked through the bars at the adorable little thug.

'Hey!' he began, pointing at us, ' Ain't you those club kids? The ones I saw on TV who killed that guy Angel?'

Yes, I'm Michael Alig. Now what do we get if we give you one of our last cigarettes?'

'What do you want?' he asked, grinning slyly.

'Show us your dick.'

'Get outta here!' he laughed.

'Fine. C'mon Freeze. Let's sit over here.'

I walked to the back of the pen and took out a deck of cards. Freeze followed and we sat facing each other, pointedly ignoring the Puerto Rican.

"Hey, yo! I used to go to Disco 2000 every Wednesday…'

We didn't answer.

'Yo! One time I bought coke from that nigger Angel. His shit was whack yo!'

'Listen, could you please be quiet? Freeze and I are trying to play Gin.'

"My bad, yo.'

'But Freez smokes a lot when he plays Gin,' I sing-songed, 'so if you want a cigarette…well…'

He didn't answer, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him fumbling with his belt.

'This what you wanna see?'

I looked over and he had his dick out. It was long and uncut.

'Get it hard,' said Freeze helpfully as we got up and approached the bars.

'Yeah Blancitas, you wanna see it hard? He asked lewdly, stroking it.  He put on a fabulous show, jerking off and talking dirty until he came, thick gobs which shot though the bars and splattered onto the floor in the space between our pens. And just in the nick of time, too!

We heard the key being inserted into the door and on our right before it opened, and then a white-shirted courtroom officer stepped though yelling, ' They're ready for you!'

He led us out of the pen, and as we walked through the short hallway, watching where we stepped, Freeze tossed a cigarette to our friend. After all, a deal's a deal.

The courtroom looked just like any other - lots of dark stately wood, rows of church pews. You seen one, you seen 'em all. Freeze and I had pleaded guilty to manslaughter in the first degree back in September. Today was October 1, 1997, the date we were to be sentenced.

Freez went first, and before the judge imposed the sentence, he asked Freez if he had anything to say to the court. I nearly choked when Freeze got up and gave a long, prepared, and genuinely heartfelt speech. I had nothing! I wasn't prepared to give a speech! My lawyer had assured me that we would be postponing the sentencing, but the judge had refused the motion! This was all happening too fact! It was almost my turn and I had nothing!

'Now then,' the judge was saying to Freeze, 'I impose a sentence of 10 - 20 years incarceration…'

Freeze was done and now the judge asked me to stand and address the court if I so desired. I got up and tried to explain how I wasn’t ready because my lawyer had told me we wouldn't be doing the sentencing today. I said how bad I felt. I DID feel bad. I felt awful, but the more I talked, the worse things got. The judge was not amused. He embarked on quite a speech of his own, and, looking back at the crowd of reporters, I wondered if he hadn't done a little preparing himself.

'Mr. Alig,' he began, taking a deep breath,'…Angel Melendez is the victim…and he is the victim of your selfish, uncontrolled ego that has yet to be harnessed, that has yet to face reality.'

'Mr. Alig, you are sentenced to 10 to 20 years. For you, the show is over. THE PARTY IS OVER!'  

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