Path of Ranger: Volume 1
Read Path of Ranger: Volume 1 Online
Authors: RJ
Path of Ranger
Volume 1
by RJ
Copyright © 2015 by RJ. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be produced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 9781311165909
Contents
JB is a young gangster with a tough attitude coming from the cold streets of Los Angeles. Guided by his ingenious perspective on life, he plays the game close to the edge, between life and death, searching for his special but yet unknown purpose. Suddenly fate throws him into the mysterious world of the future where he faces challenges that he couldn’t imagine. He must go down a long and dangerous path toward becoming the last advantage his kind has in its struggle for survival.
2016. Los Angeles. It was a chilly night, fresh breeze flew through the coast, scattering into barely noticeable wind among night streets. It seemed like the last chill before summer. A gas station standing on a hill not far from the highway was glossed with bright lights. Like a glaring oasis surrounded by the darkness of the desert, it was connected to the rest of the world via only an empty road. Yellow street lights and shop windows made this place noticeable for many miles around. Usually it was flooded with movement, but not today. Just one man, a lone biker, was the only visitor for the whole night. He was standing still, leaned up against his black-yellow Ducati Monster. He was waiting for someone.
The man was tall and had light, barely tanned skin. His massive bodybuilder form in combination with his six and a half foot height made an illusion of a fully adult man, but his face was young, it appeared twenty years old or so. He was handsome, not too pretty, but more like proportionally pleasant, with a straight forehead, average cheeks, full lips, and narrow nose. He looked manly, but at the same time had a calmly wise look in his eyes. His hair was dark and long, braided from the forehead to the neck in cornrow style. On this left side of his neck was barely noticeable bullet scar. He wore a red-white leather racing jacket and pants. A pair of heavily used red leather Converse All Stars were on his feet. The leather looked not too old but had been cruelly abused, with metal brackets on the soles and heels. A white t-shirt was under an unzipped jacket, and a precious white gold diamond chain hung from his neck, down to his midsection. The chain held the letters “JB” on its end. A pair of gloves and a helmet lied on motorcycle’s seat beside him.
JB’s stared at the asphalt in front of him, his look was abstracted and his face completely motionless. Lots of thoughts were on his mind. It was clear that he spent quite some time there, he probably meant to meet someone and that person was late. The only connection between JB’s thoughts and the outside world was in the paper cup that he held. He looked at leftovers of the coffee that was hot a long time ago, the sweet bitterish taste of which woke his attention from time to time. Occasionally he moved the cup to his lips to take a sip, but even this mechanical motion looked as lifeless as the surrounding desert emptiness. This condition of his was broken by a moving vehicle. JB snapped back to life. He pushed forward from his bike, stood straight, and walked a few steps ahead. The sound of the car’s engine was strange to him, but he was certain that they were his comrades.
After taking a couple more steps forward, JB swung his hand lightly to throw the cup with some coffee still in it into the trashcan. Although he wasn’t watching the flying cup, the motorcyclist knew that he had missed by the absence of the characteristic sound. The dramatic appearance he was aiming for got ruined. So JB dropped his far-fetched image and walked to pick up the cup, after which he roughly threw it into the trash.
“Yo! B!” a man’s voice sounded from behind. What used to be perfect silence now filled with footsteps and the quiet sound of rap music coming from the car.
The motorcyclist got up at full height then looked at the young black guy who was standing in front of him. A black BMW-X6 was behind him. Another black man came from the car. The door closed, so the sound of music faded. A running engine was the only sound left. It seemed quite soft and pleasant.
These two were Tyris and Markus. They looked JB’s age, maybe somewhat older. Both dressed in street style: wide jeans, white sneakers, baseball caps, Tyris wore long white t-shirt and a vest, Markus had a hoodie and baseball cap. These bright outfits decorated with precious chains and the dark skin covered in various ink gave them quite a bit of style. They both wore respirators.
“Yo! Just take a look at that! Ain’t that ‘Santa-Boy’ in town?!” Markus shouted in excitement when checking out JB’s red-white motorcycle suit. “Is it Chinese Christmas or something?”
