Renaissance Man - Part 1

Scene 10 _ Easy Money

Scene 10 Rev G

Scene 10 “Easy Money”

Torey Campbell (still wearing church shoes) – Protagonist
Miles Hawkins – Torey’s friend 1/Skeptic
Jake Shapiro – Torey’s friend 2/Contagonist
Leon “Iceman” Bertozzi – Teenage drug dealer
Rufus Kenly – Bully 1
Nestor Ramirez – Bully 2

         The three boys watched as Kenly and Ramirez sauntered off along Archer Boulevard, Ramirez laughing boisterously at Kenly’s bad jokes, sucking up to his leader.
         Torey Campbell shook his head in disgust, "That pair of zeros won’t even work in a poker hand."
         Miles Hawkins crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the grate over the windows of Kopischke’s Market. "They got more money than we do," he replied with a throaty laugh and a touch of envy in his voice.
         Jake Shapiro joined in with an afterthought, "Are they members of a gang?"
         "I can't imagine any gang would have them," Torey threw in, making no attempt to hide his disdain for the pair.
         Miles looked quizzical. “Does Bertozzi belong to a gang?" he asked.
         Jake shook his head. "I think he deals for the mob."
         Torey was thinking other thoughts, mumbling to himself, "I need money, but I don't wanna turn out like those punks,” pacing back and forth in short spans. “Gotta come up with somethin’."
         Miles wanted to know more, “Besides soccer shoes, what's buggin’ you about money?"
         Jake, showing a twinkle in his eye and a broad grin, answered for Torey, "He's thinkin’ ‘bout askin’ that girl out to a show."
         Miles laughed and picked up on the humor. "Oh Yeah. Torey needs popcorn money," he quipped.
         Torey answered "I’ve got to get out from under my old man. Big fight every time I ask for anything. He acts like I’m stealin’ his last penny."
         Miles replied, his voice quiet, "That sucks, man."
         Jake, seeing where this was going, raised the question, "You thinkin’ ‘bout joinin’ up with Bertozzi?"
         Miles interjected, his voice firm and emphatic, "I am."
         Jake was astonished, "Really?"
         Torey gave a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his carrot-colored hair. “High school kids have jobs. Maybe I can find one,” his voice trailing off.
         "You still too young," Miles said.
         Torey, addressing no one in particular, "You guys thought any about what happens after high school?"
         "What's to think about. Just get a job," was Miles’ flippant contribution to the discussion.
         Jake offered a more thoughtful response, "My old man says the factory will only hire guys who have a high school diploma, but they don't care what courses you take."
         Miles speculated, "Maybe I'll join the Army. You ever thought ‘bout that?"
         Jake punched the air with a quick one-two punch and blustered, "Not me, man. I ain’t gonna crawl around in the mud and get shot at."
         Torey repeated what a TV ad had told him, "I hear they train you for some pretty good jobs."
         The boys grew quiet as an elderly couple approached the store – she leaning on a cane, carrying an empty shopping bag and he providing support. They smiled, but their eyes showed fear and disapproval with the boys loitering on the street corner. Torey met and held their glance for an instant wondering what stories they could tell. Miles and Jake kept their eyes on the ground and shuffled their feet as they impatiently waited for the intruders to enter the store so they could resume their chatter.
         I bet they are going to complain to Kopischke about us hanging out here at the store, Torey thought.
         The couple reached the door, and the man made a futile attempt to push it open — could be too heavy, could be stuck. Jake and Miles were oblivious. Torey jumped to the rescue, pushed the door open, and held it so the couple could enter.
         “Thank you, young man,” the gentleman said, his voice so feeble it was almost inaudible.
         “You’re welcome,” Torey replied.
         Miles resumed the conversation, pacing, he shot back, "No, they just train you to run and say "Yes. Sir".
         "A soldier isn't gonna be good for much if that's all he can do,” Torey said rationally, “They have some pretty fancy equipment, and they need people trained to operate it. They can't do that with idiots."
         "What about the Navy and the Air Force?" Jake asked.
         Torey replied casually, "Them too."
