Eastside (10 page)

“Nineteen murders and no evidence?” Riley shouted. “What the fuck's going on down here in Bubba Land?”

Travon swallowed hard when he heard the numbers, and his opinion of Lil Fade changed once again. He was now absolutely certain that Lil Fade was a psycho.

Lil Fade smiled at the conversation going on just behind him. He hadn't had his tattoos worked on in a while. He would have to add five more blue teardrops, and two more red ones.

Dominguez took exception to Riley's bubba remark. “Look, we do the best we can, with what we've got! We can't get sufficient Federal funding for our gang programs, because we're not busting big-time dope dealers and seizing tons of shit! Instead, we do the grunt work, and we get the crumbs. We make it safe for old ladies to sit on their porches at night, and not have to worry about drive-bys. We raid the crack houses, and the gang hangouts, and we get the fully automatic weapons off of the streets. We police the clubs, the movie theaters, and your got damned midnight basketball games, but when we request help, what do they send us? They send us you two, and six more like you! Boy, now we can surround the sixteen thousand gang members this city has! Agents Riley and Danforth, you are here to assist, observe, and learn, so please, observe!”

Dominguez turned and faced Lil Fade once again. “This is Lil Fade. He has been active since he was about eight years old. Turn around, Lil Fade!”

Lil Fade turned and smiled at the deputy.

Dominguez pointed at a tattoo on Lil Fade's chest and explained.

“This kid is a BSV. He's been shot eight times, and he's put his poor mother through hell. She's called the cops on him a couple of times. Said that she'd rather have him in jail, than dead. Real nice lady.” Dominguez squinted and fixed his gaze on Lil Fade. “How many bullets do you still have inside of you?”

“Shit, about fourteen,” Lil Fade answered.

Dominguez patted Lil Fade on his shoulder. “You're gonna die of lead poisoning, kid.” Dominguez moved down the line to Darius. “Where y'all headed?”

“To Pletz Park,” Darius answered.

Dominguez nodded. “Turn around, D.”

Darius turned and faced the deputy.

“Any new tats?”

Darius shook his head. “No.”

“Any trouble with the ETGs lately?” Dominguez asked.

Darius shrugged. “No, not really.”

“Nothing you can't handle, huh?” Dominguez asked with a smile.

The boys laughed.

Dominguez pointed at Travon and Marcus. “So, what's the deal with the youngsters, Darius? I thought we talked about that. You guys, the ETGs and the WCGs said that you were gonna leave the kids alone. No new members.”

“I ain't recruited nobody, and I ain't put nobody on the hood,” Darius told him. He pointed toward Travon and Marcus. “That's my brother, and our cousin.”

“Is that Lil Marcus over there? I didn't even recognize him.”

“And even if somebody was to wanna get down for the hood, how could I stop them?” Darius added.

Dominguez turned toward the other deputies. “We got
three
knowns over here. The other is Lil Marcus.”

A deputy approached, pointing at the boys. “We got all the info we need on these two, and I'm sure that we got all of Marcus's info, we just need to pull it up. That leaves us with just one unknown.”

“Car's clean, Boss,” another informed Dominguez. “Everything's okay, no tickets, no warrants, good insurance. We're all a go. K-9's heading over to W.W. White Road where Team Four is. Johnson, Murray, Dickson, and I will stay here and fingerprint, photo, and document the unknown. The rest of the guys are going to head back to the substation, Boss.”

Dominguez smiled and nodded. “Good job, Nick.”

Nick nodded, turned, and walked off.

Dominguez turned back to Travon and folded his arms. “So, what's your story?”

Travon shook his head. “Nothing.”

“What are you? I don't see any tattoos, bullet scars, or any other kind of markings. Let me guess, you're Kirby posse.”

“No.”

“Lime Street?”

Again, Travon shook his head. “No.”

“A BTP?”

Travon smiled smugly, and again shook. “No.”

“Skyline?”

“Nope.”

Dominguez unfolded his arms and frowned. “Well, you're too damned clean to be an RCG, a BSV, or a Bounty Hunter.” He threw his hands up into the air. “Okay, I give up, which one are ya?”

“I ain't in no gang,” Travon told him.

“Bullshit!” Dominguez bellowed. “C'mon, kid, don't play games with me. I've been doing this stuff since before you were born. I can smell a Blood!”

