Dominic Weston always had been considered a hood, a delinquent. He lived as a hood, and he died like a hood, like everyone thought he would, found dead in his bed on the morning of December 21st, 1998.
His best friend and partner-in-crime, Evan Carmichael was left alone to face the world by himself.
Evan was a tall man, strong and lean, with muscles rippling out of almost every nook and cranny of his large body. He had a determined set to his eyes, almost like he was constantly grimacing at the world that he had learned to hate so much. He had dark, jet black hair that was always spiked up, like had just gotten out of bed. It seemed as if it never grew more than 1 ½ inches long. His preferred apparel was a black leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt that tightened to show his imposing powerfully built structure. He would’ve been considered handsome, if not for the jagged scar that zigzagged over his face from the right side of his forehead to his left cheek. His right eye was pupil less, had been ever since he had gained that scar in a fight in an alleyway. People said that it was the scar that had made him as he was, a dishonest, violent, delinquent, but when the idea was presented to him, he just shrugged it off with a few suggestive words as to what they should do with their gossip.
Evan was walking home from the park, a large, three-block complex that was more popular with Evan and his dangerous friends than children, as the park was built to entertain. He took the back alley ways and was on the alley on 3rd Street, going to his home on Charlotte Avenue, nicknamed “Weston Street”, because it was the former home of Dominic and Thomas Weston. Evan’s face was even more grimaced as usual, because of the rancid aroma of trash and dead animals so common with alleys. It was dark, even though the full moon shined on him from the heaven’s above. He heard a trash can overturn, and he turned around suddenly, expecting someone to try to attack him from behind, but he saw no one. He chuckled to himself, saying that he truly was going crazy. When he heard another sound, an unmistakably familiar voice greet him he thought he truly was going mad. He turned around and saw an incredibly familiar face staring right back at him.
Somehow, Evan wasn’t the least bit surprised to see his long-dead friend, Dominic Weston staring deeply into his eyes with that all-too-familiar snarl on it.
Dominic Weston was different from everyone else that Evan knew, he laughed a lot, smiled a lot, had an amazing sense of humor, but that was the extent of it. He was probably one of the most cruel and vicious people that Evan had known. Dominic had bright, bright blond hair that was meticulously spiked up with loads of hair gel every morning that Dom had known Evan, so for about 13 years. Dom pretty much wore the exact same thing that Evan wore, come to think of it, the same thing that all hoods wore, leather jacket, torn-up denim jeans, white t-shirt, combat boots, and loads of hair gel. Dom was still wearing this as he was visiting with Evan like they used to when he was alive.
“Dom, what an exciting surprise it is to see you, y’know all dead and stuff.”
“Yeah,” Dom chuckled, “and stuff.”
“So, whattya want from me?”
“I’m here to give you a warning,” Dom said, “change your ways or you’re gonna be very miserable.”
Evan laughed.
“What’s. So. FUNNY?!?” Dom screamed at Evan the way he always used to when he was mad. Or out of 2% milk. Dom loved that stuff.
“Nothing. It’s just so clichéd, a hood’s former best friend visiting him from the dead to tell him to wise up or you’ll get more than just a slap on the wrist when you die. Let me guess, three ghosts will visit me?”
“Nope. You will get three chances to redeem yourself or you will-”
“I will what? I’ll roam the earth forever?”
“Yes. And you will die alone and sad, much like I did.”
“Alright, alright, whatever.”
“Whatever? WHATEVER? WHATEVER?!?! NO! NOT WHATEVER!”
“Ok, ok, jeez, calm down. Even in the afterlife you’re a total spaz.”
“Heed my warning, Evan Carmichael, or suffer the consequences.”
With those words, he faded out to nothing. Evan was left standing alone in a deep, dark alley.
He laughed at first, and then he continued his walk home.
Two streets down, Evan heard a yell.
“Help! Someone! Please! Help me!”
Evan ran towards the noise, then saw his friend, Jeremy Young’s brother, Marcus Young, on the ground, bleeding, crying, all the while, getting whaled on by a couple of teenage boys about Evan’s age.
“Hey! Get off of him!”
