paper bag.
“Do the drop-off tonight. Three grand. There and back. Route four, under the South Bend overpass. The cop is expecting you.” He hands me the bag but retains a firm hold on the opposite end. Looking at me with two black eyes that are pin needles on his face, he says, “Lose my shit again and I’ll put a bullet in your ass.”
“One fucking time…”
“One fucking time too many, kid. I’ve got too much riding on this business to have you fuck it up.” He finally lets go. “Take the back roads. Let me know when it’s done.”
We split. He leaves me in his dust while my truck wheezes down the road. It takes forty minutes to get to the South Bend overpass. I drive down the gravelly pathway that leads to the graffiti-covered bridge. Down here, it’s a hotbed of homeless people, with their makeshift tents made out of tarp and donated clothes. Grocery carts with their entire life’s contents parking against water-stained concrete walls fill the area. For a good eight months after the murder/suicide of our parents, this had been our life. Twelve years old with too much damn knowledge about sex and not enough about the world. We had to learn very quickly that charity on the streets wasn’t freely given. People always wanted something. Tit for fucking tat. I did what I had to do for both Noah and I to survive.
There wasn’t an amber alert out for us or anything like that, but we learned to evade cops and anyone else who looked like they wanted to take us in. We slept on park benches, under freeway overpasses like this one, and washed our asses in public bathrooms. I stole what we needed to eat from convenience stores. The plan was to eventually make it out west by hitchhiking. Nothing special was there, just figured anywhere was better than Trenton. But shit got derailed when I got caught stealing a few bags of chips, sodas, and some candy. That’s when we got shuffled off into the system.
Shaking my head to bring me back to focus, I shut off my headlights and drive farther down. I don’t bring any unnecessary attention to myself. Not that snitching isn’t a possibility but most of the people down here are junkies, too loaded to see straight let alone be taken seriously by anyone who came around asking questions.
Three successive flashes from a pair of headlights grabs my attention. I drive closer to find a black SUV idling next to a pile of long metal cylinders. I wait a good five minutes, because you can never be too cautious when it comes to shit like this. With the paper bag scrunched up tight to fit inside my back pocket, I get out of my truck. The last two times I came with Dro for a drop-off the cop got out of the car to meet him. I’m guessing he’s not going to give me the same courtesy as he remains in the SUV. In the back of my head I’m wondering if it’s a setup. A sting of some sort meant to catch Dro, but he sent me instead because he knew what would go down. Set me up for his fall. That’s the cynical part of me. It never lets me get too comfortable. But with my luck, this sort of shit wasn’t impossible. Either way, I wouldn’t be going down without a fight. The SIG is exactly where I want it to be, snug at the crack of my ass. I can reach for it easily enough if I need it. When I approach the SUV, the driver rolls down the window about halfway down. A slight tilt of my head allows me to see that it’s the same guy I remember.
He’s what you’d expect a cop to look like. Tall, broadly built, and stocky. He still has that ugly-as-fuck crew cut, but he’s shaved off his beard from the last time I saw him. My eyes flick to the passenger seat. There’s a girl seated there, not much I can tell about her except that she’s not wearing much in the way of clothes, except of course for the sports cap covering her long, black hair, the bill lowered to cover her face. With her jaw moving as she chews on what I can only guess is gum, she keeps her gaze focused straight
“Do the drop-off tonight. Three grand. There and back. Route four, under the South Bend overpass. The cop is expecting you.” He hands me the bag but retains a firm hold on the opposite end. Looking at me with two black eyes that are pin needles on his face, he says, “Lose my shit again and I’ll put a bullet in your ass.”
“One fucking time…”
“One fucking time too many, kid. I’ve got too much riding on this business to have you fuck it up.” He finally lets go. “Take the back roads. Let me know when it’s done.”
We split. He leaves me in his dust while my truck wheezes down the road. It takes forty minutes to get to the South Bend overpass. I drive down the gravelly pathway that leads to the graffiti-covered bridge. Down here, it’s a hotbed of homeless people, with their makeshift tents made out of tarp and donated clothes. Grocery carts with their entire life’s contents parking against water-stained concrete walls fill the area. For a good eight months after the murder/suicide of our parents, this had been our life. Twelve years old with too much damn knowledge about sex and not enough about the world. We had to learn very quickly that charity on the streets wasn’t freely given. People always wanted something. Tit for fucking tat. I did what I had to do for both Noah and I to survive.
There wasn’t an amber alert out for us or anything like that, but we learned to evade cops and anyone else who looked like they wanted to take us in. We slept on park benches, under freeway overpasses like this one, and washed our asses in public bathrooms. I stole what we needed to eat from convenience stores. The plan was to eventually make it out west by hitchhiking. Nothing special was there, just figured anywhere was better than Trenton. But shit got derailed when I got caught stealing a few bags of chips, sodas, and some candy. That’s when we got shuffled off into the system.
Shaking my head to bring me back to focus, I shut off my headlights and drive farther down. I don’t bring any unnecessary attention to myself. Not that snitching isn’t a possibility but most of the people down here are junkies, too loaded to see straight let alone be taken seriously by anyone who came around asking questions.
Three successive flashes from a pair of headlights grabs my attention. I drive closer to find a black SUV idling next to a pile of long metal cylinders. I wait a good five minutes, because you can never be too cautious when it comes to shit like this. With the paper bag scrunched up tight to fit inside my back pocket, I get out of my truck. The last two times I came with Dro for a drop-off the cop got out of the car to meet him. I’m guessing he’s not going to give me the same courtesy as he remains in the SUV. In the back of my head I’m wondering if it’s a setup. A sting of some sort meant to catch Dro, but he sent me instead because he knew what would go down. Set me up for his fall. That’s the cynical part of me. It never lets me get too comfortable. But with my luck, this sort of shit wasn’t impossible. Either way, I wouldn’t be going down without a fight. The SIG is exactly where I want it to be, snug at the crack of my ass. I can reach for it easily enough if I need it. When I approach the SUV, the driver rolls down the window about halfway down. A slight tilt of my head allows me to see that it’s the same guy I remember.
He’s what you’d expect a cop to look like. Tall, broadly built, and stocky. He still has that ugly-as-fuck crew cut, but he’s shaved off his beard from the last time I saw him. My eyes flick to the passenger seat. There’s a girl seated there, not much I can tell about her except that she’s not wearing much in the way of clothes, except of course for the sports cap covering her long, black hair, the bill lowered to cover her face. With her jaw moving as she chews on what I can only guess is gum, she keeps her gaze focused straight
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