Dying Like Dogs

“Perce!” he’s yelling. “Perce, I called Kettle to ask about the money. He didn’t answer so I called around to find him. Found out he ain’t called me cause he got shot!”

“Slow down, Philly!” I keep my voice low so the people in this parking lot can’t overhear me. “Kettle got shot? Who shot him? Is he okay, what happened?”

“He’s dead, Perce.” Philly seems only slightly calmer as he tells me this. “Him, Ducky and Big Pete. All fucking dead.”

“How in the fuck?” is all I can muster, my nerves not quite catching up to the news.

“Drive-by,” my lieutenant informs me. “Outside the liquor store in Doyle Heights, man.”

“Aw, shit!” I curse quietly. “Smoke Money, right?”

“Ain’t sure who shot ‘em,” Philly tells me. “From what I can get outta people, apparently it was some sort of Nissan sedan. Tinted windows. Whoever shot ‘em ditched the thing about half a mile from where they gunned our boys down. Stolen ride, the cops are saying.”

“No one got a good look at the shooters?” I can’t believe this bullshit.

“Nah, it happened real quick so it must’ve been planned out. Only thing we know is Kettle didn’t have none of that money on him. All of ‘em straight dead and none of ‘em had anything unusual with ‘em. Cops know they’re Kingfin so they figure this shit is gang-related, but can’t figure out a motive since as far as they know we ain’t feuding with anybody.”

This strikes me as strange. Kettle’s from Sunset Point, but he’s still Kingfin and Philly still pulls rank on him so I seriously doubt he’d pocket that cash or risk leaving it with anyone. The only conclusion that I can come to is that he must’ve had it stripped off his corpse. That’s pretty sick and it’s not real likely Smoke Money’s crew would do that kind of thing if this was a vendetta hit. I highly doubt that Smoke Money has any clue we shot ‘em up at Thunder Gate, anyhow. My intuition tells me this is pure Knucklehead bullshit and that money was real, not fake.

“Three of our men dead.” I let the statement hang in the air. “Money gone off Kettle. I guess that doesn’t leave a whole lot of guesswork for us now does it?”

“What you sayin’ Perce?”

“I’m telling you this is a Knucklehead hit.” I let my tone tell him how deadly serious I am. “They want us to continue business as usual and show up at Lanky Joe’s to get at least a partial payment. When we show up, they off us.”

“You fucking serious?” Philly’s got to be foaming at the mouth now. “You think they set this shit up just to knock us off and take Benton?”

“S’right, I do. This isn’t just about Seattle, Philly. It’s some sort of gig that interests their entire fucking organization. Why else would the Diamondknuckles be doing bitch work for some fucker from LA? Why else would they toss us decent chunks of change to keep us off their asses while they dowsed the park? This isn’t some minor thing they’re looking for. Whatever it is, it’s worth a lot to them or they wouldn’t risk provoking a war with us. However, what they’ve done calls for war. None of those boys deserved to die, especially not by ambush.”

“Holy fuck!” Philly hasn’t technically known full-scare war. Beef, yes, but not war. “We’re at war?”

“Gonna need MadBlack’s approval since it’s his Doyle Heights set, but that won’t be hard for me to get. This is gonna be a war those Knuckleheads are never gonna forget. I’m going straight to MadBlack’s to get his approval. You get some troops decked out and bring ‘em to Morton’s. Fast as you can.”

Morton’s is Morton & Son’s Scrap & Salvage, our secret weapon. Philly’s got some idea about it though we’ve rarely needed to use the place before now. It’s on our payroll and he’ll learn why once things get rolling.

“Got it, Boss,” he rushes his words. “Get ‘em to Morton’s quick as I can.”

“Good. See you there.”

I click my phone shut and enter the car, smiling at Lolinda. “I hate to do this, you know I do, but I’ve got some up and coming business to handle. I’ll swing you back to your place and we’ll re-schedule the walk on the pier if that’s alright with you.”

“Okay,” her smile flickers a little. I know she’s disappointed. “I understand. You do what you’ve got to do.”

“That’s right,” I tell her, “Don’t worry, though. We’ll get together again soon, I promise you.”

She doesn’t mind 2pac and right now that’s what I need, so we listen to The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory during the trip back to her place. I make sure she has a fifty tucked down the back pocket of her jeans before I let her out of the car. She thinks I just felt her up.

Author’s Note: more tomorrow….

I Dream of Saltwater

Waking up never has been one of my favorite activities. It’s a terrible way to start the day if you ask me. Unfortunately, it’s a ritual we’re doomed to repeat our entire lives. I like being woken up even less. If a man hasn’t gotten himself to wakefulness under his own power, he surely won’t be wanting you to help him along with the process. That damned Afroman is singing again. I need a new ringtone.

