Bad Boy Judah

e i g h t e e n

"Good evening. Tonight's top story is about several Mafia shootings in the downtown area, leaving 17 men dead and 25 injured—it's described to be the worst shooting this month. Our reporter Sheryl Edwards is tracking the story. Sheryl is live on the scene with the very latest. Sheryl."

Sheryl's blond head appears on the TV screen. She holds the microphone closer to her mouth.

"Very few details at this hour, Tom. We now know that high power rifles were used in this attack—and one of the bullets hit an electrical panel beside this gas station, which knocked out power on the entire block, as well as the security cameras. Authorities say they hope that whatever was captured on those security cameras will eventually help them find the gunmen."

The scene cuts to a close up of a club. Everything there looks broken up.

"Bullet holes dot the side of this 77 Nightclub—shattered glass cover the ground, where 42 people were shot overnight. Authorities now call the attack, with high power rifles, gang related. Police say it all started here in a gas station on East highway, which then spurred more shootings inside this nightclub, around one o'clock this morning. A man and a woman were sitting in a white car next to the nightclub, when someone in another car started shooting at them—some bystanders were caught in the attack."

Then, an investigator says, "They were in the line of fire, behind the vehicle that was the actual target of assault."

"The suspects took off. Some were taken to a hospital. Meanwhile, the two victims in the parked car tried to get away, as we observe tire tracks, perhaps to get help at the LAPD south station. However, the woman was found dead in the white car, strangled, a few blocks down. We still don't know if it was done by the driver or somebody else. Many were found dead at the scene. One woman fled with a single bullet wound in her torso—she's expected to survive."

The camera focuses on the broken door of the club.

A middle aged man in a tacky purple suit shakes his head, "It's going to happen again!"

"Mr. Luciano owns the 77 Nightclub, and says there needs to be more patrols in the area," Sheryl speaks, as the camera pans over the messy street.

"We have to do something! We have to see what's going on—they're taking away everything, and controlling everything," the club owner's thick incoherent Italian accent comes through.

Sheryl continues the bad news, "One nightclub employee, who wishes to stay anonymous, describes the gun shots being fired a few feet from her and says violence like this makes it hard for her to feel safe."

I turn off the TV, as soon as I hear Judah's footsteps. Could this be why he decided to jump on a plane—so that he wouldn't be part of that? At least that's what I'm hoping for. That explanation helps me to believe that he's human and that being by his side isn't so bad.

When I turn, I see that he has a cigarette between his lips. He quickly draws it short and flicks in an ash tray.

I draw my knees up in the sofa, feeling a little too comfortable in this lush hotel suite. Exotic plants line up against the walls. Modern stones decorate the floor. Sheer curtains move in the breeze.

"What do you want to do?" Judah sits next to me on the leathery sofa.

Mexico City is right outside, under a sweltering sun.

I sigh, shrugging my shoulders. I'm not completely certain who or what he's running from, but I'm glad that I'm by his side again.

"How about we get something to eat?" he suggests.