Street Rules Read Online Free

“How’s your mom doin’?”
    ” ‘Kay,” Placa shrugged.
    “How about Tonio and your sister?”
    ” ‘Kay.”
    “And your Uncle Luis?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “When was the last time you saw him?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “See him Sunday?”
    Placa shook her head.
    “Since then?”
    Again her head shook.
    “You always were talkative,” Frank said. “You do that tag down the block?”
    “Tagging’s illegal,” Placa responded ambiguously.
    “Since when’s the law ever stopped you?”
    Placa didn’t answer and Frank asked, “Still in school?”
    “Sometimes.”
    Frank nodded. They’d come into 52nd Street territory, and Placa put her hand on the door handle.
    “How about Rolo? How’s he doing?”
    That earned Frank a sideways glance.
    “Why you wanna know for?”
    “Just wondering,” Frank shrugged. “He’s your dog, ain’t he? Heard he took a knife a while ago.”
    That wasn’t all Frank had heard. Rolo had lost a lung in that fight and word was he couldn’t fight anymore. Placa still used him for drive-bys and for peeping when they hit a liquor store or Quik Mart, but she was getting a lot of shit from the other Kings. They said he was too slow, that he couldn’t take care of himself and that somebody’d get hurt having to rescue him someday.
    Placa said proudly, “He’s okay. He just needs to get his strength back.”
    Pulling onto Placa’s street, Frank slowed in front of her house, studying the dark windows.
    “Where is everybody?”
    Placa just offered another shrug. Frank pulled a card out of her pocket and pressed it into Placa’s hand.
    “You need anything, you call me. Claro?”
    No one ever looked a cop in south-central squarely in the eye so when Placa gave Frank her full attention she was taken aback by the intense scrutiny.
    “Is that all?” Placa asked.
    “You want me to tuck you into bed?”
    “Naw, I just…”
    Placa suddenly found the seats ripped upholstery fascinating. It was the opening Frank needed.
    “What’s going on?”
    Placa plucked a piece of foam then glanced at the street. There was a naked flash of pain, then it was gone.
    “Nothin’.”
    She jumped out of the car before anyone could recognize her in the strange company of the law. Frank waited until Placa was inside before accelerating through the quickening night. Fatigue and memories wrapped her in a thick fog. She’d watched Placa come up from toddler to feared gangster. It was a deep bloodline.
    Her father and her uncle Julio had been OGs in the Westside Kings and her brother Chuey had claimed for 52nd Street after the Kings splintered into three fractious gangs. Claudia had been a revered Queen, but lost her standing when Placa’s father was shipped off to Chino for twenty-five years. Before she had her babies, Placa’s sister Gloria had been a fierce 52nd Street Queen. Frank remembered a rookie who rode with her when she was a field training officer. He’d sliced his finger to the bone patting Gloria’s hair down. While he was bleeding and wondering what the hell to do, Frank had suggested he check Gloria’s mouth to see if she had razors in there too.
    Like a lot of bangers, Placa started her rise to ghetto stardom by spraying her gang’s name on anything that didn’t move. Her artwork was bold and inspired. It pleased the Kings and they made her a Baby Queen, but that insulted Placa. She’d already seen how the Kings treated Queens and she didn’t want any part of that abuse. She told the 52nd Street homeboys that she wanted to be jumped in like her brother Chuey. She would stand with them as a King or she would stand against them. The OGs had laughed, but they’d given her missions. Frank picked her up on a break-and-enter the day after her tenth birthday and that was only one of many infractions.
    Placa’s reputation grew in proportion to her juvenile arrest records and on her twelfth birthday she was jumped into the Kings. She’d since risen steadily and Frank knew