Bensonhurst 1981

The air was thick with sweat. Off white clouds, stained with the odor of urine and cigarette smoke, hung low enough to brush the brick apartment buildings lined side by side from beginning to end, and the shadows pacing nervously on top of them.
On the ground, an old HVAC repair van in the middle of the street, parked parallel to the last entryway to the dead end neighborhood. The sidewalks, blocked with emblazoned barricades: dumpsters stacked high with burning garbage were on both sides of the street. Its smoke connected with the low hanging clouds. No vehicles could enter. No pedestrians would pass.
Summer of 1981, Bensonhurst; Brooklyn, New York on the hottest day of the year. Center stage for a year long guerilla war between neighborhoods.
The threat of the satanic bikers from Sheepshead was potent enough to unite two bitter rivals: the priviledged assholes, and the neighborhood slime who both called this crumbling warzone home. Edge, the leader of the neighborhood slime, understood the arrangement, but it made him bitter. Being Italian born, with a family tied to the local wise guys; he was cursed with pride, understanding his neighborhood was worth far more than face value. He would've let the sleezy developers bulldoze that rat sanctuary. His lieutenant and right hand man, Clone, reminds him daily the importance in maintaining the alliance with the rich fucks a few blocks east. "The enemy of my enemy...," he'd say. He hated when Clone would spew that boring philosophical shit, but understood the importance of having a smart alleck around. Being one of the smallest crew's in New York in size and numbers, many times the muscles in their head had to outshine the muscles in their fists in order to pull off the victory. Besides, their hated allies were all private school educated and shit. What they lacked in hand skills, they made up for it with their cutthroat and snake-like cunning.
"Where to?" Clone asked Edge in his frighteningly cool demeanor.
Edge looked pissed. His face was red. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his bat. "Word on the fuckin street is they caught Laredo over there in Rich fuck territory."
Edge swiped his switchblade off of a chair armrest. "Who."
"The fuckng bikers. Lets talk while we haulin ass understood?"
"Where are you taking him Edge?" Yuki, Edge's girlfriend walked out of her room, wearing only a dress shirt and leg warmers. Her face was tight with worry as she asked him again, "where are you taking him?"
Clone shot Edge a quick glance. Edge nodded and waited outside of the door. Clone joined him less than a minute later, and they made their way down the halls. They banged their fists against particular doors. Every door opened meant another body joined the fray, no words exchanged, no questions asked. They were thirteen strong by the the time they left the building.
They walked out of Edge's apartment, both silent until they reached the stairs of the buildings front, where three more members awaited them, joining the brigade.
"Yo... I only need ten of you. You three in the back stay here. Clone... have somebody handle move the fuckin blockade. If anybody knows why the hell Laredo thought he could leave this neighborhood by himself, speak up now!" Nobody spoke.
"Alright then, here's the deal. The bikers are running a friggin muk out if rich fuck territory. We're gonna go up there, get our soldier, crack a few inbred biker skull while we're up there, then get our asses back to the neighborhood. Remember these bikers are lookin to ride up here after they done got it. Roost, you lead the search with mite over there."
"Solid," Roost replied with a raised fist. He was a skinny pretty boy punker who they referred to as the diplomat. Charismatic as sin. Any information they needed, he was the guy- the unofficial third in command. Roost and the neighborhood scout was the first to leave once the van was removed. They left the burning dumpsters where they were.
"Alright soldiers, lets roll."
Once they'd left, the barricade was made whole again, reparking the van sideways in the middle of the street- so tight, no motorbikes could roll through.
They rolled up the blocks, hidden in the night, as they all sported the signature black wife beaters, black cargo pants, and black steel toed boots. The only visible feature of the approaching army was the shine of Clone's switchblade under the moonlight, which was shortlived- he placed the blade in his pocket.
Clone walked up beside Edge.
"What you got for me smart guy?"
"We cant take these sucka's face on," Clone said expressionless.
"Okay... I want answers den."
"Three, three, three, and two. Split... run like hell back to the neighborhood if there's trouble."
"Think that'll work Clone?"
"Nothing's a hundred percent, but its the smartest course of action. We're not here to fight."
Edge was angry. He wanted to fight, and it only made him even more enraged that Clone was correct. They couldnt stand up to them. Those biker bastards were broad with fists the size of basketballs. It'll take two to three neighborhood boys to take down one just of 'em.
There was a whistle from one of the rooftops: Termite.
"Fuck he said...," Edge asked Clone, not understanding morse code.
"He said the neighborhood's full of cops. Hold on." Edge raised his ear towards the rooftop. "Pigs on standby..."
Edged doubled back, informing the rest of the crew of the plan. They splintered off as Edge suggested: three, three, three, and Edge and Clone made up the final two.
