Canelo’s New Recruits

Section 1: RamenHood

SkyView Mall was still busy when Canelo walked in with four boys behind him.

They were recent high-school graduates and the newest recruits in his gang. None of them had much experience yet.

One had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. Another wore a pink shirt. The third was tall and unusually pale. The last was short and stocky, with thick arms and a rusty metal pipe tucked at his waist.

Canelo led them into a ramen restaurant called RamenHood.

Customers filled several tables, and bowls of steaming noodles covered the counters. The owner stood behind the register with his daughter, a young woman in her early twenties who was helping him run the restaurant. Her dark hair was tied into a small ponytail, framing a delicate, slightly pointed face and a pair of large eyes. She wore a pink apron over her clothes, though it did little to hide her curvy figure.

As the four recruits spread out and took separate tables, the stocky kid gave her a quick once-over. He swallowed, then muttered under his breath, “Oh… nice pretty face. Nice bod.”

Canelo looked around, spotted two schoolgirls eating ramen together, and casually dropped into the empty chair beside them.

“Yo, little ladies. What’s up?”

Both girls froze.

One slowly turned her head.

“L-L-Lord Canelo!”

The other nearly dropped her chopsticks.

Their bowls were still almost full.

“We’re finished!”

“Y-Yeah! Completely full!”

They jumped up and hurried out of RamenHood.

Canelo watched them go.

“Huh?”

At another table, a man had already stood up. The moment Canelo looked in his direction, the man bent forward in a perfect ninety-degree bow.

“H-Hello, Lord Canelo. Hope you have a wonderful day.”

Then he hurried out too.

That was enough.

Chairs scraped across the floor. Customers abandoned their meals one after another. Within a minute, the entire restaurant had emptied.

Canelo and his four recruits hadn’t threatened anyone.

They hadn’t even ordered anything.

They had simply sat down.

Behind the counter, the owner stared at his suddenly empty restaurant.

Canelo crossed one leg over the other and began bouncing his foot.

“Yo, Mr. Owner. Business kinda slow today?”

The owner immediately came out from behind the counter and dropped to his knees.

“Lord Canelo, please! Business has been terrible lately. Rent is going up, customers aren’t coming like before… Please give me a little more time with the protection fee!”

Canelo took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Oh, yeah?”

The pink-shirt kid leaned back in his chair.

“Come on, man… everyone pays.”

The cigarette-smoking kid shrugged.

“Just pay, man. No point making this difficult.”

The tall, pale kid glanced around at the empty tables and all the abandoned bowls of ramen. He looked back at the owner, feeling a little sorry for what they had done to his business, but said nothing.

The stocky kid slapped his palm against the table.

“Are we gonna be here all fucking day?”

Canelo glanced at him.

“Yeah. Yo, I got all day, dude. I ain’t got shit to do.”

The stocky kid’s jaw tightened.

“Hey, Boss. Why don’t we show ’em we mean business?”

He yanked the rusty pipe from his waist.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

He swung it twice through the air, then raised it high over his head, aiming straight at the table.

“Yo. Hold it right there.”

The pipe stopped in midair.

Canelo took another drag.

“Chill, dude. We ain’t here to wreck their shit.” He gestured lazily around RamenHood. “These dudes pay us, we protect ’em. That’s how it works. Right, Mr. Owner?”

The owner nodded frantically.

“Yes! Yes, Lord Canelo!”

The stocky kid stood there for another second with the pipe still raised. Then he slowly lowered it and shoved it back against his waist.

A second later, he suddenly swung one arm hard through the empty air.

Whoosh!

“So we’re just gonna sit here and do nothing all day?”

Canelo kept bouncing his foot.

“Oh, yeah. I can chill here all damn day. Right, Mr. Owner?”

“Please, Lord Canelo…”

Canelo finished his cigarette and crushed the burning end directly against the tabletop.

Tssss.

He left the cigarette butt there, then immediately lit another one.

Outside RamenHood, several shoppers started walking toward the entrance. One of them looked inside.

His face changed.

“Oh, shit. It’s Lord Canelo.”

The others looked.

“Oh!”

The whole group turned around and disappeared back into SkyView Mall.

