426 Rebirth (1/2)
Trash was scattered on the uneven road. A car whose rims had long been stolen was parked on a patch of grass that hadn't been cut in a long time. The car's front windows were shattered, and stains of dried blood could be seen on the messy seats.
On both sides were old and rundown apartments. The paint of the upper walls was peeling off, whereas the lower walls were covered in graffiti. Those who didn't know any better might have thought that these were art pieces, but they were actually gang signs. It was to tell the outside world that the place was their territory, and at the same time, it warned rival gangs to stay out.
This was a poor neighborhood, and it was the same as every other poor neighborhood in America. It was chaotic and run down, and violence and crime were common. When it got dark, even the LAPD was not willing to go there. And those so-called cultural facilities distanced themselves from areas like these.
A black youth lay in a corner. His body was curled up, his hands raised to protect his head. Surrounding him were four youths who were hitting and kicking him.
On the hood of the old car sat a youth with blonde shaved hair. He was covered in tattoos and had half a cigarette in his mouth. He was looking down at the black youth condescendingly. He said fiercely, ”Tim, did you spend too much time at the youth detention center? Even your brain got disciplined until it became dull? I am giving you one more chance. Say it again.”
”No, I'm not going to sling for you!” The black youth shouted in a trembling voice, twisting his body.
”It seems like your brain is still not awake after a beating.” The blond-haired youth flicked his cigarette and looked at the black youth with contempt. He waved his hands, and the others continued the beating.
”Tim, do you understand what you need to do now?” the blonde haired youth asked.
”If I deal for you, once I get caught by the cops, I'll get sent back to the detention center. I won't be able to keep boxing,” the youth said while panting heavily.
”So what? It won't be your first time going to the youth detention center. Who here hasn't been to that damned place!” the blonde haired youth said coldly.
”I promised Kevin Taylor that I will practice boxing seriously. I will not get involved in any sort of crime. I want to become a boxer,” the youth said.
”A boxer? Hehehe. You need to wake up from your dream!” The blonde haired youth jumped off the hood, bent down, grabbed the black youth's hair, and said, ”Tim, you should understand, you live here and you are poor. In this neighborhood, you either steal, or you follow me! There is no third option. This is your fate in life. You can't change it… So, you need to help me deliver some goods. You've got no choice.”
As the blonde haired youth spoke, he kicked the black youth again. He then waved his hands, turned around, and walked away with his lackeys.
After about ten minutes, the black youth got up with difficulty, and limped away in the other direction…
...
Kevin Taylor's boxing gym.
Taylor walked leisurely around the boxing gym, and finally stopped in front of Chris Payton.
”These kids aren't giving you any trouble, right?” Taylor asked.
”No,” Payton shook his head. ”Their behavior is much better than I thought. My impression was that kids who came out of youth detention centers were dangerous people, each one like an explosive barrel, just a bit of spark and they blow up.”
”Actually they are just trying to make themselves seem stronger; that is how they survive. In reality, they want a peaceful life. I was the same when I was young. I fought everywhere. Using violence to solve everything. My aim was to make sure my peers didn't bully me,” Taylor said with a sigh.
Payton pointed to a black youth who was training. ”Something happened to Tim. When he came in today, he was covered in bruises, and they aren't there because of boxing practice. He most likely got into a fight with someone.”
Taylor looked at the black youth and thought for a few seconds. He said, ”According to the information we have, he was sent to the youth detention center twice. The first time was because of theft, and the second was because he had a small number of drugs on him.”
”Did he touch any of that stuff?” Payton asked.
”Of course he didn't touch any of that stuff. Otherwise, he would be in a drug rehabilitation center, and not here.” Taylor lowered his voice as he spoke, and continued, ”He lives in the south side. That place is dangerous. There are a lot of Mexicans who snuck in illegally. Fighting should be something that is very common there.”
...
”Coach, I didn't fight with anyone. Please don't send me away!” The black youth called Tim looked very nervous.
”Then how did your injuries come about? Don't tell me you got them during your boxing training. My training doesn't cause injuries like that,” Payton asked.
Tim hung his head low and stayed silent for a while before saying, ”Some guys who live near me wanted me to deliver some goods for them. I didn't agree to it, so they beat me up. But I didn't fight back, I didn't fight.”
”Delivering goods? Drugs, right?” Payton said. He suddenly had a feeling of deja vu, as if he saw a small-time drug pusher specializing in using minors to deliver drugs to buyers.
”I will never deliver for them again,” Tim said firmly. ”Even if they beat me up again, I still won't do it. I want to become a professional boxer, just like Kevin Taylor. Win the title of the boxing champion. I know that he and I are the same, we both came from youth detention centers. I believe that I will be able to do it.”
Having a role model is really powerful! Payton sighed and asked, ”You rejected those gangsters, but they wouldn't let you off so easily, right?”
Tim didn't answer, but the panic in his eyes said everything.
”Where is your house?” Payton asked.
”In the south side…” Tim gave him an address.
”Haha. No wonder I had a feeling of deja vu.” Payton suddenly laughed and continued, ”Tim, this afternoon, after you finish practicing, I will take you home! Coincidently, my home is also nearby. It's been a while since I last went home.”
...
An old Chevrolet Impala entered the rundown neighborhood.
The car was very popular in America. It was a typical American-style economy car. The car was large enough, with plenty of interior space, and the trunk was spacious as well. It was not a very high tech car, but it was enough. The engine was strong, and the car was cheap. To Americans, who typically practiced pragmatism, it was a very cost-effective choice.
On the side of the street, a short tattooed man had noticed the car quite a while ago. The tattooed man was obviously a gang member. At that point, he unconsciously touched the gun on his waist.
The Impala was too common in America. A lot of criminals chose to steal conventional cars in order to avoid being tracked by the police. So the tattooed man worried that the person in the car might be dangerous. They might pull out a submachine gun in the next second and start spraying everyone.
”Don't be nervous, he is one of our own. That is Chris's car.” A bald black man who was wearing sunglasses and a large gold chain patted the short guy's shoulder and said, ”Although Chris only comes back a few times a year, I still recognize his license plate number.”
”Chris? Which Chris?” The short guy hadn't registered what was said.
”Chris Payton! Payton's third son. This neighborhood is all part of their family's turf. But I've heard Chris doesn't get involved with his family's business. He became a sports coach elsewhere. He usually doesn't come back,” the bald black man with the glasses said.
”A sports coach? A Payton working in a proper job? Hahaha, only an idiot would believe that!” The short guy laughed and looked in the direction the Impala had gone. ”Is he driving to 'Yellow Hair' Jack's territory? Payton's house is on the left, isn't it?”
”Maybe he has some other business.” The bald man with the sunglasses lit the cigarette in his hands, took a deep breath, and blew out a smoke circle. ”Jack only took control of that street last year. I'm not sure if he'll recognize Chris Payton.”
...