I looked around to see if I knew anyone and, much to my luck, I eyed my
good friend Meeks. I moved across the country from New York with him and the two
of us are as thick as thieves. Except Meeks is actually a thief. He stays around
McArthur Park in a modest sized apartment the length of two surfboards placed end
to end. When he’s not busy lessening the coffers of the cash-heavy classes, he’s usually
loafing around the park, dreaming up his next scam.
I waved and he came over.
“What’s the beef?” I said.
“You missed some fireworks, Rich” Meeks said, “Jimmy The Law’s got Orange
Julius with his back up against a wall.”
Orange Julius was a name that I hadn’t heard in a while. He was at one time
part of the Long Beach 5, a thieving troupe that toured across all of southern
California. Closing out banks and businesses wherever they went. They had at one
time amassed the GDP of the small state of Burundi until all of its members went
their different ways into solo careers, penitentiary ventures and obituary back pages.
Up to that point, I thought Orange Julius was busying himself with a stretch in
Chino.
“Yeah. Well, it goes like this” Meeks said, “He picked the lock of his jail cell
one evening and held a few of the guards hostage with a shiv he glommed in the yard.
He released his whole block and started barking demands to the warden with a bull
horn. But it was all a diversion, you see? He left the hogtied guards in the hands of
the other inmates and went back to his cell. As the riot police showed up to bang
some skulls, he was able to climb through a small tunnel he’d been digging and escape
through the sewage drainage. All the snipers on all the guard towers, all the lights and
all the guard dogs were busy dealing with the uprising. It was genius, man.”
“Still, I feel like every prison escape ends with a guy wading through shit”
“Yeah, but listen. He gets out. Gets a strap from somewhere. Heads over to
MacArthur Park. He walks up to a mook who is just minding his own business taking
a nap and he caps him. Three times.”
“Who was the guy?” I asked.
“Don’t know. We’re waiting to find out. I figure that he’ll be at the Party Shop
once the heat dies down.”
I nodded in understanding and waited for Jimmy the Law to finish up their
perimeter search of the area. We talked about the latest sport games we had watched
as the hours crept on and on and the rest of the crowd behind the yellow tape started
to diminish. People went back to work and then packed up to go home. MacArthur
Park being a very different place from day to night. They say you shouldn’t even take
naps there at night. Unless you want a very different kind of ’napping.
Anyway, the black and whites pull a way and give up their search of the area.
The copters stop buzzing, the dogs get muzzled, the patrollers moved on. A quiet
reigned over the park. A few cops stayed in the area just for show. The birds still
hovered above us, and Meeks and I went over to the party shop.
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THE CONE - ISSUE #15 - 2018