Bravado Dwindles When They’re Alone : Inner battles: Most gang members harbor dreams of getting out of the barrio to start a life away from crime.

Every evening they meet by the graffiti-riddled handball court in La Colonia Park.

On an average day, about 30 of them come and go before the 10 p.m. curfew. They wear white T-shirts, black baseball caps, baggy pants and L.A. Raiders jackets.

As they mingle on the court, they flash hand signs and show off their new tattoos. Looking over their shoulders, they check out every car that goes by to make sure no rival gangs are in the area.

For the Chiques of La Colonia, widely regarded by law enforcement as the most violent and criminal street gang in Ventura County, their nightly gatherings are more than an excuse to kill time.

They are staking out and protecting the home turf--a time-honored gang tradition.

“We know everybody around here,” said Loco, one of the Chiques, standing guard by the handball court with his friends. “If you cross the railroad tracks into the ‘hood, you’re in the wrong territory. . . . You ain’t coming back out!”

“You gotta do something because they’re not from here,” agreed his friend Chato.

“They disrespect us, let’s put it that way,” another Chique said.

“Yeah, that’s right!” another said.

When they’re together, the Chiques seem fearless. They brag about fights, ridicule police and curse the enemy.

“We’re too big for the other gangs,” Fernando said, speaking within earshot of at least five other Chiques. “They have to team up with other gangs to fight us, and they still can’t touch us. They’re nothing.”

But when the Chiques speak privately, the bravado disappears. Alone, they come across as confused adolescents, often ashamed of their police records and problems in school. They refuse to reveal their names.

And most of them harbor dreams of getting out of the barrio to start a new life, away from all the gang violence and crime.

Loco, 16, said he joined the Chiques three years ago, after he backed up a friend during a fight. Last July, he completed a six-month sentence in Juvenile Hall “for hitting some guy from El Rio” in the head with a pipe.

“It was scary,” he said of his jail experience. “A lot of crazy people in there. They stab you with pencils, whatever they can find.”

Last week, he completed a week’s suspension at his continuation school for taking part in another fight.

“I’m like everybody else,” he said. “They ask me where I’m from, I say Colonia. If they got a problem, I get down.”

Looking toward the street as cars drove by, he added quietly, “I just worry at night. You never know who’s gonna pop who.”

Loco said he also worries about being expelled from school.

“I’ve been messing up ever since I joined the gang,” he said. “I want to graduate and get a good job, but there’s no way out of the gang. Once you join, you are in for life.”

If he tried to leave the gang, he said, his friends would beat him up. And his enemies would still come after him.

“At least I’m still in school, trying to make the best of it. And I know Jesus Christ loves us and protects us. But we gotta help him. We gotta change our lives.”

Fernando also wants out. “I want to get a good job and go somewhere far where nobody knows me, and keep it, like, normal, and be something,” he said.

In Colonia, he said, he has no future.

“I could stop claiming Colonia, but the other gangs know me and would still go after me. I wanna go places without people bothering me. I wanna go to other ‘hoods without people telling me nothing.”

Spooky, 15, said he got his nickname when “about eight guys from Lemonwood jumped me and left me two black eyes.” He said he’s doing all right in school, and looks forward to someday graduating.

“When I grow up, I wanna jam out of here,” he said. “Get married and get out of California. I wanna kick back and not be in a gang. I don’t wanna dress like a ‘homie’ when I’m 40.”

The biggest thrill in Pichon’s 16-year-old life, he said, giggling, was “chasing the Ventura boys with a gun five months ago.” His most painful experience was “being hit with a bat by the Northside boys” during a party one year ago.

Being in the gang, he said, is “not really exciting, just a bunch of problems. My parents don’t like it one bit. They tell me I’ll end up like my cousin, selling drugs.”

Last January, Pichon spent two days in jail after being caught stealing a Buick Regal at a K mart parking lot, one of more than 20 cars he said he has stolen so far. It was his third car-theft arrest in two years. He said he stole the cars to “cruise and go drinking with the homeboys.”

Pichon wanted to go to college or follow his brother’s footsteps and join the Army, but he doesn’t think he has much of a chance anymore. “I’m starting to realize everything I do is stupid,” he said.

In addition to his legal problems, Pichon said, he is on the verge of expulsion at Channel Islands High School for fighting rival gang members.

“This year I got suspended three times already,” he said. “I’m going to try to stay in school, but if somebody jumps me, I have to get down.”

Chato, 17, says he never shot anybody. But he seriously considered it recently “to get back at the people that piped down my two friends (hit them with pipes).”

With 65 high school credits already under his belt, Chato is bullish about his future. “I’m going to go far,” he promised. “I’m gonna show everybody.”

But Chato admits that he worries that he may never make it out of high school alive. “I don’t care if they pipe me, but you do worry about being shot.

“Everybody worries about that.”