Chapter 9

Vincent peered out the tinted window of his Lincoln Navigator Black Label.

“I must be going crazy. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he said, turning to his driver as they pulled next to the curb in front of his store.

A young guy stepped out the front door of Vincent’s store holding a case of beer. He dropped the case on top of a waist-high stack of cases propping the door open. The kid’s eyes were half-closed, a look of equal parts boredom and menace as he glanced at the Lincoln and then pulled a red and white bandana from the front pocket of his jeans. Eyes fixed on the Lincoln, he folded the bandana in half and tied it over his shaved head. He pointed at Vincent and said, “Keep moving, boss. We closed.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed as the kid turned his back to the Lincoln and lifted the collar on his blue jean jacket.

“That kid’s in the Spanish Hand gang,” Benji said from the back seat of the Lincoln. “They started showing up in this neighborhood about a year ago. I had to collect from one of them last night. They’re nothing but a problem.”

Vincent opened his door and stepped out on the sidewalk, cinders crunching under his polished, black leather shoes. He waited for Johnny and Benji to get out of the Lincoln. He could feel his blood pressure rise as he watched Johnny slip his suit coat off, brush off some nonexistent lint, and then lay it carefully on the front seat before getting out and walking around to the front of the SUV. Benji stood next to Johnny, tilting his head from one shoulder to the other, cracking his neck.

Vincent rolled his eyes. Finally, it looked like the two of them were ready. He slammed his car door closed. The young gangbanger turned and scowled. Vincent pointed at the cases of beer. “You having a party tonight?”

The gangbanger shrugged. “We party all the time, boss.” He lifted his chin and smiled. “Maybe you can join us. You want to party with us, old man?”

Vincent smiled. “Old man, huh?” He nodded at Benji and Johnny, then ran toward the gangbanger, slamming his shoulder into the punk’s chest. Air whooshed out of the kid. He flew into the store through the open front door and landed on his back.

Vincent stepped into the store, brushing off the front of his shirt. The punk’s eyes were shut tight and his mouth worked soundlessly, gasping for air.

“You okay?” Vincent said. The punk moaned. Vincent drew his foot back and kicked him in the temple. The moaning stopped. Vincent stepped over the kid and walked to the store’s main aisle. He looked over the store.

Gangbangers stared at him from around store. Opened bags of potato chips and candy bar wrappers littered the floor. Eight or nine guys milled around the beer and wine aisle. A thin fog rolled out of the bottom of the open cooler doors. Vincent turned his attention to the two guys in front of him, their arms loaded with bags of chips and jars of salsa. Busted jars of salsa covered the floor, filling the store with the smell of onions and tomato sauce. And behind those two guys, three more stood behind the cash register. The counter in front of them was stacked with cartons of cigarettes.

Vincent glanced back at the punk on the floor. The kid was out cold. He turned his attention to the gangbangers raiding his store and smiled. One down and a handful to go.

He gestured toward the gangbangers. “Am I dreaming,” he said, turning to Benji and Johnny. “Or are these kids stealing from my store?”

Vincent leveled a stare at the gangbangers. They looked scared, but they didn’t move. They’d seen one of their own fly through the front door, hit the floor, and stay on the floor. But they had the numbers. And they wouldn’t be taken by surprise, like their friend.

Vincent put his hands on his hips. It didn’t matter if these bangers were packed for war—they weren’t leaving without learning a lesson.

He stepped toward the guys behind the counter. One of the gangbangers walked out from behind the register to face him. Tall and thin, wearing a white t-shirt and a jean jacket, his black hair was razored to the scalp on the sides and was long and slicked back on top. The kid walked slow, head bobbing to a silent beat. Vincent eyeballed him. The kid came to a stop a couple feet away, holding his hands out.

“Everything’s cool, Mr. Vincent,” he said. “We was just picking up some beer for the night.” He reached into the front of his jean jacket.

Johnny and Benji stepped forward, stopping as the gangbanger pulled a roll of cash from his coat.

