Chapter 36: Acceptable Targets
Hardly a few hours had passed since Johnny Vincent and Lola Lombardi had officially broken up and the clique leader was already gathering his troops. The troubled clique leader had a lot on his mind, but first things first: he needed to get back on top of his game. He needed to re-establish trust with his gang and regain lost ground. The greasers had been forced into keeping a lid on themselves thanks to Johnny's drunken rage causing havoc at their regular bar, but that was about to be put to an end.
With Norton by his side, he recruited Lucky, Lefty, and Hal from the auto shop area while Vance and Ricky were minding their business elsewhere. While Hal was either completely insensitive to the sudden change in the wind or he was simply not surprised by it at all, Lucky and Lefty looked at their leader and his lieutenant with worry and suspicion as the two appeared to the auto shop with Norton following Johnny in silent approval.
"What's the matter boys? You look like you've seen a ghost", the clique leader snorted at his henchmen before mobilizing them.
Johnny's underlings followed their leader hesitatingly until his seemingly carefree mood infected them. The greaser king joked about the hysteria that had obviously swept over the preppies earlier and traipsed towards New Coventry with such a confident strut that they forgot all else. It was a change of pace and they all wanted to welcome it without restraint.
In all truthfulness, Johnny felt awkward and fake. He wasn't okay: considering the circumstances, he was feeling unnaturally light both in mind and body. He couldn't shake the feeling that what he was going to do next was just him trying to amaze his friends with another one-man show so he could be excused wallowing in the pits again.
I can't keep lookin' forward to lettin' myself slip, the boy reminded himself. He needed to stay afloat. He needed to get over Lola. For real this time.
When the greasers reached their destination, Johnny swaggered right in like he owned the place. Lucky DeLuca frowned – he knew the owner of this very bar where Johnny had caused a rumble to break out and he wouldn't be too happy about the culprit returning. Or, even worse, he could be very happy with him returning for a free lesson in bar etiquette.
And there he was: tinkering with a broken tap. A tattooed, burly man in a leather vest with a beard and hair tied to a ponytail. He was basically a big biker viking. He was more understanding and lenient than he looked, but not much – he took no crap from anyone. He knew his share of punks, too, having been a motorcycle gang member prior to opening his own bar.
The bar was a filthy, run-down one near the Blue Skies bridge. Truckers and other workers came there from the industrial park to have a drink or a lunch and loaf around, that was its niche. During the afternoon it was mostly empty, and this one was no exception. Only a couple of regulars were lapping rancid soup in the furthest corner as Johnny stomped across the bar like a cowboy. It was his lazy, heavy footsteps that alerted the owner of the place to finally look up from his project.
"Nuh-uh, kiddo. You ain't getting' another chance. Git", the bear of a man said pre-emptively and went back to trying to fix the faucet.
"Nice to see you too, Frank!" Johnny sneered and walked up to the counter, leaning against it casually as Lucky, Lefty, Hal, and Norton spread out to do their trademark loitering around the bar while spectating the upcoming negotiation. As long as they were there, it was unlikely for Frank to try to throw Johnny out by force.
"C'mon now daddio! I came here to give my heartfelt apology, I know I did wrong!" the greaser king said with a slick, coaxing voice when Frank kept ignoring him. The man then took his eyes off his project again, only to give the boy a short, angry glare.
"Apologies dun fix no windows or taps or a regular customer's broken tail bone", the man grumbled, attempting to go back to ignoring the thorn in his flesh.
"Frankie, you gotta believe me here – it was a setup. Lola wanted to get me in trouble and she made me drink too much, I swear!" Johnny begged.
Frank rolled his eyes.
"It won't happen again! In fact, it can't happen again. You're lookin' at a single man, Frankie. It's over between me and that skank, we're through for good", Johnny swore, emphasizing his words with a wave of his hand.
Around and behind their leader, Lucky, Hal, and Lefty glanced at each other, confused. Then they took a look at Norton. The black youngster noticed their questioning looks and gave them a silent nod, bringing an approving smirk to his friends' faces.
Frank, however, wasn't impressed.
"'Nuffa that, kid. Lucky, wont'cha do your friend a favor and take him out before he makes a fool outta himself?" the man hemmed, glancing into Lucky's direction. The auburn-haired youngster answered with an amused shrug.
"No can do", he then said with a grin. The rest of the greasers snickered as Frank sighed and shook his head, not believing the nerve of these kids.
Suddenly, one of the men sitting in the corner ceased his dining and raised his voice.
"Hey Frankie, need help dealin' with these twerps?" he asked gruffly.
Immediately, Norton turned his attention to the corner table and tensed, popping his knuckles.
"It's okay Chuck, I've got this", Frankie assured.
"Look kids, as much as I don't give a rat's ass about who my payin' customers happen to be, you've brought me enuff trouble. The cops been havin' their eyes on me for a while now n' they had a field day when someone tattled that my bar was trashed by a riot caused by a minor. You know how much the donut munchers want this place closed so they can focus their efforts on that piece of shit bar right in front of the police station", the man ranted wearily and started wiping his counter with a rag, careful not to drop any of the tools or faucet parts sprinkled across his work space.
"Oh, I see", Johnny said with a sniffle, sounding disappointed.
"I sympathize, I really do. Since the cops are on your case... I guess you have some business you've had to put on ice for a while", he continued casually.
"Business you could use help for, from someone they can't trace back to ya", he added and pretended to nonchalantly pick some grime off his fingernails.
Frankie halted his chore and frowned, his eyes fixed to nothing in particular. After a moment of silence, he turned his eyes at Johnny with a scowl. It was in plain sight that careful calculations took place between his ears.
"I've got no business with a buncha snotty kids", he then hemmed, starting to make Johnny annoyed. But then:
"This is... Personal."
... The greaser king put a cork on it.
"S'my woman. Been sleepin' with another guy, she has", he harrumphed.
"Oh gosh, Frankie, for real? I know how you must feel – been there myself!" Johnny said, exaggeratedly aghast and sorry.
Frank sighed – how many times had he listened to this boy painstakingly sputter about his misadventures with his girlfriend, totally plastered and altering between sobbing and raging? He could have tried to sound more genuinely compassionate.
"Anyway, I know the bastard who went n' fucked her behind my back. But the thing is, I can't just beat the shit outta him – he's got friends and I can't have 'em makin' a mess of my bar", the man groused.
"Just drop a name n' me and the boys will take care of the scumbag", Johnny chuckled, happy that things were going in his favor.
Frank leaned closer, his face crinkling in disgust at the name that he was going to spit out.
"Ever heard of a dropout named Gurney?"
Author's Notes: S'been a while, hasn't it? Had a bit of trouble figuring out a logical order for the next few bits to happen.