Chapter 2

The history behind the three Casuals and their plan to get into the Union

    A generic, sterile high school classroom filled with men and women of various ages, size and races taking an exam for the docks. Ken, John, and Josh are seated together, clustered in back. Ken pulled out a copy of the test with the answer already written out. He playfully motioned to Josh and John then laughed to himself. The two of them nodded, secure in the fact that they wouldn’t fail.  A pretty blond girl got Ken’s attention with her blue love struck eyes. She motioned toward the paper in his hand.

     John and Josh strolled to the front of the class with the completed tests in hand. Ken rose, and then slipped the young women the cheat sheet. He licked his lips flirtatiously and also made his way to the front, joining his cohorts. The trio left their exam with the large male proctor and then jogged from the class celebrating. The girl grabbed the cheat sheet and put it on her desk, as she transcribed the answers to her paper. One of her friends bent over drawling attention to the cheating. The proctor stormed over and snatched her paper violently.

     Conner sipped his Greyhound and placed the empty glass back on the bar,

“To become a Longshore man you have to take a written test like any job. Well these young men got their hands on a copy of the test. Well they had taken the test and had gotten away with the scheme. But the lovely smile of a woman will melt hearts and wills of men. She got caught and dropped dime on them. They all are no blackballed from the docks. They can never be Longshore men.”

    Darnell’s attention was on Conner’s every word like a conductor of a brass band, “So why don't they do something else? It's not the end of the world.

“No this is San Pedro. This is their Hollywood. The Longies are the stars out here. Drive big trucks, make a lot of money and buy a nice house above Pacific Avenue. You see their father's father where Longies, their father's fathers Longies. It's tradition! You go to San Pedro High School or Mary Star then college maybe. But your a*s winds up on the docks. Sitting around making calls, yet for those gentlemen over there, that will never happen. They are outcasted.”

     Darnell moved his noggin side to side and finished his drink.

“B*****s. Women are the roots of all evil.”

Conner chuckled out loud again, so booming it drew attention this time,

 

“Well they certainly don't hurt.”

 

      Darnell buttoned the top of his uniform then checked his watch.

“Well Conner it’s been great. I have to go to. Have to get back to the route.”

“Come on. Not yet. One more drink. Come on I'm buying.”

“S**t I guess I can have one more.”

     Conner slapped Darnell on his back again,

“That's my man. Barbara another double for my friend.”

“Got ya sweetie.” Said Barbara.

      Ken, John and Josh gulped their beers. Ken suddenly scanned over John’s arm and saw a tattoo of a Dragon with a thunderbolt through the torso. Ken touched the tattoo and      John flinched in pain.

“Aw dude! What the f**k is wrong with you.”

“F*****g great tattoo dude! Where the hell did you get it?

“Over at Daruis place on 7th.”

“Did Darius do it?”

“Yeah, he's great man! A f*****g artist. He looks like s**t though.”

“My brother went to Pedro High with him. He took all those graphic and art classes. Good guy.”

     Josh chugged the beer then whipped his mouth from the foam and run off.

“I hear he's on that s**t.”

“Coke?”

“Yeah I heard he's into Rancho for a bundle.”

     John attempted to get Barbara’s attention, “Hey Barbara, three more beers!”

She didn’t answer back. He turned and watched the young pool player behind them. John tapped Ken who also did a one eighty on the bar stool,

“Look at him man, the greatest pool player in L.A.”

“Yeah Freddy Tomavich. He went to Mary Star with my older brother Mike.”

     The young man wore a worn, golden Mary Star basketball practice

Jersey and ripped khaki pants. He had long, slicked black hair and a goatee that seemed almost painted on his face. He feverishly practiced a series of shots, moving quickly from one side of the table to the other. Ken nudged John,

 “I saw him score fifty points against St. Anthony's in Long Beach. He just gave up b-ball to hustle.”

“What a waste man!”

     Ken admonished him,

“What are you talking about? You know how much money he hustles?”

      Desmond Phillips a large, muscular, light skinned black man entered the bar. He walked up to the pool table with his chest puffed out ready for violence. Freddy didn’t acknowledge him. John ducked his head covering his face. Ken whispered to his partners.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It's that f*****g b*****d. I hate that Mutherfucker!”

“He is bad new. I heard stories about him. He's a f*****g leg breaker. He collects for everyone.”

“He's a low life project, third street scum.”

     Ken teased,

“The only reason you hate him I because you owe him money.”

     The three crept through the back of the bar. Desmond caught them leaving but laughed inwardly, while prancing to the bar.

“Hey baby.”

     Barbara smiled wide showing off her temptress gap in the middle of her mouth,

“Hey sweetie! What can I get you? How have you been? How is business?”

“Business is pain or death or people who wish they where dead. Let me get a White Russian.”

“Got ya! I'll bring it over. What about your friend? Does he want anything?”

“No he's in one of his f*****g zones again. He must have a game tonight. You know how he get's.”

“Okay, I'll walk over quietly.”

“Thanks baby.”

