Wasting Time The first order of business was to go out of business. Dealing drugs off the streets wasn’t working out for the four of us, so we all decided to close up shop. Our store was a corner on Baseline and Cherry, where all the new buildings are being constructed in hopes of attracting the attention of freeway drivers. The wonderful city of Fontana just opened an almost useless stretch of a new freeway, and it’s really just there for more money. With a debt of nearly eight hundred million dollars, you better believe that more stores are going to open. So, the first order of the day was to move away from Baseline and Cherry. The police don’t exactly like our kind stalking people at the Ralph’s and its competition, a Vons across the street. It used to be that gas stations were on every corner. Now, we had a supermarket and a gas station just a few hundred feet from each other. I don’t know how I got into the business. All I remember is that one guy demanded money every week. If we didn’t collect, all of us were dead. Pretty simple rules from a pretty simple guy. Part of me wishes I could go back to school and get good grades and receive a degree. But it’s just the angel on my shoulder, begging for me to change my "evil" ways. Whatever, I say, and then I brush his ass to the side. My steady girlfriend drives the SUV that stores all of our business items. She’s a lovely person, really. By steady, I mean we have sex all the time and she doesn’t give me crap. It’s a winning combination. And if you think my parents disagree with the way I earn a living, you assume too much. I don’t mean to offend you, but most people think that a drug dealer’s parents hate his line of work. But they don’t care. I’m honest. Scout’s honor, I’ve never been telling the truth with such certainty. Want an example? Fine, then. One night, I took my girlfriend, Lisa, and the parents to the Black Angus. I paid in a credit card; it was really expensive or whatever. They asked me, "Eric, where the hell did you get that damn credit card?" I replied, "I stole it." "That’s my boy," dad said. See what I mean? I live a great life. Oh, there’s also my gay brother who directs music videos and supplies some of the product to me. I’ll have more on that later. The other members of this operation are Lisa’s brothers, Brian and Wade. They’re both really bright kids, lots of potential. But not to be outdone, Wade strolls down the streets of Sunset Boulevard looking for sex and Brian wants to be a professional hitman. What the hell is the matter with kids these days? Lisa says that she is bisexual. I tell her that is great to hear. She doesn’t sound happy about it, as she starts the SUV and our way to the 15 freeway. I tell her that I’m not mad or angry. I’m just a little taken aback. I should be taking this better, after all, since my brother is gay. But not everybody takes crazy news the right way. I guess it has something to do with norms, which is some word I learned in community college. And just for the record, there’s nothing wrong with community college. There is something rather stupid about paying over a hundred dollars for one class anywhere else. So that’s that on education. Moving on, literally, to another location, I suggest that we stroll down to Brian and Wade’s house. There’s a stash of weed and coke that I need to sell by Thursday, and the bill collector shows up on Friday. Brian loves to snort up because it gives him that added boost to start the day. Wade gets high so much that he forgets that I’m taking money out of his pocket. It is about this point that I make conversation with Lisa about various issues in our life. "I think we should break up," I said. "If that’s what you want, it’s fine by me," Lisa said. That wasn’t exactly the response I was looking for. "What do you mean, it’s fine?" "You say you want to break up, and I agree. Besides, my girlfriend and I want to go hang out at the Scandia this weekend." "You’ve been dating behind my back?" "Do you always have to ask so many stupid questions? Jesus, Eric." "Which one? Jesus or Eric?" Lisa pulls the SUV over. On the freeway. "Get out of my life, Eric." "Later." And with that, my two-week relationship with Lisa is over. It should’ve been perfect, as they say in the movies, but I’m beginning to realize this is more like a horror movie. I’ll probably get killed in the end. I don’t make a very good hero. People say I don’t have the balls to stand up for myself. That’s because I’m too drunk to walk straight. And drinking is just about the best thing for me, besides getting high. It takes away from all the pain of life, you know? I begin to hitchhike back to my house. The cell phone goes off, and it’s Brian on the other line. "Hey, buddy!" Brian yells. "What’s up, dude?" I said. "Man, where the hell are you? Lisa just got