My job selling dope was a rough trade.
I had another shooting situation while carrying groceries and dope. Several thugs stepped out of the shrubs on both sides of me. It was dark out and the attack was so sudden at close range. They slammed me down in a frenzy of flailing fists and feet. My skull was stomped and my body bludgeoned under a barrage of blows and holds. A baton belted me. They were ripping apart the groceries and pulling out my pockets when my pistol popped in the air and scattered them.
Two of the pack pulled pistols. Their muzzle fire flashed at me and bullets bounced off the building and cracked concrete ricocheting away with wicked whines. I was pelted by pieces of spitting shrapnel as I leveled my barrel on the center body mass of one's silhouette. My slug thumped his gut and he was walloped and wounded. He collapsed on concrete and sprawled in shrubs.
The other gunner almost got me. His pistol popped frenetically firing a fusillade. He was jerking the trigger as quickly as he could. His salvo of shots peppered pavement and clipped concrete failing to find me. I tried to level my barrel on center mass and squeezed off two shots. He screamed as my 38 round bit into his bicep, mangling meat and breaking bone. He dashed from the path crying out in agony. I grabbed my dope and remaining money and left.
Once again I wasn't caught for the gunfight in the LA ghetto. Ironically what got me locked up didn't have anything to do with shooting. I was passing some drunk punks in their twenties when their car swerved in front of me and made me flip off my skateboard and bounce off the car hood. I was jarred hard and angry.
“Watch where you're driving asshole!" I snapped.
"You watch it dumb ass! You skated into me and dented my hood!" He yelled back while pointing at his car hood.
One of his big buddies suddenly shoved me. "Watch your mouth punk!" The bully said belligerently.
Without thinking I snap kicked his shin and he forgot everything, except his searing shin bone agony. I launched and landed a right hook to his head and my left arm clotheslined his neck, snagging him in a side headlock before collapsing on the concrete, where I secured an anaconda choke on his throat. It was quite quick and he was licked, but the problem with those wonderful jujitsu submission holds is that they're only good for one guy. While you're holding one guy, the others can hurt you.
Someone kicked me in the back and I was flooded with punches pummeling me by the pack. My fists and feet whipped fast back at them allowing me to bounce back from their attack. One of them flicked out a lethal looking knife and I pulled out the little pistol I carried. He realized he brought a knife to a gunfight and they got in their car leaving. I was relieved I didn't have to shoot the fool or his friends. I was worried about carrying the gun, so I buried it along a park.
Cop cars suddenly swooped in on me and I wiped out again. The cops pointed pistols and yelled at me. I carefully surrendered. They searched me and didn't find a gun. But a female officer stepped in and shoved her hand down my jeans and came up with a bunch of bagged crack rocks.
I was hauled to jail and they played their games trying to get me to say I had a gun and that I was dealing dope. The young drunk punks had called the cops on me. I asked for a lawyer and they locked me up. The next morning I saw a public defender and he showed me the criminal complaints. I was charged with felony Endangering Safety by Conduct Regardless of Life. The punks claimed they never touched me and that I shot above their heads when we argued. I was also being charged with possession with intent to deliver over a half ounce of crack. The way I had the rocks bagged separately made it look like I was selling it all.
My public defender clearly didn't care. He was in a rush and suggested I snitch out my supplier. He agreed to request a speedy jury trial. He warned me that the ADA was aware that I was the kid that they suspected of the mass shooting years ago and that I had fled my group home. That would create a high bail for me because I was a flight risk and no stable home address. I was upset and while waiting for court an angry inmate that just received a high bail shoved past me. I shoved back. My bulky oversized jumpsuit hid my build and he towered a head over me. He underestimated me and jackhammered my head with an overhand punch. I snagged his neck with my left arm in a side headlock and drilled him with two short right hooks. He grabbed my legs and hefted me high to body slam. But I had a solid lock on his neck and when we came down his head hit concrete under me. He didn't stir and blood was everywhere. He'd cracked his own head open. I backed off and we were escorted elsewhere while they worked on him.
He had a concussion and a bunch of stitches in his skull. And he pressed charges on me for it with two inmate witnesses. They all claimed I battered him. I was facing more years in prison for battery by prisoner.