“Ho-ho-ho! You’re late,” JB said when shaking hands with Tyris. They slapped palms, shook it and slightly bumped their shoulders.
“Come on, man,” Tyris responded smiling.
JB did the same with Markus.
“Sup, B!” Markus said, looking up into big guy’s eyes. “Why aren’t you wearing a mask?”
“The danger zone ends around a mile from here. We’re safe.”
The guys glanced at each other and removed the masks. It looked like it had been a while since either one of them had made a deep breath. JB stared at Tyris.
“Check out this ride, man. Pretty sweet, right?” Markus started to brag about his brand new car.
The big guy glanced at the vehicle once more, and he didn't look much impressed.
“BMW... What? Are you Russian? These are everywhere there.”
“Really?” Markus asked, disappointed.
“Yeah, really,” JB confirmed.
Actually, JB wasn't talking sincerely. He just wanted to tease his comrade.
“Fucking Russians,” Markus commented when taking out a cigarette.
“So, you ever visited Moscow these days?” Tyris asked.
“Not exactly…” JB looked over his shoulder where his bike was standing near the trash containers.
“Oh, Monster,” Tyris checked the motorcycle. “What happened to 996?”
“It blew up,” JB said and rushed to change the subject. “So, what’s the news?”
“You’re in trouble, man,” Tyris landed his palm on his white comrade’s shoulder.
“In big… big trouble,” slowly nodding, Markus emphasized.
“D-Kay?”
“D-Kay, Saint Frankie, Columbians, police… Even Big Dog ain’t looking sure. This time you managed to disserve all of them.” Tyris was explaining. “Want my advice? Run while you can.”
“Tyris, did I ask you a question, or did I ask for advice? Huh?” JB said demandingly.
“If our source’s right, the whole city is gonna be sealed by the National Guard. They’ll set up a curfew. They’ll be searching. And they won’t stop until they find who did this,” Markus was sharing Tyris's mood.
“It’s a time bomb, you know it, B. As soon as the cloud starts to fade, and they’ll get their brains straight, the cops are gonna fill the streets. Then we all are going down!” Tyris continued. “Now the question is: which one of them is getting to you first?”
“You're our bro, B, but you don’t have many options here,” Markus added.
“So, go away? Run away? This is a solution, right?” JB got thinking.
The light skin thug was staring into his friend’s eyes, and at that very moment he was full of hate towards him for even suggesting such cowardice.
“Jerry, D-Kay has a small army. His dogs run most the territory closest to us. You can’t fight him.”
“He’s right, B. Be wise, dude,” Markus took his part in convincing his boss too.
“‘I’ can’t? Since when did ‘We’ become ‘I,' Tyris?”
“JB, you know that we always got your back! But not this time. This time we’re all gonna die,” Tyris was very convincing. It sure looked like he wanted to help, but his eyes were full of fear, and not for Jerry’s life, but for his own.
“What do you think, Markus,” JB switched his stare to the second gangster. “Fighting or bailing? Ah?”
“Yo! D-Kay is like insane, you know! He wants Lower Compton, and he ain’t gonna stop! He’s gonna kill everyone, from big fish to small. And he’s gonna use any approach he can. They’ll kill you in your sleep if they have to!”
“JB, in all we went through together, you’ve always been true to your people, to the rules of honor and respect, but this is your weakness,” Tyris took the initiative. “Before D-Kay puts his life on the line, he’s gonna use the lives of hundreds of young boys, same as we are. How long have we known each other? If I have learned anything about you throughout these years it’s that you will never bring hundreds of people into a grinder. Not for nothing.”
“So, I have to choose: to sacrifice most of our men, to betray my beliefs and grime my soul forever, or walk away like a coward. But, if we ain’t doing it, what is gonna happen to our hood? These savages are gonna tear it apart!”
“Saving lives ain’t no cowardice, being sane, that’s what it is. A coward wouldn’t listen to his conscience, but to act as everyone is expecting.”
“Tyris, you were my conscience all these years, that’s why you were my right hand. So here’s the choice: to make a massacre and give up life for our hood or walk?”
“This is your decision, B. We’re gonna be here for you no matter what you choose,” Markus said.