“Take it easy,” the kid said, waving the roll. “Just trying to pay for the cervezas.” He grinned. One front tooth was chipped, leaving a triangular hole in his smile. He nodded at Vincent.

“Your store was wide open. No one was on the cash register. We walked in and found it like this.” He glanced at the rest of his gang. “Fact is, we chased some bad guys out for you. They was stealing cigarettes and junk. We put everything back where it belongs.”

Vincent listened while the gangbanger’s buddies started in, talking loudly about how they chased the thieves away. Some even threw in how they should get free beer for protecting the store. Unimpressed, Vincent cocked an eyebrow at Benji as the chatter of the Spanish Hand gang continued.

Benji rolled his shoulders and stepped in close to Vincent, whispering, “This guy running his mouth is the one I tried to collect from last night. He owes us two bills.”

Vincent glanced at the chip-toothed gangbanger, who was grinning and looking around at the rest of his buddies. A burn of stomach acid rose in Vincent’s throat. He turned to Benji. “He didn’t pay you last night? This kid standing in front of me with the roll of cash?”

“Yeah. His name’s Eduardo.”

Vincent nodded. He stepped toward Eduardo, staring him down. The gangbangers in the beer and wine aisle shut up. The two guys behind the register jumped over the counter and crossed their arms, staring at Vincent with hooded eyes.

Eduardo held out the roll of cash. “This is for the cervezas,” he said. “Now that you’re here to keep the bad guys out, we’ll be on our way.”

Vincent took the money. He fanned it and grinned, waving it at the two gangbangers in front of the register. They stared back stonefaced.

Vincent licked his thumb and started counting the bills. “I really appreciate all your help, Eduardo. Real nice of you and your boys, watching my store.” He stopped counting long enough to gesture at the kid he’d kicked in the head. “He Johnny, why don’t you get Eduardo’s friend off the floor back there and carry him over here? And Benji, go guard that front door. We don’t want those bad guys Eduardo’s boys chased out coming back to surprise us.”

The Spanish Hand gangbangers in the beer aisle started moving toward the front door. Some lifted cases of beer on their shoulders, eyeing Benji as he walked to the door, turned, smiled at them and then crossed his arms over his huge chest. Johnny dragged the unconscious gangbanger by his feet toward Vincent.

Eduardo chewed his bottom lip. “Like I said, sorry about your store, Mr. Vincent. We did what we could.”

Vincent kept counting the cash. “Sure, no problem,” he said. Then he stepped to the side and gestured at Johnny. “Johnny, hand Eduardo his friend.”

Johnny lifted the unconscious gangbanger by the back of his belt and collar. He heaved the unconscious gangbanger. Eduardo caught him and stumbled, bear-hugging the limp body around the chest. Johnny swept a hand toward the front door. “Take him outside. Mr. Vincent doesn’t want your business anymore.”

Eduardo’s nostrils flared, but he kept his mouth shut.

Vincent went back to counting his cash. He thumbed the last bill in the stack and looked up, watching Eduardo drag his unconscious friend toward the front door. “Hey, Benji. Pull all that beer back inside. And don’t let none of them leave with any either.”

Struggling to hold the limp body of his friend, Eduardo glared at Vincent. “Hey, you don’t want to sell us beer, that’s cool, but give us our money back.”

Vincent lifted the roll of cash. “This?” he said. “This isn’t your money. This is the money Benji tried to collect from you last night. This is money you owe me. If you have more to pay for the beer, then hand it over. If you don’t, that’s too bad.” He glanced at Johnny. “Make sure those kids by the coolers put all those cervezas back where they belong.”

Johnny nodded. He walked into the beer aisle, his wingtips pounding the floor. Vincent stepped to the front of the aisle to watch.

The aisle was narrow, only allowing two of the Spanish Hands to face Johnny. One of them, a short, moon-faced kid with a mop of black hair, balanced a case of beer on his shoulder.

