(LA Times) – The baby-faced boy waited patiently for his turn at the small ice cream shop, his Kalashnikov balanced precariously over his shoulder. The rifle was pointed down and his hand occasionally cupped the muzzle, far from the proper way to carry a gun. He stood just a few inches taller than the wafer cones stacked high on the side of the freezer. When it was finally his turn, he ordered cherry and pistachio ice cream in a waffle cone.