They could hear window's shattering, the reving and roaring of bike engines as they approached the rich asshole neighborhood.
Edge wanted to rush in head on, hitting home runs with the first couple of biker skulls he came across. It was his way.
The turned the corner, blasted with the stench of trouble as they faced the chaos. There was a body in the street, sporting a black wife beater with gray on the armstraps. They sprinted up the block.
"Laredo...," Edge lost his grip on the bat. "Aww fuck man, he's a fuckin kid man. He wasnt even soldierin."
Clone kept his distance, keeping his detachment to the situation. He died fighting a war, he thought. Soldier's die. We came here to shed light on an uncertainty, and we did. We no longer have to wonder. Attachments halt progress. He'd never express his opinions to his fiery leader.
Edge reclaimed his bat and ran up the block yelling profanities. Clone took off after him.
Two bikers were drinking booze under a busted walk signal. They'd just trashed a convenience store just feet from them. The store clerk was used as a doorstop, shattered glass sprinked over the broken old man- a holocaust survivor.
The bottle was against his lips when Edge shattered it with a bat. The shards rained into an eye as he fell to his knees, screaming bloody murder. The second biker was quick to react, grabbing a smaller edge by the neck, and tossing him onto as island of convenience store glass on the sidewalk.
"Puss brained punk," said the biker, pulling a large commando knife from his belt. He slapped the fallen biker on the shoulder. The biker staggered to his feet, holding his eye.
Clone ran quick but with stealth, clipping the knife wielding biker behind his knee with his steel toe, giving Edge time to recover. "Dammit!" The biker screamed in frustration.
The half blind biker went after Clone. Clone incapacitated him with quick elbows to his blind side; hammering his temples until her passed out.
The knife wielding biker was chasing Clone around a car; at one point, leaping over the hood trying to slice him.
"Come on biker bitch, batta up."
Clone stood behind the biker, waiting for an opportunity.
"Ha ha... I recognize the colors. Was that your boyfriend in the middle of the street? We buried that faggot then threw him off the roof."
"Son of a...," Edge snarled.
"Edge...," Clone called to him in an even tone. "He wont be talkin that mess in a few seconds."
"What the fuck are you talking about Cl-"
The biker was too busy laughing and talking trash to see what was coming. A yellow clad, red haired misfit appeared, came running out of oblivion to strike the biker on the side of the head with a lead pipe. The biker fell to his knees, but need three more whacks to be put to sleep. Edge came running from around the car, and began pounding the grounded biker until the tip of his bat was covered in red. He spit on him, before making his way up the block.
"Edge," Clone called him. "Calm down."
"Oh, so now you bottom feeders decide to show."
"Shut the fuck up Telly," demanded Clone, in a tone describe by his crew as easy going but frightening.
"I'm just saying slimeballs. Those bikers were here handing us our asses. Where were you guys? I thought we had an alliance going? You know.. enemy of my enemy. huh?"
"Shut up Telly!" Edge pointed the bat at the defacto leader of the rich assholes. He flipped his bat and walked vehemently towards Telly, with the intention of bashing his face in. Close stood in Edge's way. "Out of the way Edge. This turkey allowed Laredo to be killed on his territory."
"whoa whoa whoa. your angry is misdirected my friend."
"I'm not your effin friend you spoonfed douchebag, i'm your executioner."
"Whatever bottomfeeder. If i cant protect my own neighborhood against these ogres, what the hell makes you think i can protect one of your section 8 companions? Its the bikers you want" Telly held a mountain of chain in the expensive leather bag he was carrying on his shoulder. He'd tell anyone within hearing distance, his father -on a european tour- has hundreds of them, and they all cost more than your house. "Lets get them."
Edge huffed. "How?"
Telly only needed less than a minute to explain the plan. It was simple, yet maniacally brilliant for the situation. They cut through alleyways, buildings, and a few different neighborhoods; knowing the NYPD sectioned off many of the rich residentials, and the way they came was crawling with bikers.
"Biker drug money musta paid them cops to stay outta the way," said Edge, breaking the silence through an alley.
"Ya think," Telly answered sarcastically. "This is it..."
"What now?" Edge asked him.
"Now one of us is going to have to drag this chain across the street to that alley over there." Clone answered for the smugly smirking Telly.
"I know I'm not doing it. I already got my hands dirty with this chain, ruining this designer bag." Telly dusted his shoulder.
"I'm curious... where did you come with the idea?" Clone asked Telly.
"I saw it in this movie about a frat. Good times."
"I figured..."
A patchwork group of a half a dozen bikers rumbled by. Edge and Clone took a backstep into the shadows. Telly, because of his bumble bee, hid behind a dumpster.
"We gotta do this now while they're still here." Telly demanded, losing the silly grin he wore on his face.
