The supply chain ends in cell block C
The supply chain ends in cell block C
Nikki MammanoTue, March 17, 2026 at 8:56 PM UTC
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In the following excerpt from Breaking Good, author Nikki Mammano recalls an early encounter at Oahu Community Correctional Center that showed her the value of soft power… even behind bars. This passage explores just one step in Nikki’s winding road from abused child to criminal prodigy to homeless addict to suburban mother seeking her own healing and redemption. It has been edited for length and clarity.
I was arrested on a Thursday—January 26, 1995. Within a week, I’d been shuttled to OCCC. My cell was small and dark, barely enough room for a bunk bed, a toilet, and a sink. My only window was blacked out, so after lights out, I couldn’t see a thing.
On my second night, I jerked awake at the sound of the door and flinched at the blinding light from outside. Two pairs of hands grabbed me, pulling me from my top bunk and dragging me out of my cell—guards. I asked them what was happening, but they didn’t answer. They just marched me along so fast my feet barely touched the stairs down to the first level, where they shoved me into a room and locked the door behind me.
Once the shock subsided, I sat at the metal table and waited for…, I had no idea. I had more than a passing suspicion I was about to be assaulted or worse. Given my surroundings, assuming the worst seemed to make sense. Time, or at least your perception of it, expands considerably in prison. I was probably only in there a few minutes, but it felt like hours, and just as I was about to start climbing the walls, the door opened and a guard came in, holding two huge paper bags. It wasn’t one of the guards who had dragged me in there. I knew him.
“Oscar!” I whispered, afraid it was all a dream, like saying his name too loudly might make him evaporate. Despite all the business I did with OCCC, it had never occurred to me I might run into a client, but there he was. Oscar gave me an uneasy smile and took a seat, setting the bags down on the table.
“I was processing some new-arrival paperwork, and your mugshot came up.”
“Yeah? Good picture?” My poorly timed attempt at humor completely failed to lighten the mood. Oscar just shook his head, confused. He knew me as this savvy, cutthroat dealer who could take care of herself. Getting caught didn’t exactly fit that image.
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“God, Nikki. What happened?”
I brought him up to speed, telling him all about how I’d been profiled by the feds, set up by a friend who’d sold me out. He asked if I was all right, if anyone had hurt me yet. The “yet” was not comforting, but I kept the conversation moving. I realized very quickly that in prison, protection was key. I was a little slower on the uptake with what Oscar was offering. Fortunately, as he was leaving he spelled it out for me.
“That’s all yours,” he said, nodding to the bags on the table. I peeked inside quickly to find smokes, toiletries, food, candy, and more. He must have cleaned out half the commissary. “There can be more of that, and an eye or two on your back…if you don’t talk.”
It’s hard to believe that up until that moment I hadn’t considered the power I possessed. There were probably a dozen guards walking the premises at that very moment with contraband in their pockets that they’d bought from Oscar, who had bought it from me. A few words in the right ears, a few answers to questions no one had even thought to ask, and I could take the whole prison down, earning myself some leniency, likely even walking free. Someone as far along in the process as I was, already booked, transferred, and awaiting trial, rarely had that kind of get-out-of-jail-free card in their pocket, and I can’t believe I didn’t use it. I mean, Oscar was a nice guy and all, but I felt no loyalty toward him, not enough to rot in jail to cover his butt.
But he was a known quantity, and even if exposing him and the other guards would get me a deal, there was no telling how long that process might take or what might befall me in the interim. An assurance of some limited security and a few creature comforts carried a lot more weight at that moment than a chance at freedom. There are times you ante up and bet everything, and maybe this was one of them, but I wasn’t about to chance it. The house almost always wins.
Liked the excerpt? You can buy the book on Amazon, other online booksellers, or get a signed copy at www.nikkimammano.com.
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Source: “AOL Entertainment”
