Street Sweeper

By Larry Huddleston

Retired Special Forces Command Sergeant Major Jason Judd had been killing men since his early days in East Dallas. The ghosts he couldn’t bury he had learned to live with.
Now, as a street sweeper operator for the city of Los Angeles, he witnesses the kidnapping of a beautiful Oriental woman and the murder of her body guard. He has no idea the woman, Lisa Ling, is the daughter of the L.A. Triad Big Boss. However, with the killing of the gang members to get her back, Judd’s old instincts return. Once again the Black Tiger, as he had once been known, escaped its cage.
The Mayor and Chief of Police, after learning who and what Jason Judd is, and was, decide he is just the man they need for a special plan of their own- take back the streets from the gangs and the Triad, then take over themselves! However, they would need a professional STREET SWEEPER for that job and Jason Judd was just the man to get it done!
What they didn’t take into consideration was that when a black tiger is at peace with its ghosts, a prudent and wise man will not unduly provoke him ... to do so could result in a quick and needless death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Huddleston
• Release date: Jan 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301972654

Larry Huddleston

In 1991, Larry E. Huddleston, along with a close relative, was charged and convicted of numerous counts of bank robbery, armed bank robbery and use of a dangerous weapon during the commission of a crime of violence. He was sentenced to 292 months for the bank robberies, 60 months consecutive for the weapon and 60 months supervised release. In total, he must serve 291⁄2 years before he is eligible for release in 2017. From January 1992 until March 2006, he served his sentence at the United States Penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. He saw it turn from a maximum security prison to a “maximum security housing medium security inmates”. After 18 months at Leavenworth as a medium security inmate, he was transferred to FCI Texarkana, a “low security” facility. While incarcerated, Larry became interested in writing and has since written 29 completed movie ‘spec-scripts’ and twelve completed novels of several genres, from western to sci-fi, romance to war, comedy to horror. Look for Larry’s current and upcoming books at MidnightExpressBooks.com

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STREET SWEEPER

By

Larry E. Huddleston

Published at Smashwords by

Midnight Express Books

POBox 69

Berryville, AR 72616

MidnightExpressBooks.com

Email: [e-mail]

STREET SWEEPER Smashwords edition

Copyright © 2009 by Larry E. Huddleston

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are totally from the imagination of the author and depict no persons, living or dead; any similarity is totally coincidental.

Published by

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CHAPTER ONE

Dallas, Texas, Spring 1965...

Ross Avenue and Carroll Street in East Dallas was the spot for action. Just up the street was the Player’s Lounge and the ho’ stroll. All the Gangstas, Pimps, pushers and other underworld figures called the Player’s Lounge their office. If they weren’t there they were out taking care of bidness, as it was called back then.

Jason Judd was one of the youngest movers and shakers when he was in Dallas. Some say he still is, even though he lives in Los Angeles, now. He refuses to say one way or the other. When asked, he just smiles and winks.

He got the name ‘No Money’ because he had been beat down right in front of Al Morgan’s Used Cars one fine spring day. He had been suspected by some hoods of breaking into their crib and stealing their money. When they had the sixteen year old shot and beat to a pulp and left for dead, they searched him and found that he didn’t have one thin dime, he had been dubbed ‘No money’ for years after that.

When the hoods realized he was the wrong guy and just an innocent teenager working for a living, it was too late. They had no way of knowing that at the time he didn’t know anyone in the underworld of east Dallas. He had suspects, like everyone did. One couldn’t be raised in east Dallas and not know someone who may, or may not, be in the life.

Judd had been standing on the corner with his back to the wall watching the traffic roll past. He stood with his foot kicked back against the wall, arms crossed importantly, pants saggin’ an’ draggin’, clothes four sizes too big, his white boxers the regulation six inches above his new black Haggar slacks and his Dallas Cowboys ball cap not quite backwards on his close cropped head. The bill pointed over his right shoulder and at the ground. His gold tooth gleamed in the warm early afternoon sunlight. He proudly displayed it to the passing traffic, he felt good! Alive! Young! With his whole life ahead of him. His Momma was finally over mourning her President, as she called John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and was allowing her only son a little more freedom. Now, he had a job washing cars for Al Morgan as soon as the lot closed for the day. At fifty cents each Jason figured he’d get rich in just a few weeks. He couldn’t wait to start, knowing the lot would close in another ten minutes or so. Today was his first day and he was eager to set a good example for Mister Morgan.

