American Criminal

by Shawn William Davis

  Ray continued toward the lake, keeping an eye out. He veered off the walkway and cut across the grass toward a cluster of thick palm trees and vegetation on the far side of a clearing. Circling around the trees, he saw two Latino men seated at a picnic table. Unlike many of their brazen counterparts, they were shielded from most passersby by trees and foliage. They were making an exchange with an individual. Ray saw the customer snatch a small package from the dealer’s hand like a rat snatching cheese from a trap. The customer walked away and left the men alone. Burnside quickly formulated a plan.

  He took out the remaining eighteen dollars from his wallet, rolled a ten around a five and three ones, and held the wad conspicuously in his left hand. Reaching around his back, he checked the Taser gun secured in the back of his shorts. He also checked the bottle of pepper spray in his left pocket. He turned the bottle upside-down and faced the sprayer toward him, so all he had to do was reach down, grab it, and pull it out. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the picnic table.

  As Burnside approached, one of the Latino men stood while the other remained seated. The one who stood was tall and muscular. He was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and white sneakers. The smaller one at the picnic table was wearing black dress pants, a white dress shirt, and polished black dress shoes.

  The big one must be the bodyguard and the little one the dealer.

  “Hold it right there,” the tall man said, holding up his left hand in a “stop” gesture as his right went behind his back.

  The big one is armed.

  Burnside stopped about twenty feet in front of the men and held up the money.

  “I heard you guys are the ones to see if I want to buy some ye-yo,” Ray said.

  “How much are you looking for?” the well-dressed dealer asked.

  “Just an ounce. Enough to get me through the night.”

  “A hundred bucks,” the dealer said.

  “Got it right here,” Burnside said, waving the bills in his hand.

  “Come here,” the dealer said.

  As Burnside approached, the bodyguard crossed his arms in front of his chest while the dealer continued sitting in a relaxed pose.

  No time to go for the Taser. Have to play this old-school.

  When he reached them, Burnside smiled and held out the money. He subtly drew back his right arm and shoulder as he handed the wad of bills to the dealer. The dealer frowned as he unwrapped the bills, but it was too late. As the bills left his hand, Ray wound up with his right arm and pummeled the bodyguard in the jaw. He followed up with a hard left to make sure he went down. The dealer reached behind his back for what Burnside assumed to be a gun, so Ray grabbed him by the collar, pulled him off the table, and tossed him on top of the bodyguard like a ragdoll. A 9MM Beretta slipped out of the dealer’s hand and slid across the grass.

  From there, Burnside went on instinct. He pulled the Taser out from behind his back and smashed the dealer in the side of the head with it. The dealer’s body went slack and he collapsed on top of the bodyguard. As the bodyguard sought to free himself from the weight of the dealer’s body, Burnside struck him in the head with the Taser and he went limp.

  Ray wasn’t taking any chances with these two. He pulled the limp body of the dealer off the bodyguard and hit him again in the head with the Taser. As the bodyguard began to stir, Ray struck him in the forehead, rolled him over, and grabbed the 9MM from the waistband of the bodyguard’s jeans. He shoved the 9MM in his own waistband and reached down to pick up the other one in the grass. Ray picked up the gun, dropped out the clip, and tossed the empty weapon into the bushes. He pocketed the extra clip and kicked the bodyguard in the head as he tried to rise. Burnside proceeded to give the guard a beating with the Taser that would keep him down for a while. The dealer started groaning and Ray went to work on him until he shut up.

  Ray searched the dealer’s pockets and found a thick wad of bills. He transferred the wad into his own pocket and then searched the bodyguard. The bodyguard had a wallet, but nothing else. Ray rifled through the wallet and found three hundred dollar bills, two twenties and six ones. They went into his back pocket. There wasn’t enough room in the back of his waistband for the Taser, so he drew his arm back like a baseball player and threw it over the bushes toward the lake. He heard a splash and knew he hit his target.

  Can’t stick around here long.

