The violently bright lights, the artificially enticing smells, the loud beeping of machines and folks yelling over each other, the gang picked this corner spot to fuel up after a long day of mayhem. Earlier in the day, they chased away a rival, stole samples in an electronics store, traded a few bags of weed, and learned how to jumpstart the new kind of electronic cars from uncle Tay. To Klap, the leader, today is just like any other day. Get up, command, fight, have fun, recruit or discipline, and sleep.
The gang calls itself Mischief-64, in honor of the original founder’s birthdate. Klap holds this history close to them and will not let anyone thrash it. Right now they’re just grabbing a bite. Everyone has their phones out, everyone is watching and showing videos, cackling, yelling, cursing, eating. They occasionally throw food at each other, at other people, on the floor. They stare at passerbys, talk about how much money they have, how many fights they’ve been in—Klap knows this all well. They interrupt.
—”Hey hey hey. We need to talk about what’s really important. This morning we caught one of the Lickies invading our turf. We can’t have any of this. They need to be taught a lesson.”
Klap is met with cheers, agreement, people imitating gunshots. The new recruits seem to be into this life, the only life Klap has known recently, ever since leaving home and their drunk father and their absent sister. Klap is a natural-born leader and they believe the gang will provide for all of those who obey their command.
Sitting on the far side of the booth was M-No-M, named for his small frame. M-No-M went through the motions, learned quickly, had only joined a few weeks back. Klap had threatened his family if he dared not join, despite Klap going to the same school as M-No-M’s older brother. M-No-M wanted riches, fame, love, but most importantly, to have something for himself. Klap detailed part of their plan.
—”Alright, listen here. We’ll go to our locker to pick up what we need for tonight. I’m thinking 3am, we go over there and we beat up their sentries until they can’t move anymore. We light up one of their shops and get out of there. Make sure you wait for my commands–we’ll have a live call going for all this. Questions?”
No questions, only cheers. But not as energetic as the first wave. Perhaps now that the rubber meets the road, things just do not seem as exciting. Klap senses this but they believe the job simply needs to be done, that Mischief-64 will endure through actions, not feelings. They take a big gulp of their soda, shove their food tray away, look around, and get up. Cheers die down and the gang goes back to their ruckus, their distraction, their arguments, their default.
—”I’m gonna go now. I’ll need some help prepping some of the cocktails we need for tonight. Who’s coming?”
Two, three kids raise their hands. M-No-M is among them. He had other plans, plans sold by his brother. He knew what to do—his blade sharp, his mind eyeing what he would gain from taking over.
—”Not you, M. You’re too clumsy. Stay with the rest, you might learn a thing or two. Just go clean yourself up. You’re a mess.”
M-No-M protests, thinking he just needs a minute alone with Klap to do what he must. Klap mocks him for he got ketchup all over his pants. Embarrassed, M-No-M goes to the bathroom. He cleans and cleans, partly with water, partly with the tears streaming down his face. He dries his pants with his jacket for the bathroom is all out of paper. He comes out. The restaurant is empty, the smells persist, but his gang, the patrons, the staff, they are all gone. He reaches into his pockets and finds his knife gone too. M-No-M’s dreams would end that night. He never makes it home, and neither does Klap.