Evan ran and crashed into one of Marcus’s assailants, who went down with a yell of surprise. The man crashed into a garbage can, overturning it and spilling its contents everywhere. The other one turned towards Evan, ignoring Marcus for the time-being. His face was illuminated by the moon.
“Well, well, look who decided to show up, Brent? Our good friend, Evan.”
“Yeah,” the other one laughed stupidly, “our friend, Evan.”
“Leave him alone, Levi.” Evan said, anger seething into his voice, and he let it.
“Or what?” Levi challenged him, “whattya gonna do ‘bout it, Carmichael?”
“I’m giving you a warning, it’d be best for both you morons to heed it. You savvy?”
“Oh, yeah. I savvy real good.” Levi chuckled, “Now let’s see how well you savvy with a busted nose and a broken-down ego.”
Levi swung his fist in a wide arc heading straight for Evan’s face. A simple right hook, Evan easily deflected the blow with his elbow. When Evan uncovered his face to take the initiative, he was met with a straight-on punch from Brent. Brent’s fist smashed into Evan’s face and Evan felt his nose break. Blood streamed down Evan’s face and he spit one of his teeth out.
“Great, now that gives me an excuse for me to go get my teeth cleaned.” Evan replied sarcastically.
“You won’t have any teeth left to clean once I’m done with ya.”
Evan replied with a strong right hook to Levi’s face, followed by a roundhouse heel kick to Brent’s groin.
Brent grunted in pain and Evan finished him off with a right fist to the face.
Evan turned just in time to meet a rotting card table to the chest. Evan was knocked off his feet and Levi was instantly on top of him, slugging him like there was no tomorrow. Evan retaliated with a few punches to the chest and face, but he didn’t have room to really get that much of a cockback, so he didn’t get a strong punch off. Evan was blacking out when the punches stopped. He opened his eyes to see Marcus standing above an unconscious Levi.
“I got your back, mate.” It didn’t really occur to Evan that Marcus was Australian till now.
Marcus was a tall man, but not really all that strong, like Evan. Marcus had five-o’clock aftershave stubble on his chin, and it looked good with his dark skin and his short black hair that naturally stood up. He almost always had a smile on his face, and it made Evan not like him as much as he should. But it was contagious. Almost everyone that came into contact with Marcus smiled and instantly liked him as if he were their own brother.
Marcus smiled, despite the grim mood of the situation.
“Good to know, because now I know that you’re such a great fighter. I mean, you totally had those guys before I came along.”
“Oh shut it, ya goon.”
Evan asked, “So whattya got the crew of Richie Rich after ya for?”
“Didn’t ya hear? Anyone that knows or at one point knew you is gettin’ jumped all across town.”
“What for?”
“Well, apparently, Richie himself thinks that you jumped his brother. He got killed. Just, boom, shot in the head at close range.”
“Beautiful. Any idea who did it?”
“You might not like it.”
“Shoot.”
“Tommy.”
“Figures, I mean, it was ‘bout time he blew up. That was one long fuse”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, I gotta go now.”
“Oh really? Shoot. I wanted someone else to come over to my place and knit with me.”
“Ha ha. Hysterical. They should send you in to the Reader’s Digest; I hear they pay a lot for funny things.”
“So now you’re stealing lines from The Outsiders?”
“Huh.” Evan said thoughtfully, “Didn’t think you could read.”
“Can’t.” Marcus grinned, “Saw the movie.”
“Alright then”
“Well I’ll see ya round town.”
“You can bet your bottom dollar you will.”
Marcus and Evan parted ways, Evan going towards his home, Marcus towards his. Not long after, Evan decided to stop and go to the bathroom. He stopped in the gas station on the corner of 5th Street and Poinsettia Avenue. While he was walking out, he grabbed a Coke and walked up to the front desk. While he was buying his Coke, he didn’t notice the person in the black hoodie enter the store.When Evan walked out, he heard yelling and ran back to in to see what was going on.
