Whi’ Boy

Whi' Boy

By R. Richard ©

Published by R. Richard at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 R. Richard

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The following is a work of fiction. The characters and events are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to actual characters or events is a coincidence.

Whi' Boy

By R. Richard © 2017

Chapter 1: Pirate’s Demise

Quite a few years ago the area around 46th and Vermont was the toughest part of the city of Los Angeles. The reason behind my judgmental statement was the abandoned Ace Venetian Blind factory near 46th and Vermont. Being young and short of funds, I found that the free rent there was the only thing that I could afford. The South Central location was perhaps not the best location in LA, but the financial opportunities in the rather blighted area were first rate for a young man in my circumstances. I could often finance supper by rolling drunks in the alleys behind the bars on Vermont Avenue.

The rolling of drunks provided me a ready source of funds for a while and was also aiding the community by making a dent in the number of people who abused alcohol in the area. However my continuing success with the rolling of drunks eventually led to the area bar owners hiring the Pirates. The Pirates were a group of juvenile delinquents who lived in the general area. The misguided youths had formed into a gang and thought they more or less owned an area that included 46th and Vermont. I had, from time to time, engaged in what might be loosely described as discussion with individual Pirates and I thought that I had convinced them, jointly and severally, that 46th and Vermont wasn't Pirate territory.

However, certain financial incentives furnished by the bar owners, whose customers were allegedly being rolled, led to a situation where the Pirates decided to make a group project of clearing the 46th and Vermont area of the guy known as Whi’ Boy. The Pirates made a really bad decision here.

There are visibly only two ways in or out of the former Ace Venetian Blind factory. Derelicts had, at some point in time, forced two gates in the chain link fence that surrounds the previously abandoned factory. The derelicts thought to use the factory as a place to sleep.

I drove the derelicts out. (Would you want winos sleeping in your house?) I also made damn sure the winos weren’t coming back anytime soon.

One night, the Pirates come and surround the factory. They're not anxious to come inside. Whi’ Boy is believed to be armed and known to be dangerous. The Pirates will just wait outside for Whi’ Boy to stumble into their trap.

I wake from my day’s sleep and prepare for my night. My routine evening survey then discovers the numerous hoodlums surrounding my home. From a quick survey, it appears that the hoodlums are the Pirates.

The two gates to my home are being watched by the hoodlums. A third way out of my home involves sneaking through the dark, grasping some sort of metal framework and vaulting over the eight foot chain link fence. I take that way, landing as quietly as is practical. My landing is, of course, not quiet enough.

My landing place is in bushes just outside the fence. Some mentally deficient Pirate comes into the bushes to investigate the noise. In order to gain access, he must bend low and come in under the branches. I use the well known martial arts technique, 'Dragon spins and kicks mole in the head.' It works, as it usually does. I take the mole’s watch, switch blade and wallet, also as I usually do. I then exit the bushes at speed.

I find the way clear Eastbound on 46th and move rapidly down toward Menlo. There are probably a couple of dozen guys in Los Angeles who can run a quarter mile faster than I can. However, none of them are Pirates. However, I can't outrun a bullet. Thus, I leave the street and begin to cut through yards and alley ways.

Since I live in the area, I have made it my business to know which yards contain dogs and which don't. The Pirates are now learning the same thing the hard way.

There are a dozen or so Pirates and they have two beat up, old cars. I can't outrun the cars in a straight line. However, my path is a zigzag course and frequently leads through areas where a car can’t go.

I continue to head generally South. Due to a continuing pursuit by the Pirates, I must continue to run and continue to change direction. However, I do manage to lead the Pirates through the area that Roberto and the Kings control.

With Roberto and his boys duly alerted to the presence of intruders, I continue further South toward the park on 61st. The park on 61st is normally a good area to avoid. The Zulus control the area around the park and there are perhaps three dozen Zulus. The Zulus are led by one Shaka and they're as warlike as their namesakes.

