Wheel Rims Add Glitter, but Increasingly Lure Deadly Violence : Crime: In one LAPD Bureau alone, robbers kill about 10 people a year for the accessories that cost up to $7,000 a set. Police say they’re becoming a sign to ‘come get me.’
They sparkle and beckon, luring the eye into an intricate, mesmerizing tunnel of deep-set cold, shiny chrome or gold-plated spokes. Wheel rims make the car, transforming even a rusty junker into a flashy, cherried-out ride.
“Killer rims,” they’re called, $1,500 to $7,000 a set. And now they are living up to their name.
In August, a college basketball player lost his life on Normandie Avenue--one of about 10 people killed every year for rims in the Los Angeles Police Department’s South Bureau alone, according to detectives, who fear that a pattern of violence has emerged as rims have gained popularity.
In a chilling twist in Southern California car culture, drivers live and die over their wheels. Like overpriced sneakers, expensive rims have become improbable emblems of power and fearlessness, especially in crime-ridden neighborhoods where aficionados flirt with disaster every time they hit the streets.
“Drive a car with flashy wheels and you are waving a red flag that says: ‘Come get me,’ ” said Los Angeles Police Detective Pete Razanskas, who investigated the slaying of an 11-year-old boy in a bungled South-Central Los Angeles rimjacking last year.
Charlo Davis, a 23-year-old high-scoring guard on Cal State Sacramento’s basketball team, found out the hard way. He liked the way that Dayton wire wheel rims looked on his baby blue 1989 Thunderbird. He liked driving down the street and seeing heads turn.
On Aug. 24, three days before he was scheduled to take an exam to become a police officer, Davis was shot dead at the carwash a few blocks from his mother’s house.
“I told him to take those wheels off that car; I hated those wheels,” said Virginia Davis, his mother, crying softly. “I was so upset with that car, I wanted to beat it with a hammer. But that wouldn’t have done me any good--it still wouldn’t have brought Charlo back.”
Launched by the lowriders of the 1950s and ‘60s, the rim fad has taken on a new dimension in recent years as manufacturers started using gold plating, stoking up the cost and dazzle. Today, Dayton Wire Wheels, produced by an Ohio-based company, are the rim of choice. Popularized by various rap stars, including Snoop Doggy Dogg, whose songs refer to “D’s” or “Danas,” rims have become more mainstream, appealing to the driver who wants to add glitter to an otherwise ordinary chassis.
Jim Schardt, a company vice president who was reluctant to comment on the violence connected to the rims, defended the wheels. “People will kill people for anything; people in L.A. certainly know that,” he said before hanging up on a reporter.
But police believe that rims have become a factor. When a car-related crime is reported, detectives now want to know not only what type of automobile is involved but what kind of wheels.
“This is something that’s getting worse every year. As the callousness of people grows, so does the lack of respect for people’s property,” said Lt. Sergio Robleto, commanding officer of the LAPD’s South Bureau homicide unit. “Many times we are unable to determine the exact cause of a carjacking, but all too often we find the rims are there.”
Orange County law enforcement agencies said they knew of no such thefts here yet. Such crimes, they said, tend to originate in central city areas and take some time to surface in Orange County.
In an age of computerized automobile manufacturing, car rims--one of the most vulnerable parts of a vehicle, subjected to dings during parking, dirt from the streets and water from inclement weather--are also one of the easiest areas to personalize, said Brenda Jo Bright, a professor of Latin and Caribbean studies at Dartmouth College.
“It’s one of the simplest modifications to make your car look like you’ve really done something different,” said Bright, who is writing a book about lowrider culture. “Cars are important vehicles metaphorically and intrinsically for the kinds of things people are allowed to do and expected to do.”
In the past, such transformations, whether wheels or exquisite paint jobs, inspired robbers but not violence.
It boils down to grim economics. Stolen rims move fast on the black market, selling for about half their retail price.
“It’s easy money,” said Steven, 20, who asked that only his first name be used because he’s looking for legitimate work after serving three years at Soledad state prison for holding a gun to a woman’s head and commandeering her car.
The blue Chevrolet Blazer coming out of Cypress College caught Steven’s eye because it sported expensive rims. He figured that he could net as much for the wheels--$1,000--as for the car. So Steven thrust a 9-millimeter gun in the driver’s face and demanded her car. The woman slammed the accelerator and peeled out. According to his probation officer, Steven jumped into a car driven by an accomplice and chased his prey along the freeway, shooting out her rear window. When his victim got stuck in Orange County rush-hour traffic, he got out and, clutching the gun, ordered her to give up the car.
