Loco, the gangster

Loco leaned against a telephone pole and quietly observed the movement in the shop across the street, while his brain played out a familiar scene.

He was closing shop, when they came in, two men, both heftily built and mean looking. One of them pushed him backwards, while the other pulled down the shutter. They were the local don’s henchmen, and he hadn’t paid protection money.

It was a small laundry, and the owner, whose name was Shibu, stayed in the back with his wife and son. The son, a little boy of 10, had been dragged inside the shop by a sweetmeats seller 5 minutes ago. The sweetmeats guy had left two minutes ago, and if Loco was right, the kid was being shouted at for stealing a sweetmeat.

Inside Loco’s head, the flashback continued.

They were quiet, and quick. One of them turned him around and pinned his arms behind his back. The other slipped on a set of brass knuckles on his right hand.

“Don’t…” he begged.

The goon swung. Once, twice, thrice. His teeth broke, he could taste blood.

Shaking his head, Loco straightened and crossed the street. Going into an adjoining alley, he pushed open the side door and entered.

Shibu had his son by the arm, and was hitting him on the rear with a cane. He looked up when Loco entered. Fear replaced anger on the launderer’s face.

The goon continued to pound his face, until it was all bloody. Then the one pinning his arms flung him to the ground. Kicking him in the ribs, they walked out.

“Why’re you beating that kid, Shibu?” Loco asked calmly.

“He…he’s been a bad boy,” Shibu answered defiantly.

“Well, you’ve been a bad boy too, Shibu,” Loco said, almost sadly. For some reason, after 10 years of being a gangster, he suddenly didn’t want to do this.

“I…I…well…” Shibu stammered.

“You haven’t paid your taxes for two months now. We gave you enough time. The boss is really angry, you know,” Loco cut in.

Shibu had released the boy and was slowly backing away. His wife came out of the small inner room, shivering with fear. Loco turned to her.

“Take the boy outside,” he told her. “Neither of you need to see this.”

“Please…please spare him…” the woman began.

“Can’t, sorry. If I spare the rod, I’ll spoil this sod.”

“One chance…”

“Go. Now.”

She quietly picked up her son and exited the shop.

Shibu came forward.

“Look, this is extortion…”

Loco swung hard, and his fist connected with Shibu’s face. The launderer stumbled backwards. Loco kicked him in the chest, then in the stomach.

“No offense, Shibu. But I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson,” Loco said, pulling out a bicycle chain from the pocket of his cargoes.

“Please…” Shibu begged, as Loco coiled the chain around his palm. Three punches would be enough to smash his face.

Years of tolerance finally cracked. In a week, he had killed both goons, stabbing them till their guts spilled out. A month later, he was recruited by a rival gang. Ten years later, Loco’s name alone was enough to strike fear in people’s hearts. He now headed the protection money racket.

Loco kicked the man thric more, making him curl into a fetal position. Kneeling down, he clutched a handful of the man’s hair.

“48 hours,” Loco said. “And next time, I’ll mean business.”

Turning, Loco uncoiled the chain from around his palm, slipped it inside his pocket, and walked out.

‘The last thing this city needs is another one like me,’ he thought.