Read Online The Rampage of Ryan O'Hara by James R. Pera - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James R. Pera
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into a vegetable was good enough for now. Pablo had acquitted himself well and was now a full-fledged member of the gang.
After the Garfield Park incident, Pablo’s reputation in the gang began to grow. By the time he was eighteen years old, he was one of the leaders and ran his own small crew of enforcers whose job it was to make sure that non-affiliated criminals pay protection for the privilege of operating on the gang’s turf. The protection was known as “the tax,” and no one got an exemption.
Things went along smoothly for Pablo until the spring of 2000, when a car thief named Bob Matulski opened a chop shop on Florida Street and let it be known that he wouldn’t be paying any “greaser tax.”
Pablo sent a couple of his boys over to have a talk with Matulski. Bad Bob, as he was known to his underlings, beat up one of the messengers while his pals held the other. They were sent back to Pablo with a message that he’d best “stay the fuck away from my business.”
“I guess we’re gonna have to teach the dumb Polack a lesson,” Pablo seethed to his crew. It was bad enough that a gringo was poaching on the gang’s turf. Now this bastard was beating up his people. This would never do. He would need something more than just a beating. Yes, he would need much, much more than that.
And so, several nights later, accompanied by two of his most brutal enforcers, Oscar Mejia and Antonio Camacho, Pablo exited his car and walked across the street to the shop. It was two o’clock in the morning.
Six men had left the building during the previous half hour. A week’s worth of surveillance had revealed a pattern. Bad Bob Matulski was always the last to leave—usually about an hour after the rest of his crew had departed.
Finding the door unlocked, they entered and crept silently toward an office in the back of the garage, where they saw Matulski through the door. He was on the phone and the conversation he was having indicated that he was getting ready to take in another stolen car. They stayed back until he hung up, then stepped into the room.
“Hey, gringo, what’s happenin’?”
Matulski jumped up and reached for the drawer to a filing cabinet where he had a gun.
“Wrong,” Pablo said as Oscar fired a shot into Matulski’s shoulder. Matulski screamed as the impact knocked him to the floor.
Oscar went over to the downed man and laughed. “Hey, you no look so tough now, gringo.”
Matulski gritted his teeth and tried hard not to show his pain. Yes, he was a tough guy, but even a hard ass like him wouldn’t be able to stand up to the treatment he was about to be subjected to. “No,” thought Pablo, “Mr. Matulski would soon be crying like a little bitch.”
Oscar and Antonio dragged the injured car thief into the garage as Pablo locked the front door. Spread-eagling him on a workbench, they clamped the man’s hands into the vises on either side and tied his feet to the end with electrical wire. They finished their prep work by duct-taping his mouth shut. Pablo approached Matulski, whose eyes betrayed his terror. The tough guytried to talk, but the duct tape prevented his protests from being heard.
“You know, gringo, you shouldn’t have fucked up my boy when he came in here to collect your overdue taxes last week. What you did was very disappointing to me. All I wanted was a little cut of your action so we could all benefit from the profits you were making. I allowed you to operate in my territory and how did you repay me? You beat up one of my business associates. That was a very unwise move on your part, Mr. Matulski.”
Oscar and Antonio went to another part of the garage and returned with a large acetylene tank, a torch, and an arc welder. Pablo watched as the two men donned the eye protection and prepared to go to work.
Bad Bob also watched. He squirmed violently as he tried to break loose of the vises and electrical wire holding him to the bench.
Looking into the car thief’s
After the Garfield Park incident, Pablo’s reputation in the gang began to grow. By the time he was eighteen years old, he was one of the leaders and ran his own small crew of enforcers whose job it was to make sure that non-affiliated criminals pay protection for the privilege of operating on the gang’s turf. The protection was known as “the tax,” and no one got an exemption.
Things went along smoothly for Pablo until the spring of 2000, when a car thief named Bob Matulski opened a chop shop on Florida Street and let it be known that he wouldn’t be paying any “greaser tax.”
Pablo sent a couple of his boys over to have a talk with Matulski. Bad Bob, as he was known to his underlings, beat up one of the messengers while his pals held the other. They were sent back to Pablo with a message that he’d best “stay the fuck away from my business.”
“I guess we’re gonna have to teach the dumb Polack a lesson,” Pablo seethed to his crew. It was bad enough that a gringo was poaching on the gang’s turf. Now this bastard was beating up his people. This would never do. He would need something more than just a beating. Yes, he would need much, much more than that.
And so, several nights later, accompanied by two of his most brutal enforcers, Oscar Mejia and Antonio Camacho, Pablo exited his car and walked across the street to the shop. It was two o’clock in the morning.
Six men had left the building during the previous half hour. A week’s worth of surveillance had revealed a pattern. Bad Bob Matulski was always the last to leave—usually about an hour after the rest of his crew had departed.
Finding the door unlocked, they entered and crept silently toward an office in the back of the garage, where they saw Matulski through the door. He was on the phone and the conversation he was having indicated that he was getting ready to take in another stolen car. They stayed back until he hung up, then stepped into the room.
“Hey, gringo, what’s happenin’?”
Matulski jumped up and reached for the drawer to a filing cabinet where he had a gun.
“Wrong,” Pablo said as Oscar fired a shot into Matulski’s shoulder. Matulski screamed as the impact knocked him to the floor.
Oscar went over to the downed man and laughed. “Hey, you no look so tough now, gringo.”
Matulski gritted his teeth and tried hard not to show his pain. Yes, he was a tough guy, but even a hard ass like him wouldn’t be able to stand up to the treatment he was about to be subjected to. “No,” thought Pablo, “Mr. Matulski would soon be crying like a little bitch.”
Oscar and Antonio dragged the injured car thief into the garage as Pablo locked the front door. Spread-eagling him on a workbench, they clamped the man’s hands into the vises on either side and tied his feet to the end with electrical wire. They finished their prep work by duct-taping his mouth shut. Pablo approached Matulski, whose eyes betrayed his terror. The tough guytried to talk, but the duct tape prevented his protests from being heard.
“You know, gringo, you shouldn’t have fucked up my boy when he came in here to collect your overdue taxes last week. What you did was very disappointing to me. All I wanted was a little cut of your action so we could all benefit from the profits you were making. I allowed you to operate in my territory and how did you repay me? You beat up one of my business associates. That was a very unwise move on your part, Mr. Matulski.”
Oscar and Antonio went to another part of the garage and returned with a large acetylene tank, a torch, and an arc welder. Pablo watched as the two men donned the eye protection and prepared to go to work.
Bad Bob also watched. He squirmed violently as he tried to break loose of the vises and electrical wire holding him to the bench.
Looking into the car thief’s
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