...WE R U L E THE STREETS;;
If there's one thing that Quinn Owen Votolato hates more than anything, it's Watch Dog Duty. He doesn't do so well with sitting on a roof with a radio to report any shady looking business or people. Honestly, what did Ulysse ever think was gonna happen under his goddamn iron fist? People were scared to poke their heads out of their doorways. No one traveled alone these days. Nothing was gonna happen, everything was cool and under control--
Quinn bent forward a little to get a better look at the person walking down the street.
Yep. Desmond. Ulysse's little bitch. He went walking away from the store, a little quickly. Maybe Ulysse'd wanna know where he was going. Quinn had a pretty good view of the city as high up as he was. He kept an eye on the boy.
"Is he... He's going into Ace territory." Quinn muttered. Sure enough, he passed a big building with 'THE ACES' graffittied on it. The design was too big and bright to be a color-cover. Definitely Ace territory. Quinn sat back with a slight grin, but the look fell again to one of surprise when he saw who Desmond met up with. Two Aces. It was unmistakable. No one wore dress shirts and ties just walking around, except that gang. Oh, Ulysse was gonna love this.
---
"They can't be mixing like that. There are clear boundaries here." Ulysse said firmly, eyeing the few of his soldiers in the room. "I said we were gonna watch to see if they got bold, and they did. We're gonna have to teach them their place in this food chain here. And I might need to reiterate the lesson to Dessy-Dear."
They stayed silent yet focused on what he had to say. Ulysse took a few steps closer to them, arms crossed, standing tall over most of them. Deciding which ones would be right for the job, he said, "Zephariah. Zak. I want you to bring Desmond to me."
The two nodded. The Warlord added, with a smirk, "Don't be afraid to make him hurt, either."
---three.days.later.---
Something was really bothering Dylan. That was evident. Vic just wasn't sure if he could do anything about it. But he didn't want to see his friend and one of his best fighters look so... down, so he gave it a shot.
The whole gang was just lounging around, more or less, in the little hideout, which was the basement of an old condemned church. Dylan was sitting on the couch, half-watching Corey and Vince jam together, half watching the ceiling. Vic took a seat next to him.
"Something's wrong with you, Dylan." Vic said flatly. "Mind tellin' me what it is?"
Dylan sighed and stayed silent, not turning to look his leader in the eye. Corey's singing and Vince's guitar playing filled the room. Some The Hush Sound song, probably; Dylan wasn't really paying attention.
"It's this kid." he muttered. Vic nodded, figuring it was just boy troubles. Like the kid fell in love or something. Hey, 'bout time. Dylan shifted in his seat and turned to look up at Vic with evident worry in his eyes.
"Me an' Nick met him that one day when we went into Gore Hound territory. He looked way too tired, way too beaten. Young kid, you know? Not that much younger than us, and I just felt for him." Dylan's voice began echoing the worried look in his eyes, making his words a little faster and rushed, "He's, like, Ulysse's little... bitch or something. Treats him like dirt. And I, like I said, felt for him, so I started talking to him on the phone and then he pretty much up and dissappeared three days ag--"
"You were talking to him?" Vic demanded. "Dylan, you should've known that was a bad idea. You probably got him into shit and maybe even us too. Gangs and property aren't meant to mix. You know that."
"He didn't even deserve to be Ulysse's property!!" Dylan shouted back, sitting up straight. The others in the room watched the two carefully.
"Dylan, you have been in this gang for two years now, and living near crime and shit for ya whole Goddamn life. You know that's how it is! I don't wanna see you die for talking to some Warlord's bitch! I know it sucks, but it's not like we can march in there and save the kid without expecting some repercussions."
Dylan crossed his arms, looking away from Vic and everyone else. There was silence in the room, untill Vince stood up and grabbed Vic's hand.
"C'mon, Vic," he said gently, pulling the Warlord to his feet to lead him upstairs. If there's anyone who can calm Vic down or make him look at things differently, it's Vincent DiMaggio. Vic has a real soft spot for that boy; it's kind of adorable to see how his hard eyes ease up whenever he looks at Vince.