         Miles was not curious about the subject nor interested in the discussion. He dismissed it abruptly, "Well. We don't have to think about that for four more years. I'll worry about it when the time comes."
         Torey looked askance, first at Miles, then at Jake. All of a sudden he felt very out of place. Who's the jerk here? Me or them?
         Miles, feeling uncomfortable, changed the subject. "Have you ever heard of the Denim Owls?"
         Torey answered with little interest. "No. Who are they?"
         Jake perked up. He knew something about this. "A gang — hang out over on Clayton Avenue."
         The bell over Kopischke’s door jingled as the door opened and the old couple emerged. The man carried the now full grocery bag, and Mr. Kopischke held the door open for them. Amidst their scornful looks, the old man managed a smile for Torey. The couple hobbled off down Archer Boulevard.
         Miles, sounding prideful, continued. "My brother belongs."
         Jake was awestruck. "Your brother belongs to the Denim Owls?"
         Miles clapped Jake on the back and replied, "Yeah, been a member for a couple years."
         Jake, full of envy, said. "That's awesome. I know some guys who belong to other gangs, but nobody in the Denim Owls."
         Torey questioned, showing a little more interest, "What do they do?"
         Miles, stumped for an answer, stated simply, "They have a clubhouse."
         Jake, bouncing on his toes, asked, "Have you seen it?"
         Miles was glad to have a question he could answer, "Outside. Can't get in unless you're a member."
         Still awestruck, Jake said, "I bet they let girls in."
         Torey persisted, "So what do they do?"
         Miles had no answer, but Jake, offered, "Drink and do drugs ..."
         Scornful of Miles’ silence, Torey threw in, "... and screw girls."
         Miles became defensive. "No! My brother don't do drugs," he said, ignoring Torey’s jab about girls.
         Torey replied flatly, "Do you think he'd tell you if he did?"
         Getting bored with the conversation, Torey looked toward the store. There was Mr. Kopischke peering through the door window, his brow furrowed in disapproval.
         Will he call the cops or just chase us away? he wondered.
         Jake’s curiosity took a new twist, "I wonder if they sell drugs? Maybe we could get some."
         Miles enjoyed his new stature with Jake. Feeling superior, he replied with a casual air, "I can ask him. He wants me to join."
         Torey’s mouth fell open, "Do you want to join?"
         Jake answered, "It would be cool to belong to a gang."
         "Why?" Torey’s voice betrayed his wonderment.
         Jake, feigning knowledge he didn’t have, replied, "If you’re a member of a gang, they protect you. Nobody messes with you. If they do, your brothers take them out."
         Miles, seeming undecided, spoke up, "I think I'd like to join. I don't want to do drugs, but their jackets are cool."
         Torey suggested, "I bet they make you do drugs in order to join." He got no argument from either.
         "I heard once you get in, you can never get out," Jake stated flatly.
         Miles, his face reflecting disbelief, challenged Jake’s assertion defiantly, "Never? Even when you're eighty?"
         Jake’s voice dripped with sarcasm, "Some of those guys I see ridin’ hogs look like they're eighty and haven't had a haircut in fifty years."
         The whole boring conversation was tiring Torey, and he sensed that the time for ‘hangin’ out’ had passed. He stood erect and moved away from the store window where he had been slouching.
         “It’s late. I gotta go,” he said, as he started to leave.
         Torey’s departure halted abruptly, and all three boys turned their focus to the person approaching on Archer Boulevard. Leon “Iceman” Bertozzi was heading their way. Torey wanted to learn more about the possible financial opportunity with Leon, so he decided to stick around a little longer.
         Sporting a big smile, the Iceman greeted everyone, "Hey Guys. What's Up?"
         Jake humbled himself as if in the presence of a king, "Not much man. Hey, Ramirez and Kenly just left. They were lookin’ for you."
         "Hey Leon,” Miles said, “… said you and them were supposed to do some kinda business."
         Torey looked the Iceman over with cold detachment then acknowledged his greeting, showing no respect or emotion, "Just hangin' man."
