Johnny Walters was shot dead at a local club over $100.

Johnny wasn’t my good friend.

I had dated his oldest sister for a bit back in 1989.

He was some “punk kid” running the street back then.

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His mom, single working mom, tried to get him back on the straight and narrow a few times but always failed.

He started out as a lowly foot solider in some local gang but soon found himself moving up the scene’s ladder because of his connections in the local clubs.

“Fifty” became the “Go to” fellow for all the locals including some high power in the movie and entertainment industry.

If you needed anything, he was the man to go to.

As his power grew, so did his enemy list and he became the target of not only the law enforcement but other gangs as well.

In a three year time period, he had 17 attempts on his life including the last one which was successful.

It all began on a Saturday two weeks before, Johnny had made a run for an old friend from Mexico up into California, some routine stuff, quick day trip, fast cash.

He had wanted to go clean, he had a girl friend who was pregnant and they had a nice life, the house and picket fence.

But Johnny was always a player.

Johnny was in big to some local bookies and needed the cash.

So he had enough to get out, cash counted and squared away, or so he thought.

On that night, Johnny was standing at the bar, he was only going to stay and watch his friend’s band play their set.

He was approached by a man.

“Mother fucker! You owe me a hundred!” He had screamed, grabbing Johnny by the shoulder and spinning him around.

“The fuck I do! I don’t even know you!!!” Johnny replied, turning back towards the bar.

“Don’t turn your back on me mother fucker…”

Those were the last words Johnny heard before the bullet slammed into his skull.

 

 

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