by Tom Nelson
The doctor walks into the room at that point, so Tom and Johnny leave. Biggie remains in the room with his friend. Tom and Johnny can hear groans of pain and cursing coming from King as they make their way back to Johnny’s place.
The two men sit back down and take another blast of cocaine to help settle their nerves. Both have been smoking crack for so long, and at such a high volume, that being high on crack is their ‘normal’ state of mind.
“So, what the fuck happens now?” Tom asks.
“We find out who dem niggas was and go after ’em.” Johnny hits the pipe again and sets it down on the table. He is exhaling smoke as he says, “We do da same shit to dem!”
“I get it,” Tom says with a sigh. “Eye for an eye,” he says, “fight fire with fire.”
“You know how dis shit goes, T!”
“Yeah, I do.” Tom has been out on his own for so long, and in jail so many times, that he fully understands the politics of the streets and prison. Strength prevails!
~~~
Tom is driving on the 110 north out of Downtown LA. He has just dropped off a brick of coke at Johnny’s house and is trying to stay awake for the fifteen-mile drive home. Tom hasn’t gotten much sleep the past couple of weeks. He’s been using too much cocaine and partying too hard.
Johnny warns him about driving in this condition, but Tom assures his friend he is fine. Besides, it’s a short drive home. One he has made hundreds of times.
As Tom is driving, his head begins to nod forward. He wakes up and grabs the wheel harder, as though it will help him drive better. He has crossed into the lane next to him without knowing he was doing so. He turns the radio up louder. Opens his window.
A moment later, Tom wakes to the sound of a horn blaring. He jerks the car back into his lane. Once again, he has nodded off and drifted across lanes.
Tom is driving the Mercedes-Benz he took as collateral from Brian. It’s a very nice machine. Tom can easily see how Brian could become so attached to it. He’s driving along in comfort and suddenly—SMASH!—Tom runs right into the back of a tow truck! Tom has fallen asleep and driven right up the off ramp of the interstate! He crashes into the back of a tow truck that has been waiting at the traffic signal.
“What the fuck?!” The driver of the truck has gotten out and is coming around to where Tom and the crashed Mercedes are. “What the fuck?!”
Tom is dazed and still half asleep as he opens the driver’s door. He was wearing a seatbelt, but the momentum of the crash still sent Tom’s forehead into the windshield. His head cracks the glass and now has some of it stuck in his scalp. Blood is beginning to trickle down his nose.
“What the fuck?!” the tow truck driver repeats. Tom has driven the German car so far onto the back of the tow truck that it is stuck. The little car is smashed to hell and stuck to the back of this man’s truck!
Tom manages to get out of the car and stand up. He’s a little wobbly at first but gets his bearings fairly quickly. He looks at the car, then at the driver of the tow truck, then back at the car. Tom pulls a stack of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket, tosses a few in the front seat of the Mercedes and says to the driver, “You can keep it.”
“What?!” the confused angry driver screams incredulously.
“You heard me,” Tom says, “you can keep it.” With that, he turns and walks toward a service station at the top of the off ramp. The infuriated tow truck driver is standing by his damaged truck yelling at Tom’s back walking away.
Tom makes it to a pay phone at the station, where he calls a cab to come get him and take him home. He cleans up as much as he can in the bathroom at the gas station while waiting and considers how lucky he is to be alive right now.
~~~
“We’re even.”
“What?” Brian asks.
“We’re even,” Tom repeats.
As Brian’s brain is wrapping itself around that statement, he realizes that Tom is not giving him a break for no reason. He knows better! His next thought is of his car. His precious car.
“What happened, Tom?” Brian asks. “Is my car okay?”
“Well, Brian,” Tom begins, “let it suffice for me to say no.”
“What? What happened?”
“Well, I had a little run in with a tow truck in Downtown LA.”
“Oh my god!”
“Yeah, well, the car is totaled,” Tom tells Brian, “so we’re even.”
“Okay,” comes the dismayed voice on the other end of the phone. “Oh my god!” What else can he possibly say? He sure as hell can’t beat Tom up over it. “Thanks, Tom,” comes Brian’s defeated response as he accepts the fact that he will never see his beautiful Mercedes again.