The owner looked like he was about to cry.

His daughter finally stepped out from behind the counter.

“Lord Canelo, please. My father isn’t trying to disrespect you. We really haven’t been making much money.”

Canelo leaned back and began whistling to himself.

The girl kept pleading.

The stocky kid’s face grew tighter and tighter.

Finally—

“Oh, enough!”

He shot out of his chair.

“You’ve been yapping in my ear this whole fucking time.”

He strode over to the girl.

“Maybe you need a lesson you’ll never forget.”

He grabbed her wrist and pinned it against the wall with one hand. With the other, he grabbed her breast.

“Ah!”

“Hey!” The owner jumped up. “Leave my daughter alone!”

The stocky kid looked at him.

“You don’t wanna pay? Fine. Maybe your daughter can pay for you.”

Canelo stopped whistling.

BAM!

His palm came down on the table.

“Hey, hey, hey! What the fuck you think you’re doing?”

Section 2: Canelo’s Rules

The stocky kid looked back.

“I’m trying to do something for the gang. They’re never gonna pay if we just sit around doing nothing.”

“I tell you to do that?”

The stocky kid said nothing.

Canelo pointed at the girl.

“Let her go.”

The stocky kid hesitated. His hand remained around her wrist.

Canelo’s bouncing foot stopped.

“Yo. Let her go. Right now.”

RamenHood went quiet.

“Don’t make me say that shit again, dude. You ain’t gonna like what happens next.”

The stocky kid stared at him for another moment.

“Fine.”

He released her.

The girl immediately rushed back to her father.

“D-Daddy…” she sobbed. “Daddy…”

He wrapped his arms around her.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s okay now.”

The stocky kid returned to his chair without another word.

Canelo resumed smoking.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His foot started bouncing again.

He looked the stocky kid up and down. There was still contempt in his eyes, but he studied the kid a little longer than before.

The owner held his daughter close. Then, slowly, he looked at Canelo.

“Lord Canelo… thank you.”

Canelo raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“Thank you for saving my daughter.”

Canelo seemed mildly surprised by that.

The owner swallowed.

“Maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe this restaurant really does need protection. I’ll have the money for you tomorrow.”

Canelo nodded.

“Aight.”

He took a drag.

“See? We got your back, dude. Hope you make some good money too, Mr. Owner.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Suddenly, Canelo stopped.

“Oh, shit. I just remembered. I got some shit to do today.”

He stood up.

“Guess I can’t chill here all day after all.”

He pointed toward the owner.

“Bring the money by tomorrow afternoon, aight?”

“Yes, Lord Canelo.”

Canelo headed for the door.

“Aight, dudes. Let’s bounce.”

The other recruits stood. The stocky kid was the last one out of his chair.

As the five of them reached the entrance, the owner’s daughter suddenly bowed deeply.

“Thank you, Lord Canelo. Thank you very much.”

Canelo waved without looking back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Then the five disappeared into SkyView Mall.

Not long after they left the mall, Canelo gave the four new recruits their first real assignment:

robbery.

None of them had ever robbed anyone before. They had barely joined the gang, yet Canelo had already thrown them into the mugging business like it was some kind of summer internship.

The four walked down the street together, scanning the passing crowd for their first victim.

“Don’t you think Boss is a little too soft?” the stocky kid said.

The pink-shirt kid looked at him.

“What?”

The stocky kid rested the rusty pipe across his shoulder.

“Canelo. I can’t stand that shit. We could’ve had that restaurant handled in five minutes. Instead we sat there forever while he smoked cigarettes and talked.”

“I don’t know. I think Boss knows what he’s doing.”

The stocky kid looked over.

The pink-shirt kid continued.

“I mean, being the boss ain’t just about beating the shit out of everybody. You gotta know when to—”

Whoosh!

The rusty pipe swept across his face and stopped less than an inch from his lips.

The wind from the swing blew his hair backward.

The pink-shirt kid froze.

A bead of cold sweat rolled down his face.

“Enough. Shut up.”

The stocky kid lowered the pipe.

“You’re as fucking soft as Boss.”

The pink-shirt kid closed his mouth.

Nobody else spoke after that.