Jerry was standing with his arms resting on his chest, he was all in his thoughts. A lot depended on this decision. The biker gained back that old motionless stare. His lips moved lightly, as if he were mumbling, but he was doing it on purpose to mislead his companions, to make them think that it was hard on him. In a half a minute, he came up with a decision.
“Don’t give up your life for the world that won’t give anything for you. Last three years were extremely profitable, but that’s it. We’re done.”
“This is the right choice, my man,” Tyris said.
“Tomorrow morning we are gonna gather our people at the crib, tell them to bring all of the guns.”
“What are you gonna do?” Markus asked.
“Let them go,” JB said. “Tyris, you manage the ammunition part, I need all of it in the morning. Markus, you’re on our debts. You two gotta finish by noon.”
“What’s this all about?” Tyris was worried by such instructions, he seemed to think JB was acting differently. “In my opinion, the best way would be for you to get on a plane right now and get away from L.A. as far as you can.”
The last words made JB switch inside. His look gained focus, a light smirk appeared on his face. This conversation was a test for his guys, and now he knew exactly what to do.
“I have to rush, it’s gonna be a long night, and tomorrow’s gonna be a long day. You two, go rest now and tomorrow do everything I told you to.”
When the discussion was over the biker said goodbye to his companions. They got into their car and drove away, leaving him in the same position as he was before they arrived. Jerry waited until Tyris and Markus were gone for good. Then he pulled out his phone, it was time to make the call.
JB knew the number by heart, but hadn't called it for the last couple years. While his mind was still processing the decision, his fingers already went jumping among the digits of the screen’s keypad. Just after the gangster dialed, he wondered if it was a good idea to call someone at two a.m. The person answered.
“JB,” a rough, manly voice sounded.
“Hey, sorry for calling so late. We have to talk.”
“You dare call me? Why do you think that I'm interested in talking to you?”
“Because I have something to say,” JB insisted. “So, interested?”
A couple seconds of silence passed.
“Time and place?”
“Two hours. Long Beach. Our old spot.”
JB disconnected. He shoved the phone into the pocket and froze for some time after. The big guy was thinking about what he had done and what he had to do. Then he turned up his head and switched into motion, no more delays, it was time to act.
Jerry walked to his bike, turned on the engine and put on a helmet and gloves. Then he mounted the seat, removed a kickstand, and rushed to ride. A lone biker in white and red colors disappeared in the night’s darkness, leaving that bright oasis perfectly lifeless.
The night covered the streets with darkness. The sky was clear and the stars were so bright it seemed they might fall down any minute. There weren’t any lights on this side of the city, not a single street light for several blocks. The motorcyclist got to the very end of the city, the docks’ storage zone. He rode near the container rows. The container JB sought was in the very last row. He stopped near it.
Headlights faded with the whisper of the engine. It was it, container number three-four-zero-seven. After getting off the bike, Jerry rushed to remove his helmet but stopped. He remembered the critical atmosphere conditions. The big guy looked around, it was quiet. The sky seemed clear, but it was filled with whitish dust. The closer he got to the city, the denser the ‘cloud’ was. That cloud was the one that had caused the curfew over the city. It was dangerous to breathe without protection there. JB's hand went up to open filter’s flaps on the helmet.
There was nothing but an automobile inside of the container, a blue Ford Navigator, pick-up. Its body was a bit longer than a standard model's, with just enough space to put a sports bike in it. JB got back to the motorcycle to take the key from the vehicle under the seat. Suddenly he winded up, he looked around to check the area. It seemed to him he had heard something, like a closing car door. The gangster hadn’t slept in a long time; it could start messing with his judgment. He scanned the road thoroughly, looking at each neighboring container, but found nothing. The street was dark. One couldn’t see much there. It was a perfect place for doing dirty business.
After a minute of unsuccessful searching JB got back to the Ford and moved it out of the container. Then he made sure that he didn’t leave any trace inside and locked the gates. Using the metal ramp, JB put the bike on the bed of the car. He turned off the engine and fixed the wheels to the bed. Now all the preparations were done. The gangster got into the cabin to continue his movement.