Untitled

By Uozumi

 

Author’s Note: I was working on Saturdays, and my inspiration stalled, so now I'm going to write this new fic.  I was re-reading my dismal collection of one, six, and seven, and as I neared the end of the sixth book, I came up with the idea for this fic.  Enjoy.  I own nothing.

 

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It was spring 1982, and the air was blustery and somewhere between cold and cool.  A young man of about fifteen or sixteen was perched atop a park bench, watching nothing in particular.  The park was empty and the sun shone brilliantly as though it was still time for him to be in school and not out and about the city.

 

Pushing his sunglasses up his nose, the youth's mouth gave away the brooding he was doing, the generality of the thoughts in his head.  Quietly his head turned in various directions as though checking for something, but nothing at the same time.  He was merely thinking, nothing more, nothing less.

 

After a while, he jumped down from the bench and wandered off to his right down the path, hands in his pant's pockets, his mouth now not displaying whatever mood he was in at the moment.  This was why he wore sunglasses - he didn't like for people to know what he was about too much.  It was too dangerous and he had people to protect.

 

His head was slightly shaved, save his dark hair which was done up in a slight Mohawk, which surprisingly didn't blow in the wind, the gel so thick.  As he wandered down the path, snippets of the night before ran through his mind and the last thought was what his parents would think of his exploits.  He had nine free skip days because he was on the honor roll at school, and he was on his second, but he knew his older sister worried, even if their parents did not.

 

He ventured onto the streets, back on his way towards Chinatown, which was where he hung his hat.  His parents owned a small restaurant and the family lived above it, where they had always lived even before his parents had come into the world.  He was a third generation Chinese American, still a pureblood Chinese person, even though several like him were mixed blood in some respect by now.

 

Sticking with the shadows, he ducked through doorways on his route he had discovered where no police would bother him.  He still looked young, but they always thought he was a senior in high school instead of a sophomore, which suited him just fine - perhaps in a year the police wouldn't harass him on his skip days.  As he alighted to a stack of lumber in an abandoned construction site, the youth gazed about him, then froze, looking down at a person who seemingly had appeared out of nowhere.  The boy was slight, but his eyes burned with a spirit that mirrored another boy's he had met only a mere twelve, thirteen hours ago.

 

"You must be Shorter Wong," the boy spoke, his voice carrying a sarcastic twinge, but it was a natural timbre, and carried no ill will or malice.

 

"What of it?" the older boy stared down at him, his naturally expressive eyes hidden.  For his means, that was another reason for his sunglasses, he just had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve far too much.

 

"I am Sing Soo-Lin," the boy's eyes were unwavering as though he could see Shorter's through the opaque shades.  "I was told you're in charge."

 

Shorter tensed mentally, but his body didn't show the myriad of thoughts rushing through his mind.  Only just last month he had been set in the position as leader of the Chinese gang, and this was the second person who had approached him about the position.  One wanted to side, and this one seemed like he wanted to join.

 

Yet, this boy was young!  He was barely five-feet tall, and even if his face was hardened, it was still a baby face, and Shorter wondered if Soo-Lin was even in middle school yet.

 

"How old are you?"

 

"How old are you?" Soo-Lin challenged back.  "It's only a fair question."

 

"Sixteen," the gang leader replied.

 

"I'm ten," the boy took his turn, gauging Shorter, who gave no clear reaction.

 

"You're too young - graduate junior high and then come back and talk to me," Shorter spoke.  He didn't doubt that the youth was competent, but Shorter didn't like the idea of a fifth or sixth grader in his gang.  It just wouldn't be right.

 

"I am in junior high," Soo-Lin challenged, "I started school early, and I'm also a decent fighter."

 

"I don't care what the hell you are - I'm not accepting a kid into my gang.  It's not right," Shorter defended.  "You're too young for this."

 

"I come from the Chinatown in San Francisco," Soo-Lin's eyes were still determined.  "It's a hell of a lot busier than this place.  I've lived here for six months, and this is very different - very quiet."

 

Shorter narrowed his eyes.  The kid struck him as the type to twist the facts to get his means.  He wasn't a liar, he just picked and chose what would get him places, but he also probably had a hormonal streak.  Shorter didn't want to deal with an emotional gang member, he didn't have the time.  Their youngest member currently was fourteen, but the median age for the gang was seventeen.  How Shorter had become leader, he didn't know.

 

"Look, kid -"

 

"Sing.  I have a name."

 

"Okay," Shorter restarted, "Look, Sing, I'm not going to let you in just yet.  Turn fourteen first at least.  I don't want to deal with a ten-year-old punk, that's too dangerous."

 

"I think it's more dangerous if you let me go," Soo-Lin leveled his gaze.  "I can go elsewhere and if I do, your gang will perish come a fight.  There will be a fight, it's too quiet for there not to be."

 

"What part of 'no' don't you fucking not understand?!" Shorter shouted exasperatedly.  "I'm not letting you into my gang!"

 

"You’re making a big mistake," Soo-Lin spoke quietly and Shorter could almost see another person in him.  Another boy barely fourteen had contacted him the precious night, and as he looked at the expression on Soo-Lin's face and how he carried himself, Shorter knew that Soo-Lin was a leader, destined for the same position as the blonde boy some day.

 

That could be advantageous in the end, but right now, a ten-year-old had no place in his gang.

 

"What can you do?"

 

The question seemed to startle Soo-Lin at first, but the boy's lips flickered into something between a smirk and a smile.  He had won, and both boys knew that Soo-Lin had won.  Soon he would join the group and despite preliminary protests, he would be chosen as the one to replace Shorter only three and a half years later.

 

THE END