         Having a nickname like ‘Iceman’, you would visualize many different possible characters — all of them formidable. Leon Bertozzi is none of that. In his late teens, his slight build was accentuated by his choice of drugs in place of nourishment. He probably would be a high school senior had he not been expelled two years back for his shady professional choices. His shuffling walk is mistaken by many as a disability, rather than the slight drug stupor that almost always envelopes him. His braggadocio and tough talk come forth in a squeaky voice punctuated by frequent sniffling. He brings to mind ‘Ratso Rizzo’ from the film Midnight Cowboy.
         While presenting a less than frightening image, Leon ‘Iceman’ Bertozzi was dangerous — like a rattlesnake hidden under a bush. He controlled enough drug supply to keep his two henchmen, Kenly and Ramirez, hostage to his bidding. Together, all having a natural evil streak, they could conjure up enough mischief to make life miserable for anyone getting in their way.
         "I'll find them later,” said Leon, dismissing the comments from Jake and Miles, “Anybody lookin’ to score? I got specials on pills today," waving a baggie containing an assortment of pills.
         "What are they?” Miles asked.
         Bertozzi answered, not disposed to be questioned, "Don't know, man. That's why they're on special. They're a mixture. Picked them up on a trade with some dude who was short on cash. I'll give you five pills for a buck."
         "What else you got?” Jake asked.
         The dealer fidgeted and shuffled as he rummaged in his pocket. In the process, he pushed the group around to the Fletcher Avenue side of the building, a less conspicuous place for their conversation. He was well known by the local police as an active member in the Allerford drug culture, having been arrested numerous times for possession and sale of drugs. When a cruiser spotted him, they always stopped to question. So Bertozzi was always looking over his shoulder. Thinking himself safe, he pulled a baggie of Marijuana from his pocket. "Got some good weed for a dime a pack," he said.
         "I don't have ten bucks,” said Miles, trying to bargain, “How about half a pack?"
         Bertozzi pushed the comment aside, "No man. Can't split a pack."
         "Where you get this stuff?" Torey asked, not realizing that he just stepped into forbidden territory.
         The Iceman scowled at Torey, indicating his question was out of bounds. About to rebuke him, Leon glanced down and noticed Torey’s dress up shoes, which looked silly with jeans. His expression changed from threatening, to curious, to amused.
         "Not your business, bro,” Bertozzi replied, still defensive but softer, “I'm your Candy Man. That's all you need to know. How about some pills? I got Scooby Snacks for twenty a hit. Fancy shoes, man."
         "What are Scooby Snacks?" Jake asked.
         Jake’s question gave Iceman the opening he was hoping for, to shift into ‘hook the sucker’ mode. In his smoothest voice, he began to sell, "Ecstasy man. One of my most popular."
         Torey joined in, ignoring his comment, but irritated at having attention drawn to his shoes, "What's Ecstasy do?”
         The Iceman sensed a real interest, so he took on the role of ‘wise counselor, protector for the young and helpless,’ as he worked to sell someone their first trip with Ecstasy. “Don’t do Scoobies while you’re sitting at home, save it for parties, makes you want to dance, get deep into the music, get close to your friends, stops time, sends you on a trip to outer space. Winds you up for a couple days.” He knew well that one trip would give him a new client.
         Miles was impressed, "Sounds awesome."
         Leon could tell Miles and Jake were both tempted. He needed to push them over the edge. “I can give you one free hit of Scoobies, worth a quarter, with a dime bag of Mary Jane,” he said, sounding like he was doing his new best friends a great favor.
         Torey broke the spell, “What else you got?”
         Bertozzi, ever the salesman, moved on, "Got some Blue Meanies here – only a dub. Makes all your troubles go away."
         Blue Meanies are psychedelic mushrooms that closely resemble those used in cooking, and are grown in a similar way. Unlike the cooking variety, however, these nearly 200 species contain psilocybin, a mind-altering chemical. Teens may trip on psilocybin mushrooms much like they would on LSD — eating them can lead to an altered sense of space and time, hallucinations and euphoria — along with nausea and panic attacks.
