"those boots look so fucking stupid."
he said it so loud. even the new mother scurried to get the stroller going. probably thinking she should've parked her van at the south end of the lot rather than the north side, where she currently stood.
the north end of the lot. home of the "burnout boys".
"cute billy, do they make them in mens?"
the iconic, unmanageable, mold breaking "t-boy" levy yelled as if billy were a hundred yards to the south. some of the boys ignored the 6:00 am proceedings, a few chuckled. one even groaned in billy and levy's direction, "them is fighting words levy".
"bring it on" t-levy said with a thunderous solid put-on laugh.
"what'd you do last night t-luxe?" billy asked. "t-luxe" was just one of a thousand variations on the themed nicknames given to tom leventis.
tom was the one burnout boy NO ONE fucked with.
once levy was up on the hill, kneeing a sweet, hefty interval, north grounder at lowers on his "jl". chatting in no more than one or two word sentences with some of the "bay boy" crew. upon "their scene" levy knew and was well known by some of more important "boys" from meeting at some local bar, rager, neutral lineup, mainland mexico or from the territorial gaza-strip like stretch of beach known as "rat" where the two rivaling packs seem to, but not all the time, behave themselves. "rat" was the summer intermingling place where the two tribes scammed on the others chicks, shared weed, talked story. as often is the case among tribes of the sort some of the girls were drawn or lured to the other greener pasture of the opposite crews invisible yet very real fence.
upon returning to his ford twin I beam after the slippery goat trail climb up to the top of the bluff, the place where outsiders vehicles were under constant threat and surveillance, t-levy found that all four of his tires had been flattened. "heavy levy" as he was known by the "bay boys" went full throttle ballistic. he sauntered over to the top of the trail head where a posse of at least six of the boys stood ground. tom knew most of them. pete the trust fund heavy was the tallest and demanded "what's up levy?" "you forgot something?" to which the smallest, youngest rat, grommet of the crew laughed really loud not knowing tom and feeling safe amongst the pack. tom grabbed the youth by the throat with his large mitt sized right hand and squeezed as hard as he could. With his left hand levy pointed in the young punks face. "you little fuck, i'll kill you... one of you guys better fix my tires right now or i'll squeeze this little fucks head off." pete started at "t-boy levy" who by this time was in full "hulk" mode. cocking his left arm back while still maintaining control of the grommet levy landed his iron hammer fist to pete's right eye. "what the fuck levy?" one of the other bay boy acquaintances shouted.
"no one fucks with me... ever... you should know that by now" "fix my tires" as he released the punk. "i gotta get back to burnout."
tom cracked a tall can and pounded. took an enormous hit off charlie's joint and exclaimed "i'm fucking out there."
now in his wet wet suit t-levy scrambled down the ice cold ice plant hillside, jaunted across the wet sand, nodded to a lady jogger as if to say "we could hook up later." then with his perfect timing launched into the shore pound. landing upon the bone chilling, december morning, gray, storming water. floating beyond the sand t-levy attached fins to his feet and muscled his way through the lineup.
back up the iced plant hill at the north end of the parking lot where the chest high wood fence stood the burnout boys mingled, some drinking, smoking, talking story. i heard billy as he walked to his truck say "levy is so fucking heavy."
it was just the beginning of a winter day.