Little Havana Exile

by Hale Chamberlain

  Little Havana Exile

  Hale Chamberlain

  www.halechamberlain.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Hale Chamberlain

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental

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  CHAPTER 1

  As he looked down at his bruised knuckles, Theodore Harper’s thoughts went to his mother and her unbearable niceness. He abhorred her overly charitable soul so deeply that he had fled his family home of Birmingham three months ago, at just sixteen years of age. Of all the things he blamed her for, the most irritating one was her blatant failure to prepare him for the cruelty of the world.

  He had taken it in the face with full force as he went through his first true beating at age thirteen. That day, as he strolled back home through the Old Square after a day’s school, still unacquainted with the sheer nastiness troubled kids are capable of, a band of rough hoodlums hanging out on a nearby bench had decided to target him. What had triggered the ensuing nightmarish whipping was his well-groomed long-on-top haircut that conveyed the misleading impression that he was a mama’s boy from an affluent family, which couldn’t be further from the truth. They swarmed on him without warning and unleashed a vicious hail of punches. They did not stop when he fell – or rather threw himself – to the ground. Neither did they give him any respite when he started screaming, nor when he curled in the fetal position to protect his already damaged insides.

  They only halted the unrelenting trashing when he let go and pretended to be dead following a long, purposeful wail – like a hognose snake. He had seen snakes do this on TV. When threatened by a stronger opponent, the sneaky reptile would enliven their death scenes with sound effects and fanfare, flopping over on his back, mouth wide open. To make it more realistic, the snake would often vomit its latest meal before going belly-up. If the confused predator rolled him onto his belly, the hognose would launch into a convulsion and end up on his back again. Teddy reckoned that if it worked for hognose snakes, it might work for humans, although he didn’t go as far as barfing up his lunch. Bullies feed on fear and despair, he finally understood.

  What took him aback on that day wasn’t the sheer gratuity of the whacking he had just received. Nor was it the brutality that older kids could exert on youngsters. The most disturbing aspect of the whole affair was that the realization that the burning hatred the incident had awakened in him wasn’t directed at the hoodlums. It was aimed at his overprotective, devoted mother.

  Although he was constantly on his guard from that moment onward, the bullying had continued intermittently for three excruciatingly long years, and neither his pious American mother nor his alcoholic Cockney father had managed to muster more than ridiculously ineffective prayers or floating booze-infused insults at a faceless enemy.

  One day, after another vicious beating and another desperately weak response from his parents, Teddy had decided it was time to take matters into his own hand and help himself. His limbs were growing longer, although he remained rather skinny for a sixteen-year-old teenager. In a moment of sheer clarity and utter madness, Teddy Harper ran away. He wouldn’t set foot in his family house until years later.

  Months later, he couldn’t recognize the man standing in front of the mirror. His transformation since he had fled had been total, and he often fantasized about showing his new unpitying self to his unsuspecting mother. Would the old woman even recognize me? He wondered.

  The most outrageous aspect of his volte-face was undoubtedly his newfound bravado, which he had experienced as a liberation. No more of that forced politeness he was compelled to demonstrate in front of strangers. No more bowing the head in submission and fear. Silent hatred for his bullies had made ways for an unapologetic headstrong physical response. To achieve this feat, as a teenager, Teddy knew he had to sever bonds with those who were raising him as a weakling.

  Less than three months into his initiatory walkabout, he was standing in front of one of his former bullies, on the construction site of the National Indoor Arena – the largest building endeavor in Birmingham’s history. The massive project would provide a prime venue for entertainment to the city’s million residents. Teddy had been hired as a construction worker shortly after his runaway, tipped by his uncle Rob Harper. The man was long estranged from his family and had rapidly become somewhat of a father figure for Teddy. He would offer accommodation and food whenever the youngster deigned showing up.

  Now, at the height of the summer, Teddy had been drinking a pop from the off-license on his new stamping ground. The concrete floor on the third level of the arena’s naked structure was dusty and treacherous, but it proved a perfect hangout spot, full of shades under the scorching sun.

  Sundays were always a torture in Birmingham, an old-England industrious city, and the latest suggestion of his friend James offered little in the way of an enticing entertainment option.

  “Mate, we’ve been to Alton Towers a thousand times,” Teddy said, leaning against one of the concrete pillars.

  “Cannon Hill Park?”

  “Nah, bloody full of families. Can’t stand the sight of it. Can’t stand the sight of moaning kids.”

  “How about the seaside? I’ll get my old man’s car and we’ll go to the Weston-Super-Mare,” James said, attentive to his friend’s every reaction. If any relationship implies a balance of power, that one was definitely tilting in favor of Teddy. Acting like a douchebag would alienate most people, he reckoned, but those who stayed behind would be his most ardent allies.

  He glanced at his friend impassively, and said, “My white ass could use a tan, let’s roll. How are you planning on getting the keys?”