Travon shook his head. “I'm not!”

Dominguez exhaled forcibly. “Okay, look here, kid. For one, Lil Fade would have killed you if you were anything else. Two, there are a shit load of red bandannas in the car, along with a bunch of red baseball caps. So I suppose that none of that stuff is yours? You can't bullshit me, Blood, it only pisses me off. I've been doing this stuff for too long to fuck around with kids like you. Watch this, and learn.”

He turned to Lil Fade. “Say, Lil Fade, what set you claim?”

“That's a dumb fuckin' question,” Lil Fade told him. “My heart pumps Blood, fool!”

Dominguez turned back to Travon. “You see! He knows that he's a fucking low-life, gang-banging, cocksucker, and he ain't afraid to admit it. If you joined it, then claim it!”

Travon shook his head. “I ain't joined shit!”

Darius finally spoke up. “He hasn't been put on the hood.”

Dominguez lifted his eyebrows in surprised. “How long you been out in the Heights?”

“For a while now,” Travon acknowledged.

“Where are you from?” Dominguez queried.

“San Antonio.”

“No, numb nuts, where did you live before you moved into the hood?”

Travon hesitated for several seconds before answering. “Wheatley Courts.”

Dominguez turned to one of the deputies. “Look in the WCG files.”

The deputy tapped away at his computer for several moments before finally peering up at his boss. “Negative, Boss.”

“Try his full name, it's Travon Robinson!” Dominguez ordered.

The deputy tapped at his computer again. “Negative, Boss. I keep coming up with a Davon Robinson, WCG, deceased.”

Dominguez quickly turned toward Darius. “Davon was your cousin, wasn't he?”

Darius nodded.

“You say that this here is your cousin, and he says that he is from the Wheatley Courts, so that means Davon was your brother,” Dominguez said, pointing to Travon. “It ain't too hard to figure out, once you put all of the pieces into place. So, Too-Low was your brother, huh?”

Travon smiled and nodded. Dominguez
was
good.

“So, let me guess,” Dominguez continued. “Too-Low gets smoked, so Elmira panics and sends you to live in the Heights with your aunt. And now you're hanging around with your low-life cousins and their homeboys in the Heights, wearing red and listening to that god-awful ‘
Piru Love'
shit!”

He turned to the other deputies. “Put him down as a Blood. No set yet, just place him into the general Blood category. He's probably active, but not dangerous yet, so make him an
A
for active. We'll give him a medium-to-high danger level, because he's hanging around with Darius and Lil Fade.”

Dominguez exhaled forcibly. “You boys finish up here; I'm going over to the other stop, where Team Four is. From there, I'll head over to Team Three. I'll see you guys later. Good clean job you boys did.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” one of the deputies replied.

Dominguez waved the deputy off. “I'm still Sarge until Monday.”

An officer whose name tag read Dickson, approached Travon with an armload of material. The deputy filled out a large index card with Travon's name, date of birth, nickname, mother's name, cousins' names, place of residence, aunt's name, social security number, and his suspected gang affiliation.

Then he took Travon's hand, pressed it into a large ink pad, and pressed the same hand onto a large, thick, manila card. The deputy repeated the process with Travon's other hand, and then once more, going finger by finger.

“Now, I just need for you to sign this form,” Dickson told Travon, handing him a pen.

Travon scribbled his signature on the form, and then handed the pen back to the deputy. A second deputy approached, and snapped a couple of pictures of Travon. A third deputy took Travon's hand, turned his palms up, and waved a bar-type scanner over them.

“What's that for?” Travon inquired.

“It uses a laser to scan your fingerprints directly into our systems,” the deputy explained.

“Okay, listen up,” Dickson told them, clapping his hands loudly. “Since you have all been so cooperative, we are going to forget about the noise pollution ticket. You gentlemen have a nice day, and stay out of trouble.”

“Y'all young brothers be careful,” an officer named Johnson told them. “Cooney, Preto, Greyhound, and Kong are patrolling the area around the park for SAPD today. So you might not even want to head that way.”

“Especially since y'all ain't got no money on y'all,” another deputy added.

Dickson nudged McCray in his side. McCray and Johnson exchanged knowing glances and laughed.

“Y'all kids go home and stay out of trouble,” Johnson said. “There are enough of us in trouble as it is.”

