Pedigree of War

Since I finished Tokyo Boys, I thought of starting a new project. I went for American setting this time, but somehow it still feels like manga to me ^^;
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it... I don't know if I'll continue this, probably depends on the feedback I receive, so let me know what you think.

The story is not beta'ed so I apologize if there are glaring errors I overlooked.


Pedigree of War


Chapter 1: Welcome to Square Zero

In hindsight, all the events that lead to war become crystal clear, like black ink on the white pages of your history textbook. It makes you wonder how it was possible to not notice things as they were happening. Could you not notice a snowball racing towards you down the mountain? Yeah. You notice all right. You notice it rolling but you think, what could it possibly do? It’s just a fuckin’ snowball. But it’s not just a fuckin’ snowball. It rolls on the snowy hillside, it gains more power and more speed. By the time it gets to you, it’s not a fuckin’ snowball anymore – it’s a giant motherfuckin’ snowball – an avalanche! And you still think it’s not going to hit you? It will hit you son. And it’s not only going to hit you. It will bury you and your house and your family and the whole goddamn town! It will bury everything. And then people will cry, ‘there was no warning! No one warned us the mountain will collapse!’ But if you watched the news, they warned about severe weather since Monday! But you didn’t bother to listen, because you thought it didn’t concern you. In Monday the storm was in Pennsylvania and you didn’t have any plans to leave the house anyway, right? That’s how it begins, folks. War starts with you, because you have the power of choice and you made all the wrong choices. Don’t blame God for this, it was all your doin’! The Lord—

A clap of hands interrupted the raving. The speaker, a black man in a brown suit, who stood on a small makeshift stage, looked at his crowd of listeners. They too, turned to look who interrupted the speech.

He was still clapping his hands. ‘He’ turned to be a short youth that did not look older than twenty, with fair hair and amber eyes that were nearly as yellow as his hair. He was dressed simply in a white T-shirt and camouflage pants. He smiled at them as he clapped his hands cheerfully. When he stepped in, still clapping, the crowd made way for him, until no one was left between him and the speaker.

“Beautiful speech!” he marveled, “Only you forgot one thing.”

“What do you want, son?” the man asked.

“You forgot this ain’t the fuckin’ Hyde Park in London.” The boy kicked the box the man used as a stage and he fell down to the gasps of the audience. “And I ain’t your son, luckily for you.” The boy kicked the man in the stomach. He curled and cried in pain and the audience started to back away, not one daring to stop the boy from beating up the man till he spat blood. “If you want to make the sheep go to your church, do it elsewhere. This part of town is mine, you got it?” The boy crouched over the man’s body and picked him up roughly. “It’s not because you’re black, mister. I ain’t no racist. I love all humans.” He laughed and got up. His white T-shirt was now splattered with blood. “See, your blood looks good on me. In a few days you’ll see this pattern in the shops. The sheep love new trends.”

“Hey Faolan, are you done?” Someone suddenly called behind them. The boy turned around. He saw a group of his friends standing behind the crowd, watching the scene. At the sight of the delinquents, the people in the crowd that haven’t left when Faolan started thrashing the preacher, scattered in all directions and hurried to disappear from sight.

“So…” The boy bent until his face was mere inches from the man’s face. The sound of the man’s frightened, quick breath amused him greatly. “What’s the moral of today’s story, mister? Like I don’t burst into a church and start reciting Koran passages out loud, don’t come into my backyard with your lunatic prophecy of doom, a’right?”

The man didn’t reply and Faolan turned around and started to walk away, whistling, or trying to, quite badly.

“You’re a child of Satan…” he heard the man mutter. It made him laugh and he threw his hands over his head, like a gleeful child. “Man, I wish Satan was my dad. That would’ve been cool.”

~*~

“The ’86 Fiesta is ready? Mrs. Jensen is on the phone. Again.” A young red-headed man walked from the office into the garage, searching for the old little car. He spotted it, along with the young mechanic who worked on it. “Ah, Jay!” he called. “Mrs. Jensen is on the—“

“Tell her she can come pick it up in two hours,” Jay said quietly, without moving away from under the car hood.

“Are you sure? She keeps calling every hour…”

Jay let out an audible sigh and threw a side glance at the other man. “Hank, if I give her the car now, she’ll come here again in a week or so and nag you more. Let me work on this, okay? It will be perfect like a 90’s Fiesta in two hours.”

“Okay, okay…” Hank raised his hands a bit and walked off. “Though we’re not in the 90s anymore, you know…”

“That’s why I can only promise she won’t come back in a week, Hank.” Jay didn’t turn around, but Hank could imagine a little sardonic smile on his lips.

They’ve been friends for a couple of years, ever since Jay came to work in the garage that belonged to Hank’s father. Jay was a quiet, but interesting young fellow. Besides the dry stats on his resume, they had no idea who he was and somehow he managed to efficiently dodge any personal questions. He came to the garage with no experience whatsoever, saying he wanted to work with his hands. Harry, Hank’s father, couldn’t say what made him hire someone who lacked not only experience, but skills and knowledge as well. However, Jay was a fast learner and quickly became popular, not only with the other employees, but also with the customers.