He had no idea how close death was to him, or that some hyped up niggas thought he was someone else; somebody who had stolen from them. So, in his innocence, there he stood cocked back against the wall smiling at the world as it passed him by.

The maroon Cadillac Sedan Deville with gold wire rims rounded the corner gleaming and sparkling in the bright Texas sunshine, the music up and pounding loud. Jason had no idea the Deville was the Grim Reaper’s Coach, with not six white horses, but four hundred and they were all black and angry, snorting fire and screaming, their hooves pounding in fury.

Jason claimed later that he saw the gun barrel come from the passenger window and then felt a powerful blow to his side. He also claimed he saw the grinning, white teeth nigga that pulled the trigger, claimed he saw the man’s caramel colored face as he was slammed back against the wall, then hit by a heavy shoulder, saw the pointed toes of the platform shoes and flared legged slacks as they descended upon him over and over until his world faded to black.

Lucky for Jason Judd the caramel colored man was a poor shot with a pistol. The first bullet barely grazed his shoulder and other than bleeding like crazy caused very little damage. The shooter would learn later that he should have made sure the youngster was dead, instead of climbing back inside his ‘coach’ skinnin’ an’ grinnin’ about shooting dead ‘da lil nigga that ripped ‘um off!

Judd awakened in Parkland Hospital with several machines hooked up to him. He had lost over half of his blood and had required several pints before he was stabilized. The second and third bullets had missed as well. One had grazed his thigh and the other his side causing hardly any damage. He looked around the hospital room and the array of machines hooked to him. He thought he looked like a Gemini rocket before a launch. He wondered if he was being launched into outer space. He smiled at the thought, thankful to be alive!

Judd was released from the hospital three days later, but in that span of time he just kept getting madder and madder. His mother, Doris, was there every day before and after work, crying for her baby. Her tears, Judd claimed later, hurt him far worse than the bullets and beating. He vowed somehow, someway, he would find the niggas in the maroon Caddy and make them pay for the pain they had caused his momma.

The day he was released from the hospital he turned seventeen years old. At home a gang of his friends and family waited on him. Several of the guests he didn’t know, but they knew someone who knew him and they were there, so that made the strangers his friends as well.

One stranger, a young man called Cool Freddie, in his mid twenties, tall, slim, with yellow eyes like a tiger, stepped close and whispered from under his jaunty blue ‘pimp’ hat, I got ‘da low down on ‘da low down that slang lead in you, boy. You want ‘im?

Judd looked at him calmly and said, You know it.

Cool Freddie nodded his head once, then turned and left the house without another word to anyone.

Jay, Doris asked suspiciously, using Jason’s pet name. How you know ‘dat Cool Freddie?

I ‘ont know ‘im, Momma, he’d replied honestly. He could tell she believed he had been up to no good. How else would he know someone like Cool Freddie? Truth was though, he didn’t know Cool Freddie from Mister Clean!

Then how come he here checkin’ up on you? You ain’t nothin’ to tha’ likes of him! He a gangsta! A hoot’lum! He a no’count, nigga!

I ‘ont know, ‘im, Momma, Judd protested seriously and innocently.

Yeah, let me find out, she said seriously, her lips compressed tightly over her teeth. I’a bus’ yo’ ass, boy! You hangin’ out wit dem no ‘count hoot’lum niggas! Gettin’ shot an’ beat up! Near ‘bout kilt! Worrin’ yo po ol’ momma near ‘bout to death!

Even today Judd claims his momma never did believe him about not knowing Cool Freddie at the time. But she knew somebody did! And that somebody was Benji ‘Been There’ Brown, one of Judd’s friends from school and the hood.