  James was ecstatic. He let the cigarette in his mouth drop to the ground, and said, “Yes! Mate! Just leave that to me. I’ll make sure no one’s around, moving stealthily through the hall, reaching to the basement door, and–”

  “Stop going round the bloody Wrekin. Can you get the keys or not?” Teddy interrupted.

  “Oh. Yeah. I mean the guy is always so busy, he probably won’t even notice.”

  It was at that time that the two intruders had shown up unannounced. Teddy immediately recognized one of the hoods that had made his life a living hell in the years prior – a tall but stout youngster with the face of a tired coal miner and a shaved head. A skinhead. He was escorted by a sweaty, chubby man with greasy hair who looked like he had just snorted his tenth line of the day. They were looking for troubles, that much Teddy was certain of.

  “Ladies, ladies, what do we have here? A very cute couple, don’t you think?” The bully said to his obese friend. They chuckled.

  He went on, “That’s a private property, you�
��re gonna have to vacate I’m afraid. And we’ll keep those–”

  The man stopped mid-sentence, somewhat unsettled by Teddy’s reaction. Or rather lack thereof. An imperceptible crooked smile was even started to appear on Teddy’s face.

  “Are you laughing, you bum?” the bully called out, as he pushed away James vigorously out of the way, never breaking eye contact with his target.

  Teddy’s response was immediate. “You look tired buddy. In fact, you look like you’ve had a stroke,” he said, pressing forward until he was right in his old bully’s face.

  The boldness of the former wimp threw the man off for a second. Of course, he was unaware that Teddy had undergone a mental overhaul that few kids his age ever went through. Three years of constant intimidation with its lot of physical trauma and a slowly building smoldering anger changed a man to its core, for better or worse.

  As the bully reached for his collar, Teddy unlocked a savage left hook that crashed on his opponent’s cheekbone with full force. The punch was so brutal that he could have sworn he felt the bone crack. The exhilaration that engulfed Teddy at that moment would reverberate in each subsequent punch he would throw in the following years. It was a punch of liberation. A coming of age.

  The bully was on the verge of losing consciousness when he collapsed and hit the hard, stony floor. As the initial bewilderment lifted, the youngsters slowly realized that that the very act of defiance they had just witnessed came with a far-reaching implication – a shift of power.

  “Man, stop. Stop.” the bully begged with a meek voice. He was unwilling to test his opponent’s resolve by getting back up straight away, so he stayed down, even after the dizziness from the unexpected blow had passed. “Sorry, sorry for the beatings.”

  The chubby guy did not bulge, sensing that this new version of Theodore Harper would go to great lengths to defend himself and his friend James. Little did he know that it was the first time in his life that Teddy had responded to an attack with anything other than submission. It was the first blow that Teddy had thrown at another human being. And it had felt even better than he had imagined.

  “No, no, no. Don’t apologize,” Teddy said. “Why are you saying sorry, you twat? You opened my eyes!” He threw his arms in the air, and walked over the man lying on the ground, standing astride on top of his body. Then, to everyone’s horror, he placed his left foot on the right side of the man’s face, precisely where he had felt the crack. He applied a moderate amount of pressure, to signify the roles had been inverted and that now, he was undisputedly in command.

  The tension in the air was mounting as the bully’s eyes widened in disbelief. When thoughts of his mother and former bullies pervaded his mind, Teddy gave in to the psychosis and pressed on the man’s face with increasing intent, until the man let out a chilly wail betraying extreme pain and dismay.

  Teddy let go, having the ominous feeling that this was a line that would be crossed soon enough, but not here, not now. For now, he would stick with further verbal attacks, for a more devastating psychological impact, as the rascals had done to him so many times. “You little penile head,” he said scornfully, “you and your fat girlfriend better fucking run before I decide to completely smash your faces off.”

  The two intruders were speechless and unable to move, completely gripped by fear.

  “Get the fuck outta here before he kills you!” James finally shouted. The two men fled, without looking back and disappeared around a thin concrete wall full of protruding steel rods.

  Teddy Harper had crushed his first bone, and he couldn’t help but feel a whole new world was opening before his eyes. A world where he would be in control.

  CHAPTER 2

  As a searing Indian summer submerged the city, most of the boys his age were leafing through book pages at the Central Library, fleeing the heat, just as the school year was about to kick off. Other kids were hunting for bargains at Mark’s One, queuing up at the ramp. Teddy, however, did neither. He had no desire for further education nor the quids to spend.

  Lying on the bed of his uncle’s guest room, he pondered his next step. Rob Harper had a massive estate, and he definitely was involved in shady businesses, that much Teddy was certain of. It was no coincidence that his mother had pushed for his drunkard father to break off all links with uncle Rob when it became clear that the man was involved in dirty dealings, potentially even running a crime gang himself.

  A single knock on the door brought Teddy back to reality. Robert Harper entered before Teddy had a chance to usher him in. In truth, the man looked more like an Italian mobster than an Englishman – short, portly with thinning hair combed backward. No kids, no wife, a life devoted to his businesses, whatever they were.