My hands fumble to open the phone as my eyes struggle to stop crossing each other. I see it’s Tiff calling.

“Hey baby,” I gaze at the poster of Jamaica I’ve got tacked up on my wall. “How you holding up?”

“Not good, Perce,” her voice feels like an icicle jammed into my ear. “Not good at all. My front door got broken down, my brother damn near got killed. How the hell do you think I’m doing?”

The digital clock radio’s telling me it’s nine in the morning, which is far too early for this shit. “That’s definitely fucked up, I feel you. Important thing is that he’s alive. Boy’s been through a lot and I know you worry about him, but listen to me, if there’s–”

“No,” she cuts me off. “You listen to me. I want Sam back here with me. You about got him killed last night. I’ve been worried this fucked up city would get to him one day and I can’t take the stress any more. I want him home.”

“Now wait just a god damned minute, Tiff,” now I’m glaring at Jamaica. “I didn’t get him into this shit with Smoke Money. Matter of fact I risked my life trying to save him!”

“Right,” she scoffs. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Percy Straight, and you know it! You’re the one who got him interested in all this ‘gangsta’ bullshit. Dealing drugs and starting fights! My little brother was a good kid, a smart kid. Now look at him, just another low-life thug headed for a prison cell or a cemetery plot.”

The ice in her tone has melted away, giving way to gut-wrenching sobs. You’d think Sam died last night.

“Hey, hey now,” I try to sound comforting and not show that I’m offended. “I made sure he knew this life isn’t for everyone. I told him about the dangers and the risks, I didn’t try to sell the kid on life as a banger, you know that.”

“He’s just a baby!” she moans, nearing the hysterics I’m working to avoid here. “MY little brother!”

“Well, he might be young,” I try to be delicate in getting my point across. “But he’s no baby. Sam’s becoming a man now and what a man wants is respect. That’s why these kids fall in with gang life. They want to be treated with respect, like they’ve got dignity. You go talking like that to Sam and he’s liable to push you away.”

“Oh God!” she wails, causing the phone’s signal to fuzz a bit and me to wince. “I can’t stand it here, Perce. Sam and I are going back home to Texas with Aunt Jolene. She bought the tickets online this morning. We leave tonight.”

“What?” I sit up in bed, suddenly far more alert. “You can’t just run off like that! What about all your stuff?”

“Ladies from Aunt Jolene’s church are going to pack the rest of it for movers after we’re gone,” she sniffles. “We can’t sleep in this house anymore, Perce. I feel like my whole world’s been shattered. Seattle’s too dangerous.”

My jaw about drops. “Oh and Texas suddenly becomes an oasis of peace? Come on, Tiff! You said you hated it there. Sam hated it there, too. What about you and me?”

“I never got my front door kicked in back in Texas.” She seems to view this as something other than dumb luck. “I may not like it, but it’s home. As for you and me? What the hell are you talking about? You’ve never cared about me as anything more than another one of your easy lays so don’t make it sound like we were engaged or something. You’ll find new girls to fuck. You always do.”

‘Hell hath no fury,’ I think to myself before responding. “Far be it from me to cast judgment on you and your Aunt’s decisions, but I think you’re being a little hasty here. You got Kingfins looking out for you and that’s the best security money can buy, even though it costs you nothing. That’s cause I care about you and about Sam, too. I know this whole mess is stressful, but turning and running away isn’t going to solve your problems.”

“It’s awfully sweet of you to be looking out for us and I have enjoyed having Philly around,” she jabs me with that sly statement, “But what about a week from now? What about a month from now? Are they going to escort us to the grocery store? Go to school with Sam? It’s just not safe enough for us here anymore, Perce. Thugs like that hold grudges for a long time. We may not be tough like you and your ‘homeboys’ but we’re at least smart enough to get out of a building when we know it’s on fire.”

I let silence answer her before I respond, forcing my irritation back down. “Do what you have to, I guess.”

“So when are you bringing him home?” she asks.

“In a few hours.” I know I’m not going to win this disagreement now. “I need to sleep some first. So does Sam. I’ll get him to you later today.”

“That’s fine,” she’s lies. “Thanks again for sending Philly, he’s surprisingly quite the gentleman. A pleasure to hang out with.”

Bitch. I hang up on her, roll over and drift back to sleep.

As I sleep, I dream deeply. I dream, as I often do, of the sea. Clear blue skies over shimmering waters dark with mystery. I see a boat, rising and falling to the rhythm of the waves. I feel far away, watching this scene like an outside observer. The boat has billowing sails, pregnant with strong winds which drive it forward across the ocean. I spot a man, high up in the crow’s nest. He’s peering through a telescope back across the rear of this proud ship. I’m moving towards him, seeing the bandanna tying back his hair, the leathery features of his face and the sweat rolling down his brow. Suddenly, I can see what he sees through his telescope.

