The autobiography of ""Hurricane"" Carter, who once was top contender for the world middleweight boxing title and now serves a sentence of triple life imprisonment for murder, is written with bad-ass egoism, heat and a clang of cliches. But its message is clear: ""Hurricane's"" not guilty and he expects to get some justice down there in New Jersey's Rahway State Prison. Carter's life is one of almost unrivaled misery. Almost -- he's had some successes, won some championships, some money, a Lincoln Continental, wife, daughter -- while some hard-hick guys he pulled time with are long dead in the electric chair. Raised in Paterson, Carter was sent to a state home for boys when he was only eleven. This place was a living bloodbath from which he escaped five years later to join the paratroopers. In Germany he won some army boxing titles, came home rolling in dough, was slapped back into confinement for his unexpired term. As a pro boxer, he racked up an enviable record, learned to hit hard and fast. He was convicted of a triple bar slaying in 1967 but his version of his trial and the evidence strongly suggests a police frame-up. His pictures of prison life seem overdrawn but probably aren't. Behind his big wind there may even be a real Rubin Carter.