I have several close escapes along my way, but I arrive in Zulu country, at speed, with the Pirates in close, heated pursuit. A dozen Pirates are no match for three dozen Zulus and The Pirates should break off their pursuit. However, the Pirates are in hot pursuit and not thinking too clearly.

As I run through Zulu territory, I'm making a lot of noise and the Zulus begin to gather to find out who's intruding in their territory. Once they have identified the intruder or intruders, the Zulus will then figure out how to deal with those who don’t belong in Zulu territory.

A hard running Whi’ Boy is difficult to catch, even for the Zulus. One of the Pirate’s old cars is not too difficult to catch, especially if you use a molotov cocktail to impede its progress. The Zulus do as I expected and the Pirates begin to encounter trouble.

I reverse course and begin move back to the North, scouting the small North South streets West of Normandie Avenue. I have to remain out of sight as much as practical, as the heat will now be involved due to the molotov cocktail incident. However, I have never even heard of the LA guy who can play the shadow to shadow game as well as I do. I'm confident, but careful.

In the fullness of time, I detect a figure blundering from tree shadow to tree shadow and headed North. From the sounds it's making, it's either an escaped rhinoceros or a Pirate who has abandoned ship. Since the zoo keeps their rhinoceroses pretty well confined, I assume that it's a Pirate.

A little investigation reveals that although the interloper is breathing like a winded rhinoceros, it's actually Billy, the chief of the Pirates.

Billy is much larger than I am, but Billy is in terrible cardiovascular shape. He's about to pay the price for his sloth.

The first that Billy is aware of my presence is when he dodges into a tree shadow to find that Whi’ Boy has rights there, not to mention a good working left hook. Billy tries to rush the shadowy figure who's inflicting damage on him, but I bypass Billy with footwork and a good back fist. Billy goes down and I unload a good roundhouse kick at his head. He blocks the kick, but the block doesn't do his left arm a whole lot of good. Billy gets up, but is pretty much unable to defend his left side. My rights come into play here, followed by an atomic bomb left hook to the solar plexus. Billy drops like a sack of excrement.

I mount the fallen form with an elbow to the back of the head, just in case. However, I discover that Billy isn't going to get up, in any case. I snag his watch, cheap handgun and wallet, leaving a cheap, flashy ring as a false clue to lead the police away from Whi’ Boy, whose rep indicates that he would take not only the watch, wallet and ring, but pry out any gold teeth as well. (My economic situation mandates a maximum exploitation of available economic resources.)

I carefully work my way back up to Roberto’s turf. The Kings are out prowling, trying to find out who was in their turf. I encounter one of the Kings and request Roberto.

Roberto appears in short order and in a nasty mood. He wants to know, What the hell do you think you're doing here?

I tell him, I have come to give the Kings a very nice present. Before Roberto can snarl some nasty answer, I continue, A dozen Pirates have just had a little encounter with perhaps three dozen Zulus. The surviving Pirates, if any, are working their way back up via the little North South streets West of Normandie.

The Pirates outnumber the Kings. Thus, the Kings as a group and individual Kings have been roughed up by the Pirates. I have just told Roberto that it's payback time.

Roberto asks me, Why are you telling me this?

I tell Roberto, The Pirates, at least the surviving Pirates, are hunting me. I don’t need that kind of crap. Since I'm just one guy, I recruited the Zulus to do the heavy work. Now the Zulus have been invaded by the Pirates and the Zulus have reduced the strength of the Pirates. If the Kings pitch in against the Pirates, The Kings score points with the powerful Zulus. The Kings also pretty much end future problems with the Pirates.

I can see the wheels turn in Roberto’s head. About this time a little kid runs up and tells the Kings that somebody threw a molotov cocktail at a car down by the park.

Roberto tells me, The Kings will investigate. If it's a trap, the Pirates won't be the only ones hunting White Boy. Now, White Boy can just get the hell off of the King’s turf.

Although Roberto’s response is rather surly, it's necessitated by the need of Roberto to show authority and maintain his rank as head of the Kings. I nod to Roberto and then take my leave with no particular hurry and begin to work my way North and East.