         While under the influence of hallucinogenic mushrooms, teens can forget where they are and act out in ways they usually wouldn’t. Over the years, several teens have died from incidents occurring during mushroom-induced stupors.
         Jake dismissed that idea as out of his price range. "Who can afford that?" he asked.
         The Iceman sensed the mouse was sniffing the cheese. "You can, man. Listen. I need someone to take my product into the school. If you're my man, you get the product at half price. You make enough to get your own for free."
         Still skeptical, Miles asked, "What happens if you get caught?"
         Bertozzi gave an exaggerated sigh, trying to sell his line as an evident truth, "Nobody gets caught. You do business after school and off school grounds – just like we're doin' now."
         Many questions ran through Torey’s mind. What if Coach Dreyer learns? Can I play soccer while I'm high? Can I sell this stuff without usin' it myself? Man, I don't like this idea.
         "Where do we sell?" asked Jake.
         Iceman sniffled, "Right here."
         "But this is your territory," Miles exclaimed, showing his palms and shrugging.
         The salesman ratcheted up his pitch, "You don't get it, bro. You workin’ for me. I don't have to come here. You doin' the sellin' for me. You an’ me do business at night somewhere else."
         Torey was getting interested, "Who do we sell to?" he asked.
         Leon put a couple more clicks on the ratchet, "Start with friends you can trust. Then expand by word of mouth."
         Torey was tempted, I could buy all the shoes and other gear I need without having to fight with Pop.
         Jake too was tempted, "How many dealers you lookin’ for?"
         Bertozzi held up his hand, index finger extended, "Just one … more than one causes trouble," he snapped.
         Jake rubbed his hands together and smiled, "Sounds good."
         Leon looked at Miles and Torey. Sensing that they were not convinced, he continued with his hard sell, "I'll sweeten the pot. I'll give you a free hit and advance you two c's worth of product."
         Miles still couldn’t quite figure it out, "Don't we have to learn about this stuff?"
         Leon half shrugged and spoke confidently, "No problem. I'll start you off selling a couple items that are cheap and easy. Then you can move up to better stuff as you learn. I'll give you a price list too."
         Jake was animated, "I'm likin' this deal."
         Miles was still distrustful "This scares me," he said to himself, biting his lip.
         There comes the point in every sale where the customer knows the product, the price, and the salesman, and has to decide. The three boys were at that point.
         Bertozzi had been convincing in selling the emotional and sensory pleasures of his products. He had successfully hidden all the destructive downsides of drug use – physical, emotional, financial, and legal. He had made a good case for the possible dollar rewards with the business arrangement he was offering. What Iceman couldn’t hide was himself. Leon Bertozzi was a shabbily dressed, unkempt, half drugged, high school dropout. All his talk to the contrary, he was the picture of the result. Though inexperienced and naïve, the boys could see the disconnect.
         Torey, especially doubtful, was having a hard time about this guy. His thoughts roamed over the possibilities, none of them good, Bertozzi's a mess. He's high right now. What kind of business partner will he be? If I get caught, he'll be worthless. If he gets busted, he'll roll over on me in a heartbeat. How long until he starts trying to cheat me? Can I count on him to deliver the stuff? Who does he work for?
         Urgent to hook a sucker, the pusher came on strong, "So, who's in?"
         None of the boys could pull the trigger.
         Torey: "I need to think about it."
         Miles: "Me too."
         Jake: "I don’t know man."
         Iceman sensed the sale slipping away. He cracked his knuckles, a vein pulsed in his neck, "Hey punks’ I'm runnin’ a business here. Don't have time to waste on undecided."
         The discussion was over, the sale was gone, the boys started to leave.
         Miles: "Later, Leon."
         Torey: "See ya later."
         Jake: "Me too."
         Bertozzi, his face flushed, clenching and unclenching his fists, shouted, "Yeah, sure. Next time bring money! Offer closed!"

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Word Count: 2,886
Readability Consensus (based on 8 readability formulas)
         Grade Level: 5
         Reading Level: easy to read.
         Reader's Age: 8-9 yrs. old (Fourth and Fifth graders)