"Fuck this. Give me the bag." Edge demanded. Telly was glad to give it to him. The bag was heavy, but he didnt give a shit. He'll endure whatever pain necessary to inflict chaos on the biker creeps who killed his soldier. He tucked the bag beneath his arm like a football. Clone played lookout; watching up the blocks, keeping Edge at bay until it was time to sprint. Clone gave him the signal. And Edge ran for his life, catching the bikers with the corner of his eye, about two blocks distance, partying it up with booze and some of their own trashy biker women. It was festival of tattoo's, leather, hogs, and ripped jeans. Their fun was at the expense of passerbys; who they used as target practice, pinata's, and on one occasion a toilet. There was enough chain to make it across the street. Clone was the one to give the signal when ready. They weren't to wait long. The engines began to rumble, and the bohemoth voice of the biker general could be heard screaming, "lets move this party towards the slums." Edge knew which neighborhood was next- his. He wasnt sure two three dozen guys and two flaming trash cans would be enough. The bikes came speeding up the blocks. Edge watched Clone, waiting for his signal. It came. Both Telly and Edge yanked at the chain, creating an unbreakable finish line for the approaching swarm. And at 70 mph; it was a devastating clothesline of hard steel which sent half the biker swarm soaring once their wheels connected with the chain. The back end of the envoy couldnt brake fast enough, and were quick to join the violent pileup in front of them. Both and Edge and Telly were thrown into the wall from the impact of the bikes. But it was nothing compared to the pain suffered by the people, laid out, bloody, and dazed in the concrete.
Edge, Telly, and Clone emerged from the shadows: pouding, kicking, stomping, and taunting the still conscious. The biggest biker of them all put up the most fight. A bald sonofabitch named bull- it was tattooed on his neck. He threw them around for a moment, but was overwhelmed by their numbers, their weapons, and the pain of his broken leg which they exploited.
"That was delightful," Telly declared. He reached out his hand for a shake, but was snubbed by both. He shrugged. Who needed the acknowledgment of bottom feeders, he thought.
The tumble of bike engines could be heard tearing up the block.
"I have a great plan. Its called every man for themselves." Telly took off down the alley they came. Edge and Clone took off after him, but lost him on the other end.
Clone urged edge to follow to him.
They ran up down the street, connecting with the main road. A few of their fellow soldiers were a hundred yards out, hauling ass like they'd ordered them two. In the middle of them, the cowardly Telly. Hopefully the rest made it back safely. Telly was the only one Edge'd care less about.
The swarm was near. Now was the moment he feared, yet awaited. The moment he dreaded, yet invited on many occassions. The bikers were here for his turn, finally.
"Clone. Keep runnin. Do the thing without me." Edge turned off the main road, on his way back into rich fuck territory. Three bikes veered off the main road, after him.
The two vans was pulled back for their entry. Eleven left, but only eight entered home base. The ninth was Telly, who nobody noticed, considering a more ruthless threat was there. The drivers of the vans pulled back into position, blocking the bikes from entering. The enemy invasion lined up along the makeshit blockade.
The windows of the vans shattered. One of the bikers packed a pistol, emptying his chamber on the vans blocking their entry.
"I'm not playing with you fuckheads," said the Biker spokesman- Spider, Bull's pedophile first lieutenant. "Move out, now, or we're walking in there!"
"Thats not a possibility," Clone replied from the rooftop, the female from the apartment at his side. "But we're offering you a chance to leave and never come back. Actually I'm not offering it."
There was collective laughter among the biker battalion. "So i guess this is the suggestion of your chink girlfriend, or your sissy leader."
"Something like that," Clone replied.
He fired his pistol at the rooftop, hitting the edge. The bikers drew crowbars and machete's from their bikes.
"You had your chance." Clone stepped out of sight. Dripping wet crates and trash cans flew from the roof, landing dead center of the bikers. A storm of lit liquor bottles lit up the night sky from the windows, rooftops, and streets: blanketing the streets with flame. The liquid of the crates nurtured the fire. The trash cans screamed, blowing sharp ash in every direction.
Many of the bikers, seeing their kin in agony, started their engines, and took off screaming. Others werent so lucky. When all was said and done; there was a mountainous heap of bikes, and possible casualties beneath the smoke.
"Edge is back," somebody informed Clone. Many of the "neighborhood slime" abandoned the roof once they heard sirens and the honk of fire engines. Nobody knew anything.
"Sure, now they come." Someone commented.
When Clone found him, Edge sat with a crowbar across his knees, outside of his apartment, against his door. Clone sat beside him.
"Where'd you go?"
"I went back for Roost."
Clone wanted to ask 'why?' But chose not to.
"This isnt done you know," Clone said.
"Yep. And we hittem with everything we had. We're fucked."
"Yep..." Clone replied. "We're fucked."