“You’re insured, right?” Tom asks. He knows Brian has the car insured to the gills.
“Yeah,” Brian responds.
“Then, let me know when you want more meth,” Tom finishes.
“Yeah, sure, Tom,” Brian says, completely deflated, “will do.”
~~~
Tom, Johnny, King, Biggie, and another man Tom has only met a couple of times are in the kitchen of King’s place. The five men have guns on them and are checking them to make sure everything is all right and their weapons will function properly.
“Dis ain’t yo fight, T,” Johnny says.
“Bullshit, Johnny,” Tom responds. “I was here when the motherfuckers came in shootin’!”
“Yeah, but dem niggas was gonna roll through here anyway,” Johnny rationalizes, “whether you was here or not.”
“Johnny’s right, man,” King chimes in. “Dis ain’t yo fight.”
“We got dis, Tom-Tom,” Biggie says. “You ain’t rollin’ with us on dis!”
Tom considers what the men are telling him and knows they are right. Other than the fact that these guys are now his friends, Tom has no stake in this fight. This is a gang-related shooting where one group of drug dealers is trying to take out another. Eliminate the competition. Tom just happens to be there when the shooting occurs.
“Okay,” Tom relents. “But you motherfuckers better let me know how the shit goes down!”
“Shit, T,” Johnny jokes, “we’ll be back here smokin’ dope and bangin’ bitches before ya know it!” The five men laugh.
“All right, man,” Tom says as he stands to make his way out of the house. “Watch your asses out there,” he says with genuine concern. “Motherfuckers are crazy!” It doesn’t seem odd at all to Tom to be telling his friends that people are crazy as they are about to roll out on a drive-by shooting. It’s a normal part of the life they are all in.
~~~
Two cars speed around the corner of a South-Central LA neighborhood. The tires make a small chirp as they round the corner and speed up the block. People are looking toward the cars after hearing the noise of the tires and the revving of the engines.
“Fuck you, niggas!” King hollers out the window of one car. Johnny is driving, and King is holding a .357 Magnum out the car window firing shots. When he runs out of bullets, he drops the empty gun on the floor of the car and starts shooting with a Beretta 93R he has acquired in a trade for cocaine. The three-round bursts from the Beretta make a horrible sound. It is an awesome weapon. Possessing it can land a person in prison for life.
Johnny is focused on the road when a man jumps out in front of their car and starts to draw a pistol on them. “Get down!” Johnny screams as the man fires directly at the windshield of the speeding vehicle. King slumps down in his seat below the level of the windshield and Johnny manages to duck a little bit. Glass cracks with a thumping sound as one of the rounds goes through the windshield of the car, but Johnny keeps his foot on the gas, his head down, and prays he doesn’t run into a parked car.
Johnny and King can feel the lurching of the car and hear a heavy thump followed instantaneously by the sound of someone screaming in pain. They have hit the man in the street! He didn’t get out of the way fast enough! The gunman goes flying through the air like a ragdoll. Johnn
y can see the man as he is in the air hurtling toward parked cars on the side of the residential street.
Biggie and the other man from the crack house are racing up the street in another car that’s behind the one King and Johnny are in. Biggie is firing out the window of the car at anything that is moving. He also yells obscenities as he fires out the window.
Shots start pouring in from the opposite side of the street. They can be heard striking the cars! The driver of the second car lets out a little yelp of pain as one of the bullets penetrates the door of the car and grazes his leg. He presses down hard on the accelerator and almost catches up to Johnny’s car as more bullets are pumped into his car. A bullet catches the driver in the shoulder, and he slumps and begins to lose control of the vehicle. Biggie, still shooting out the passenger window, grabs the steering wheel of the car and is shooting and driving at the same time.
Johnny and King speed farther down the block and King continues to send bursts of 9mm rounds toward anything he can hit. They come to the end of the block and practically fly onto Figueroa Street as they leave the scene of the shooting. The car that Johnny is driving has collected a few bullets, but neither he nor King has been hit. The car seems okay as he stomps on the gas and gets the fuck out of there. Johnny can see the surprised looks on the faces of prostitutes, small-time pimps, and crackheads as the car burns rubber getting away.
