It was pretty much any other day. Woke up, heard some shit about a new guy in town slinging product. A kid, Johnny Mendez or something, came by. I’d seen him before – he’s into the usual teenager petty crime shit, but maybe he has potential. Tells me his buddy Peter’s been acting weird, tweaking out on this new shit courtesy of the guy down from Chicago.
Mounted up with Frank and Sonny and went by to talk to this Greg Mikkelson dude. Rolled up on his crack house and had to knock on his doorman before we knocked on his door. Really, Sonny knocked it down. (and I grabbed the guy’s Glock with his prints on it, just, you know, cause why not?) Turns out this Greg guy seems like he wants to do a deal, so he and Fred do a deal to sling some of his shit for a healthy cut of his business. Fair enough. Ended the day with some partying, and Tom the Private Dick sidled up to me at the pisser and asked about Fred and Dana. No way I was telling him shit, but it got me thinking. I tried to go home with something, but it was Sonny’s night.
Next day, Fred is on us to go out and sell the new shit. Some kind of sticky red meth, like crack is to cocaine. We cut it up and hit the streets, and that shit basically sold itself. We had to switch spots so nobody had to take a number. We end up in this parking lot of an abandoned Hardees, and this tweaker comes up to buy. We get a close look at him, and he’s coming apart. Like some kind of leprosy or some shit, scratching a hole in his arm. He gets this look, like I’ve seen a couple times before, and I know he’s going to go for our bag. Playing keep-away is easy since he’s all tweaked out, but then he starts laughing, or coughing – like a jackal noise. Wild Kingdom shit. And he comes at me, and I just react, and lay him out. There’s this crack, and I think I broke something in his face. Sonny and I tore out of there. What he said stuck with me: “What are we selling?”
We get back to the crash house, and Fred is there. He and I get into it. I don’t like this shit. It gives me the creeps. In my gut it doesn’t seem like just another drug to get burnouts fucked up and selling their mom’s sofa. Something in that dude’s look…it was wrong. Just wrong.
Fred said some shit, and we got into it. I still think he already knew the Mikkelson guy, but I can’t prove shit. I laid him out pretty easy, and then Lucas comes down to see what’s up. Seems like he was ok with it, and why not? Man’s gotta take care of his own, or it’ll get taken care of by somebody else. Maybe it’s my time.
There’s a knock at the door, and outside are three more junkies. They’re after the red shit. I ask Lucas, “Does this look normal to you?” And he’s like “Shit.”
Yup. Shit is right.