  The men were out for the count, so Ray jogged away from the scene. This time he went north. He slowed to a brisk walk as he approached pedestrians on the walkway. He tried to remain calm as he circled around the lake and stepped onto West Sixth Street. Taking a left, he walked northwest. He reached another park on his left called Lafayette Park, but he didn’t have time for sightseeing so he kept going.

  West Sixth wasn’t as busy as Wilshire Boulevard, but it still had some traffic. Instead of four lanes, it was only two and there were fewer pedestrians on the sidewalk. The sidewalks were ideal for Burnside’s brisk power walk. He was making good time, but it was difficult not to break into a run. He needed to get as far away from MacArthur Park as possible before the drug dealers recovered and went looking for him. For all he knew, they could be part of a larger organization and go on a city-wide man-hunt for him.

  Burnside power-walked past the Shriners Hospital for Children and took a right onto North Vermont Avenue. He was curious about how much money he stole from the dealers, but he didn’t have time to stop and count it. He thought it would look suspicious if he stopped on the sidewalk, took a large wad of money from his pocket, and began pulling it apart. It would have to wait. At least he knew how much money was in his back pocket; three hundred forty-six dollars. He checked to make sure it was still there. It was more than enough to get him a hotel where he could lay low for the night.

  Chapter 40

  Sunset Boulevard

  Burnside continued for a while on North Vermont Avenue and took a left onto Beverly Boulevard. His legs were starting to ache and he thought he might need to rest soon. He couldn’t keep up the pace forever, but he wanted to put as much distance between himself and MacArthur Park as possible. The last thing he needed was to be gunned down on the sidewalk by vengeful drug dealers.

  Burnside passed some impressive buildings housing the California National Bank and Southern California Savings and Loan on his left. Farther down the road, he began to salivate as he caught the smell of spicy grilled pork in the air. He walked by a Korean restaurant called “Pork B.B.Q. House” where the delicious smell of grilled pork was almost intoxicating. He could smell a variety of spicy dishes coming from the outdoor patio. He had to fight the urge to veer off the sidewalk and go inside. Now that he had some money, it was tempting to sample everything in the city, but the drug dealers could be launching a city-wide manhunt.

  The smell of grilled pork faded as he walked past HANS TIGER TAEKWONDO INC. Ray reached a large intersection and took a right onto North Western Avenue. Following the road north, he soon reached Melrose Ave, a name that reminded him of the television show, Melrose Place. He figured the show was probably filmed in the area. Continuing along Melrose Avenue, he reached an intersection with Vine Street. His legs were becoming very sore at this point. He would have to stop soon whether he liked it or not.

  Burnside took a right onto Vine Street and went north towards Hollywood. The flow of traffic and pedestrians increased as he crossed through a large intersection with Santa Monica Boulevard. Not surprisingly, the pedestrians became more eccentric as he moved towards Hollywood. Groups of multi-racial Gang-banger imitators and young Goths wearing dark clothes and sporting multiple piercings became a common sight. Of course, there was also an occasional homeless person sitting on a curb or bench with a cup in hand.

  Soon, Burnside reached an even larger intersection with Sunset Boulevard and took a right. He guessed it was after eleven o’clock, but there was no end to the pedestrians crowding the sidewalks. As he had predicted, this area of the city came alive at night, which made it a perfect place
for him to blend in.

  A patrol car with flashing lights pulled ahead of him on the sidewalk. He stopped dead in his tracks, cold with fear, as he watched two officers wearing light brown police uniforms exit the vehicle. They ran in the opposite direction and tackled a young black man walking alone on the sidewalk. Burnside’s pulse slowed considerably. The officers wrestled the young man to the ground, snapped cuffs on him, hurried him to the cruiser, and departed as quickly as they arrived.

  After walking several more blocks, Burnside spotted a red neon sign reading MOTEL 8 HOLLYWOOD ahead. He felt like he had discovered a hidden oasis in a desert. He hoped the motel was cheap enough to rent a room to him without requiring any form of ID.