Needless to say I had a huge bail and even if I could bait out I'd be on an ankle bracelet in a group home. I couldn't pay the bail. I couldn't reach Scot by phone. I found out the ADA knew I was doing deliveries for Scot and wanted me to help bust him. I refused. I'd later learn Scot went on the run because he knew cops wanted him. I started out doing my time in a dorm.
There were over 50 teens in the dorm. Only one guard sat in there and he couldn't see everything. The cameras had only partial coverage too. Our sleeping area had bunk beds and lockers. There was a TV room and a big bathroom. We received rec daily for an hour of lifting weights or playing basketball or volleyball. There were also exercise bikes. There was a small library. I had a few hundred dollars in my account allowing me to buy canteen items like food, coffee, a radio, and writing supplies. There were of course gangs that roamed the dorms being bullies.
The gang running the dorm expected me to pay protection. The lead gangster was Brutus. He claimed he was a Blood gangster. He was 17 and tall with a lot of muscles from weightlifting. His skin was black as coal and he stayed clean shaven on his face and head. He had a gold front tooth. He had 8 followers and had done two years for violent crimes. He was also very racist and considered me a “white boy" because my skin was so light. I told him to fight me where there were no cameras. Since I called him out alone in front of his pack, he had to face me in a fight. We squared off and he tried a bull-rush with punches focused on grounding and pounding me with his superior height and weight. My side thrust kick caved in his ribs making him woof out wind as his breath was blasted out. The force flung him back several steps and he looked hurt and surprised.
"You gonna kick like a bitch instead or box like a man!" He was accused and charged again.
This time he tried kicking at my leg while slinging a haymaker at my head. I blocked his kick with my foot and bobbed back from his attack. He charged and I faked a face punch at him.
When he grabbed at my arm, my snap kick slammed his stomach. His punch still swatted the side of my skull. I let loose, launching several straight punches at his head. Like an experienced brawler, he wrapped his arms around his head for cover while whaling away at me. I stopped striking and snatched him in a side headlock that spilled us on the floor. He tried to use the ground for his gain. I absorbed some stabbing jabs before I locked a guillotine choke on his throat. He thrashed and lashed his limbs trying to escape a hold he didn't understand.
Someone stamped my back as Brutus' buddies barged in to bomb me with blows and swift kicks. I had to let Brutus go and deal with the flailing fists of the first fella. He was much taller. I used low blows ramming his ribs with hooks like Rocky used to hammer sides of beef in a freezer. The savage strikes folded him up.
But then I collided with others and we all came out of the bathroom hailing each other with hits and misses. The cop called in reinforcements by radio and guards rushed in ending the wild battle. They hauled us to the hole. I was sporting cuts and bruises from plenty of punches and kicks that I'd endured. I had to get some stitches above my eye. But I'd put up quite a fight. That was good I guess. But it sure hurt.
The hole was horrible. I was trapped in a small cage 23 hours a day with nothing but boredom. I was going nuts with nothing to do.
On my 4th day I hit my lowest point since my dad died. I found a way that I could wrap a noose around my neck and hang myself from the sink if I carefully laid down letting the noose tighten. I prayed to God for forgiveness for what I was about to do and I tried talking to my dad. I was hoping that he was in spirit form able to hear me. Then I got ready to leave my prison through death.
Instead of fear of the unknown regarding what might wait for me, I heard the jailer's keys jingling and footsteps clomping down the corridor. He stopped at my door and peered through the tiny Plexiglas window. Then he slid something under the door before he continued on. I picked up my mail. It was a money order receipt for six hundred dollars. I didn't recognize the sender's name, but I had no doubt that it was from Scotland. I didn't have anyone else that gave a damn. The gift gave me new life and distracted me from my plans of suicide.
Sometimes the little things in life keep us going.
Bio:
Tom Kropp’s work has appeared in The Horror Zine, J Journal, Chiron Review, Churches, Children and Daddies, Down in the Dirt, Freedom Fiction Journal, Short-Story Me, Blood Moon Rising, Dark Harbor, Flash Phantoms, You Phantomaniacs Anthology, The Listening Eye, Evening Street Review, Conceit, Spotlight on Recovery, Outdoor Life and Muscle and Fitness. His play Jailhouse Confessions was performed at the Kennedy Center in 2019. He has numerous novels and audiobooks available with many free through Google Play Books. You can read more of his writings at https://tomkropp.wordpress.com.