Fate

Then . . .

Vince

Then . . .

“Spread your feet, boy." The cop kicked Vince's legs open before he even had a chance to spread them.

Another cop car pulled up, joining the other three that were already there. Vince was not even supposed to be here tonight. He knew when the guys showed up riled up about what had happened at school earlier that day it was a bad idea to buy booze and hang out. He'd already said he was out but at the last minute decided to join them.

Sure enough, as soon as a few of them got buzzed, they started talking about walking the two blocks from the abandoned car lot where they'd been hanging out to their high school and crossing out the offending tags they were so pissed about.

Now here he was face down on the hood of a cop car as a cop frisked him roughly. Most likely, he would be thrown in jail for vandalism. He hadn't even been one of the ones doing the tagging. In fact, he'd been the one telling them they were stupid for doing it.

They didn't call themselves a gang, but they may as well have because they sure as f**k acted like stupid thugs sometimes—like tonight, for example. The guys were all pissed because someone had tagged several of the more noticeable walls at school with the word Basset: the city just over on the other side of their high school.

Alfonso, one of Vince's friends since childhood, had gotten in a fight over a girl with someone from a Basset gang not too long ago. They'd all been there at the party, so everyone took the tagging personally. Everyone agreed they had to cross the tag out. As stupid as Vince thought it was, he agreed to go out of loyalty to his friends, but he refused to do any tagging. It didn't matter now because they were all in trouble just the same.

“What's your name, boy?" The heavyset cop asked Vince from behind him as he handcuffed him.

“Vincent." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and thought of how disappointed his parents would be. The cop turned him around so he could face him.

“Vincent what?"

“Moreno."

“How old are you, Moreno?"

“Sixteen."

“You in a gang?"

“No sir."

“You sure about that?" The cop asked gesturing toward his friends.

Vince glanced over at Alfonso who was now sitting on the curb handcuffed then at the rest of them who were still lying face down on the ground with their legs spread and their hands behind their heads. Not a gang his ass.

“Yeah, I'm sure."

“You were the only one without a marker in your possession or doing any tagging when I drove up. Why's that? You the look out, Moreno?"

“No sir."

The cop smiled, crossing his arms in front of him. “So you hang out with a bunch of punks who come and cross out another gang's tags, but you're not in a gang?"

“No, sir, I'm not." As stupid as that sounded, he was sticking to his story. The last thing he needed was to get labeled a gang member by the local authorities. For months he'd been trying to straighten his s**t out.

After his brother Lorenzo had gotten caught shoplifting and his mother blamed Vince for being a bad influence even though he'd never stolen a thing in his life, he swore to her he'd straighten out.

Vince didn't even let Lorenzo hang out with him and the guys anymore if he even thought they'd be up to anything that smelled like trouble—like tonight. He was so glad now he'd refused to let Lorenzo tag along. Being arrested would be bad enough, but getting his younger brother swept up into this mess would've been a million times worse.

“I'll tell you what," the cop said. “You tell me who the ringleader of your little non-gang here is, and I'll let you walk."

Vince chuckled. This cop was full of s**t if he thought Vince was going to rat out any of his friends. Living in La Puente his whole life, he knew the drill when it came to cops. Gathering gang information was crucial to them so they could go after them, and their biggest targets were always the gang leaders. He'd sooner go to jail than throw any of his friends under the bus. Besides, as bad as this looked, he wasn't in a gang, damn it.

“I already told you I'm not in a gang, so there are no ring leaders."

The cops smile went flat, and he grabbed Vince by the arm. “Suit yourself."

He walked him over to the curb and sat him down next to Alfonso. Vincent thought about what his parents' reaction would be when they got the call. His mother would probably cry; his father would be completely disappointed, and he'd be in a world of trouble if his parents, who were already struggling financially, had to pay any fines for this s**t.

One by one, all his friends were frisked, questioned, handcuffed then were seated down on the curb. Their Miranda rights were read, and the paddy wagon arrived. They all filed in and sat down. By now enough people from the neighborhood had gathered, so his parents would probably know about his arrest before he even called them. f*****g hell!

~~~

Legally Vince got off easy. Because he'd been the only one not in possession of any marker and the cops did write in their report that he hadn't been seen tagging like all the others, he wasn't charged with a misdemeanor like all his other friends. But because he'd been a willing participant in trespassing on school grounds and most likely because the judge wanted to send him and his family a message that this kind of s**t would not go unpunished in case he was thinking of doing it again, his parents were going to be fined, and he'd have to do some community work.

To say his mom was livid was putting it lightly, but his dad's reaction was what really got to him. They'd only just started getting along in the last few years. Vince had resented that his dad was gone so much when he was younger. He was just a kid, and he didn't understand it, but he'd since come to respect that his father was doing the only thing he could to support his family. His mother told him his dad was working, but he had so many friends whose mothers would say the same type of things to them about their fathers, and it'd turn out they were in jail or were busy spending time with their real families, so Vince didn't know what to believe.

Vince lashed out, getting in trouble left and right, and when his father would return after months of being gone, he'd still be so patient with him and tell him he knew he was angry but that someday he'd understand. Now that he did, he felt bad about the amount of crap he'd put his parents through over the years and was determined to make it up to them, but now this happened.

His father, while obviously upset, was still the epitome of patience: patience Vince knew he didn't deserve. He almost wished his father would actually yell at him, maybe even slap him around like some of his other friends' parents had done. Instead, he sat him down and had a one-on-one while his mother slammed cabinet doors and dishes around in the kitchen, cussing in Spanish.

He even called Lorenzo into the room to talk to them both. “I want you both to hear this. You two are better than this. I know what it's like to be your age and make bad choices. Sometimes it's necessary for things like this to happen, so you learn. You may not have been tagging, Vince, but your decision to be there with them cost you. What's done is done, but I don't want this to be all for nothing. What I want you to do now is take something from this experience. Learn that nothing good comes from making choices that you know in your gut are bad, yet you still go along with them. Know that one bad decision can cost you dearly. Now you got off easy this time, but next time you may not be so lucky. Always think about what's at stake. What do you stand to lose? Is it worth it? Ninety-nine percent of the time, you'll find it's not."