He saw several things at once, first, the man in the black hoodie holding a gun and pointing it at the clerk. Second, the crying woman in the corner holding a bawling infant. Thirdly, and lastly, that the man holding the gun was his best friend’s brother, Thomas Weston. He was shocked, to say the least. Thomas was yelling at the clerk to put all the money in the cash register into a large, brown burlap bag that Thomas was holding in his outstretched hand. Thomas yelled at the man to put the cash in the bag again. After the man just remained still, Thomas discharged a shot into the air.
“NOW!” he yelled.
The man burst into action. The bag was filling up with cash quickly. Evan told him to stop.
“Thomas, what are you doing?”
“Making a living.”
“In crime?”
“Yes. It’s the only way that any of us will ever get anywhere.”
“No, Thomas,” Evan pleaded him, “please don’t do this. It’s not worth it.”
“Really? What else can I do? My house is being foreclosed. What could I possibly do?”
“I don’t know. Get a job?”
“I’m too much of a criminal.”
“Tommy, c’mon, put the gun down. Please.”
Thomas reluctantly dropped the gun. He started crying.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly, “I’m so scared.”
“It’ll be alright, Tommy. You can move in with me.”
“Really?”
Evan nodded.
“Thanks, Evan. ‘Preciate it.”
Evan walked out with Thomas standing loyally to his right side.
While they were walking, the sporadic on-off pattern of the street lights seemed to be more like solid light than it should have been. But they didn’t care; they were too busy catching up, for Thomas had been missing for three years, ever since Dominic had died. Evan decided to tell Thomas what had happened in the alley.
“Hey, listen, you’re not gonna believe this, but guess who I saw earlier tonight?”
“Who?”
“Dominic. I saw him in the alley behind O’Grady’s.”
O’Grady’s was a pub on 5th Street, across from the dollar store.
“No way.”
“I’m serious. He told me that I should change or I would spend all eternity in pain and suffering when I die.”
“Alright, Mr. Looney, whatever you say.”
“Aw, shut it, ya goon.”
They walked another block in silence, and then they heard someone say something quietly in their ear.
“Now you two better turn yourselves around slowly or you’ll be gettin’ a back full of lead, ya hear?”
They did as they were told.
They turned around slowly to see a dark, yet easily recognizable face grinning at them.
They saw Kevin Fuller, the starting quarterback for the varsity football team, the richest person in town, or at least, his parents were.
“Well if it ain’t Richie Rich himself, the king of the queens.”
“Shut yer trap, ya dumpster-diving piece of trash.”
“Oh, real original, Gallagher.”
“Shut it.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine.”
Evan kicked Thomas in the ankle, to tell him to shut up.
“Whattya want, Kevin?”
“Well,” he said ponderously, “I came to enact my revenge upon you and whatnot, but I decided to kill both of ya after I mug you.”
It was Evan’s turn to speak sarcastically. “You know, I’m kinda busy tonight… Could we move this to another time, like, I don’t know, never?”
“Very funny. Get on the ground, hood.”
“I am on the ground.” Evan said without moving.
“You know what I meant,” Kevin said, “Get down.”
“No.” said a voice from the shadows.
“Who’s there?”
“Betchya can’t guess.” Said another voice, this one familiar, and full of laughter.
“Ben?”
“Yup,” said a grinning face that emerged from the shadows, “The one and only.”
Benjamin Briggs stepped forward with an unfamiliar hood.
“This here’s Gregory Kenworth, he’s a new guy.”
Greg stepped forward and in one fluent motion, flipped out a switchblade and pointed it right at Kevin’s chest.
When he spoke, his voice was icy and cold. “You best be gettin’ outta here. This here’s our territory, Miss.” He spat the last word at Kevin, who took a step back at the sight of the blade.
“This ain’t over, Carmichael. Your number’s already been punched; I’m gonna collect the goods, though.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Now scatter, roach.”
Without hesitation,Kevin ran away. Evan turned to look Ben in the eye.
“I would like to extend my thanks to you, Ben. And my welcome to you, Greg.”
Greg smiled, “Yeah, I pretty much got run out of my last home.” His voice had a heavy Southern drawl to it.
The boys parted way after a brief conversation, and thought about what Dom had said. You will get three chances to redeem yourself or you will die alone and sad, much like I did. He laughed.
“I guess life ain’t so bad after all.”