Of all of the various characters and caricatures that were around in my teenage years, someone I'll Call Scary Larry stands out. I can best describe him as a combination of Mick Jagger, Yul Brenner, and possession by multiple evil spirits which kind of came and went. An Injun-Mex mix who was a genetic mess when it came to controlling his thermonuclear temper, Scary Larry was the antithesis of good manners, especially after consuming too much fire water.
Unlike most violent sociopaths, Scary Larry's depredations were almost invariably defensive in nature, as the following examples attest:
One time while Scary Larry was fucking the resident slut, a white whore nicknamed "Paint" (because she always wore pants that were so tight, they looked like they were painted on her), Paint's husband came home early after being injured at work to find them in action; Scary Larry not only kicked this guy's ass out of his own house, but then proceeded to beat him with his own son's bicycle...yes, bicycle. The poor cuckold suffered severe injuries, and they moved away shortly after that. That was the first of several trips to jail for Scary Larry that I witnessed. Talk about adding insult and injury with even more insults and injuries!
On old man walked up to Scary Larry one day loudly berating him over his loud music (Scary Larry actually had good taste) and revving the engine of his 1955 Chevy Bel-Air ("the Chilly five-five"); big mistake on his part. Scary Larry hocked a shockingly humongous loogie all over the old man's face and then told him what to go do with himself in various ways. Instead of being beaten to a bloody pulp, the old man got off with a good bitch-slapping. Another arrest for Scary Larry.
While at a large house party, I encountered one of the older teenagers who had recently been paralyzed from the waist down and was in a wheelchair (He had drunkenly jumped from a cliff at a local swimming hole and hit the shallow end of it). Mr. Wheelchair, fairly drunk, rolled up to me and loudly announced that he could still kick my ass. Yeah, whatever dude, said I. He moved on to annoy others, but he picked the wrong one. There was suddenly a commotion, and I turned around to see the wheelchair on its side, and Scary Larry pummeling Mr. Wheelchair mercilessly, first with his fists and feet, and then with the wheelchair itself. It turned out that Mr. Wheelchair challenged Scary Larry to a fight, which Scary Larry was all-too-pleased to rise to.
A two-year old boy in diapers sucking on a bottle was on his porch with the front door cracked open. He was a member of a Mexican family that we called the Meeses, because they all looked very mouse-like, and Scary Larry (like almost everyone else) hated the Meeses to pieces. He already had had a few incidents with Senor Meese, so tempers were raw. Anyway, Scary Larry and a couple of his shady buddies were walking past when the kid tossed a pebble at them; without hesitation, Scary Larry abruptly changed course, grabbed the kid's bottle, unscrewed the cap, and emptied it over the kid's head. As if that wasn't enough, he had to bean the kid upside the head with the bottle, too. Another trip to county for Scary Larry.
I must emphasize that Scary Larry didn't limit his attentions to the young, old, and infirm. Although he was about 5'8" and weighed about 170 lbs, he was filled with psychotic energy, and I saw him down several opponents that were significantly bigger than him, such as:
The 300lb BUD (Big, Ugly and Dumb) white trash oilfield worker that Scary Larry reduced to a snivveling, crying little bitch after a sound ass-kicking. Mr. Oil Patch Scum apparently expressed his dislike of Mexicans to Scary Larry, without having any idea of what was about to hit him.
The 250 lb homie that snorted a bunch of Scary Larry's coke. Scary Larry had a thing for beating up his victims with bicycles and/or anything with wheels it would seem, as the homie, much like the cuckold and the crip mentioned earlier, received the edges and ends of pedals, handlebars, and spokes crashing into his face and body in addition to fists and feet. I'm sure the extra coke the homie snorted went far in easing his pain that day.
The construction contractor who picked a fight with Scary Larry for reasons I forget. I thought that Scary Larry had finally met his match, as Mr. Contractor was about 6'6", but no. Amazingly, Scary Larry got the better of Mr. Contractor too; well-placed punches and kicks to Mr. Contractor's larnyx and solar plexis sent him down to where Scary Larry was able to get him into a choke hold. Then the cops showed up, and both of them went to County.
Oddly enough, Scary Larry, when he wasn't being scary, was actually pretty cool, albeit in a fucked-up way. He was very protective of most of the kids around there, and would occasionally give us odd jobs, like stealing gas (in that 'hood, back in the late 70's, good siphoners were always in high demand) and other petty yet profitable crimes, or simply doing things like going to the store for him (kids could actually buy cigarettes if you had a note from someone the owner knew). Merely mentioning his name struck terror into many, and those with the knowledge that Scary Larry was our backup usually either left us alone or were very nice to us.
The last I heard of Scary Larry was about ten years ago; according to the source, his hard-ass life finally caught up to him, and he was living in Bakersfield, California, bedridden and in poverty.