The deputies turned and slowly made their way to their cars.

“They shouldn't even let guys like those have badges,” McCray told Dickson.

“I know, I know.” Dickson nodded. He opened his car door, and peered over the roof at his partner. “I'd really love to bust those crooked, prejudiced muthafuckers myself.”

“Me too,” McCray agreed.

Travon, Darius, Marcus, and Lil Fade climbed back into the Cadillac.

Marcus turned to Travon. “You might as well get down now, shit. Your ass is in the gang file as a Blood now.”

Travon stared out the window, allowing Marcus's statement to go without comment.

“Where y'all want to go now?” Darius asked.

“To the park,” Lil Fade told him. “Hell, fuck Preto and Cooney!”

Darius started the car, pulled back onto the road, and headed off in the direction of the park.

“And cut the fuckin' music up too, Blood,” Lil Fade added. “I gotta get my G up.”

Pletz Park

C
ars were everywhere. Every gang in South Central Texas was represented in the park today. The gangs occupied their own individual sections, and each group stayed to itself, without any violence or hostility toward the other groups. As per agreement among the leaders of the individual gangs, the park was neutral ground.

Skimpily clad young ladies strolled about, making acquaintances, renewing old ones, and generally flirting with all they came into contact with. They brought a festive atmosphere to the park, and provided a much-needed calming effect. As long as there were girls to impress, the guys maintained their composure.

At any given moment, at least one hundred cars circled the park's perimeter, showcasing shiny new rims, hydraulic suspension systems, and booming stereo systems. Pletz Park was about showing out. The new hairstyles, bikini tops, booty shorts, fresh haircuts, and crisp, starched T-shirts were a testament to that. But mainly, it was about catching women.

“There go the homies over there,” Lil Fade announced, pointing toward a significant gathering of red clothing on the other side of the park.

Darius wound his vehicle around the park, creeping, past some of their rivals on the way.

The ETGs were the first group that the boys passed. Lil Fade gave his enemies hateful glances, and made several Blood signs with his fingers. The ETGs returned his looks and gestures with some of their own. Like the Bloods, the rival ETGs were out in numbers today.

Next up were the DOGs, a gang that was neither Bloods nor Crips, that was also out in significant numbers today as well. Their numbers mattered little to Lil Fade. He made a Blood sign with his fingers, and received a couple of
fuck you
middle fingers in return.

“Man, you making my shit hot!” Darius told him. “I just got the muthafucka, and you want somebody to put some bullet holes in it already.”

Darius drove past the WCGs, which was the most numerous gang in the park today. There appeared to be a wall of burnt orange. Undeterred, Lil Fade leaned out of the window to taunt them as well. By habit, most of the WCGs ducked upon seeing him leaning out of the car window, until they realized that he was unarmed.

“What's up, Blood?” Lil Fade shouted. He made a Blood symbol with his fingers, and then formed the letters for BSV.

The WCGs returned his taunts by forming the symbols for their own gang. Lil Fade laughed, and continued to taunt the other smaller gangs, as they drove past.

When they finally arrived at their section of the park, Darius backed into a vacant parking space within walking distance of the main crowd. The Bloods were out in numbers today as well.

“That's my nigga!” Lil Fade shouted out of the car window. “That's my muthafuckin' nigga!” He threw open the door and bounded out of the car. He rushed to a heavily muscled individual standing amidst the crowd, and embraced him tightly.

Travon climbed out, and closed both his and Lil Fade's doors. He walked to where the majority of the crowd was assembled, and stood just on the fringes.

“My muthafuckin' nigga!” Lil Fade repeated. “What's up, Blood? When did you get out?”

The heavily muscled Blood shook his head. “Shit, about two days ago.”

Lil Fade took a step back from his friend, and Travon maneuvered himself through the crowd in such a way as to be able to view this impromptu reunion. He could now read the letters over the pocket of the ex-felon's red T-shirt. The boy's name was Suga.

“What?” Lil Fade shouted. “Two days ago, and you ain't even called me? What's up with that shit, Blood?”

Suga shrugged his massive shoulders. “Shit, Blood, I just been doing the family thing. You know, banging the baby momma, kicking back with the T-Lady, all that good shit.”

“I see you got your swoles on,” Darius told Suga.

