Grinding

There was a slight list to the entire building. Enough that you continually felt wrong, just for a minute, when you set foot outside the door where the real world reminded you that just because you won life might be poor and broken; it did not mean there wasn’t more. It was just somewhere else.

Jack sighed heavily just to watch the fog of his breath in the chill of a Maine morning. He looked back at the dump he called home only to be greeted by the sight of aluminum siding that was inexplicably level while the rest of the building sloped with the grade of Congress Street. Obviously the siding was a late addition to the whole of an atrocity called a building. He was stalling. He knew it. Deal day always made a little nervous. He began to stroll, slowly. It wasn’t like he lacked have time. Herman would wait though he was upset last time, but that was life and this was Jack’s deal not the other way around. Jack let his mind wander as the buildings crawled by. He thought of the movie from last night. Another story of a drug dealer who was too smart for his own good. Those movies always amused him the most. Opening credits end with scene one; the lone protagonist/ antagonist in one, lean, handsome, with eyes that are cold yet always just a bit crazy like we should all fear the choices that lead to that life. He will eventually lose they always lose. If this modern day hero/villain doesn’t end up dead or in jail then they lose something. It is always something that your average John Q public could never “live without” if it happened to them. The problem is that the writers have never really been there. Oh they might have scratched the surface just enough to think they know it all, but really they only want you to believe there was once a spot for them under the cats-paw. That place between the claws of domesticity and oblivion, but they never really have otherwise they would portray the true nature of idiocy. Those few that travel in the life of a dealer are always completely and total idiots. The are the ones who end up in jail for their own stupidity and invariably get played by the newest and hottest actor to hit the silver screen. No, the smart ones in this game hate and fear it but it is a job. You grind it out like flipping burgers or hauling trash.

St. John’s street came and went. Jack passed the bank with boarded up windows. When they first shut it down he thought it was odd that the ATM continued to work. Then he realized that workers continued to come and go, which meant that what was once a normal bank became a count house. Now he wondered how he might rob it. But, because he only saw plywood on the windows, he knew there was more to the story and that nothing was nothing so simple. Still it was nice to dream of a quick way out. He didn’t look back though. Just a waste of time like so many things in life. Love, education, the proverbial ladder to success were all things he tried and tried and tried again, but you end up on the bottom enough times you start to look for ways around the climb or fall… or whatever.

He looked over briefly as he passed the prison. Not that he would fail a test of description if anyone asked. But, there was something reassuring about a brief glance to make sure everything was normal over there, and something quite apropos that the people there knew nothing and probably didn’t care what happened just a couple of blocks away. Occasionally he got comments from his buyers. Gutsy to live so close and all that, he just told them he didn’t want to schlep his stuff to far if he got caught. It always garnered a laugh. People were so stupid.

Another half a block down and he took a right. At the other end of the street he could see the milk silos standing tall over all the buildings and ever the freeway just behind the plant. Jack hated this location. Such a short street could easily be blocked off by the cops; leaving the unprepared scrambling for a way out. He always found himself scanning the apartment buildings as he passed, and though nothing changed he would still assess the shortest route out. This usually entailed jumping a wooden fence, which was much too tall for an easy climb. But, it was probably the best option for the fact that it ran behind all the buildings and was so tall. Cops were too arrogant to think anyone could make it. Worst case there wouldn’t be more than two patrol cars on the other side. Two or four would be a lot easier to get past than out running the ones on the street. Not that any of this mattered, but it is good to be prepared. Lord knows more weight moved in and out this street than in all of the Eastern Promenade, the den of iniquity as it were. Not that Jack told anybody.

“Ah here we are.” It was a plain enough building as apartments go. Three floors once the attic was converted and Herman lived on the second floor. Jack rang the bell… then heard the buzzer. He pulled open the door, which had a faux stained-glass laminate on the window. It was gaudy yes, but it did the trick of keeping those pesky prying eyes out. While climbing the stairs Jack took a moment to reflect on how much the thinning carpet and cracked plaster belied Herman’s current state of existence. He didn’t, however, take time to consider knocking. What he did instead was smile at a black circle just above and to the right of the doorframe. No not a camera, no one in this business would allow such easily traceable evidence; in reality Herman saw him coming up the street and the black circle was a rather large lens rigged with a set of mirrors and duct work. Something Jack cooked up after spending time at a county fair. The whole construction worked similarly to the toy periscopes they sell to kids as novelties.

Even with all these precautions the door only opened enough for Herman to see Jack’s face. Despite what he was thinking Jack forced out a smile. Herman on the other hand scowled.

“Just open the door, man.” Jack said sounding a little annoyed. Finally, with a slight creak, the door opened enough for Jack to slip in. “What is up, Herm? How’s ya’ mornin’ goin’?” Jack was all smiles, for the moment anyway.

“Crappy, you’re late.”

Jack checked his watch. “By to fuckin’ minute man. So chill.”

Herman rubbed his neck. “Look Jack we need to talk. I mean shits a little fucked.”

“What? Man your shit is your shit! You got my weight or not?”

“Yeah, yea I got it.” Jack watched Herman’s eyes shift back and forth… back and forth.

Finally Jack said. “I’ll be in the living room.” He took a moment to look around when Herman disappeared down that lone hallway it seems every true apartment in the world has. Herman, though smart enough to keep a low profile on the exterior, lived excessively at home. Nothing showed this more than Herman’s living room. A full leather couch, surround sound, three game systems, and a fifty-five inch flat screen mounted on the wall. Not exactly what Jack considered “under the radar.” You had to spend money to live like this and sooner or later people take notice when you pay cash at for everything. Unless you’re a stripper then you pay for everything with ones and people catch on to that pretty quick too. Though it did make Jack wish he were a pretty blonde sometimes. It would be a lot easier to fly that low with that kind of camouflage. Problems only occur when what is supposed to be hidden shows on the surface; hence the idea of a cover. Everyone around him was trying to live the high life, and here was Jack just trying to grind it out. Sometimes it bothered him, most of the time it didn’t.

