Saints & Roughnecks
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Saints & Roughnecks A Historical Fiction by Nicholas Richwine Creative Development: Logan Sack Dedicated to the people you meet abroad. www. Saints and Roughnecks . com 2 Saints & Roughnecks Anything is possible if you play the part. A person’s success in crime is directly correlated to the self-image they project. The book’s title, “Saints & Roughnecks” is a psychological term coined by professor and sociologist William J. Chambliss. In his study of two different gangs, the Saints and the Roughnecks both gangs engaged in the same level of criminal delinquency, yet one gang, the Roughnecks, received considerable attention while the Saints did not. In time, members of the two gangs lived up to the community's differential predictions about their future. In essence the way people are seen in society is how they present themselves. In this case study, the paths of both gangs turned out to be examples of a self-fulfilling prophecy. What people believe to be real will be real in its consequences. Deviance isn't deviant unless specified by society and people tend to focus on labels rather than themselves. The Saints were a group of good white upper-middle class misfits. They all made good grades and participated in several school activities and sports. Each of them were well dressed, well mannered, and drove nice cars yet, The Saints got much better treatment from their teachers, communities, and police than the Roughnecks. By this projection they made it very unapparent to everyone of how much trouble they actually got into. The Saints were methodical about how they went about engaging in such delinquent behavior. Although the Saints were overtly rebellious, they were labeled as leaders in their community and since they were led to believe they were such good guys, they themselves believed it to be true and continuously committed criminal acts without acknowledging the consequences. 3 Part 1 DPression I received a call from Rory, an old friend of mine growing up in Los Angeles and also the first kid who ever sold me weed. Rory’s parents were hippie draft dodgers who moved to California in the early 70s to become clothing designers but failed because well, hippies don’t buy a lot of clothing. Rory is 6’2”, lanky with long blonde hair, double tatted-sleeves, and has no social filter. After somehow getting a 1520 on the SAT’s he headed north to DJ and fuck the University of California, Santa Barbara female body. Rory: “Move out here ASAP! I got a free room available right on the beach.” At the time, my grandmother was yelling at me from across the house to take out the recycling. Unemployed and lost like so many graduates during the recession I tossed everything I possessed into two large duffle bags, threw it all in the back of my car and hit the Pacific Coast Highway. On the way up almost past Malibu I received another text message. Rory: “Don’t bother going to my pad, park your car on Del Playa and come straight to the Tiki House. Everyone knows where it is! I’m DJing. Drop my name, sign the waiver and don’t ask questions.” I arrived to Isla Vista after almost hitting a kid on a bike while not paying attention to the road, staring at all the bikini-clad girls. Parking my car on DP, I see two girls tanning nearby in front of a house with a large painting of Bob Marley’s face in the center of a sun. “Good afternoon ladies, could you please help me find the Tiki House?” “Ugh gross,” they responded and pointed to their left. At the house, there was a huge line trailing way down the street. I probably could’ve guessed this was it without asking the girls, but the prospect of the first two 4 women I had seen was too much to pass up. I walked up to the party and was met by a fat kid at the gate in a cut off Jack Daniels tee holding a clipboard in his hands. I dropped Rory’s name and was promptly told to “Back the fuck up! Get to the end of the line!” I repeated to the fat guy that I was there to meet Rory the DJ and once he realized I wasn’t lying he radioed it in to someone on the other side. I waited thinking, “Come on, Rory.” Hearing over the radio “He’s good,” Fatty circled six boxes off the clipboard, handed it to me and demanded I initial it. Before signing, I looked at the top of the release form and noticed the title reading, “www.CollegeFuckFest.com” I should’ve known better, but instead I marked down someone else’s initials and walked in. Standing tall in the driveway, smiling down on everyone was a large Tiki statue, surfboards piled on top of one another, red cups all over the ground and bamboo lining the property. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Right off the bat not six feet through the front door were three naked girls on top of an old ripped plaid couch, eating each other out, surrounded by 50-60 partygoers no older than 21. Following the music, and squeezing through more similarly dirty herds, I make my way past the line for the bathroom, and out onto the central porch perched over the beach. Holy shit, I had no idea the house was on a bluff. Looking around at all the girls I see Rory, fist pumping, and resting one arm on a young girl’s head holding a plastic red cup. Why would girls attend such a party? Did this not offend them? As I got closer, I began to raise my arms to give Rory a high five when I bump into something. I turn lifting my foot to discover a kid shirtless wearing a backwards hat railing an older black girl from behind. Jesus, really? Disgusted and wiping off the invisible jizz germs from my leg, I continued towards Rory who with a headphone over one ear upon seeing me screams, “How fucking sick is this?!” I shake my head, “You are ridiculous!” He fist pump points back to the house, instructing me to go upstairs and mention his name once again, where I would be helped out by a bartender with drinks. I could tell right away that all 5 the girls having sex were prepaid professionals. Growing up in Los Angeles, I was never surprised what some people will do for money. What truly shocked me though was that all of the guys having sex had to have been local college students. One beer bong, and two shots of tequila later, I somehow found myself getting sandwiched by two girls on the upstairs balcony. I know to never mix and match but that’s what was put in front of me. Over the course of two hours I had been texting Justin, another friend and a student at UCSB to come meet me at the Tiki House. Because of Justin’s height, I thought I would have easily been able to point him out of the crowd. Still dancing with the two girls and trying to decide which one was more interested in me, I spot Justin out of the corner of my eye pinned up against the second floor patio wood railing full on making out with the same brunette chick I had witnessed getting banged upstairs just an hour before. I should have been a good friend and torn the girl away saving him, but I was obviously too late, and I can only handle so much. I asked Rory for his keys so that I can get back to my new place and unwind. Unpacked and sitting on the couch watching a rerun of Entourage, Rory whips open the sliding door with two girls. Rory: “Yo Pierce, this is Mandy and Lauren. Lauren this is Pierce, remember what I told you? You kids have fun.” They all laughed, and Rory and Mandy disappeared into Rory’s room. I was pissed. Rory was about to hand off some drunken girl for me to babysit while he got some ass. Fucking Rory. Suddenly though, Lauren approaches me, clearly intoxicated and gets down on her knees and begins unzipping my pants. I stopped her, pushing her away, “Whoa, what are you doing?” Lauren replies, “It’s ok, just sit back, let me do my thing, or Rory won’t hook me up again.” The next morning, I walked out of my room to find Rory sitting in polka dot boxers with a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on the same couch. Rory: “Sup dude.” 6 Pierce: “Sup?” I replied in disbelief, “Who the fuck are you? What the fuck was that last night?” Rory: “I told you I got you. You stay out here long enough and there will be plenty more of that.” I shake my head and grabbed a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and sat down. Pierce: “Please, do tell.” Rory: “Tell what?” Pierce: “Well let’s start with why some girl I don’t even know tried to blow me like it was her final exam.” Rory: “Did you let her?” Pierce: “Fuck no!” Rory: “Are you fucking serious?” Pierce: “Yea, I sent her ass home.” Rory (chewing): “Wow, you’re so lame. I hooked that girl up for nothing. Ugh, well as you know, I’m not a student.” Pierce: “Yeah, no shit.” Rory: “And living in Isla Vista, this house, that room, is ya know close to $5,000 a month.