Not seeing a storm coming is not a deterrent. And ignorance is not really bliss. The storm still advances.
The gang members came right to our front door. There were ten of them and they all had golf clubs. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Golf clubs.
And all of this because of a girl? And I knew the girl. It was Gladys.
I remember watching her one day while I was inside a pool hall. She was putting makeup on, and she had the kind of precision Michelangelo would envy.
But her real artistry was seduction. While putting on her lipstick… She was smiling and pouting her lips seductively. It was all part of her performance. She knew the guys were watching.
Since Ancient times men have been fighting over women. And beautiful women like Cleopatra had led to the downfall of powerful men like Julius Caesar and Marc Antony.
But Gladys wasn’t that beautiful. No Cleopatra.
And I knew it really wasn’t about her.
It was really about pride. With guys… it always is. The gang set the boundaries, and the girls were part of their turf. We were told to keep away from their women.
The gang didn’t like being ignored. It was an insult. It’s a tribal mentality going back to the beginning of time. The neighborhood was their turf and the women part of their property.
There were only seven of us and we stood on the stoop. We all grabbed whatever we could. I grabbed a baseball bat.
I sensed a shift. We were standing on dry ground and the gang members looked like they were standing on quicksand.
The gang didn’t look too confident. They didn’t look too comfortable. They weren’t used to anyone standing up to them. They looked like a balloon with all the air let out.
Perhaps they thought we would be cowering behind the front door. Too afraid to come out. Or hiding underneath our beds.
But we were the real deal.
And it was too late. The gang couldn’t retreat. It was a matter of pride.
The weightlifting guy didn’t even give them a chance to retreat. He ran into the crowd with a dumbbell in his hand and started swinging.
It was on.
It didn’t last long. Only a few minutes and the cops came. Some of my guys were writhing on the ground in pain. The gang also had guys that were hurt.
I was sent to a maximum-security place for youthful offenders. I had hit one of the gang members over the head with my bat. And broke another one’s jaw.
I’m just a loser. But I wasn’t born that way. I inherited a bad hand. Couldn’t the institution that I was living in find me better adoptive parents?
I learned early in life not to be a doormat, but a pointed nail. And if you messed with me… you messed with the wrong person.
At eighteen I was involved in a fight and knifed the person I was fighting with. I was sentenced to five years in prison.
I’ve gone down many streets alone. There was no one there to hold my hand. I didn’t know what to expect in prison. I was never in prison before.
But I was pleasantly surprised. The weightlifting guy was there. We were reunited. And another one of my brothers was there… Carlton. He was making a name for himself in the drug dealing business.
But with Carlton I wondered who would be victorious: Would he make it to the top of the drug dealing empire, or would he succumb to the drugs he used… and overdose and die?
I took to prison like a goldfish takes to water. And why not. I was taught by those that excelled in cruelty how to be cruel and vicious. I was in my element. In my pond.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was descending into a darkened hole. And the further away I was from the Light… the harder it would be for me to find my way back.
Choices? Isn’t that what life is made of? And whether these choices were really mine… my destiny or I was fate’s puppet, or the combination of both interacting in a quizzical manner too complicated for me to understand… I was going in only one direction. Downward.
Descending into a world of violence. Descending into a world of madness. Descending into a world of terror.
There came a point where I could descend no further. I was the violence, the madness, and the terror.
I took to prison like a goldfish takes to water. But I was no goldfish.
The weightlifting guy told me that Angel was shot and killed by drug dealers. And when he got out… he was going to visit them. I told him I would tag along.
I served all five years. I didn’t get any time off for good behavior. The weightlifting guy had three more years to go.
But I doubted that he would ever get out.
His original sentence was for only four years. But more years were added on due to his violent altercations with prison guards and others.
I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to him. At the time he was in solitary confinement. The hole.
The story will be continued in The Hitman 4
Photo by Craig Whitehead via Unsplash.
Fictional stories by John Saccone 
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