At first it’s a shape, but as I watch, its details unfold before my eyes. A ship looms forward across the horizon, a ship with a black flag snapping in the breeze. A pirate ship, I remember thinking. Then the dream fuzzes out and I can’t remember what happens between this realization and the next part I remember: smoke and fiery blasts. The ships are firing volleys from their cannons at each other, salt water splashing with each miss. Each score crashes through the timber of the first ship and the pirate vessel manages to avoid any damage at all. Men from both boats are screaming at each other, preparing their swords for the inevitable showdown. Then I see one of my friends. I can’t tell who he is, but I know that I know him. He’s not with the pirate ship, but as the pirates begin to cut down his mates, he fights valiantly. Musket balls are being emptied into sailors left and right, men going down everywhere.

Then a dark-bearded pirate steps out from the fog of smoke. A tall, thin figure who’s surely the captain of the pirates if pirates ever had captains. He’s majestic as he surveys the battle, looking down a classic Roman nose as his men savage the ship’s crew. There’s a shot fired by my friend and the captain’s hit, but no blood comes out. This is because, I realize slowly, the crimson amulet he wears around his neck deflected the musket ball. The amulet shatters and he seems shocked.

Things fade to black and once more Afroman serenades me from sleep. I try to hold onto the memories of this dream as tightly as I can before I pick up my cell.

Author’s Note: Dreams are such strange, strrange things…. More tomorrow.

All About the Bikes

We’re pulling into the Benton parking lot now. I’m surprised to see how empty the place looks without its regular commerce taking place. Just two pick-ups and a half dozen Harley Davidsons. Knuckleheads must be doing their thing. I can see shadows moving around out there, but I can’t quite make out what it is that’s going on. As Deep and I are getting out of the car, two of them come stalking in from the dark section of the park.

“Hey, man,” the smaller of the two calls. “Park’s closed tonight.”

Deep looks at me for my reaction. “It’s cool,” I tell the big guy, “We’re Kingfin. Here to check things out.”

Both men keep walking towards us, stopping once they reach us. The smaller guy has long, auburn hair spilling down over his black leather motorcycle jacket. His jeans are faded, but smeared with dirt and grease which I take to mean he actually rides one of the bikes parked out here. His companion’s wearing the same general outfit, except instead of a leather jacket he’s sporting some military issue coat and he’s put his hair back in a ponytail. The larger man crosses his massive arms over his chest, eying us from beneath dark, bushy eyebrows.

“Kingfin, huh?” his voice is raspy and softer than I’d expected. “Well, I don’t think we need any checking up on. Y’all can go on home, now.”

“Yeah,” the smaller guy pipes in, “We paid you guys fair and square for the privacy.”

I lick my lips before speaking so I can reign my temper in. “I’m Percy Straight,” addressing the larger one since I figure he’s in charge. “I’m the man who arranged this deal with Kobra.”

“That so?” the big guy’s beard shifts about as he works his jaw, thinking.

“It is,” I give him direct eye contact, “We’re not here to interrupt your gig, Mr…?”

“Big Doug,” he extends a hand, which I shake firmly, “Member of the Diamondknuckle Saxons. Our boss spoke highly of you, Mr. Straight. That’s rare.”

I nod, “Everything working out down here tonight? Any trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Big Doug relaxes into a less guarded stance. “Your boys are keeping all trouble at bay, so far. Not that we couldn’t handle it ourselves, but it’s good to see they do their job.”

“Mind if I take a look at the proceedings?” I ask, glancing towards some of the shadows moving around out under the trees.

“That’s really not up to me,” he reaches into the side pocket of his coat, pulling out a cellphone. “I can call and ask the boss if it’d be alright with him, though, if you want?”

“Go ahead,” I say, noticing Deep Kut standing over by the bikes. “Mind if I check out your rides?”

“Help yourself,” Big Doug grins slightly, “Just don’t touch nothin’.”

I can hear Big Doug making the call as I stroll over to Deep Kut, pulling out and lighting up a smoke as I go. Deep’s got his hands in his pockets, taking in the beauty of the bikes, their paint jobs glittering even in this low light. They really are a sight to see and in a good deal better shape than the more banged up pickups they’re parked near. Squatting down, Deep seems to be studying the machines, which amuses me.

“You into bikes, Deep?” I ask between drags.

“Huh?” he seems startled as he turns to look up at me. “Oh. I don’t know, I’ve always kind of liked the individuality, you know? Sort of like back in the day when a man rode a horse around to get where he was going. Wild, free kind of thing.”

