Hoodlum Tragedies (Old Version)

C O L D

Tim stops speaking once the bells to the door chimes and Curly walks in. Curly nods at Tim and he motions for him to take a seat next to him on the stool.

"Good, you came." Tim says.

Curly holds in a scoff at Tim's sarcastic remark. Missing a Shepard Gang meeting was serious, you could be bumped down in your rank and you could put yourself in danger from missing important news.

"You ain't miss much but we're putting together a plan." Tim says. "We're gonna steal Tibers connection and if everything works out we'll have some doors opened for new opportunities."

Tiber Street Tigers were a ruthless and brutal Irish gang. They had something to do with the girl getting shot down at Jay's. Not only was stealing their connection foul,  it would mean an all out war. A war meant blood would be shed and a worse case scenario was that someone would be dead.

"Tiber wouldn't take too well with us jacking their connection." Curly said to Tim.

He felt uneasy in the chair. Something about the plan seemed unorganized and rushed. Tim wasn't one to be greedy, if business was going well he'd keep it that way. He had a feeling that kept edging him that his Tio's put Tim up to it. It wasnt like he could say no, not unless he wanted his product taken away from him. The Tio's were funny about that.

"Yeah, well, if they want war then that's what we'll give them." Tim said harshly.

Curly could read Tims face, everything about it said that he was unsure about the plan. They would need a lot of men, not to mention they had to keep the drop off with the stolen connect strong. If they missed a week it would cause tension.

"How's it gonna work?" Paulie asks.

Paulie was seventeen years old, a son born from strict catholic parents and spent most of his life in New York. He was alright to Curly, although they hadn't talked much. Curly was no where near being as religious as Paulie. He couldn't recite a prayer if his life depended on it.

Curly's ma had been raised catholic and she raised him and his siblings catholic. He stopped going to church when he was young, right after his dad died and he didn't really care to start back up again.Besides, he didn't really care to deal with a priest who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. He heard a lot of stories down at the Reformatory of the sick perverts.

"I'm gonna send some kids down to the City within the next week or so, we'll discuss plans first before making things official. I haven't decided who I'm gonna send yet." Tim sighed.

Curly slouched some in his chair, the rest of the conversation held no meaning to him. He knew Tim wouldn't send him to the City, Curly could never organize jobs. He was damn near 17 years old, way older than Tim when he started jobs and Curly was more than capable of handling it but Tim still held him back from reaching his potential, it was like Tim didn't trust him and he only thought of Curly as a dumb kid brother.

"Vato, can I speak with you?" Tim says to Curly.

Curly lifts his head to meet Tims cold eyes. He flicks his eyes over to a private spot in Benny's and walks in the direction all the way in the corner. Curly follows Tim and leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

"I can trust you won't fuck this is up right?" Tim asks.

"Claro. Of course." Curly says.

Tim nods slowly and stares at Curly. A hard look pressed on his face and Curly still couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

"I heard Connie Winston was back in town. I reckon that she won't be a problem."

The way he says it comes out as harsh and more like a demand. He didn't have any plans to speak with her any time soon. He wasn't itching to get into any trouble. Not over her.

"She won't be a problem." Curly says quickly.

Curly's mind ran wild as he processed everything Tim was saying to him. He couldn't grasp the situation and he sure as hell couldn't figure out why he wanted to take a neighbors contact.

Tim made sure the Shepard Gang stayed clean for the most part. Curly knew Tim sold acid with the Tio's when he needed money, but he made sure the gang wasn't involved. If a chicano were caught with a small bag of grass they could get five years down at the county jail before they could even blink.

He had known countless Chicanos who got put away just for selling a little bit of speed. You had to be careful selling it, you never knew what cop was watching you and what gang was planning on knifing you up in the alley for a few grams of grass.

Curly wasn't exactly on the best terms with pigs anyway. They had it out for him and quite a few times they had planted things on him. They had a strange sense of satisfaction whenever he got put away. One less hood was roaming their "perfect" streets.

Tim was always able to put what times a pig would be around and use that to his advantage. He had a few spies telling him their secrets in exchange for a little bit of dough on the side.

Curly always admired how smart Tim was. His mind worked in different ways and he was able to plan and organize things until everything was pin perfect. He was smarter than the Tio's and that was saying something.

Curly felt like he was smart but not in that way. He was alright at making plays and coming up with suggestions.But as far as executing the plan, that's where he lost it. He figured if he had more patience and Tim's support, he'd be a little helpful.

"Curly I think I'm gonna send you to Oklahoma City." Tim says once they got home.

Curly stops rummaging through the fridge and looks over at Tim. Hes got his arms crossed over his chest but his focus isn't on Curly.

"Que?" Curly asks.

"You, Paulie, Jimmy. I think I'm gonna send y'all. I'll be the one making everything final of course."

Curly grabs a cup and fills it with water before sitting across from Tim at the kitchen table. He eyes a pill bottle that spilled over, that probably belongs to his mother. His mind wonders if Tim had ever sold ma some speed. She had been around a few times to beg for some money, he wouldn't be surprised if she was an alcoholic, but he wondered if Tim really was that heartless to sell Ma drugs. 

"Be sure to not fuck it up, Curly. I got a lot riding on this." Tim warns.

Curly doesn't reply, instead he watches Tim get up and grab his car keys from the table and leave out the door. So much for quality time.

Curly's eyes settle on the leather jacket that was thrown onto the floor, yet to be washed. An uneasy feeling was settling on his stomach. All he could think about was someone ending up dead.

He sighs and puts his head in his hands. The life of a thug never goes unnoticed.