"All right, all right, get back to what you were doin'." Corey said. Everyone else obliged, except Nick, who went and sat next to Dylan a tad cautiously. Dylan's been known to snap at people with his fists in that state. Nick knows that better than anyone.
"Desmond... Desmond disappeared?" Nick asked softly. Dylan nodded.
"I called him two days ago and his mom just said he was gone. Then I called him yesterday and she said the same thing. And that she didn't know when he'd be back." he said. Nick stayed silent, not knowing what to say to that.
"You ever get a real, real bad feeling in the pit of your stomach?" Dylan asked, turning to his friend. Nick nodded. "This one just won't go away."
---
The air had been quiet for those three days. Perfectly normal and peaceful except for the tenseness between people. Honestly, it bugged the shit out of Evan. He can't stand silence. And he figured there should always be some commotion or something in Chicago. It's the goddamn windy city. At least a breeze would be nice; blow the stagnant, tense air out of the area.
Corey had sent Evan off on a beer run (singing "We need the me-di-cine!" all shrill-like). It was about nine-thirty at night, and had been a calm day.
Evan hadn't even gotten to the store yet. He was a few steps from the corner when a few Gore Hounds turned it. Dressed in full make up, with those hardcore, ripped-up clothes they wore, they looked ready for a goddamn fight. And they were carrying pipe, chains, and switchblades. Fuck, it's a raid.
"'Sup, li'l Ace? Why ya travelin' alone?" said the one in the middle with a little chuckle. Evan's mind began racing, trying to decide what to do.
He settled for initiating a chase.
"I was on my way to ya mom's house." he made a thrusting motion with his hips, "It's like stickin' ya dick out of a window, but she's pretty good with that mouth."
Their amused looks turned to ones of anger, and sure enough, they began chasing Evan. Laughing like crazy, he flew ahead of them. No way they'd catch up with him; he was fast to begin with, and knew short cuts that no one else could ever hope to find.
"This is my turf, motherfuckers!! Good fuckin' luck tryin' to get around it!"
The Gore Hounds started yelling obscenities at Evan, as he threw a trashcan behind himself a la Pancho. Thankfully, they fell behind, and he was able to get to the hideout without them following him. Out of breath and excited, Evan got their attention quickly.
"Fucking... Gore Hounds... are here." Evan breathed, "It's a raid."
Everyone dropped what they were doing. Vic's voice rose above everyone else's.
"All right, boys, we got a fight on our hands. I want you to arm yourselves and pair up. I do not want anyone alone in the middle of a raid!! Ya heard?"
Vic grinned as they all yelled excited agreements back at the Warlord.
Within a few minutes, everyone was ready and excited. Like they were going to a concert or something, rather than a fight with the most vicious gang in Chicago. Regardless, the Aces took the streets in pairs.
"Fan out. Take 'em apart." Vic said loudly to his boys, walking off with Vince. The former of the two had a hunting knife in his belt loop, often used for making examples. Tonight, however, he might have to gut a Gore Hound or two. Vince was left unarmed. He figured, being with Vic and all, that he didn't really need a weapon.
A loud cheer escaped Corey, and he took off running with Evan by his side. Those two were pretty damn dangerous with each other; mean fighters. Evan was known to choke people out with one hand and beat the fuck out of 'em with the other, and just not stop untill they were down and out. Dylan and Nick were, once again, their own pair. Nick carried a can of spraypaint; good for blinding; while Dylan had an aluminum baseball bat.
Travis, Jimmy, and Jake made the last team. Those three were like a little vicious wolf pack in themselves. Three instigators fighting together were bound to make some heavy damage. Armed with a lead pipe, a switchblade, and a big, rusted chain respectively, no one really had to worry about them.
"There's gonna be a rumble tonight!" Nick sang all shrill, spinning gracefully on his heels. The whole gang had actually gone to see West Side Story before, and frequently quoted the play as a joke.
"'Ey! CHINO!" Dylan yelled, punching his fist against his baseball bat. The two were walking down a dark and otherwise deserted street, looking for the Gore Hounds that had so rudely invaded their territory. It didn't take too long to find them. Or, rather, vice-versa, as the Gore Hounds jumped out of an alleyway, screaming at the tops of their lungs.