As I move I manage to examine the contents of the two Pirate wallets I have obtained, under the dim light of one of the few working street lights in South Central LA. The first one contains a single dollar. The second one contains what must be the entire contents of the Pirate’s war chest $61! I can buy food for a month with that much money! The first watch I obtained is a cheap piece of crap that I'll be lucky to get a dollar for at some pawn shop. The second watch is a half way decent item that may bring me as much as five dollars at the same pawn shop! The switch blade is a cheap item that might bring a dollar. The cheap handgun is a small caliber item that a street hooker might conceal in her purse or tuck into the top of a stocking. Still, the handgun might bring Whi' Boy the princely sum of five dollars! (Due to the ambiance of the area, handguns are a steady seller in the pawn shops of the South Central.)

I get over as far East as Avalon Boulevard. I'm working the alley behind a grocery store, looking to shoplift supper. Due to the economic benefit I gained from the Pirates, I could afford to buy supper at this time, but then there could be all the questions about how and where I obtained the money to buy supper. I don't need questions, especially considering the probable aftermath of the rumble over in Zulu turf.

I'm edging down the dark alley very carefully. I suddenly feel a presence on my right side.

I move back quickly in the total darkness and feel and smell someone rush past me. I automatically zone block against a knife and then use a round house kick to propel whoever it is against the wall on the far side of the alley. I hear more motion from behind me and my back kick does its work in the dark.

The first attacker comes back off the wall and I can see a dim metallic gleam. I drop and kick at where I think the attacker’s legs are, in the darkness. I hear and feel the motion of the guy’s arm over my head as my kick hits home! I hear something clatter against the asphalt as the guy starts to collapse on top of me. Operating blind, I rise, leading with my elbow and I feel the shock as I hit the attacker hard, probably in the jaw. Then I cover out.

About this time, the second attacker rushes to the sounds. He goes past me and hits the collapsing form of the first attacker. I have turned and the two attackers are silhouetted in the dim light at the entrance to the alley.

The second attacker is thrusting at the first attacker and I think he may be using a knife. I put a side thrust kick into the ribs of the second attacker and he goes down hard. Just to make sure, I kick him in the head and make sure he won't be getting up any time soon.

I grab two wallets and a watch. The knife that caused the clatter is nowhere to be found and I dare not take the time for an extensive search. I have obtained only one watch as one guy doesn't even have a watch! Got to be just a couple of violent drunks. (The presence of these kind of derelicts is a blight in the South Central but the badge are just too busy to do anything constructive about the problem.) I move quietly along the pitch black alley for a couple of blocks. I then dart down an East West street, moving further East. In dim star light I find that the sum total of money in both derelict wallets is three grubby ones. I toss the wallets in a vacant lot and move on. In this area, some kid will find the wallets and there will be no report to the heat.

My path takes me past a small Mexican market. It's still open and I buy a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. The clerk speaks only Mexican and it's extremely unlikely that the police will find out that Whi’ Boy was here. Best of all, one of the three ones I got from the two alley attackers is a $20 in the better light! (Will wonders never cease?) I have made $84 for the night plus three watches and a cheap handgun.

I find myself a dark, quiet alley and enjoy a brief prandial break. As I eat, I realize just how hungry the running and fighting have left me.

With the edge off my hunger, I put the jar of peanut butter into the bread sack and prepare to establish myself for the night.

I stroll over to the Shrine Auditorium and kind of lurk past the parking lots. The attendants will, as usual, report my presence to the heat. The attendants automatically assume that I'm there to rip off the parked cars for valuables. This last with absolutely no supporting evidence. I mean, what ever happened to innocent until proved guilty in a court of law?

I chance to meet a local walking along 32nd street toward an all night café. He recognizes me and I have now established in the more or less non-minds of the heat, that I'm working the Shrine Auditorium area tonight and may have had nothing to do with the trouble further South.

I grab a soda from a machine and enjoy another prandial break in a convenient alley. I exhaust my peanut butter, but still have some bread left for a snack when I awake tomorrow night!

