"So it is agreed then gentlemen. We shall reform the Kings and take the school. In exchange, we'll let you use this clubhouse for your hootenannies. Charles declared. The clubhouse erupted in applause at the deal that was just struck. A couple of whistles and woos were issued here and there. "You gentlemen would do well to keep in mind that there is a limit to this deal. One party per month" Charles continued. The clubhouse was then plunged into silence.
"No way square! Us Salt Bay Turbos will party whenever we damn well feel like it. We're rebels, ya dig!? We don't answer to no man, and that goes double for you fancy boy." challenged Chet, the leader of the Salt Bay Turbo gang. Chets crew cheered and hollered like it was going out of style.
"You tell him Chet!" yelled out one of his cronies. A tall fat guy with black hair that was slicked back. The Salt Bay Turbos all wore the typical greaser uniform. Black leather jacket, blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. The only difference being was the patches the gang wore to distinguish themselves on their jackets. They looked more like bikers than anything else. They had the reputation for being the meanest greasers in town. The Kings of the past used these guys for their dirty work, to keep their hands clean. Reputations had to be protected of course. The New Kings will make excellent use of them. Charles will see to it.
Charles sighed before replying. "Alright Chet, here's the thing. We can't let you do that. We see what your kind does to respectable establishments. This clubhouse is the property of the Kings, not, whatever you people call yourselves." Charles reasoned. The Turbos began to scream insults and threats of violence at Charles and his small retinue underlings.
Chet stood up from his seat then kicked flipped the table over, sending glass steins and bowls of chips crashing to the ground. He strode over to Charles, who was still seated, with as much menace as he could muster. Charles himself grinned smugly at Chet, who was giving him his most intimidating death stare. "See what I mean? You people always make such an awful mess. I mean, this is a clubhouse. Perhaps you apes would feel more at home in a zoo?" Charles asked. The smug grin never left his face.
The biggest, most powerful haymaker was aimed at the the head of Charles. It travelled at the speed that strength and fury would allow. Coming from Chet, there was a hell of a lot of it. Fortunately for Charles, and rather unfortunately for Chet, he saw it coming. One of Charles's tutors was an expert in the fighting styles of the Far East. He knew exactly what to do in a fight. With that in mind, what happened next was hardly a surprise.
Charles blocked he haymaker with his arm. He them punched forward into Chets lower abdomen. In the blink of an eye, Charles stood up then kneed Chet while he was still slightly stunned by Charles's punch. The knee made Chet keel over even more. Charles then put Chets arm in a spider lock, a move designed to incapacitate and cause pain. All of this went down in less than five seconds. Truth be told, Charles goaded Chet into this physical confrontation. It was all a part of his plan.
"Ahh, let go of me damn it!" yelled Chet. The other Turbos stopped in their tracks before they got physical at the sight of their leader being rendered helpless. Kicking Chets ass was no mean feat. With his blonde hair, football player build, and burgeoning facial hair, he looked like a Viking warrior.
"Call off your monkeys." ordered Charles.
"Ok ok, just take it easy on my arm. Stand down fellas." Chat told his crew. The Salt Bay Turbos meekly backed down.
Charles released Chet from his hold. "So do we have a deal Chet? Old buddy, old pal." Charles asked, with obviously feigned friendliness.
"Sure, we got ourselves a deal." Chet replied, rather reluctantly.
Member