here, and you’re nowhere to be found." "We broke up. We’ll probably not be hanging out anymore." "Are you serious? That’s too bad. I got a fresh stash over here. Do you think we’ll be able to make payment?" Brian brought up a good point. I forgot to reply to this important statement of his and hung up on him. When you’re a drug dealer with your life on the line, you better believe that I was a little scared. Before I could dial for Lisa to take me back, a diesel truck stops on the side of the freeway. So far, hitchhiking wasn’t working, but luck be a junkie tonight, if you know what I mean. "You need a lift?" the trucker asked. "Where you heading?" I asked. "Down the road, taking a shortcut through that new freeway over there." "Yeah, I need to get toward Rancho, anyway." "Hop on in." I open the door, and immediately I sensed something was terribly wrong. The driver had all the looks of a truck driver. From the long beard to the sunglasses, this was exactly how I pictured these guys. However, not all truck drivers smelled like death. Once I was inside, any hope of conversation was gone for the first five minutes. Then, just like a sudden rush from doing coke, he said something rather profound. "Not going to make payment this week, huh?" he asked. "What?" "Dude, it’s all right. You don’t have to lie about it." "Well, I’m not going to tell you anything until you tell me who you are." "I’m a friend of Rick’s." "Rick Baker?" "You got it. And you’re his brother, Eric, right?" "That would be me." "This might sound all too convenient and everything, but I was on my way to meet him. He’s in town, but he didn’t want to tell you about it." "And who the hell are you, if you don’t mind me asking?" "The guy you’ve been sending money to." After being in the drug business for a year, I finally got to meet the man who was controlling my life. I should’ve asked him about his foul smell, but I already figured where this was going. "Let me guess, you’re going to kill me?" I asked. "Not exactly. Do you see those black cars behind us?" I turned my head and looked back. Sure enough, there were about three black cars coming toward us. "Yeah, I see them," I said. "Well, the way things work is, I’m supposed to give your money to them. I spent it all on Vegas before killing a truck driver that was threatening me. Then, I managed to hotwire his truck and make it out here. But a couple of his friends are after me, and it’s the same cars that are in the house of the guy I give money to." I’m sorry if this isn’t making sense. It’s rather confusing to me, too. "You’re saying that the guy you killed was friends with the main guy?" "That’s right." "Then who the hell am I giving money to on Fridays?" "Oh, that would be your brother’s partner." "Good to know." I dialed my brother and got no response. He’s probably already dead, and for some reason I’m not sad about it. He could’ve told me that he was part of this business, but who am I to question what my brother does in his life? To clear things up, my brother’s partner is the one I have coffee with on Fridays. He eventually gives the money over to a guy who is wearing the clothes of a dead guy, who happens to be friends with the man in charge of everything. Like I said earlier, I didn’t want to be part of this. I just wanted to finish school and help my brother out in making music videos. It’s funny how this is not going to end up in such a good way, but I deserve it all. The truck is slowly starting to lose gas, and when it does stop we’re both going to get shot to death. I dialed for Lisa, hoping for a chance to hear from her weird self for the last time. "What the hell do you want?" she asked. "I’m going to get killed in a few minutes. Do you have any last words to tell me?" "What the hell are you talking about? Are you high? I wish you would stop taking the mushrooms, you know." "I’m not high. Listen, I’m going to die in about three minutes. It’s a long story. If you tell me that you love me, I’ll be satisfied with everything." "What?" "Okay, just tell me that I’m an asshole." "Fine. You’re an asshole. Now, would you please snap out of it." I didn’t expect to get slapped by a nonexistent hand, but it happens. It turns out, I was tripping out again. Big surprise, huh? It took a good while, but I looked around and saw Brian, Wade, and Lisa on Baseline and Cherry. We’re selling a product, all right, except it’s a free car wash to benefit victims of drugs. Later that night, I made a call to my brother to see if he was all right. He was, and so was his partner. I asked him if we did drugs, but he just laughed about it. Yes, the mushroom thing did happen, but everything else was all a dream, apparently. So, with that, I’m going to go back to school and stop dreaming about getting chased in a diesel truck.
Copyright © 2002 David H Paniagua |