Two hours later, and not a second later, an old lady stomped in the reception lobby. “Hank told me it will be ready in two hours, why is it not ready?” she asked in distress as two employers tried to calm her down and offered her something to drink.

“Jay…” Hank hissed as he looked at the garage area through the window. “Come on…”

A few moments later, Jay walked in. he removed his dirty black gloves and reached out to shake Mrs. Jensen’s hand, smiling gently at her. “Hi, Mrs. Jensen, how are you?” he asked.

“Not so well, Jay,” she answered. “I was told my car will be ready. I need to go buy food for my cats,” she said.

“Your car is waiting for you outside.” He smiled at her and dug the car keys from his pocket. “Here you go.”

“Oh, thank you, Jay. Thank you, thank you!” She was truly grateful.

He smiled back. “You’re welcome. Drive safely, Mrs. Jensen.” He waved at her as she left.

Hank smiled tightly as he watched her leave the office and once she was out of sight he turned sharply around. “You were late on purpose, weren’t you?” he accused Jay.

“Dunno what you’re talking about. I just parked the car outside the garage.” Jay shrugged. “There was traffic in the exit.”

“Couldn’t save me those precious minutes I wasted on old lady rambling and can never get back.” The redhead shook his head in lament.

“Don’t cry over spilled milk, Hank.” Jay patted him. “I’m gonna take my lunch break,” he added and turned to the secretary behind the reception desk. She blushed as he spoke to her. Jay wasn’t only charming, he was also quite handsome, with messy auburn hair and baby blue eyes. Since he was only wearing a greasy wife-beater that used to be white, his biceps were emphasized. They flexed as he crossed his arms over the desk.

She handed him his helmet and he left the office. After switching his shirt for a clean one, he mounted his motorbike that parked near the exit. He waved at the workers and drove away.

~*~

Usually Jay just rode around the block for a few minutes to feel the wind, before he went to sit in a nearby restaurant to eat his lunch. It was a family owned small Italian restaurant that served home cooked meals. It was simple and cheap, but Jay liked the food, the atmosphere and most importantly, he could afford eating there.

He didn’t know why that day he decided to go a different route. Maybe because working for hours on the old car made his eyesight a little blurry and he missed the right turn, maybe he thought he saw Mrs. Jensen shopping for her cats and made a dash so she won’t spot him, and that made him miss the right turn. Either way, he missed the turn and found himself driving through the infamous Portsmith South neighborhood all the way to the old harbor.

He stopped the motorcycle by the dock and removed his helmet. The ocean was beautiful and serene and the sky was almost clear from clouds. The traces of what was once a glorious seaport made the scene more melancholic than picturesque, but it made him feel relaxed and he just leaned on the handlebars and looked at the waves. He took out his lighter and a cigarette pack from the pocket of his cargo pants and lit himself a cigarette, still looking at the view. As he listened to the sound of the waves and the sea birds, he felt his body loosen and for a moment he pondered taking a nap on the dock.

Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. He knew the area of the old harbor was full of empty warehouses that swarmed with drug dealers, gang members and other evildoers, mostly kids playing gangs. For some reason he didn’t think he would get to meet in person any of the dwellers at that hour of the day. Jay turned around, wondering who dared ruining his perfect meditation moment. As he suspected, two young men, who seemed to be in their early 20s, approached him. They looked like they belonged to one of the gangs in the area. Both had a dark green strip tied to their dark pants. One of them was covered in tattoos, the other carried a baton. Jay noticed both of them were equipped with knuckle dusters.

“Hey man, are ya lost?” they asked.

“No.” Jay puffed smoke and threw his cigarette on the ground. It was time to leave.

“Where ya goin’ already? You should stick ‘round and play with us.” The tattoo guy chuckled.

Jay grabbed his helmet and smiled lightly. “Hate to be a party pooper, but I got to get back to work.”

“So soon?” The guy with the baton twirled it around. He stared at Jay, looking all serious.

Jay gave him a wry smile and quickly put on his helmet. He started his motorcycle, wishing he took Hank’s suggestion and upgraded it, it took long to start. The two were already by his side. The guy swung his baton and hit Jay’s helmet, knocking him off the motorcycle. He was dazed for a moment, but got up.

“That’s really not fair, two against one.” He didn’t take off his helmet and was rather thankful for it. His skull probably wouldn’t have made it with just a dent.

“This is our turf, bro. We play by our rules here.”

Jay glanced at his motorcycle. It was tossed on the ground, to the feet of the baton-boy and the engine was still running. He wondered if he could just grab it and run away, but it probably only worked in movies. He sighed. He really didn’t feel like fighting. He wanted to be in his Nonna Vincenza restaurant and eat nonna’s delicious cooking.

“Whaooo!” Suddenly he heard a Tarzan like battle cry. Jay raised his head just in time to see a boy jumping down from the warehouse’s roof. Spreading his legs in the air, he kicked the two goons’ backs and practically stood on them when he landed. Didn’t these things only happen in movies? Jay raised an eyebrow as he looked at the blond boy in fascination.

