Chapter SevenFat Travon, his cousin and his homeboy ate outside of Tam’s on 28th and Central. The beating Pavielle and Gouch had administered left the chubby hustler a gimp. He was forsaken to walk the scandalous streets of South Central with a cane the rest of his life.
“Let me get this straight,” Travon began, wiping his mouth and balling up the napkin. “You’re telling me that Jackie Chan can whoop Bruce Lee’s ass? Come on now. You haven’t seen The Game of Death or Enter the Dragon, have you?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, The Game of Death, Enter the Dragon, The Big Boss. I’ve seen them all.” One of his homeboys waved him off. There were three of them sitting at the table, Travon included. “Jackie Chan does his own stunts; does Bruce Lee do his own stunts?”
“Blood, what the f**k does that have