"Oh, fuck, we come upon a little pack-'a banshees!" Dylan exclaimed, as he dodged one's fist. He kicked the kid in the ribs hard and let his bat connect with his head. Not too hard, though; Dylan needed this goddamn fight.
"Ugly-ass banshees,"
Nick pulled his can of spray paint out of his back pocket and tossed it from hand to hand. He was squared off with the other Gore Hound, waiting for him to take the next move.
"C'mon, Gorie, you wanna face full-a' red?" Nick taunted, shaking the can like a rattle. Suddenly, he felt a forearm across his neck, pulling backwards hard. With a sidelong glance, he noticed that Dylan was on the ground, panting, holding his bat for dear life.
"Get up, you pussy," Nick choked, all while struggling against the chokehold he was in. He tried to elbow the guy, but it didn't work so well.
"Stop fucking moving!" he growled, jerking violently.
Yeah, like I'll sit back and let you kill me! Nick thought, thrashing even more. Dylan started to get up, until the other Gore Hound ran up and kicked him square in the side. Groaning, he rolled to his back and attempted to collect himself.
Suddenly, he remembered his little weapon. Spray paint. Nick bent his arm up. He wished he could have seen the look on the guy's face when he saw the trigger right there. And then, he pressed down. The hiss mingled in with a loud, pained scream. Nick was able to break free then, and he pushed the Gore Hound back.
"You ain't so fuckin' tough." Nick growled, pushing his foot down on the guy's face. Somewhere behind him, there was another scream. Nick whirled around to see Dylan going absolutely ape shit on the other with his bat. And about halfway through his assault, the bat fell out of his hands; but that didn't stop him. He just kept going with his fists.
"Mother-fucking-low-as-shit-dick-fisting-ass-hat--"
Dylan finished, sitting on the guy's stomach, slightly out of breath. Blood on his fists from beating the guy half to death. He stood up, picked up his bat, and then returned to the guy he so mercilessly beat.
"Don't ever hit me from behind."
"Day-um." Nick said flatly, eyeing the Gore Hound he had sprayed in the face. He was writhing on the ground in pain, clutching at his eyes and screaming obscenities. Nick read the directions on the back out loud.
"'First Aid: If In Eyes," he began, "'Hold eyelids open and rinse slowly and gently with water for 15-20 minutes. Remove contact lenses, if present, after the first 5 minutes, then continue rinsing eye. Call a poison control center or doctor for treatment advice'. Shit, dude, you need a fuckin' phone or a hose or someshit."
Nick laughed a little and stomped his foot down on his chest.
"Good luck gettin' to either one, buddy."
Dylan and Nick started away, slapping each other high fives.
---
Vic pressed the Gore Hound he'd whupped about seven times over in a matter of minutes against a cracked brick wall. He took the hunting knife out of his belt loop and held it in plain sight for the kid to see. The fear in his eyes about quadrupled, and he started to struggle more. There was no way any body'd be able to hear him, being that they were farther than anyone else and in a dark alleyway.
"Don't fucking move, all I want is answers." Vic said firmly, jerking against the much smaller boy. Vince kept a look out for any others. Gore Hounds or cops, they would both go down. This wasn't a night to mess around.
"Why the fuck are you here?" Vic demanded, his Jamaican accent starting to color his voice.
"Ulysse's orders." the kid croaked. Vic pressed the kid's face into the brick hard untill he cried out.
"As you're probably aware by now, we ain't in the mood fer bullshit. Now tell me, why the fuck you pieces-a' shit are on my streets."
"Some.. some of your boys were.. mixing with Ulysse's property... And he said you were getting bold..."
Vic gritted his teeth. After this was over, he was gonna have to have a serious talk with Dylan James Rozakk and Nicholas Levi Grey. Vic knew as well as anyone that the two boys' had hearts the right size and in the right place, although sometimes, they both seemed as if their brains were in their dicks.
Regardless of brain location, Vic decided he needed to end this now. He threw the kid down on the ground.
"Scamper off, now,"
Vince turned to his partner, and opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a gunshot made him stop. The both of them paled immediately, and their eyes widened in horror.
"None of our boys own guns."