I continue to lurk in the area of the Shrine Auditorium until I'm spotted by the heat. I then move South along dark streets and darker alleys.

I make it back to the abandoned venetian blind factory. It's still relatively early, I have had supper and I still have over $82 in my pocket. It has been a good, if somewhat hectic, night! Plus, I still have three watches and a cheap handgun to pawn tomorrow.

In those days, in that place $70 a week is a decent wage. With one thing and another I probably have money for five weeks of food. Well, I'll have to see the old Korean man again and give him a couple of bucks to show me some more self defense moves. In my situation, learning self defense moves is a lot like buying life insurance. When you're Whi’ Boy in South Central Los Angeles, you need all the insurance you can get.

Chapter 2: Gorilla Abuse

I'm still living in the abandoned Ace Venetian Blind factory near 46th and Vermont. The free rent there works very well with my budget. The Pirates were a gang that tried to control the area. However, after their trouble with the Zulus and the Kings, the Pirates (and in particular, their leader, the late Billy) no longer bother me, or anyone else for that matter. In fact, the Pirates have effectively ceased to exist.

My nightly ramblings through the area have begun to supply me with a bit of money and a lot of suspicion from various people in the area. It becomes steadily harder for me to acquire money or things that I can sell for money. Thus, I realize that I need to continue to learn useful things if I'm going to advance in the world and keep the scumbags off me. To this end, I'm stealing books from the library, late at night. I read the books and attempt to use the knowledge I have gained. I always return the books in good order after a few nights and things are going fairly well.

Unfortunately, the heat decides to put on a full court press and I wind up at Manual Arts High School, in self defense. Manual isn't really a boot camp type of operation. The average wimp in a boot camp wouldn't survive a day at Manual.

The time I'm forced to spend at Manual doesn't really represent a total waste of my time, although, on good days, it manages to rise to nearly that level. (The library at Manual does have several books, some of which haven't yet been completely colored.)

One day at Manual some mental defective tries to toss me for my lunch money. This last begs the question, 'Do I have any lunch money?' Since the answer is no, I give him a few knuckle sandwiches instead. In the typical over-reaction you get in your basic inner city high school, somebody calls for an ambulance. (The ambulance comes and they give lunch money boy medical help. Lunch money boy will then return to tossing smaller, weaker kids for their lunch money. If the process I have just outlined makes sense to you, you badly need mental help.) Out of this situation develops your basic testosterone fueled teen age confrontation.

It turns out that the mental defective, whom I'm accused of beating, belongs to an organization, called the Lads. The Lads are run by one Tyrone. Tyrone wants to call me out. I, of course, eschew violence, at least when that course is practical. However, the traditions of the area demand some sort of physical settlement.

I politely suggest that Tyrone and I can settle the matter with an exhibition of knife fighting in a suitable dark alley. (Of course, I'm talking just ritual combat here, no cutting unless by accident. I try to avoid criminal activity, when practical.) Tyrone wants to settle the matter with fists. Since Tyrone outweighs me by at least 70 pounds, I'm unwilling to meet him on grounds that we can both agree upon.

During the course of the negotiations, I'm approached secretly by Shaka. It seems that Shaka’s Zulus and the Lads have been involved in several minor confrontations and Shaka wants to take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them. (What Shaka actually says is, That nigga' puttin’ on airs and need he ass kicked. However, I feel that Shakespeare said it better.)

After quite a bit of negotiation an encounter is set up between Whi’ Boy and one Tommy of the Lads. The encounter is to take place in a little park down on 51st street. (I don't like parks as the arena for a bop. I much prefer a nice dark alley, but the other side is adamant.) The affair is to be an exhibition of pugilism and gloves will be de rigueur.

When Tyrone leads his Lads into the park he finds, to his apparent surprise, that Whi’ Boy is attended by Zulus. Tyrone had apparently thought that Whi’ Boy would just walk in and get his ass kicked via concerted action by the Lads. (Tyrone’s lack of understanding is a thing rooted in his