“Hell yeah, Blood.” Suga crossed his equally massive arms. “That's all I was doing, lifting and jacking off. After awhile I even had to quit jacking off, just so I could get my yokes on.”

Several of the boys in the crowd laughed.

Who was this Suga? Travon wondered. Who was this person that had made that lunatic Lil Fade, so happy?

Suga's tight red T-shirt showcased his bulging muscles and numerous tattoos. He had several gold teeth, and his hair was tied into two large Afro-puffs. He was half surrounded by fawning girls rubbing on his chest and arms.

“Hey, Suga, let me do your hair tonight?” one of the girls asked.

Suga smiled and nodded. “Yeah, but first I got to let Peaches do it, then I'll come by and let you do it.”

Laughter shot through the crowd.

Lil Fade turned toward the girl and frowned. “Fuck, can't you see we talkin'? Move on, bitch!”

“Damn, Lil Fade, I didn't mean to step on your toes, girl,” she shot back. “I'll get to it after you.” She stormed away.

No one laughed out loud. No one dared to.

“Fuck you, you nappy-headed trick!” Lil Fade shouted.

Several of the girls in the crowd broke away and chased after their friend as she steamed off into the park.

“What's up, Tre?” someone called out.

Travon turned in the voice's direction and his cousins, Romeo and Capone.

“What's up, kinfolk?” Travon called out. He lifted his arms into the air.

“Just chilling.” Romeo shrugged.

Loud music suddenly erupted from behind, interrupting everyone's conversation. It was the song “Mackin' to Slob Bitches.” The Bloods quickly turned in the direction from which it was coming. Frowns and scowls shot across the faces of everyone present. It was a song that they hated with a passion.

Several Bloods reached for weapons hidden beneath their shirts, while others opened the trunks of their cars just slightly, making their large-caliber weapons more readily accessible. Many in the crowd maneuvered into better firing positions. Travon watched it all unfold in amusement, and then shifted his gaze toward the oncoming car that was playing the offensive song.

It was a Chevrolet Impala, with a gorgeous aquamarine candy paint job that had billions of blue glitter-like flakes sparkling throughout. Chrome one-hundred-spoke Dayton Wire Wheels, shiny chrome trim, and a cocaine-white convertible rag top completed the show car. The Bloods couldn't help but smile; the car was clean as Hell.

The Impala stopped just before the crowd of Bloods, and began to perform. Its hydraulic suspension system allowed the car to maneuver and dance in all kinds of ways. It bounced, hopped, rocked from side to side, and from front to rear, while its stereo system continued to boom loudly, drowning out many of the other cars' stereos in the park. Travon covered his mouth with his fist; the ETGs were flossing uncontrollably today.

Capone squinted at the vehicle as it started its approach again. “That's Pooh-Pooh, Nuke Dog, C.J., and Lacy in the '64.”

“I think that's Big Mike, Shorty, C-Low, Deuce, and Mike-Mike in the first Caddy,” Lil Fade added. “And Michael Vay, Lil Loc, B.K., Slim, and Shan in the other Caddy.”

Travon was startled. He had been so busy paying attention to the first car that he had not noticed the other two.
Slipping again
, he thought. He had been caught off guard for the third time in just as many weeks. He would have to pay more attention. Suga, Lil Fade, Darius, Killa B, and Capone maneuvered to the front of the crowd, and raised their hands into the air.

“What's up, Blood?” Lil Fade shouted.

Big Pimpin stepped behind Lil Fade and slid a pistol into the small of Lil Fade's back, tucking it in snugly into his waistband.

“Good looking, Blood,” Lil Fade told him, without turning around or looking back.

The Crips in the first two vehicles rode by mad dogging the Bloods, who returned their stares with equally poisonous glares. Michael Vay's Cadillac stopped just in front of the crowd. It was a dark blue DeVille, with a white vinyl top. Gold and chrome Cadillac disc were shrouded in Vogue tires, and a massive gold CC grille sat prominently in the front of the car. The gold emblems throughout the car and the gold buttons on its vinyl roof complemented the gold on the grille and the rims.

“What's up, cuz?” asked Michael Vay, as he leaned out of the window. His bald head, gold teeth, and numerous pieces of gold jewelry gleamed brightly in the South Texas sun.

