Sunday, March 06, 2011

The Story About Nothing That Almost Was

by James Jarvis
from My Arcology

Bad-Ass, Motherf*er Faces The White Rhino
    I was just getting off a three-hour shift of humping beer for Arco when co-worker Allah was getting off his eight-hour clerking shift. I filled my soda cup with Cherry Coke and followed Allah out the door. His car was parked against the fence. I just have a short walk to my crack motel. I was going 'home' to my crack motel room to unwind on my broken barcolounger. Allah was in a hurry to get to his second job at another Arco.

    Some chollo was parked almost right up against the front bumper of Allah's car. He was sitting in his car trying to negotiate terms with one of our local afternoon streetwalkers, whose head and arms were inside the chollo's car. Her ass waved back and forth like a dog's butt waves when he knows you're fixing to give him a doggie treat. Or maybe he was her pimp. Or her drug dealer. He looked all those parts.

    Allah got in his own car and, being the impatient Arabic type that he is, immediately honked his horn at the chollo to move. It was completely unnecessary to honk. Allah could have just backed up and drove around the transaction, but nooooooooo, Allah had to assert his Arco employee right of way.

    The streetwalker popped her torso out of the chollo's car and started walking away. I was walking past the front of the big, bald-headed, gangbanger-dressed chollo's car when Allah had honked. When I saw the look of anger, no, bloodcurldling, murderous rage in the chollo's face, I decided to backtrack a few feet back onto the Arco driveway to watch . . . maybe even participate . . . in the 'festivities' I was sure would follow.

    The bullheaded chollo looked back at Allah, yanked his door open with such force that I thought the door would come off its hinges and stomped over to where Allah was sitting in his car. For a split second, I could see in Allah's eyes the realization that maybe he had fucked up. He had just hit a beehive with a stick and the swarm was racing towards him in the form of a big, angry, coitus-interrupted gangbanger whose fists were tight as he screamed curses at Allah.

    Words were exchanged.

    I moved to within a few feet of the back of the chollo. He sensed me and looked back over his shoulder at me. I gave him my best White Rhino dead-eyed, bring-it-on-if-you-got-the-stones look. Allah was wearing his Arco uniform. I had my Arco nametag on the nasty blue jacket I had found in the dumpster and wear to work. I looked like I had just been in a fight. Two Arco employees. One gangbanger. He must've decided the odds weren't in his favor for a clean getaway.

    Bullhead swaggered back to his car, keeping me in his peripheral vision until he reached his car door, then turned to face me like a bull in a pasture turns to face an intruder, his head high, chin up, nose up, sniffing at the wind for that telltale odor of fear. Bullhead was facing me squarely and I tucked my head down a bit, in the pose of another bull, a challenging male, getting ready for the charge.

    If he makes just one move towards me, just one step, I'll step towards him with my right foot, swing my right hand out and throw the soda on him. He'll jerk back a moment, into the involuntary protective pose most people make when someone is throwing something liquid at you, and that'll be my chance: I'll step off quickly towards him: left, right, left, plant my left foot and swing my right foot as hard as I can towards the bullhead's center until my right foot plants itself powerfully into bullhead's testicles.

    He should go down. I might have to follow the brutish kick with a short, right-handed downward chop to the right side of his head to finish him off. If he makes me do that, if this big bull of a man makes me work to put him down, then I'm going to be angry, real angry. I'm gonna have to break some bones on this big motherfucker. Break them hard. I'll go to town on this guy and it'll take five cops to pull me off him. Why? Because this is MY neighborhood and nobody brings that cock-of-the-walk, gangbanger spirit of violence into my neighborhood, into my face. Nobody.

    I pushed a narrow, two-foot wide { I'm-gonna-break-your-bones-and-rip-out-your-intestines-if-you-make-one-move-towards-me } mental vibration at the bullhead.

    His body snapped back a few inches as if he actually felt the force of my mental pushing, { gonna-rip-your-head-off-and-pee-down-the-hole-in-your-neck } vibrations and he hopped in his car and drove off. Alla pulled up to make his right hand turn, giving me an exasperated, eyes rolling up in his head "Where do they get these crazy motherfuckers?" look as he passed.

    I don't think he ever knew how close he came to seeing the breaking and dismemberment of a bad-ass, motherfucker.
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