This time, the terrified woman complied and Steven pounced. “When you see a car, your adrenaline flows, you get really hyper excited. You want it; you don’t want to let it go,” he said. “It’s like playing video games--when someone is scared the enemy gets boosted up.”
In the face of such widely acknowledged dangers, why cruise the avenues in a rim-bedecked car? Wheel buffs have several answers. Aesthetics, says one. Attention, says another. Street respect, says a third.
“It’s like an elite class: To have rims means you are a successful person,” said Ricky Donnell Ross, known as Freeway Rick, once one of South-Central Los Angeles’ most notorious drug lords, who used his illicit proceeds to purchase a now-defunct wheel shop. Ross, who completed a prison sentence recently, drove a car with rims until he felt that he needed to maintain a lower profile on the streets.
But others, such as Andrew Martinez, a 20-year-old high school graduate from Pico Rivera, enjoy being noticed.
Martinez works seven days a week to support his car, earning $5 an hour at a Whittier automobile tint shop. He purchased the 1978 Cadillac Coupe de Ville from its previous owner, who was heartbroken when it was stolen and recovered completely stripped. Using his savings, Martinez set about refurbishing it: a brandy-wine paint job, stereo, and, of course, $2,000 rims.
Last year, Martinez’s car was stolen and stripped. When it was recovered, Martinez’s heart sank. But he started over again. As soon as he could, he put on another set of Dayton rims.
His colleagues laugh at him because he takes the freeway to get to work, even though his home is only a few blocks from the shop. Martinez, however, believes that driving surface streets will only bring trouble. In fact, he tries to limit his driving so he goes few places other than home and work.
“I can’t leave my car anywhere--it’s too dangerous,” said Martinez, whose family has begged him to remove his rims.
Recently, Martinez made a crucial mistake and drove to the mall, where he was spotted by a carful of men in gang attire. Martinez quickly left when they pulled alongside. Telling himself not to panic, he zipped over to a grocery store and went in. But when he emerged, he saw the same car circling again. He jumped behind the wheel and drove to the San Gabriel River Freeway, losing his pursuers.
Rimjackers are not the only hazard. Martinez is frequently pulled over by police who are suspicious of the baby-faced youth piloting a set of expensive wheels. He does not care. “It’s just something I always wanted. I will some day get rid of them, but right now I’m having fun,” he said. “It’s not worth dying for, but I love driving my car.”
Like Martinez, many wheel enthusiasts strike bargains with themselves, devising elaborate schedules to dodge danger and only driving in certain areas at specific times.
Mark Ferguson, for instance, who was shopping recently for a set of 100-spoke Dayton wheels, figures he has a solution: two cars. The 27-year-old structural ironworker doesn’t plan to often use his 1980 Cadillac Coupe de Ville once he buys the fancy rims. “It’ll be a car you drive on weekends when you have a lot of people,” said Ferguson, a lowrider enthusiast.
Typical car wheels, which have solid centers, are held on by lug nuts. Dayton Wire Wheels are suspended by spokes. Set in a deep dish, they are anchored by a round piece of metal, called an adapter, which is held in place by a knockoff bolted on top. They are easy to remove and lack visible serial numbers that would help police identify a stolen set.
Police do not statistically track rim-related crimes, but after reviewing cases, Robleto estimated that 10 deaths each year in the 58-square-mile South Bureau were the result of fancy wheels. Police in other areas of Los Angeles said they do not see as many cases.
In the case of 11-year-old Jajuan Avenido of Lynwood, police knew almost immediately that the youngster’s death was the result of a bungled carjacking, inspired by the gold and chrome Dayton rims on his cousin’s 1982 Oldsmobile.
In September, Jajuan begged to go for a ride in his cousin Landry Wright’s car. When his stepfather Larry (Junior) Newell said it was too late in the evening, the young boy turned to his mother.
“Mama, why can’t I go?” cajoled the sixth-grader, who wanted to be a truck driver when he grew up. “I want to listen to the songs.”
Since school hadn’t started, Helen Allen relented and let her only child climb into Wright’s car. At 10:20 p.m. on Central Avenue, two gunmen approached the car, one on each side, and ordered Jajuan and Wright to get out. Wright hit the accelerator and the gunmen opened fire. Wright was wounded in the shoulder. Jajuan, struck by a bullet in the head, slumped in a puddle of blood. He was dead.
Several callers to the police explained the carjackers wanted the rims--not the boy, not the car, Razanskas said. No one provided enough information to enable police to capture the gunmen.
“I didn’t know about the Daytons,” said Allen, 31. “I wasn’t thinking about nobody killing each other over Daytons.”
Times staff writer Mark I. Pinsky contributed to this story.
More to Read
Sign up for Essential California
The most important California stories and recommendations in your inbox every morning.
You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Los Angeles Times.