“Can I play too?” the boy asked and laughed. He was wearing a white T-shirt with dark red stains. Jay had a feeling it wasn’t a tie dye.

“Ugh…” one of the thugs grunted, still on the floor. They started to get up and faced the smaller boy. “I’mma kill ya, little fuck..”

“Oh, yeah? Try!” The boy kicked him in the face. Jay flinched.

“Blood!” The blond sounded like a child getting excited over a new toy. He cupped his hands over his mouth as he raised his head and called out, “Hey, Book! Mitch!”

When three other youngsters jumped down from the building, Jay thought it was a good idea to take a hike before the area turned into a war zone. He noticed four more thugs with green ribbons emerging from one of the warehouses on the other side. He wondered if they heard the fighting or just smelled the blood.

With that baby face, the blond boy looked much younger than the other boys, but he continued to beat the two thugs to a bleeding pulp without mercy, and without a weapon. The entire time he was wearing an overjoyed and rather crazy expression, even as blood splashed over his face. Jay was now certain the stains on his shirt were not a fashion statement. With his shiny almost yellow eyes, the boy looked feline and Jay knew he didn’t want to get in the way of that person. In fact, he didn’t want anything to do with him.

Stealthily, he crouched to pick up his motorcycle, hoping the fighting boys would be too busy with the newcomers to notice him getting his bike ready. When he touched it, he knew the engine was already warmed up enough, maybe luck was on his side after all. Jay threw his leg over his bike and quickly mounted it, his hands on the lever, he was about to shift from neutral, when the blond boy stood right in front of him, holding his blood smeared hand on the dashboard.

Jay shivered when he raised his eyes to meet the boy’s intense gaze. Without the blood on his face and hair, he could maybe pass for a cherub. But his eyes were downright terrifying. It’s been years since he’s seen such wild eyes.

“FAOLAN!!!” One of the green-ribbon boys roared as he arrived closer. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“Oh shit, busted.” The boy merely smiled. His sweet smile was creepy. Jay was still hypnotized by the feline eyes, when the boy quickly moved and jumped behind him on the motorcycle. He threw something at his friends and Jay watched the three boys climbing back up on the warehouse, to the roof and jumping away to another roof like a troop of monkeys.

Jay didn’t wait any longer. He quickly drove away, accelerating fast and trusting his old motorcycle to bear with him. When he looked at the gauges he noticed a bloodied hand print over the fuel indicator. Oh yeah, he had an extra rider with him. An extra rider that could get him arrested.

They were already far enough from the old harbor, though still in the district of Portsmith South. He pulled over at the side of the road.

“Why did you stop?” the boy asked behind him.

Jay carefully turned around. He still couldn’t see the boy with the helmet on, but he had a good idea what sort of expression the boy was making. Like dealing with a predator, Jay tried not to show fear.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked quietly and turned halfway around.

The boy leaned back, his hands behind his head, seemingly enjoying himself. “Wherever you’re going is fine with me.”

‘But it’s not fine with me…’ Jay thought. He had no intention of taking this punk to his workplace or his home. He wanted to toss him at the side of the road and go on with his life.

But it didn’t look like it was going to go that way.

“Is something the matter?” the boy asked, leaning in. his voice was almost sweet, like he sincerely cared.

“I’m just…” Jay hesitated. “I’m not used to picking up strangers.”

“Hey, I saved your ass from those Gulls, we’re not strangers anymore, are we?” he patted Jay’s bare shoulder.

“Gulls?”

“It’s the gang that took over the eastern side of the hood. Nasty son of bitches… they don’t even clean their fingernails.” The boy ranted. “Their leader is called Hodge. He has the blackest fingernails of them all.”

“Oh really?” Jay knew the boy was likely testing him, checking what made him go into that part of town. Few people dared stepping into that old seaport after all. He wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated by this kid. He allowed himself to sound amused.

“So, how about we go to your place?” The boy suggested. He raised his hands, showing off his fingernails. “I’d like to clean my nails from those fuckers’ blood. You know, and all the other pieces of skin and shit that gets stuck under there when you rip them.”

“Don’t you rather I’d give you a ride home?”

“No. I read somewhere that the house tells a lot about the person who lives there. I live with my parents, so their house has nothing to do with me.”

“What if I also live with my parents?” Jay asked, caressing the handles with his gloved hands.

“No. You don’t look like you live with your parents…” the boy said without a second thought. “You look like someone who lives alone in some mangy old building. Somewhere downtown, you probably hate it, but it’s cheap. There’s a lot of noise so you don’t spend too much time in there and you keep your personal possession minimal, so there’s nothing to lose.”

Jay was stunned for a moment at the astute observation. That kid didn’t even see him without the helmet, how could he make such an accurate judgment? He wondered for a brief moment if the kid knew him, but it wasn’t possible. It was definitely their first meeting. He could never forget a face like that boy’s, or those wild eyes.

“All right, you win.” He sighed. “I’ll take you to my place.”



TBC??