“Nigga, I'm your mother fucking kinfolk, not your mother fucking cuz,” Suga replied, approaching the blue Cadillac.

Travon maneuvered past the others, so that he could gain a closer look. The Deville's passengers all had long curls in their hair, which had been sectioned off with blue rubber bands. Two wore Dallas Cowboys jerseys, while the others wore rich, royal-blue T-shirts. All of them had numerous gold teeth and wore a significant amount of gold jewelry.

The two rear passengers, both of whom were leaning toward their respective windows, had large AK-47 assault rifles sitting in their laps. The front passenger twisted and twirled and played with a sawed-off shotgun that he had sitting on the floorboards between his legs. They were armed to the teeth.

Travon examined Michael Vay and Suga closely. There existed no visible resemblance between the two. Suga was tall and muscular and tan, while Michael was husky, of medium height, and had very dark skin. Michael's nose was wide, and his eyes were huge, almost like a frog's; while Suga had a small nose, and eyes so narrow that they looked Asian.

Travon's thoughts turned toward himself and his cousins, and their strong family resemblance. All of them had their family's trademark slanted eyes, wide noses, and pale yellow skin. And their mothers could all pass for twins.

Suga began cursing out Michael Vay, and Travon thought it best that he step away from the vehicle. He sincerely hoped, for Suga's sake, that the two were in fact real cousins. It would be really unpleasant to get hit with a round from one of those AK-47's.

Suga finished his conversation with Michael Vay and backed away from the car laughing. Michael turned up the volume on his stereo, and slowly pulled away.

“That nigga is crazier than a muthafucker!” Suga told the rest of the group.

“What's he talking about?” Lil Fade asked.

“He wanna kick me down with some yea, but he wants me to go to the Terrace and pick it up,” Suga explained.

“Fuck that nigga, I'll kick you down, Blood,” Fro Dog told Suga. “It's all good in the hood, you know that.”

“Shit, I got a lick for us too,” Lil Fade announced.

Romeo nudged Travon. “Hey, let's go walk around the park and catch some hoes.”

“Shit, what if them niggaz start tripping?” Travon asked. He shook his head. “I ain't down for no bullshit.”

Marcus smiled, wrapped his arm around Travon, and led him off into the park. “C'mon, fool. Ain't nobody gonna trip in this park, unless they some damn fools. Everybody is strapped to the fullest.” He waved his arm through the air. “Besides, with all of these park rangers around, you'd be crazier than a mutherfucka to shoot in this park anyway.”

Travon, Marcus, and Romeo continued off into the park's interior, walking, talking, laughing, and having fun. Soon, they spotted a group of red bikini tops strolling just ahead of them.

“Say, there go Peaches and them,” Romeo announced excitedly.

“Man, why do you want to fuck with them Bounty Hunter hoes?” Marcus asked. “Them bitches is scandalous and cross action. Plus, we can catch them hoes in the hood.” He dismissed the girls with a wave. “Let's peep out something different.”

“Fuck that, I been after Peaches for the longest,” Romeo told them. “Come on, niggaz!” Romeo began to double-time it, in order to catch up with the girls.

“Say! Say!” he shouted, waving.

The girls turned to see who was calling them, and waited. Marcus, Travon, and Romeo caught up quickly, and together with the girls, continued their walk through the park.

Romeo placed his arm around Peaches and smiled. “What's up, girl?”

Peaches folded her arms. “Nothing.”

One of the girls maneuvered herself in position next to Travon. “What's your name?” she asked, nudging Travon with her shoulder.

“Travon,” he replied. “What's yours?”

“Pussy,” she told him with a smile. “Actually, everyone calls me PussyKat, but you can just call me your Pussy.”

Travon lowered his head and blushed. He thought of how wild these girls were, and how they were nothing like the girls in the Courts. A second girl wedged herself in between Travon and PussyKat.

“My name is Passion,” she told Travon.

“Child, new meat, and these hoes go crazy,” one of the girls said to another.

“Now, your name is Passion, yours is PussyKat, I know that's Precious, and that's Peaches, and I heard y'all call her Punkin,” Travon said, pointing. “Do all of y'all's name begin with a P?”

“Yeah, my name is Poison, and this is Peanut, and that's Popcorn, and that's Paradise over there,” Poison told him, pointing out the other girls.