Desmond exited the bar the same time Darnell struggled to dismount the barstool. Conner was amused at the attempt,

“You alright?”

“I'm fine just buzzing a little. I'll be alright.”

     Darnell stumbled, running into Desmond accidentally, who held him up.

“Watch out brother!”

“Sorry Homie.”

     Darnell tripped outside. Desmond looked at Conner and shrugged

“I know. I tried to get him to stop. People only care about themselves.”

“Amen brother. A- f*****g- men.”

     A black accord parked across the street from the I.L.W.U building. Ken was behind the wheel and Josh in the passenger seat listening to a classic rock song. Both men were nervously surveying the desolate, heavily graffiti area. Ken checked his watch, then turned the radio down. Josh protested and turned the volume back up.

“Hey that's Freebird by Skynard man. You don't turn down Freebird. Where the hell is he man? You think he backed out? Lets go!”

     Ken started the ignition,

“Dude, he will be here. Calm down!”

     A black Sedan pulled beside the Accord. John, positioned in the driver seat, wore a white stocking over his head.

“Pull to the parking lot, around to the corner.”

     The Sedan drove away followed by the Accord. They hugged the corner and pulled into an adjacent lot catty corner from the Union building.

     They stood in back of the Sedan as John popped open his trunk, reached inside and retrieved: two nylon stockings, one red and one white.

“I get a white one!” Screamed Josh

“What the f**k is the difference?” Protested John

“I'm not wearing some faggity red stocking on my head. It’s just uncool man. There is no way I'm looking like a tool.”

“Fine I will wear the red one. I don't care. You f*****g baby!”

     John passed the stockings to his friends. He reached into the trunk again and grabbed thick, black duck tape and heavy, yellow rope.

“Duck tape and rope! We tie up and gag the cocky son of a b***h. Can you guys tie a square knot?”

     They shared a quizzical glance.

“No man!” Ken stammered.

“Me neither man. I was never in the Boy Scouts and s**t. Besides your the f*****g mastermind!” Josh interjected forcefully.

“Okay I was just asking. Calm down. We must have to have cool heads and be focused. Now everyone has their jobs right?”

     Ken nodded in agreement,

“Yeah, I'm look out and driver.”

     Josh acted out a swinging motion while planning the kidnapping,

“I hit Croatian Joe over the head and hold him while you ties him up. Did you get it?”

“You know I did!”

John pulled out a Thirty Two from the trunk and examined the gun closely.

“Where did you get it?” replied Ken

“From those Mexican RSP f***s on 15^th street.”

“You won't catch me down there man. You are lucky you’re alive.”

“We ready?” John said while cocking the weapon.

      Ken hesitated,

“I guess man! Are you sure this is the only way.”

“That's it!”

“S**t I'm down. F**k these Longies!”

“Let's get in the Union gentlemen!”

 John slammed the trunk of his car.

    A chubby, balding, Croatian man decked out in blue Union sweatshirt was locking up the Union headquarters. He limped to the adjacent parking lot unaware of his future plight. The he approached his blue SUV and opened the driver side door and was struck on the head with Josh’s pistol butt, he yelled out in a deep Slavic accent,

“What the f**k is going on? What is wrong with you?”

“Shut up you fat f**k!”

     John punched Croatian Joe in the mouth.

“S**t John he's a tough. Hit him again.” Screamed Ken.

     An enraged and nervous John pushed Ken,

“Don't use my real f*****g name you a*****e!

      Croatian Joe stared at the stocking clad men closely, squinting his eyes and rubbing his sore, puffed jaw,

“Hold up! John Maggio, Ken Malovich, and Joshua Gonzales? I know you! You’re the cheaters! I know all your fathers. Your a disgrace to your families names.”

    Josh clubbed Croatian Joe violently with a baton, delivering a solid blow, knocking him unconscious. He became putty in their trembling arms. They dropped him to the ground and peered down at him. Deep inside they knew it was a bad mistake, but too late to go back. They had to move forward with the slipshod plot. Ken gave him a slight kick with his foot,

“Is he dead?”

     John visually searched the area with the small bat firmly in hand,

“I don't know? Did you hit him very hard?”

“I had to man. He was talking too much! Damn we are in this s**t deep!” John said hyperventilating. They hog tied him with sloppy knots that would make a Cub Scout frown and put him roughly in the truck, then drove to the Tasmen Sea.

     The hotel was known as a haven for drug addicted and people running from the law along with the various South American refugees that hid in the small, roach invested rooms by day, then invade the streets of San Pedro by night, while spending tax free money in the local Chunte bars along Pacific Ave. Those watering holes were known death spots controlled by the Mexican Mafia. Drunken stabbings and sober shootings took place, while the patrons drank Cevezas and sang along with the Melancholy Mariachi music streaming from the old fashion, junkyard Jukeboxes.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very interesting chapter. I like how they got caught cheating. I like the real life feel of drinking, talking and looking for trouble. I like the description at the end of the hotel bar. The strong description made each situation come alive. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote

[Dayran]

A killing to prevent witnesses or to hide the shame of the act from their parents ... curious.