Benji had gotten his nickname because, to hear him tell it, he had been everywhere! You name it, he’d been there. Egypt? Been to Cairo. France? Been to Paris. Germany? Been to Frankfurt. Africa? Johannesburg! The list went on and on. He was good in geography, but most ‘bookish’ type boys were. Been There was rail thin and wore big round, thick glasses, making him look like an owl. He was tall for his age and had big hands and feet that looked out of proportion to the rest of him. But he was outgoing and friendly with everyone. He had a ready smile, white teeth and an infectious laugh that made everyone want to be his friend. As a result he knew everyone! However, everyone knew he had never been out of East Dallas in his life. He did have some cousins over in Oak Cliff; he may have been to visit them once or twice, but no farther.

Anyway Judd learned that it had been Been There, pronounced benair’, who had invited Cool Freddie over to make his acquaintance and help him get even if he wanted to. And he certainly wanted to.

A week later Cool Freddie showed up at the door. He was riding a brand new emerald green Chrysler Imperial. He wanted Judd to take a ride with him. He said it was important. Since his momma was at work at the cleaners and wouldn’t be home until near 9:00 PM, he went with Cool Freddy.

They drove over to a warehouse on Industrial Boulevard and Cool Freddie parked around back. Judd followed him inside. It was dark and vacant. They walked across the large empty floor to the very back, darkest corner.

Tied to a wall with his hands over his head and naked from the waist up was the caramel colored man who had shot him, then beat him up for no reason. All his hate and anger came back in an instant; seeing the tears running down his momma’s face, in his mind, once again, he became even angrier.

This right ‘ere tha nigga, Cool Freddie! Judd stated, knowing the man was responsible for his pain and his momma’s tears and pain. He hated this man like he had never hated anything in his young life.

This right here, Freddie asked, pointing at the scared nigga tied to the wall, tha no’count piece’a shit nigga that shot you and beat you down? he went on, wanting to make absolutely sure they had the right man.

It’s him! Judd replied through his gritted teeth, much like his momma did, lips compressed tightly.

What you wanna do wit ‘im, No Money?

Kill ‘um! Judd replied instantly.

Cool Freddie smiled and dragged out a chrome plated .45 automatic and showed it to Judd. You know how to use one of these?

Judd shook his head, no.

Cool Freddie cocked the slide back, then released it with a metallic clack and handed it over to Judd. jes’ pull da’ hamma back and squeeze da trigga’ real gentle like, he added, stepping around behind the youngster, just in case.

Judd did as he was instructed. The first bullet hit the man in the shoulder and knocked a chunk of flesh and bone, in a spraying funnel of blood out the back. The second bullet hit him in the thigh. The third in the stomach. The fourth fifth and sixth in the chest and the seventh in the forehead, directly between the eyes at point blank. His head seemed to explode, then collapse as it was emptied of its contents.

Now that, was a righteous killin’, No Money! Cool Freddie said with a loud laugh. Took you five minutes to shoot a nigga seven times with a automatic! Boy, you is cold!

Judd smiled proudly when Cool Freddie took the pistol back, reloaded it, then placed his hand on Judd’s shoulder and together they walked from the warehouse side by side.

What about him? Judd asked, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb.

Who? Cool Freddie asked with a serious expression, then a sly grin.

CHAPTER TWO

After leaving the warehouse Judd never heard anything else about the man he had killed. However, over the next few weeks he would make more trips to the warehouse and when he left there were more dead bodies needing taken care of. Seemed they always were, and the blood was cleaned up as well. Then, as suddenly as it had began, it ended and life for the teenager returned mostly to normal.

Cool Freddie became like a surrogate father and mentor to Judd. He told Judd that if he didn’t finish high school he would never amount to anything and would never be able to take his place in the ‘scheme of things’, as he called it. So, Judd stayed in school and graduated with his class. He ranked in the top ten of the class of 1967 at North Dallas High School. His momma, and Cool Freddie, had never been so proud of him. Then disaster struck and sent their world into a spiral.

Cool Freddie, was busted in a ‘sting’ drug bust at a warehouse near the one on Industrial Boulevard. Judd had no idea about the law, but knew he was in no way qualified to defend Cool Freddie in a court of law. So, he hired a reputable lawyer and hoped for the best.

Less than a year later Cool Freddie was sentenced to ‘life’ in prison by a jury of his peers. He had never been in trouble with the law before, but he was black, a gangster and busted with the