Between Biggie and his injured driver, they managed to get their car off the small street they had been shooting up and out onto Figueroa Street. They aren’t doing as good as Johnny and King however. The driver passes out from shock and pain. Biggie drags the unconscious man into the passenger seat and runs around to the driver’s side of the car. A kind of crazy Chinese fire drill. He starts to drive and the car begins to limp. FUCK! the big man thinks, we got a flat tire! He limps the car a full two blocks before stopping. He wants to make sure they are far enough away from the street they have just come from to ensure they aren’t shot to death sitting in a broken-down car on Figueroa.
As Biggie checks on his passenger, he can hear sirens getting very close. He’s faced with a dilemma: try to get away on foot and leave his friend for the police or sit and wait for the police and go to jail with his friend. He chooses the latter. Biggie is a loyal friend, for sure.
Johnny and King make it home without further incident. It won’t be long, though, before the cops figure out who Biggie and the shot-up driver are and what neighborhood they’re from. The LA County Street Gang Detail will be crawling all over the neighborhood for about a week. Busting crackheads and hookers. Pumping them for information about the shooting in exchange for their “freedom.” You’re never free when you’re a crackhead!
Johnny drops King off at one of the crack houses and ditches the car a few miles away. He uses a pay phone to contact a cab driver he pays with cocaine to come pick him up and get him home. Johnny and King have to put together a few things and get the hell out of there for at least a week while things cool off.
Biggie and his driver are arrested. Johnny and King get bumped to the top of the LA Street Gang Detail’s most dangerous motherfucker list! It has been one helluva night!
~~~
Tom is driving through West Hollywood. This town, he thinks, is wide-fucking-open all the time! Boystown, as it is called, consists of a few cute shops intermingled with gay bars, sex stores, and hardcore leather shops. It’s a wild city! He looks at sidewalk traffic as he drives. People watching in West Hollywood is always an interesting experience.
Then, lo and behold, who does he see? None other than the infamous Hollywood Streaker standing on a small side street off Santa Monica Boulevard known for male prostitution. He can see Swann talking to a man who has approached him. The two men walk away and get into a car, which has been parked at a meter closer to Santa Monica Boulevard. Tom, who is stuck in traffic, watches the two drive down the street and make a left turn. He immediately puts on his turn signal and makes a terribly illegal right turn across two lanes of traffic and follows the other vehicle.
Tom catches up to them pretty quickly. The man is driving slow. The two are probably negotiating how much money Swann wants for any given sexual act. Tom follows the car containing Swann and his trick through a series of turns on small side streets and watches as they park in a spot that is dark and sheltered from plain view.
Tom parks on the block behind them and watches. He opens his door and pulls his 9mm from its magnetized holster beneath the car and steps out. He doesn’t know if he is going to be able to get Swann because of the witness who is driving the other car, but he wants to be ready. If it seems too risky, Tom will simply put his gun away and drive home. If he thinks he can get up on Swann, however . . .
Suddenly, the passenger side of the car opens and Swann jumps out. That was fast, Tom thinks, there’s no way he got that motherfucker off that quick! Swann looks both directions on the sidewalk trying to determine his best escape. Then, to Tom’s surprise, he runs right toward where he is parked.
Tom runs around the back of his car and a work truck that is parked behind him and peers around the corner. Swann is fast! But, not quite fast enough. Tom steps out from behind the truck with his pistol raised straight out in front of him and blocks Swann’s path.
“Oh, FUCK!” Swann screams. He has just robbed the guy in the parked car of his wallet and jewelry and is making his getaway when, “Oh SHIT!” Swann stops in his tracks as his nose is pressed against the barrel of Tom’s weapon.
“Hi, Swann,” Tom says sort of casually. He has the little bastard again. Only, this time, Swann thinks he has something to pay Tom with—the stuff he just stole from his trick.
“Oh, fuck, Tom,” Swann says and holds out his hands, which contain the property of the driver of the other car. The driver speeds off and is heading directly to the LA Sheriff’s Department West Hollywood Station to file charges for armed robbery against his unknown passenger.