As he sat down Jack noticed the glass of soda, Herman always he, was nearly full. Now is as good a time as any. Jack thought. He dug into his jacket pocket for a moment till he found the dark brown medicine bottle that might be antique, but he didn’t know because there were no markings on the bottom. Not that it mattered; really, the bottle came with the content, which was the reason he had both. He acquired them from an associate down in Mass a couple of years ago. He didn’t even know what the pills were before he crushed them into a fine powder. He tested it once, just to make sure, but once was enough. Getting rid of the cat’s body was no bid deal. No, it was the part where he had to watch it die. Few people knew what it was like to watch something die from poisoning. Jack accepted death as part n’ parcel to life, as well as a status quo in his industry but he did not relish putting something or someone down in this manner. Today, however, there really wasn’t a better choice. He heard once that there were fifty-one things you do wrong when you commit murder, and if you can figure out half you are a genius. He didn’t know if he was a genius but that didn’t make him an idiot either. He was always cautious in this game. In fact, other than sitting on the couch, Jack never once touched a single object that remained in this apartment. Sure there was always something one left behind but in this case it wouldn’t be enough to prove anything.
Jack undid the cap and tipped the bottle. Twice the amount he gave the cat went into the Patriots glass. If the cat’s death was ugly this would be worse. He gave the glass a good stir with a pen from his jacket as the bottle disappeared. Whatever the poison was it was highly soluble, which had been Jack’s one requirement before purchase. The last thing he wanted was on attempted murder because it would probably prompt an attempt at murder where he was the victim. Not exactly Jack’s idea of a good time. No in this process there would never be such a thing as overkill.

Herman appeared in the doorway with a courier satchel. Jack could see it wasn’t very heavy, which was one of Jack’s favorite things in this business. If He sold week he would still have to move large quantities to make any real money, but coke, H, dust you dealt in ounces instead of pounds and grams instead of ounces. Those kinds of numbers are much easier to hide. Herman dropped the bag next to the soda. For a moment, Jack thought the soda would go over but luckily, well lucky for one of them at least, it teetered for just a moment before settling again. Jack, never even flinched. In point of fact he smiled a smile of almost impregnable patience. Herman saw that smile and slouched into his oversized chair. Then he stared, despondently, at either the satchel of the glass, Jack couldn’t tell which.

Finally after a minute or so Jack said. “That’s all I need?”

“Yeah man it’s all there.”

Jack leaned forward enough to grab the solo strap, which hung off the table’s edge nearest to his feet. He didn’t actually pull the satchel all the way into his lap, but rather hefted it with one hand. It felt about right, he would have to make up the price to his importer in Bangor. Herman’s part in this little business construct was something Jack installed as a kind of buffer between his importer and himself. It cost Jack some personal profit but scapegoats are worth their weight in gold or at the very least a mitigated jail term, which was usually worth the extra hassle. Problems occurred when the pigs got to his scapegoat. If Herman talked first he would sell both Jack and his Bangor connection for his won hide. Well he could try and barter those chips but he would find it a bit more difficult than imagined. Unfortunately that was the current situation Jack faced. Someone got to his playable chip but lucky for him a mutual associate caught Herman dealing from the bottom of the deck as it were. It really didn’t matter who was out their watching, Jack had a solution get rid of the goat.

“Alright Herman, whit is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Look Jack.” Herman stared at the floor while rubbing his neck. “I think I need to, well you know, get out. Lately I’ve been jumping at shadows and every deal seems sketchy. Hell the only person I trust to keep their mouth shut is you.” He looked up with pleading eyes. “I don’t know. What should I do?”

Jack took a moment to make it seem like he was thinking. “Who else have you been talking too?”

“No one man, not really anyway, but there is this guy that’s been following me. It seems like I see him every time I turn around. I don’t know who he is, and he smiles at me. I swear it. It’s freaking me the fuck out, ya know.” Eyes darting around Herman sunk into his chair then picked up his glass. He didn’t drink though; no he only fiddled with it.

“That’s it Herm? You really haven’t talked to this guy?”

“Nah man but I’m tellin’ ya he’s creepin’ me out!”

“Alright, alright.” Jack held up his hand, just a little. “He is probably nobody, or someone from your past that you don’t remember. Just don’t do anything stupid. If this guy wants to talk to you then he will get around to it.” Jack paused, then said. “ You haven’t been dealing with anyone you don’t know, right.

“No man, just you and the other two like always. Don’t really need more than that. You were always right on that one, do my bit and keep my head down.”

“Well then you got nothin’ to worry about.” Jack kept his eyes on Herman’s face. He never looked at the glass. “I tell you what. I will ask around, okay. Will that make you feel better?”

“Yeah man, I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem, alright I gotta get goin’.” Jack sighed as he this.

“Right.” Herman took a long haul from his glass before he said. “What about the money?”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Jack said with a smile and a wink. He reached for his pocket just as Herman doubled over. He didn’t bother to pretend any further. Herman went face first into the wooden coffee table. Jack noted to himself that the table must have been expensive, because any prefab Wally World piece of crap would never have taken the weight. Jack did take a second to pull the satchel out from under Herman, well what was left of the convulsing mass he used to call Herman. Jack was patient enough to wait until he was sure. It didn’t really take long. Herman coughed up some whitish foam then lay still. Shit, the cat lived longer than that. Slightly surprised, Jack check for a pulse. One second, two still nothing, well worth the money.

Jack had one rule in life and in business. If you want to keep a secret, kill everyone who knows.