  It turned out the motel was even more run-down than Ray had hoped for. For starters, two half-naked prostitutes propositioned him in the lobby. He had been a long time without female companionship and was tempted to sample their wares, but he also knew it would be a foolish move. He had to keep a low profile. The worn, 70’s - style furniture looked like it hadn’t been dusted in years. A balding, middle-aged man, wearing a dirty t-shirt that used to be white - but was now a light shade of gray, sat at the front desk. Ray approached him and pulled two hundreds from his back pocket.

  “How much for one night?” he asked.

  “We charge by the hour.”

  Ray noticed the man’s eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slurred.

  “Okay, then how much for an hour?” Burnside asked.

  “It’s eight dollars an hour. All our rooms are smoking,” the man said, placing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it up as if to emphasize the point.

  “That’s fine,” Ray said. “Can I start with 24 hours and get back to you if I need more? I’m conducting business in the area and I don’t know how long it will take.”

  The clerk’s bloodshot eyes widened as Ray handed him a pair of hundreds. The man snatched the bills from Ray’s hand and pocketed them faster than a magician performing a magic trick.

  “Twenty-four hours is two hundred including tax,” the man slurred as he reached under the counter. He pulled out an antique-looking key and handed it to Burnside. “Number 27 in the back. It’s a good room. Plenty of privacy.”

  “Perfect,” Burnside said, taking the key.

  “My name’s Jake,” the man said as Ray started to turn away. “If you need anything, just give me a holler. Women, drugs, whatever you want. Just dial zero.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ray said, grinning as he turned.

  Ray spotted a beat-up Coke machine in the corner and went to it.

  “Does this thing work?” he asked.

  “Sure it does,” Jake said, taking a deep drag from his cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke.

  Ray pulled two dollars from his back pocket, smoothed them out, and placed them in the slot. Pressing the button for bottled water, Ray heard the drink tumble down into the tray. He picked it up and was grateful it was cold. He opened the bottle, took a long swig, and sighed. The two hookers standing near the door were looking him up and down.

  “You sure you don’t want some company, honey?” a tall, thin, black-haired, middle-aged woman in a black leather mini-skirt and see-through white top asked him.

  “I’m all set for now,” Ray said, flashing a half-grin.

  “We’ll give you a discount,” the younger blonde said, giving him what she must have thought was a seductive smile.

  She was wearing enough makeup to accommodate a troop of showgirls and her shorts and top barely covered her pudgy body. The woman’s large breasts sagged in her red, lingerie-style bra and her wide hips and thighs barely squeezed into her pink, skin-tight shorts.

  Ray exited the decrepit lobby without making further eye contact with the prostitutes and followed the walkway around back to room 27. He turned the key in the lock and discovered the room was slightly less disheveled than he expected. The old, faded bed sheets didn’t have any obvious stains and the worn carpet appeared clean at first glance. The only trash he could see consisted of several used butts in an ashtray on a small table by the window. A worn recliner next to the table looked surprisingly comfortable, so he walked over and collapsed into it. Ray sighed as he leaned back. It felt good to be off his feet. He pulled the shades closed to cut off his view of an overflowing dumpster in a dark back alley.

  Ray drained the bottled water in one long swig and placed the empty on the table next to the ashtray. He felt himself fading, so he got up and went to the bed. The stolen 9MM in his waistband dug into his lower back, so he pulled it out and slid it under the bed. He collapsed and drifted off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  When Ray woke up, he didn’t know where he was. He expected to see the top bunk of a bunk-bed above him and was surprised when he saw the ceiling of the motel room. The events since his escape came back to him slowly. He couldn’t help smiling as he thought about being free from the vicious prison hellhole.

  Daylight leaked through ragged curtains. Ray sat on the side of the bed and looked at the Capo’s number engraved on his forearm. He needed to call that number ASAP. He figured the mob was his best chance of making it on the outside.