“You shoulda sucked his dick,” Tom says matter-of-factly.
“What?” Swann asks stupidly.
“You shoulda sucked his dick,” Tom repeats, “instead of robbing him. You probably would have gotten away from me that way.” Tom waves the gun in Swann’s face and says, “Drop what’s in your hands and get naked!”
“Tom—” Swann wails, “I got money to pay you with!”
“No, you don’t!” Tom smacks Swann with the barrel of his gun and Swann drops the contents of his hands. “I told you that everything you got for the rest of your life belongs to me until you pay me.”
“I can pay you, Tom—”
“With what?!” Tom asks. “The stuff on the ground here? That’s mine now. You robbed that poor bastard and now I’m robbing you!” Tom acts as though he is going to smack Swann again and says, “Get naked, you stupid son of a bitch, or I’ll shoot you!”
“Don’t, Tom!” Swann wails as he begins to get undressed. It’s a good thing they are in a dark part of the street where there are trees to provide a little privacy for all of this. Swann’s clothes hit the ground one piece at a time until he is, once again, wearing only his shoes and socks. Swann didn’t made Tom tell him to get naked more than once tonight.
“Now, RUN!”
Swann takes off running down the dark street and is briefly illuminated by the streetlights on the corner as he runs as fast as he can. Tom reaches down and picks up the things Swann has dropped: a wallet, a man’s gold bracelet, a watch, and the small knife Swann had used to rob his victim this evening. Tom removes the cash from the wallet and tosses it and the knife on top of the stack of Swann’s clothing, then walks back to his car.
There is a couple of hundred dollars in the wallet and Tom can get a few hundred more, he figures, for the bracelet and the watch. No matter what he gets for it, Swann wasn’t coming to pay up, so the debt still isn’t settled. Swann still owes him.
Swann is running down the streets of West Hollywood butt naked. Tears are running down his face as he moves. A thought goes thro
ugh his head: I should get the hell out of Hollywood! I wonder what it’s like in San Francisco.
He runs up to Santa Monica Boulevard and crosses when traffic allows. Horns are blaring and men are catcalling as Swann makes his way across the boulevard. He sees flashing lights and runs even faster. The police are probably looking for him because of the robbery of the trick! He runs up Harper Avenue and tries to get inside an apartment complex but can’t, as the security gate is locked. He runs to the apartment building next door and tries it but has the same luck. As he turns away from the second security gate, Swann is once again looking down the barrel of a gun, only this time it is that of a Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy from the West Hollywood station. Swann—the Hollywood Streaker—has been caught!
~~~
Tom and Cookie are sitting on the sofa getting stoned. Tom is watching the news, as he often does, when a report comes in.
“The LA Sheriff’s Department West Hollywood Station has announced that an officer captured the man known as the Hollywood Streaker. He has been identified as twenty-nine-year-old Jacob Swann from London, Texas. Mr. Swann has been arrested for armed robbery and several counts of public nudity. What Mr. Swann is doing in Los Angeles streaking remains to be determined, but . . .”
Tom is laughing so hard he scares his cat off the couch. Now, that is funny!
Tom will reflect on this story for decades and laugh every time.
~~~
Tom is pulling into a housing complex in Tempe, Arizona. He notices a car parked on the highway about a quarter mile from the entrance to the complex he is heading into. He recognizes it as a police car and the hair on the back of his neck begins to stand.
Tom drives in cautiously, looking for the correct house. Many of the houses here are not finished, Tom notices, and their frames stand as skeletons at dusk against the desert sky. He keeps an eye on the rearview mirror to see if the cop has followed him.
The address he is looking for is right in the middle of the complex. Tom parks in the driveway of the house and gets out of the car. He is carrying two duffel bags, one inside the other, to carry the drugs back to the car. He has the feeling of being watched and takes a quick look around for security cameras. He spots quite a few and figures there were many more he hasn’t located. Movement in the shadows catches Tom’s attention, but he can’t see anything. He takes a deep breath and exhales as he rings the doorbell.
