Tagger

Chapter 25 -- Party Time

39

Friday night

Three party crews shared the promotion for the night's party. They rented a three-bedroom house for the night where big backyard crews set up sound systems for dancing and strung white Christmas lights to create a tantalizing atmosphere for partygoers. The DJs programmed lights to change colors and throb with the music.

The entry way spilled into a roomy living room with light brown walls and wooden floors that could hold two to three dozen partygoers. There'd be a mix of people at the party – little huddles of hip guys who looked like Morrissey, graffiti guys in one corner, gang types in another, New Wave types always found their own little niche, and young women wove into each group, always looking for good times.

Beyond the living room was a kitchen setup to sell beer and tequila or whiskey shots in paper cups. Another moneymaker was the sale of "happy balloons" filled with nozz (nitrous oxide) in a secured room next to the kitchen. Porta-potties sat in the cordoned-off driveway outside the back door. The DJs were hooked up to one side on a little stage looking out at the huge back yard.

Some crew members helped with the set-ups, some phoned or texted invitations to other party crews to attend their event, and others were ready to field flyer phone calls to give callers directions to their party once it rolled out.

One sponsor was an all-girls crew whose twenty girls were widely known for their good looks and not being "nozz heads." Their name alone, The Vicious Ladies, could draw a crowd eager to pay the ten-dollar cover charge. Add hot music, dancing and good peep, and this party would be a great trip-off to a holiday weekend. The sponsoring crews would split profits or costs (if a bad night). What mattered most was for attendees to have a great time. Tonight's flyer read, "8:00 p.m. till the freaks cum out at night." The hooks had been set . . .

****

At half past five, Kimo swung by the photo lab to pick up his backup hard copy photos. Sirena had left him a note: "Hi, Night Writer. You're a bad boy, aren't you?" He smiled as he folded it and put it in a back pocket.

Kimo picked up Rob at seven from his Bicycle Club job. They slid into a booth at Eva's Restaurant, their favorite sit-down.

"Got something to show you, Kimo."

"I got something to show you, too, dog."

"You first," Rob said.

"This is for you, amigo." Kimo reached into his jacket, pulled his cell and tapped photos taken earlier of the water tower, then handed it to his compadre.

Rob scrolled eagerly through the pix. He pointed at one and gave Kimo a quizzical look. "KIRO?" he asked, pointing at the vertical letters within the giant screwdriver in Kimo's graffiti.

"Think about it," Kimo said. "The letters K and I are for Kimo, the R and the O are for Roberto. It's the two of us joined together."

"Dude, know how much that means to me? Didn't have to do that, Kimo."

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to. You said it was your last run. I just wanted it on record. I posted the best ones on Instagram. We drove a message home with our heavenly adventure, Rob."

Kimo sipped his water. "What you got to show me?"

Rob reached into a front pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box. "Ready?"