The cigarette-smoking kid walked with his hands in his pockets. The tall, pale kid kept his eyes ahead. The pink-shirt kid stayed a little farther away from the stocky kid.

The four continued down the street in silence, looking for someone to rob.

Eventually, they turned into a dark alley.

Section 3: Five Dollars

Coming toward them from the other end was a man in pajamas with a ridiculous watermelon haircut.

It was Benson.

The four recruits exchanged a look.

They had found their victim.

Without a word, they spread out and surrounded him. Before Benson could figure out what was happening, they shoved him backward and pinned him against the wall.

The pink-shirt kid stepped forward.

This was their first robbery, and none of them really knew how to start one.

He cleared his throat.

“Give us all your money! Hand it over if you don’t wanna die!”

“AAAAAAAH!”

Benson’s scream exploded through the alley, making all four boys flinch.

“Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!”

He frantically dug through his pajama pockets and pulled out a single wrinkled five-dollar bill, holding it toward them with both hands.

“Here! Take it! That’s all I have!”

The stocky kid snatched the bill and stared down at it.

Five dollars.

He slowly looked back at Benson.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Five bucks? A third grader’s richer than you. This can’t even buy a pack of smokes.”

He held up the wrinkled bill.

“You wasting our time, man. Wasting the mugging business’s time.”

“That’s really all I have!” Benson cried. “I swear!”

“Bullshit.”

The cigarette-smoking kid grabbed Benson by the collar and searched him himself. He went through one pajama pocket, then the other, then checked his shirt.

Nothing.

Finally, he shoved his hand down the front of Benson’s pajama pants, into the crotch area, and searched inside his underwear.

Benson’s eyes nearly popped out.

“W-What are you doing?” His voice trembled. “Please don’t… don’t violate me! I’m straight!”

The cigarette-smoking kid ignored him, finished searching, and pulled his hand back out.

Nothing.

He looked at the wrinkled five-dollar bill in the stocky kid’s hand.

“Well, what do you know? He really doesn’t have any more money. Five bucks. That’s it.”

Benson gave them a nervous little nod.

“I told you…”

The cigarette-smoking kid stared at Benson.

“Yo, you gotta be freaking kidding me, man.”

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Five slaps flew across Benson’s face in a blur. His head whipped left and right so fast that for a moment, all anyone could see was the afterimage of his watermelon haircut swinging from side to side.

The slapping stopped.

A beat later, the pain finally seemed to catch up with him.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Oh, it hurts! Please don’t hurt me! It hurts like hell!”

His voice shot up several octaves, turning into the high-pitched shriek of a terrified woman.

The cigarette-smoking kid stared at him.

“What the fuck is with that womanly scream? This is fucking ridiculous… We spend all this time robbing you, and five dollars is all we get?”

He took a drag.

“No wonder the mugging business is going bankrupt these days.”

Then he took the cigarette from his mouth and pressed the burning tip straight against Benson’s forehead.

Tssssss—

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The same high-pitched, womanly scream tore out into the street.

A young man passing by stopped.

“Oh, shit. Is somebody getting raped?”

He paused.

“Hold on… this could be a live-action romantic action movie. I gotta see this.”

He peeked into the alley and saw four boys surrounding a guy with a ridiculous watermelon haircut.

“Please don’t hurt me! AAAAAAAAH!” Benson shrieked.

The passerby blinked.

“Oh, fuck. It’s just a dude. What the hell.”

Then he casually walked away.

Back in the alley, the cigarette-smoking kid was still tormenting Benson when the pink-shirt kid, standing behind him, suddenly spat.

Ptooey!

The glob of spit flew past the cigarette-smoking kid and landed directly in Benson’s eye.

“AAAAAH! Oh, fuck! Right in my eye!”

The pink-shirt kid smirked.

“And that watermelon haircut makes me sick.”

Section 4: Too Soft to Be a Gangster

The tall, pale kid watched Benson squirm against the wall and finally spoke.

“Hey, guys… maybe we should call it a day. Even if we keep beating him up and humiliating him, we’re not getting any more money out of this. Dude’s literally broke. Let’s just—”

The stocky kid came up from behind them.