---
Blood running out of his mouth, Corey was on fucking cloud nine. He was a different person entirely when he was in a fight; spastic and downright mean. He always thought that the main reason he won a lot of his fights were because of his herky-jerky, shake-and-bake movements. Or maybe it was just because he never quit.
Corey spit on the ground, grinning up at his friend Evan. Evan sighed happily, wiping the blood off of his trusty brass knuckles on his pants. Once the fight was over, the both of them returned to their lame-joke-cracking exhibitionist selves.
"I don't think those two are gonna get up for a while," Evan giggled.
"Doubt it. The fucker got me good while I was down, though; you see that?"
"Nah, man, too busy. What I wanted to do was beat 'um so bad you could fit the remains in a matchbox, but I don't need a murder rap on me."
"Ha, word. I ain't even see the Fuzz around for days."
"Hightailed it outta here, 'cause of the Gore Hounds, I bet. Listen, man, is my makeup smudged?"
Corey laughed, examining his friend's face for any smudges. He had put on some eyeliner and red smudge, with a little heart drawn on his cheek ("Ace o' hearts, bitch,"). And, naturally, with all the fists thrown at his face, his make up had smudged some.
"Yeah."
"Cool."
One adverse side effect to Evan and Corey being together for a long time, or in a fight together, was that they tended to get "high" off each other. In other words, giggly as hell, kind of... tripping out. However, their highs can be broken in an instant.
The sound of a gunshot pierced the night air, and the two froze. They looked at each other and took off running in the direction of the shot. Adrenaline guiding their legs, both of them would've swore up and down that they have never, ever run like that before.
---
"Riley! Riley, FUCK!! Open up!" Travis yelled, pounding on the door to the boy's apartment. After a minute, he opened up and gasped once he saw what Travis was freaking out about. Jake had a good hold of Jimmy, who was clutching his bleeding stomach. A shallow, but long, wound was the source of all the blood and pain for him.
"Wha... Get in here." Riley said, bewildered. Jake helped Jimmy over to a chair, where he sat. Gasping and panting, he pulled up his shirt and eyed the gushing knife wound.
"What happened?"
"Motherfucking Gore Hounds. One pulled a 'spic stick' out on Jimmy and near gutted him. You got a first aid kit or something?" Travis said, shaking yet calm.
"Can't I just call 911? I think he needs an ambulance..."
"It.. It ain't that bad. It's just long. I've had worse." Jimmy said, wincing in pain every now and then.
Riley grimaced and left the room. The three Aces sat there in silence, and a bit of shock. About 3.5 seconds after he left, Riley came back with a first aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He then set to work treating the knife wound across poor Jimmy's stomach. Although he was whimpering and whining 'cause of the pain, he seemed a little better once it was cleaned up and bandaged.
"Thanks.." he said quietly, patting the bandage. Jimmy pulled his shirt down, which was stained with blood all up and down the front. Looked like he was gonna have to steal himself another.
"Heheh, you know, Danny's gonna kill me..." Jimmy said a little weakly, with a grimace at Jake and Travis.
"Who's, um... Who's Danny?"
"Boyfriend. He doesn't like me being in this gang, but he puts up with it."
Riley nodded. Travis stood up, followed by Jake, and then Jimmy. They all watched the wounded one cautiously.
"Man, can you walk?"
"Fuck, Jake, I can fight. I'm good as new."
"All right, well... I think we should get you to V--"
And there was that sound. The gunshot that froze nine hearts. The three boys here didn't react any differently than their gangmates; they immediately took off running. Even Jimmy, who just worked through the pain out of concern for any of his friends who might've gotten hurt.
Past the actual pain in his gut, Jimmy had a bad feeling about that gunshot.
---
Practically strutting down the street, Dylan and Nick both knew that their fight wasn't over. All they had to do was wait for someone to show up with the right makeup on, and the two Aces'd beat the shit out of them. That's what they've been taught since they were initiated into the Aces. A rather painful initiation, too, the typical one.. The existing gang members beat you untill you don't move. And if you survive it, you're in. A bit brutal, but it definitely weeded the weak ones out from the strongest ones. Being that Dylan and Nick were the youngest in the gang, they had to go through Vic, Vince, Evan, Jake, Corey, Jimmy, Travis; and Dylan, in Nick's case.