I suppress a chuckle. “I guess you’re right about that. These bikes sure do speak for themselves. Can’t really picture myself riding one, but they’re good looking machines, aren’t they?”

“Hell yes.” Deep’s tone is one of awe. “Look at the paint job on this one,” he reaches out to touch the bike, “Looks like red wine poured over-”

“Hey!” I whisper. “The man told you not to touch that shit! They get real territorial about these bikes.”

“Oh,” Deep snatches his hand back like the thing was hot. “Sorry, man. Kind of hypnotizing.”

“I feel you.” I, too, am thoroughly impressed by these iron horses. One of them’s a deep shade of maroon with some sort of tribalistic design painted in silver along the body, the other’s metallic forest green up front, fading back into a pale blue towards the rear.

“Like ‘em?” The short guy seems to have materialized behind us because I don’t recall hearing him walking this way. “The Softail’s mine, the one with Polly written down low above the engine. Other one belongs to Big Doug. Rode mine up from L.A. to get here. Four day trip.”

“Nice looking bikes,” Deep says as he stands up. “Must’ve cost you some serious change, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” the biker replies. “My last bike damn near fell apart so I needed a new one, anyhow. Seabeard brothers pitched in and help me get this one custom.”

“Polly the name of the bike or your name?” I ask.

He laughs, “Nah. That’s my old lady’s name. They call me Hurk.”

“You put your mom’s name on your bike?” Deep’s eyebrow’s arching up over his shades.

“Saxons call our girlfriends our old ladies, you know?” Hurk seems highly amused by Deep Kut’s question. “Traditional thing. Goes back to the Hells Angels and all that.”

“You bring her up here with you?” I ask, glancing over to see Big Doug still talking on his cell.

“She always rides with me, wherever I go,” he speaks solemnly which draws my eyes back to him. “In my heart, you know? Passed away a few years back, but I’ll never forget her.”

“Sorry to hear that,” wishing I’d left that subject alone. “Must’ve meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Hurk’s tone is wistful. “We rode all over Southern California. Together for eight years, me and Polly. Stuck with me through a lot of bad shit.”

“That’s the kind of woman to have, for sure.” Deep Kut’s sympathy is genuine, “Stick to you when things get rough. Hard to find a lady like that.”

“Sure is.” Hurk’s making me uncomfortable with this kind of talk, so I’m glad to see his partner heading over our way, at last.

“Kobra says you’re free to take a look around as long as you’ll be quiet,” Big Doug tells me. “What they’re doing takes some concentration so we don’t want them distracted. That cool with you?”

“No problem.” I step on the last of my cigarette since it’s finished. “Just need to take a look around and we’ll be out of your hair.”

With that, Deep Kut and I head towards the park. It’s so cold the grass has iced over and it crunches under our feet. I try to minimize the sound as I take a look around. There’s several big dudes out here, clad like their pals back in the parking lot. Two of them are leaned up against trees keeping a watch over things and a few are wandering around slowly, holding Y-shaped branches out in front of them.

“The hell they doin’?” Deep Kut whispers to me.

“Dowsing,” I keep my voice as low as possible. “Looking for something below the ground out here.”

“Crazy shit,” Deep shakes his head slowly. “Any idea what they’re after?”

“Not a clue,” I respond. “Now keep quiet like the man asked us to.”

We continue on, scoping the place. Over by the bathrooms there are some candles arranged over a chalked symbol on the concrete. More symbols have been chalked on the outside wall of the bathroom, too. One particularly heavy-set biker is watching over the temporary shrine, smoking a cigarette. He eyes us suspiciously, but doesn’t move from his position to approach us. Satisfied that the Knuckleheads aren’t tearing the park up, I head back to the parking lot with Deep Kut in tow.

“Everything check out for you, Mr. Straight?” Big Doug calls as we’re stepping into the parking lot.

“Looking good,” I nod to him. “Except for the writing on the walls outside the restroom. I don’t mind the chalk but I want it off there before you pull out.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” the large man’s eyes darkened only slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be cleaned up by the time you see it next.”

“Best of luck with your dowsing out there,” I offer. “Hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Both men nod quietly. It’s something of a standstill because none of us want to be responsible for sparking any sort of war between our gangs. MadBlack would come down on my head like an anvil if I stirred up trouble at this point, so I’m trying to operate with that in mind.

Social etiquette demands that Deep and I excuse ourselves politely from the park these Saxons are renting, so we do that and head back to the Cutlass. The ambiance of Benton seems to have changed. Somehow, things feel different to me right now, but I’m unable to put my finger on it.

Author’s Note: Okay, to anyone still reading I am back after some serious upheaval in my life. I am going to post every day for a while here to get back on track so be sure to check back frequently so you don’t miss out. I apologize for the 2 months of skipping!