He spread both arms and shoved all three boys aside at once.

The cigarette-smoking kid stumbled several steps away. The pink-shirt kid and the tall, pale kid were thrown off their feet and landed hard on their asses.

The stocky kid stepped through the space he’d cleared.

“Man, this whole thing’s been a fucking waste of time.”

He stared at Benson.

“Move aside. I’m gonna teach this loser a legendary fucking lesson.”

The rusty pipe was still tucked at his waist.

He didn’t waste another word.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

His fists hammered Benson from left to right, five punches landing in barely a second.

Before Benson could even fold, the stocky kid seized him by both shoulders and drove his knee straight into his stomach.

Whoosh!

The force of the strike sent a gust through the alley, blowing back the hair of all three boys standing nearby.

Benson buckled around the impact.

“Guh—!”

A mouthful of blood burst from his lips and splattered across the stocky kid’s shirt and face.

Benson sagged against the wall. Blood filled his mouth and ran from the corner of his lips. His eyes had already begun to lose focus.

“Aah…”

This time, there was nothing womanly about the sound.

It came out weak and broken, as though Benson no longer had enough strength left to scream.

“Somehow… it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore…” he murmured. “But I feel like I’m dying… Please don’t kill me…”

The cigarette-smoking kid and the pink-shirt kid exchanged an uneasy look.

“Hey, hold on, man…” one of them said, neither daring to move any closer.

The tall, pale kid rushed forward and grabbed the stocky kid by both arms.

“Hey, hey, hey. I think that’s enough. He learned his lesson already. Keep this up and this dude’s actually gonna die. Like, for real.”

The stocky kid looked at him.

For a moment, he seemed to consider it.

His clenched fist slowly loosened.

“And it goes against everything Boss Canelo taught us. We don’t gotta kill people when we’re robbing them if we don’t have to. It’s unnecessary trouble. And, you know… mercy toward all living—”

The stocky kid’s fist clenched again.

That name hit the nerve he’d been carrying ever since RamenHood.

All the irritation he had swallowed back at the restaurant flared up again in an instant.

“That soft-ass Canelo?”

He shoved the tall, pale kid away with one hand.

The kid hit the ground on his ass and slid several feet across the alley.

“Hey! Don’t do anything stupid!” the other two shouted.

The stocky kid didn’t even touch them.

He simply swung one arm through the air.

Whoosh!

The gust alone knocked both boys off their feet and sent them tumbling across the pavement.

The stocky kid pulled the rusty metal pipe from his waist.

Section 5: A Legendary Lesson

He began whipping the pipe around—left, right, high, low.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Faster and faster, the rusty pipe tore through the air as he built up momentum.

Benson stared at the blur of metal.

His eyes suddenly widened.

“No! No! Noooooooo—!”

The stocky kid leaped into the air and brought the rusty pipe straight down on Benson’s watermelon head.

CRACK!

Benson’s head burst open on impact.

A red mist sprayed through the air as his headless body crumpled to the ground.

Silence.

The other three stared at the body, stunned.

The stocky kid landed, still gripping the pipe. He ran one hand down its length, wiping the blood away, then turned his back on Benson as though the whole thing had been nothing.

“Our job is done. What the hell are you waiting for? You wanna get caught by the cops? Move.”

He started walking.

“Something takes one minute, you finish it in one minute. You drag that shit out for five, ten minutes…”

He rested the pipe across his shoulder.

“You’re too soft to be a gangster.”

The other three exchanged uneasy looks.

At this point, none of them seemed quite sure what was going on anymore.

They simply followed the stocky kid out of the alley, almost like they had somehow found themselves a new boss.

Then they were gone.

Section 6: Shadow From the Darkness

Silence returned.

Behind them, Benson’s headless body twitched.

Once.

Then again.

The blood scattered across the pavement began to move.

Slowly at first.

Then faster.

Drops of blood crawled backward across the concrete.

Pieces of flesh jerked toward the corpse.

Then suddenly—

Whoosh!

Everything shot back at once.

Blood.

Flesh.

Bone.

All of it rushed toward Benson’s shattered neck.

Something began to take shape in the darkness.

And then—

two eyes opened.