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| Sunny California | Started by: Stefan_Babic_Babs on Jul 08, '25 07:54 |
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Los Angeles, 1950 After everything that went down in New York, Babs had no one left to call. Carlo Gambino — dead. Kaime — dead. The rest vanished. Some disappeared into the river. Others into concrete. The phones stopped ringing. The streets stopped speaking his name. He didn’t wait around to watch it all settle. He boarded a bus heading west — no goodbyes, no second thoughts — and three days later, he stepped off in Los Angeles with nothing but an old blazer and the kind of eyes that had seen too much. California wasn’t salvation. It was a new front line. Sunshine, smiling faces, the smell of salt and palms. But underneath the surface — bloody jobs, quiet wars, and men who shook your hand with the left while gripping steel in the right. Babs kept his head down for weeks. Worked the small stuff. Watched doors. Moved bags. Kept his mouth shut and eyes open. He knew something would come. He just didn’t know when. Then came the whisper. A half-drunk dealer in Boyle Heights muttered the name like a warning and a dare. “Boom Pandemonium.” “New crew. No one knows who’s really running it. No flyers, no faces. If they call you — you’re in. If they don’t — walk away and forget the name.” ⸻ Velvet Restaurant. Culver City. Late evening. The place looked too classy for what it really was. Dim lights. Jazz in the corner. Red velvet booths. Babs walked in alone. Quiet. Took a seat by the window and ordered a whiskey. He didn’t look around — if they were watching, they already saw him. Fifteen minutes later, a drink appeared in front of him. The waiter said nothing except: “From the lady in the corner.” He turned. Rain Red dress. Cigarette in hand. Calm, collected, eyes that made you feel like a child again. Next to her — Dynamite, wide frame, a scar across his neck, and the kind of stare that froze time. Babs stood, walked over, and sat down. No one invited him, but no one stopped him. Rain spoke first. “They say you crossed the continent without making a single call.” Babs answered flat: “And without a single bullet fired.” Dynamite- smiled — the kind of smile you give before you break someone’s arm. “We’re not like those East Coast boys,” Rain said, her voice smooth and cold. “Out here, we don’t ask what you’ve done. We watch what you do. And if you’re faking it… you don’t go home.” Babs nodded. “Fine. Tell me where and when.” She lit a cigarette slowly, exhaled smoke through her nose. “You make it through this — maybe we ask you something else.” Dynamite slid a small envelope across the table. “Address. Van. Two guys inside. One used to be ours. The other… doesn’t matter. Don’t kill unless you have to. Bring back the bag. That’s it.” “And if they start shooting?” Babs asked. Rain smiled, just barely. “Then answer smart. Or at least, shoot straight.” ⸻ Later that night — East L.A., 11:40 PM Old white van parked outside a shuttered garage. Lights still on. Two men inside. One in the back with a beer. One in the front with a gun resting on his thigh. Babs walked up like a messenger. Opened the door, calm as ever. “Rain says it’s not yours anymore.” The driver twitched first. Bad move. One shot — clean through the shoulder. The second guy ran. Babs didn’t follow. The bag was already his. ⸻ The next morning — Velvet Restaurant Same suit. A little dustier. He dropped the bag on the table in front of Rain and Dynamite. “One less guy out there spreading rumors.” Rain opened the bag, checked the contents, then shut it quietly. Silence. Dynamite raised his coffee like a toast. “Welcome to Boom Pandemonium.” Rain extended her hand — firm grip, no warmth. “You’re ours now. As long as you play it right.” ⸻ When he walked out of the Velvet that morning, Babs wasn’t just a visitor anymore. He wasn’t passing through. From that day forward — he was one of them. |
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