“Sorry, that ain’t yours,” Johnny said, stepping forward. He lifted the case off the pudgy gangbanger’s shoulder.

The whole group started to make noise and push forward in the narrow aisle. The pudgy gangbanger’s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as he was shoved into Johnny.

Johnny lifted the case of beer and smashed it over the kid’s head.

The kid slammed face-first on the floor. Beer cans rolled and spun all around him, hissing and spraying foam. Johnny wiped his hands on his chest. The rest of the gangbangers backed away. One, however, pushed forward. A skinny kid with a bad moustache and an ugly case of acne. The kid reached behind his back and pulled a pistol.

“Gun!” Vincent yelled.

Johnny grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved the butt into the gangbanger’s mouth, bloodying the kid’s lips and cracking a couple teeth. He then ripped it out of the kid’s hands and tossed it across the store to Vincent. He waved a finger at the kid. “You pointed a gun at me,” he said, kneeing the kid in the groin. The kid dropped to the floor. Johnny grabbed him up by his hair and pulled him back to his feet. “Never point a gun at me,” he said, lifting the kid and throwing him back down. The kid’s head hit the floor with a hollow thump.

The rest of the gangbangers dropped their beer and hurried toward the front door.

“What the hell, man!” Eduardo yelled. “Why you doing us like this?”

Vincent held up the gun Johnny had tossed to him.

Eduardo’s face hardened. “You’re gonna pay for this,” he said. “We’ll come back heavy—count on it. We’re gonna…”

Vincent bullrushed him.

Eduardo tried to backpedal. He dropped his friend on a magazine rack, toppling it over, and then fell on the floor. Tabloid newspapers fluttered through the air.

Vincent kicked papers out of the way as he walked up to Eduardo. He placed the gun on the upper shelf of the magazine rack and poked a finger between Eduardo’s eyes.

“When you owe me money, you better pay me—on time.” Taking the roll of cash out of his pocket, Vincent waved it in front of Eduardo and then jammed it into the kid’s eye, grinding it in the socket as the gangbanger screamed.

“Next time one of my guys comes around asking for my money, pay it!”

Vincent stepped back and watched Eduardo writhe around on the floor for a while before telling Johnny and Benji to throw him and his unconscious buddy into the street.

With the store cleared, Vincent surveyed the damage. He walked down the main aisle, kicking a bag of pretzels out of the way. The thigh-high swinging door on the counter squeaked as he pushed through it. He bellied up to the cash register. The safe door was opened a crack. He reached down and pulled it open. It was empty. He grabbed a pack of spearmint gum from underneath the counter, ripped it open and stuck two pieces in his mouth.

“Money’s gone from the safe,” he said, smacking the gum.

Benji nodded. Johnny brushed off his white dress shirt and looked around the store, looking everywhere but in Vincent’s direction. “That’s good, right?” said Benji. “I mean, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Vincent turned, waving at the wrecked aisles of the store. “Does this look good to you?”

“No, I’m just…”

“Shut up, Benji,” said Vincent. He walked around to the front of the counter and spit his gum on the floor. “It was supposed to be a simple robbery. The night clerk, Danny, gets scared, hands over the money, and then calls the police. The place wasn’t supposed to be deserted and overrun by gangbangers robbing me blind. Where the hell is Danny?” He wiped a hand over his face. “Clay Freeman better not have screwed this up. There was a lot of my money in that safe.”

He kicked a stainless-steel trashcan over. It tipped over and banged on the floor, rolling for a few feet before crunching to a stop against a bag of potato chips. He scowled and walked toward the back of the store.

“Get the mops and buckets out of the closet in the back,” he shouted. “Clean this place up while I try to get a hold of Freeman.”

He turned to look back at Benji and Johnny. Eyes narrowed, he cocked his head to the side. “If one more thing goes wrong tonight, somebody’s gonna get hurt.” He turned, then thought better of it and looked back at his men a final time, adding, “And I mean, bad. Really, really bad.”