The Heights
Chapter 1
Anthony was on a late night jog through Chavez Heights in East Los Angeles, a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. It was not foreign territory for him, it was his constituency. He had been the city councilor from this district for about five months. It was a hotly contested race, he was facing a popular incumbent in Umberto Hernandez. Anthony on the other hand was from a storied family. Referred to as the “black Kennedys”, Anthony Kincaid was the son of Rodney Kincaid, the mayor of Los Angeles. His grandfather was Eugene Kincaid, senior U.S. senator from California. His mother Shareese was the Assistant Chancellor at the University of Southern California, one of the top schools in the United States. His older sister Janice was a top rated physiologist and had written several books. His younger brother Brandon was a promising college basketball player at the University of Kentucky. He was in his sophomore year and all the experts were predicting he would go into the pros next year. His father would have a fit if Brandon chose athletics over academics. It was a legacy that Anthony was eager to live up to as quietly as possible. That was not going to happen. Throughout the campaign, he was seen as “daddy’s boy”. As just another Kincaid in power in Los Angeles. All that he got was handed to him on a silver platter, Hernandez would like to say. It seemed like Anthony wouldn’t win the election until two days prior, a news story broke that would end the hopes of a seventh term for Umberto. The Los Angeles Times reported on Councilman Hernandez’ trips to Acapulco during the Christmas season. Which was not abnormal, that is where he was born. The Mexican seaside town was also home to Hernandez’ second family. His wife Maria had no idea. Neither did his two daughters. As if to make matters worse, Hernandez was funneling money from his re-election campaign to pay for their daily expenses and to a greater degree, their silence. It was illegal and highly immoral and pretty soon, Anthony was up in the polls and won in a landslide on election night.
Tonight was a stress relief. Anthony liked to jog. It was a way to get his mind off of things and to get some clarity on his often chaotic life. He jogged often through the heart of Chavez Heights but decided to take a different path tonight. He cut down Vine Street to Jerquez Place. Jerquez Place was the center of the Mexican gang territory. Anthony did not care. He knew that gangs fought each other for territory and respect, not a city councilman out for a jog. He was wrong. As he made a right onto his street, two men stepped in front of him. He came to an immediate halt and took out his earbuds.
“What’s up, fool? Wallet.” Asked one of the men. He stood about 5’6, black hair in a buzzcut and from what Anthony could see in the orange glow of the streetlight, tattoos up and down both of his exposed arms and legs.
“I do not carry cash on me while I am out running. All I have is a credit card and my license.” Anthony replied, hoping his calm demeanor would make the robbers think twice.
“You think this is a game?” the second guy asked. Before Anthony replied, the first guy punched him in the ribs. He doubled over and collapsed to the ground. There was a swift kick to his right side followed by another kick and Anthony crumpled onto the pavement. The kicks kept coming and soon he began coughing up blood. One of the guys paused momentarily to reach into the pocket of his jogging shorts only to find his license and credit card.
“Is this all you got?” One of the men had picked up Anthony by his shirt’s collar. Anthony was trying to focus on the guy’s face but to no avail. He was bloodied, bruised and in severe pain. He was dropped again and braced himself for another kick.
It never came. Instead, another voice came into listening range.
“What are you pinche Long Beach ass wipes doing over here?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Me and my little friend here.” Through his rapidly swelling eyes, Anthony could see the butt of a gun tucked in the stranger’s waistband. Then he realized: they were all gangsters. And the new guy had a nice set of abs.
“Now if I were you, I’d get to steppin before I wake up the barrio and let them know we got unwanted guests.”
His attackers started to walk away but not before yelling profanities and empty promises of returning. Another wave of pain hit Anthony and he fainted.
Tonight was a stress relief. Anthony liked to jog. It was a way to get his mind off of things and to get some clarity on his often chaotic life. He jogged often through the heart of Chavez Heights but decided to take a different path tonight. He cut down Vine Street to Jerquez Place. Jerquez Place was the center of the Mexican gang territory. Anthony did not care. He knew that gangs fought each other for territory and respect, not a city councilman out for a jog. He was wrong. As he made a right onto his street, two men stepped in front of him. He came to an immediate halt and took out his earbuds.
“What’s up, fool? Wallet.” Asked one of the men. He stood about 5’6, black hair in a buzzcut and from what Anthony could see in the orange glow of the streetlight, tattoos up and down both of his exposed arms and legs.
“I do not carry cash on me while I am out running. All I have is a credit card and my license.” Anthony replied, hoping his calm demeanor would make the robbers think twice.
“You think this is a game?” the second guy asked. Before Anthony replied, the first guy punched him in the ribs. He doubled over and collapsed to the ground. There was a swift kick to his right side followed by another kick and Anthony crumpled onto the pavement. The kicks kept coming and soon he began coughing up blood. One of the guys paused momentarily to reach into the pocket of his jogging shorts only to find his license and credit card.
“Is this all you got?” One of the men had picked up Anthony by his shirt’s collar. Anthony was trying to focus on the guy’s face but to no avail. He was bloodied, bruised and in severe pain. He was dropped again and braced himself for another kick.
It never came. Instead, another voice came into listening range.
“What are you pinche Long Beach ass wipes doing over here?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Me and my little friend here.” Through his rapidly swelling eyes, Anthony could see the butt of a gun tucked in the stranger’s waistband. Then he realized: they were all gangsters. And the new guy had a nice set of abs.
“Now if I were you, I’d get to steppin before I wake up the barrio and let them know we got unwanted guests.”
His attackers started to walk away but not before yelling profanities and empty promises of returning. Another wave of pain hit Anthony and he fainted.