They have definitely been through a lot as a gang. The tightest unit you'll ever come across. No other gang could hope to come close. And that closeness right there was what made them so damn dangerous.
"Fuck, I don't even hear anything. You'd expect, like, yelling or something," Nick muttered, looking up at Dylan. Dylan just shrugged and twirled the baseball bat in his hand.
"Maybe they're trying to be ninjas or whatever," he chuckled.
Just then, they heard rather loud footsteps. Two pairs. They sounded like the people making them were deliberately trying to be heard. Nick and Dylan both whirled around. About six feet away were those two Gore Hounds that had grabbed them in the store.
"Look, Casey, it's the one Ulysse wanted." the brown hair one laughed. Casey grinned, and pulled something out of his pocket. He had pulled the trigger before the Aces even realized what he was holding. The bullet flew with a loud BANG, and hit Nick right in the shin.
It was otherwise silent, for a few horrifying seconds, untill Nick hit the ground and screamed. The boy screamed and screamed, not realizing what the hell happened. Dylan looked to the two grinning Gore Hounds in bewilderment, then dropped to his knees to his friend's aid.
"...Ni.. Nick!!" Dylan yelled, eyes opened wide. It was pretty hard to be heard over Nick, who was just screaming and crying, in absolute hysterics. Dylan went to pick him up, the two boys forgotten. But he heard the gun cocking, and he looked up. Casey and his partner were much closer, and Dylan was staring right down the barrel of a cocked and loaded gun.
"Ah-ah-ah." Casey said, wagging his finger, "I'll be taking this li'l Ace to Ulysse."
"Wh... What do you want with him?" Dylan asked.
"Look at that ass. Ya kiddin' me, boy? He's cute." Casey laughed, bending down to pick Nick up and throw him over his shoulder.
"Mad cute." agreed his friend, pinching Nick's ass. Nick kicked his bleeding leg up at the Gore Hound, although it missed. The two laughed.
"Ooh, he's got a bit of sass still. Might have to beat that out of him."
The brown haired one bent down to Dylan's level, hands on his hips, smiling.
"Now, li'l Ace, I want to tell you to give a message to Victor Sweet. Tell him we shot your boy, tell him he's bleeding bad, tell him he should get to that ole chemical factory in our turf within a few days. Ya heard?"
Dylan nodded, a sob escaping his chest. The only thing he felt right then was an intense fear for what would become of his still-screaming best friend.
"Don't... Don't let them kill you, Nick," Dylan sobbed, slumping over. He stayed like that for a while, crying for Nick, for Desmond, for all the people the Gore Hounds had hurt, for the Aces, and for this whole goddamn city.
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Devious Comments
Comments
WHY NICK?
Well, I guess it could have been worse.
I thought they shot Desmond, 'cause everyone in The Aces seemed to have just heard the shot.
BUT STILL.
--
And I won't say you're useless,
'cause I've seen you dream...
Yeah, they coulda shot him in the face. >:/
Only seven out of nine heard it and weren't there. XD
--
hi, i'm johnny knoxville
--
And I won't say you're useless,
'cause I've seen you dream...
--
"All you need to start an asylum is an empty room and the right kind of people"
- My Man Godfrey
And those fight scenes were intense, beautifully done. I was able to tell who was doing what and when, and the smug, victorious attitudes couldn't have been more right on.
Also, my brain exploded when I scrolled down more and the Author's Comments box came into view. Cliffhangers SUCK, but I know it's gonna be worth it!
(When that shot was first heard, I thought Vic or Vince got shot or something..AND THEN SHINS FOR NICK D: )
--
"What is with your obsession with rape??!!"
"I got raped by a ghost, Spencer!!"
-Spencer Rice and Kenny Hotz.
Gamertag : GrizzlyGers
Well, think of it this way... I was gonna cut it off at the end of Vic and Vince's part. But decided not to for fear of getting shot myself. Hahaha.
--
hi, i'm johnny knoxville
--
hi, i'm johnny knoxville
--
"If you want me to wait, I will wait for you", you figure it's a nice love song, Benji swears it's about his dog.
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