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The Robin Hood Virus-Discovery

 The hot California sun baked the cracked asphalt of the East L.A. streets. Turbo wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped out of his powder blue Chevy Corvette Convertible, which had been completely restored, after competing on the local drag strips, Irwindale and Pomona raceway. Turbo a devoted car enthusiast, bought the corvette and completely restored it. It has a 500 Cu. Inch Moroso motor, 4” bubble hood, 2” dropped front end, new interior, new paint, Goodyear 60 tires, American Mags, and a 3000 RPM stall-speed on the torque converter. Despite the 1970s being in full swing, the “barrios” hadn’t changed much since the 50s. Lowriders cruised the boulevards, hydraulics hitching up the rear wheels. As Chicano rap and funk rhythms filled the air, creating a unique soundscape that resonated with the people on the street. The tantalizing aroma filled the air from the street vendors and the open windows of shops selling tamales and raspadas. If you listened closely, you could almost hear the melancholy notes of oldies drifting up from backyard barbecues. Turbo is about 5'8" with a muscular and athletic build, his ruggedly handsome face features striking brown eyes and a strong jawline, his hair is naturally dark brown, and is typically styled in a short, cropped cut. Turbo will often sport a light stubble or well-groomed beard. As he stepped out of his car he straightened his leather jacket, his eyes sweeping across the familiar landscape. This was his turf - he knew where every pothole was, and how every graffiti tag held a story. Those sleazy joints masquerading as respectable businesses, couldn’t fool him. As a private eye in this gritty part of town, he encountered all sorts: from the Gangbangers, hustlers, and those housewives that were getting a little too friendly with the milkman. He checked his surroundings once more before lighting up a lucky Strike. This was another day of solving cases and keeping the city's seedy underbelly in check. A slow smile crept across Turbo's face, let the fun begin he murmured as he flicked away the match. Let the fun begin. Each case was different, a microcosm of the simmering tensions of East LA. Turbo navigated a world of suspicion, petty crime, and misplaced dreams. His office became a confessional booth, a stage for the city's hidden stories. By the end of the month, the tamales had been replaced by a dented coffee pot, this change is a concession to the endless nights spent tailing philandering husbands, tracking down stolen guitars, and searching for a runaway daughter. td>


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