  Ray remembered the money he stole from the drug dealers and searched his pockets for it. He found a huge wad of bills in his right pocket. His eyes widened as he opened the bills and saw many rows of hundreds. As he counted, he eventually encountered fifties, twenties, tens, and fives. One thousand, eight-hundred, and fifty-five dollars total. He felt a rush of excitement.

  What a windfall.

  Ray reached into his back pocket and took out the money left over from paying the hotel clerk. Another hundred-twenty-six bucks to add to the pot. He needed to buy was some new clothes. The drug dealers he beat up would be looking for a guy in a blue shirt and khaki pants. He was also very hungry and thirsty.

  Ray reached under the bed and pulled out the stolen 9MM. He replaced the handgun in the back waistband of his pants and covered it over with his shirt. He felt paranoid leaving the room without it. The drug dealers were after him and so were the cops. Would he shoot a cop who tried to arrest him? He didn’t know. He liked to think he wouldn’t shoot one of his former brothers, but he also knew that prison was hell and he would do anything to avoid returning there. Would he kill someone innocent to avoid going back? He wasn’t sure. He would make the decision when the situation called for it.

  Ray locked the door behind him and left the hotel room. The smell of garbage in the overflowing dumpster in the back alley was overpowering. He found it strange that he didn’t remember the smell the night before. The sun was bright, so he put on his sunglasses. He turned the corner into the parking lot and walked past several parked cars until he reached the sidewalk. He glanced briefly at the office as he passed it and saw a younger guy behind the desk. He turned right onto the sidewalk and made his way down Sunset Boulevard.

  Ray didn’t know what time of day it was, but he guessed it was early afternoon from the position of the sun. It turned out he was right when he walked into a McDonalds and found they were serving lunch. It was one-twenty PM according to the cashier. He fueled up on a couple Big Macs, fries, and a four-piece McNugget. He used to hate fast-food, but at this moment it tasted delicious. He ate quickly at a plastic table in the back and returned to the sidewalk when he was finished.

  Ray found a tourist store selling t-shirts and shorts a few blocks down. He bought a pair of black shorts and a gray t-shirt. He also bought a pack of Marlboro lights and a lighter. He returned to his motel room, changed into his new clothes, and sat down on the comfortable chair near the window. He opened the curtains enough to let some light in, but not far enough to see the dumpster in the back alley. He opened the pack of cigarettes and found it was difficult not to view the pack as a valuable treasure chest. In prison, cigarettes were like money. A full, fresh pack of cigarettes was valuable as hell. He could get just about anything he wanted with one.

  Burnside felt like he was lighting
a dollar bill as he lit a cigarette. He took a drag, felt a rush, and blew out the smoke. He smoked it down to the filter and felt light-headed as he put it out in the ashtray. It was time to call the Capo’s number. Would the Capo even remember who he was? Was he even going to answer? Probably not, but it was worth a try. What else was he going to do? Hang around here until all his stolen money was gone? And then what? Rob some more drug dealers? He would end up back in prison in no time.

  Ray returned to the street and found a pay-phone outside a nearby convenience store. He obtained a few dollars of change from the store clerk and made the call.

  Chapter 41

  Contact

  The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

  “Boss’s line,” a young voice answered.

  Burnside didn’t recognize the voice on the other end. It certainly wasn’t the deep, scratchy voice of the prison Capo. It was a younger, higher voice that sounded more like an accountant than a mobster. Ray wondered if he had dialed the wrong number.

  “I was told to call this number to get some work,” Ray said.

  “Who is this?”

  Ray took a deep breath.

  “Ray Burnside.”

  “Hold on a second.”

  Ray waited for what seemed like a long time before the familiar deep, scratchy voice of the Capo came on the line.

  “Burnside, you crazy fuck, how the hell are you?” the Capo asked.

  “Not bad. How about you?”

  “I’m still in this hellhole, but I guess it could be worse,” the Capo said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”