  “Ham sandwich with pickles. Made it myself,” he announced, placing the plate on the desk near the window. “Eat, and we’ll speak about your future later.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m working, doing my own thing. Living my life.” Teddy replied immediately.

  “Right, right. The construction industry, innit? That’s a tough life, kid, unless you’re the one commissioning projects.” Rob Harper was ready to distill some of his knowledge of business, but the youngest was hardly interested.

  Teddy switched his position so that he faced his uncle. “Maybe I like the grunt work. The sweat. The toil. Using my hands.” He raised his clenched fists and got up. “In any case, I gotta shoot off, we’ll speak later Rob.” In a swift and preposterous gesture, he stuffed the sandwich down his mouth, giving his uncle a thumb up as he left.

  …

  Barely an hour later, Teddy Harper was pacing toward the construction site with James Wilkinson. Despite his earlier confession to his uncle, Teddy had ambitions that stretched far beyond house building, and this afternoon of intense heat was supposed to be a stepping stone toward setting them both on a path of future success. James had access to some of the resources of his father Adam Wilkinson – a notorious gangster operating across the country. Meanwhile, Teddy had the fortitude and the guts of a man that was cementing his psychological transformation from sheep to wolf. A man that made a conscious choice to become a brutal animal.

  The association between the two youngsters was full of promises, their complementarity blindingly obvious. Yet it was of little use when they came face to face with a band of two dozen hoodlums posted right in front of the entry to the dusty building site. In a second, they were cornered, the narrow path along the arena blocked on both sides by two strongly-built lads.

  Right away the group split up in half, and a lanky figure stepped forward. Teddy immediately identified the man as the bully he had knocked down on this very building ground only a few days earlier. James turned pale with anguish as he sensed the slaughter awaiting them. They were only a few yards away from the angry-looking crowd and it looked every bit as if Teddy’s cockiness would backfire with ungodly violence.

  The fear set in immediately. There was no way around it, they were in dire straits. The bully would seek revenge, and judging by the solid backing available to him, there was no coming out of this unscathed. Teddy’s heart was pounding, while James seemed to have already accepted their fate in silence.

  “Here they are, the little punks,” the bully said in a playful tone. “We’ve been waiting the entire day for you.”

  “What do you think we should do to them, Kieran?” a voice said at the back. “This place is such a dusty dump, no one would ever find them if we buried them in here. Stuff their bodies under the dirt.” He pointed behind him at the far-from-finished arena.

  The terror was so overwhelming that Teddy’s whole body was becoming numb. It was a different feeling from the bullying he had suffered in earlier years. In those occasions, he knew they had no reason to cause serious bodily harm. But now, they had a pretext. That was probably what they had been waiting for all along. Fucking hell!

  He glanced at the bully’s severely damaged cheekbone, and then at the swathes of hoods hungry for blo
od. The worst kind of seed produced by Birmingham. He had seen at least half of them before, he was sure of it, some of them had dealt blows at him. The hatred he felt at that instant was overwhelming, and to his surprise, it was slowly overtaking the fear. He had completely forgotten that James was next to him, having done nothing to deserve the beating that was cooking. But now isn’t the time to back off, he reasoned.

  “Kieran, is that your name then? I won’t forget it,” Teddy said, his voice slightly trembling. “Bringing your little army of bums to protect you…I’ve only touched you once, and you’re already scared shitless?”

  “You silly boy, you’re still showing such nerve in that situation?” The man was wincing, his wound clearly still aching. “You better be scared, because this time I won’t–”

  “Kieran! Wait!” Teddy shouted suddenly, prompting the bullies to switch to a fighting stance. He squinted overtly and added with concern. “The side of your face is bloody dropping! Are you gonna be ok here? You’re making me worried, mate!” He chuckled to himself.

  James immediately knew that his friend went too far. He had gone from one extreme to the next over the past months, and the only upshot was that it would get them killed. He looked around for an escape route, but they were effectively trapped.

  Kieran grinned. “The sissy has grown a ballsack! I’ve got plans for you Teddy boy, and you’re not going to like it…” He paused, and spinning his head toward the man next to him, he asked, “Should we tell him?” The man nodded, and Kieran announced, “We’ll cut your head off, Teddy! And then, we’ll drag your body across Birmingham. You’ve attacked the wrong man.”

  To James’ complete bewilderment, Teddy was darting toward Kieran, throwing an unrestrained blow that landed right on the man’s nose. Kieran dropped like a stone, shouting in pain. If you’re about to smash our heads off, I might as well do as much damage as I can beforehand!

  Teddy’s hunch was that in any band of rowdy roughnecks, at least half of the lot consisted of passive followers that would never engage in combat. He had observed the group intently during the aborted conversation, and he was now going at those who would most likely fight back with full force, in an attempt to take out the tough ones first.