gang leader - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

At first I don’t see Carlos's face at all, the morning light streams in from behind him making a halo effect around his head. Now there’s something he doesn’t deserve. He steps in without being invited. Bold. No back-up either, not something the other gang leaders ever do. Or perhaps his goons hang back somewhere on the street. Then it occurs to me that he is covered by sniper. So the Running Blades still have ammo. Interesting. If that’s the way I’m going to go I’ll never know it, here one minute, gone the next. My blade has nothing to say about high velocity tin and gun powder. Then from behind me come the patter of little feet “Mom!” Darwin wraps his arms around my legs, not knowing he just made this so much worse...

This leader is resting against the wooden pillar with a face of utter nonchalance, as if he were merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in hand. He isn't slumped at all, his body is clearly too muscular for that, yet it is just as relaxed as his face. He's almost smiling - smiling as if something good were about to happen. The world falls through my feet. Good for him is likely bad for me. Very bad.

Matthew slumped at the vinyl desk-for-one, flicking at the tape that peeled from the side to reveal the MDF board underneath. These plastic chairs were alright a few grades ago but now all the heights were wrong and it made his back ache. The teacher droned on, he wasn't quite sure what the topic was, some king or other. Someone dead. What felt like the back end of a pencil jabbed him in the shoulder blade. He turned, it was Tyler. "Wanna take a package tonight?" He knew exactly what was in it and his mother had told him not to, ever. But he also knew how much it paid and he was hungry 24/7. Growing up on food stamps wasn't easy for a boy heading over six feet tall. He imagined his mom eating her old favourite dinner, lemon chicken and thyme. It was just a parcel, wasn't like he was pushing them was it? He nodded once and Tyler sank back into his seat, returning to running his empire from his cell phone.

The man has the swagger of someone I don't even want to lock eyes with, let alone cross. His arms are more ink than skin and his blonde hair so closely cropped that from a distance I had mistaken him for being bald. When his trajectory is set for me I decide to busy myself tidying the garage tools, but as I make to take some out back he hails me in the kind of tone you don't ignore if you like breathing without a respirator. After so many years running this joint I can smile on cue, and I do. He extends his hand and in reply I show him the grease on mine and shrug apologetically. Beneath his pierced brows his eyes are as direct as I expected, not even blinking as much as the average person. Then from the shadows comes three more just like him, but not so pale. Before they open their mouths I smell a shake-down. After years of paying “protection money” to the dominant mob it looks like it's time to call them on it.

Damian stood outside the pharmacy, his new recruits were ashen- first job nerves, how "cute." He stared at them for a moment, then let his usual charm drop. A glimpse at the man behind the mask generally let them know that backing out wasn't an option. He never did that until he had some dirt on them, once he knew something they were ashamed of he had them. No need to be nice anymore. Kids were so dumb. Listen to their whiny bull-crap for just an hour and usually you had enough to get them to do anything. He'd promised them most of the money and that this would be their only job. Both lies. Today was the mother-load of blackmail, armed robbery. Their young eyes watered behind their balaclavas as they burst into the air-conditioned perfection inside, guns out and shouting. Twenty five to life now or however long they lived in his service, either way was fine with him, but they never chose jail.

As Gina waits in the dark of the abandoned warehouse, wrapped in furs, she bares the facial expression of one expecting a great gift. There is a hint of the victor in the smile surrounded by stiff cheeks, not the supple grin of a friend, but the joy of the enemy after the battle is won. By now Mac would be tied-up tighter than a Christmas turkey, how fitting. She ran her hand lovingly over her newly acquired taser, a gift from her new friend in blue. Something clean to start the proceedings with before her employees got to vent their frustration with their boots. No knives alas, it was better if he survived - even if his state was vegetable-like.

Tanner stands on the corner, whittling soft wood into an angel. Last week he took that same knife and sunk it into some dude's eye. Failure to pay up is what I heard. The boy is lost in fantasy land until business calls, then he morphs into someone no-one wants to cross. He just doesn't have any moral boundaries, no sense of right or wrong, good or bad.

No-one gets to be leader without having the morals of a sewer rat. For all their "code" the only one that counts is the most barbaric scum-bag rules. Be loyal or be more savage, that's the way it is. That's the way our estate is going. We're devolving into apes again, metaphorically beating our chests by brandishing weaponry and moving as thuggish herds.