From Eden and Back: The Incredible Misadventures of Billy Barker. John Randolph Price
without food or drink and resorted to begging on Wilshire Boulevard. Sweet Billy Barker had become a homeless person and he pronounced it good, very good, for that was his manifest destiny.
On the third night he was sitting on a curb when three very attractive young men in red and black striped leather jackets and pants with matching caps walked up and fixed their gazes on him. When Billy held out his hand for a pittance, the larger man said to him, "Come with us and we will buy you a magnificent dinner, for there is a look of sweetness about you, a touch of innocence."
"Thank you," Billy said, "and while we are here to suffer with a smile, it is better to do so with a full stomach."
"Agreed," said the smaller of the three men. "Come, we will go to Argents where we will start with ravioli with lobster and foie gras, and then perhaps a crisply roasted duckling served in its own blood. And dessert of course."
"Of course," Billy said as his stomach growled like a dog.
It was during the second course that the larger of the men said, "It has come to me that you would find greater gratification with more structure in your life, and in that regard I would like to issue you an invitation to become a part of our organization. "
Billy dipped a piece of bread in the blood gravy, sucked and swallowed. "And what is the name of your organization?"
The smaller of the men said, "The Hoods."
"And what do the Hoods do?"
The middle man said, "Harm, maim, and kill, or whatever it takes to make one cower, grovel and truckle."
Billy smiled. "Then you are doing God's will, are you not? The Reverend Roberts has said that the Almighty's purpose in life is to shed blood and cleanse the planet of the human race because we failed in our appointed roles as naked field tilling, bale toting slaves. At least that is how I understand it."
"You understand well," said the larger man, "for the Bible says there is a time to die, to pluck, to kill, to break down, to rend, to hate, and to wage war."
"How exciting," Billy said. "Then everything is for the best."
"Yes!" said the three men in unison. And then the larger of the three said, "Now blonde one, I must ask you one important question. What is your opinion of Bulgas Bobar?"
Billy took a sip of the fine wine, a noteworthy Chateau Lafite Rothschild, and said, "Tell me about this Bulgas Bobar so that I may form the proper opinion."
The smaller man said, "He is the leader of the Hoods, our president and chief executive officer."
Billy took another sip of the fine wine and said, "Then he must be the best of men, the most supreme of the Hoods, and it would be my honor to meet him and come to an even greater judgment."
"Yes! And so you shall," said the middle man. He paid the bill and the group walked outside. Suddenly they grabbed Billy and forcefully dragged him into a black and red striped van with the word "Hood" and a blinking eye emblazoned on both sides. His arms were tied behind him, duct tape covering his mouth, a blindfold over his eyes.
This must be good, thought Billy. God must be smiling.
Minutes later the van stopped and Billy was thrown into a small shack just off Sunset Boulevard where he spent the night dreaming about Lillie. The next morning he was taken in the van to a back alley where forty-five young men and fifty-two young women were standing at attention, arms folded across their chests, all dressed in black and red striped leather jackets and pants with matching caps. They were joined by the three Hoods accompanying Billy and began the initiation.
Billy was smiling when the first Hood, a woman, kicked him in the groin. The smile was still frozen when the tenth Hood, a man, hit him in the back with a board. But his lips began shrinking when the twentieth Hood punched him in the belly. By the time the last one gave Billy his best shot to the nose, Billy was mad.
"Bastards! Bitches!" he yelled, head throbbing, bloody nose swollen, cracked lips curling, puffy eyes seeing only in a fog. "Lousy stinking wenches and scumbags! I hate all of you! I wish I could kill each one of you with my bare hands, rip your hearts out and feed them to the jackals."
Suddenly the one hundred Hoods began applauding and rushed to embrace him and pat him gently on the back. "Now you are ready to be one of us," said a tall, thin man in his twenties with four stars pinned to his cap. "I am Bulgas Babor and you have been initiated into the order of the Hoods." Billy flinched as Babor slapped him upside the head. "I am proud of you for you have displayed bravery, dauntlessness and fortitude as no other before you has done. You have passed the test in the best of all possible ways. You have discarded your sweetness and innocence for hate and anger, and you are now ready to maim, kill, loot and plunder. Congratulations!"
Billy was happy. He was a hero to his brothers and sisters. He was proud of his pain now and couldn't wait until the opportunity to demonstrate to them how mean he could be. He was sinking more into the slime of wickedness, iniquity and depravity, and it felt good. The hundred and one Hoods then retired to the beach below the Santa Monica Mountains to plan their assault on the Abominables, a rival band of felons headquartered somewhere between Glendale and Long Beach.
As dusk settled at the Hood's compound, word was received via a messenger on a motorcycle that the Abominables were concentrated two hundred strong in Palamo, just north of El Segundo. Early the next morning their specially-equipped bus appeared with Bulgas Babor at the wheel, and the Hoods were on their way to do battle with their antagonists. Billy was sitting tall, feeling good. The Hoods surrounded Palamo and with automatic rifles spitting bullets, and knives carving flesh in personal encounters, the fight was on. At the first shot Billy threw up. Maybe he wasn't ready for the wonderful pleasure-pain of this world he thought as he ran and hid behind the soda fountain at the Eagle Pharmacy on Main Street, a young woman stepping over him as she made milkshakes and sodas for the growing crowd of spectators. As the last shot was fired, Billy walked out to survey the scene.
Three hundred young men and women were dead on the blood-drenched street and sidewalks, the mannequins in the Parisian gowns staring in disbelief at the brains and blood scattered on the department store windows. Billy felt faint. Could all of this be for the best? he asked himself. Is this God's will? He silently wished that God would avail himself of the services of a good psychiatrist. With that thought a shot rang out and creased the side of Billy's head. He staggered and turned around to see the gun drop and hear the last gasping death rattle of Bulgas Bobar, blood oozing from bullet holes in his chest. Billy regretted the thought about the psychiatrist as he felt the blood drip on his ear.
With the expert medical assistance of the pharmacist at the Eagle Pharmacy, a man named Pat from Ireland, Billy's slight head wound was quickly healed and he caught a ride to Long Beach in the truck of a chicken farmer, never for a moment forgetting the image of Lillie in his heart. Someday he would find her again, he swore to himself.
3
Billy Barker arrived in Long Beach covered in feathers and fowl excrement but without money. The driver of the chicken truck was a native of Long Beach and Billy asked him to drop him off in the part of town where charity would be second nature to the residents. The driver obliged and let Billy out in front of the First National Bank. Billy waited just outside the revolving door with his hand out.
After three hours and dozens of unresponsive bank patrons walking past him, an elderly gentleman in a white t-shirt and shorts, black socks and Reboks finally acknowledged Billy's presence. "Son, what's the problem?"
Billy gave him a look of sweetness. "Sir, I am begging. I am destitute, hungry, racked with pain, homeless and depressed."
The elderly man leaned over and pulled his black socks up to his calves and said, "I will take you to my home, feed you, give you two dollars for spending money, and teach you a trade."
Billy hugged the man with two pats. "Oh, thank you. Everything is truly for the best. If I had not been initiated into the Order of the Hoods, been in a war where three hundred young men and women were killed, shot because I wished psychiatric treatment for the all-powerful