A Walk in the Dark...Park
Walk in the Park… er Dark
So today the plan was to hit the local bar, the Captain’s Anchor, or Anchor and Chain, or the Captain’s Chain, I don’t know and really don’t care what it was called, all I know is it was a classy establishment situated just South of La Granada and filled with a bevy of sexy sirens (that’s 14 S’s if you’re counting) all bent on fending off the clumsy moves of a jovial band of jolly miscreants bent on proving they are still relevant by “getting lucky” as they say.
“Getting lucky” for my pal B.P. and me was walking out into the night only to encounter a representative of the local constabulary bent on adding a few notches to his ticket book by remaining vigilant and following up on his observation of several members of this jovial band of jolly miscreants who just staggered out of the bar, those members being us.
“Whoa!” my trusty companion warned, “Not so fast,” as I was unlocking the door to our rental vehicle in anticipation of a quick drive home.” “We are not ready to get in that car and drive, or at least YOU are not ready to complete that task at the moment because YOU had more than the one drink you assured me was the first and last drink you would have. No…. you had to have two, twenty ounce Bass Ales, do the math (2x 20 oz. = 40 oz. or the equivalent of more than three 12 oz. brews which is only 36 oz.) well above the legal limit for driving in LA, soooooooo,” he continued as he closed the door to the car and started walking not back to the bar, oh no, but up some dark street, away from town.
Now I have spent the large part of my life living in the country, rural towns with simple people and dumb cops, but I know not to walk AWAY from the lights toward the dark in a strange town. But since B.P . was already half way up the block, what could I do but follow him?
We were making good time, but since I had no idea where we were going much less why, I asked him what seemed to be a logical question, “B.P.! Where are we going?” “To Kenny’s,” he whispered still moving at a pace consistent with fleeing an officer of a law; fast enough to put some distance between him and us, but not too fast that we might arouse suspicion. “You don’t want to mess with these guys,” he said, preserving the myth of LA and their killer cops just enough to put a little spunk in my step.
We were clearly at a safe distance from the law, when he points down to some green scribbling on the newly poured sidewalk in front of us. “Now we are in GANG territory, see that sign…..we’re in the CAR-TEL,” he added for further emphasis. And if that wasn’t bad enough, here are two guys in their hoodies standing there on the sidewalk. They were facing each other lost in what seemed to be a serious conversation, that is until they saw us, then one stepped off the sidewalk to let us pass, now standing shoulder to shoulder with his chat buddy. “Hey,” I muttered, “Hey,” was the reply. Better THAT than, “Don’t fucking HEY me you mother fucker, who you think you’re fucking talking to?’ No, just “Hey.”
We made it to Kenny’s without any shivs or firearms being shoved in our ribs or worse… faces, and I was glad to enjoy the safety of the house I had grown familiar with. I was just starting to feel real relaxed when I realized our ride had left an hour ago, and we had to walk back through The Gangland Cartel, at night, just the two of us. If you’re reading this, we make it home safe and sound. Damn that B.P.!