Running across the street loading his illegal pistol the dealer only worries he gets there in time. Only seconds ago he received a text, “Help someone is in my house”. He had been enjoying another lost soul on his couch. Drunk and drugged out of there minds they caressed, fondle, and please each other trying to escape there reality. Her a stripper looking for a good time and a discount on coke, him a coke dealer just trying to forget.
Suddenly there embrace is interrupted by the sound of a text. The dealer knows a text at four in the morning only means one thing. Trouble. Trouble had become his new ally. Trouble distracted him, Trouble please him. Trouble was a possible way out. The dealer reads “Help someone is in my house”. He knows the number. It’s the girls field hockey house across the street. He reaches back finds his integrity, and without another thought rushes off his stripper, grabs his gun, cloths, and a last look at his dog. He rushes through his door dressing and loading.
He knows what has happened. The dealer warned those girls they lived in the wrong part of town. Realtors are fucking liars. This house is filled with some of the hottest, riches, naive woman the dealer had ever seen. He was jealous of their cookie cuter lives and cookie cuter families. Broken homes raise bitter kids. He was close to one of the girls, but the rest pegged him true. A coke dealer. She saw something else. He had warned them time and time again lock your door your not in a gated community anymore. There are worst people then me around here. The dealers warnings always went unheeded.
He rushed up the front steps to the front door hoping he wasn’t to late. How long had they been in there? How many are holding the girls hostage? Are they armed? Why do I do this shit? He may have lost his hope, but he had never lost his integrity. He gets to the front door says “God hates a coward” and rushes through the door. Of course unlocked stupid bitches. He charges through the front door not caring what is inside. He will get to her bed room. Damn all in his path. His gun tightly clenched the dealer scans the house through the sites as he rushes upstairs.
Half way up the stairs he realizes she moved her bed room to the dinning room when her other friend moved in. These girls were packed in this house like hot Mexicans. God bless field hockey skirts. The dealer screams her name to find her. Echoing back is his name screamed in fear and pain. He knows he is to late. He charges back down the stairs still poised to fire at anything not sexy. He gets to the foyer and is abruptly stopped by two shadows in the kitchen. Two very large figures much larger then him or any woman in the house. He aims and sees one of their faces through the sites. Its to dark to see details but they lock eyes and the dealer reads fear. The dealer squeezes the trigger ready to take a life. He didn’t care about the repercussions, only the wronged woman. Damn these men to worst pain then the dealer could imagine. Servile swine. The gun cocked and before it fired into the mans eye he turned, ran out the back door, diving over the railing his accomplice on his heels.
The dealer roars her name again and she responds from the dinning room. He kicks the door open lunges in gun drawn, ready awake and he sees nothing. He whispers her name. It is met with the most tender, hopeful, grateful, voice. The dealer had never heard his name said in such reverence. He still couldn’t see her when a hand emerges from under the bed covered in laundry. Then a field hockey stick. Then her smiling, crying face. The poor girl was hiding under her bed with her field hockey stick. “You came! Where are they?” The dealer thought and wasn’t sure. They ran out, but the back door was still open. The house house is dark they could be any where. Did they come back? To keep her calm he says there is no one. A noble lie. But the dealer tells her to get behind him, stay behind him and stay close while he sweeps the house. With her hand on his shoulder and her head down they move through the house. The dealer shielding her from any incoming fire with his body. Three stories of dark house to sweep. The dealer guides her to he back door. He closes it locks it and moves to the basement door. Her hand on his shoulder he turns and says calmly “Stay close. Stay behind me. Stay quiet.”
They enter the dark basement. The dealer knows they will get off the first shot from the dark. They could be anywhere and they know he is coming down the stairs. He can’t dive for cover he is covering her. He will stand. He will take it. He will return accurate fire. The Dealer repeats this to himself over and over again. He will stand. He will take the bullets. He will give them back. She will survive. Good death. Basement clear back upstairs. Foyer clear. One more flight. Her hand still on his shoulder. Upstairs to the other girls bed rooms. Clear. Clear. Every door he opens he knows could be his last. The dealer will stand. The dealer will take it. The dealer has already taken so much pain. Lost everything but his life and dog. He will take it and return accurate fire. He will see his Dad at the end of the bar drinking chivas regal. Clear. Two more doors. Clear… Is that one of the girls boy friends cowering? Wow she got a keeper. Last door. “God hates a coward” he says her hand still on his shoulder. Will this be it? Will this be the end of the pain.
Not yet Dad save me a seat…
He did it. He finally did something right. Something he could be proud of. Something he would want to remember. The dealer put foot to ass for some one in need. His triumphant revaluation was interrupted by her saying “Where the hell are the cops I called them before you.” A shudder went up the spine of the dealer. He is holding an illegal fire arm. He is coked out of his mind. So high off purple he is looking down on the space station. So drunk on rum a pirate would way easy matey. You called the cops the dealer whispered hoping it a lie. “Yes” she said
The dealer returned to his cold reality knowing he must flee. He shouted to everyone I have an illegal firearm. You all know what I do. I was never here. He takes another look into her eyes ashamed of the choices he has made and he returns to the shadows.
Running down the stairs to the front door he hides his gun in his pocket and opens the front door. “Freeze don’t move or we will fire!” Frozen the dealer raises his hands. Time stops and he ponders his choices. Do nothing… They search me illegal firearm five years. Search warrant for my house five to ten distribution. Illegal firearms with distribution five on top. I will get out at 40 if I’m a good little bitch. Not acceptable. Draw, aim for the knees, suicide by cops… Not fair to cops or the girls who will watch me die like robo cop on the front porch. Not acceptable. Bluff… Shout I’m the neighbor, with hands up, get in there and help the women and one pussy guy. Acceptable. “I’m the neighbor, I’m so scared, there are criminals in there help get in there!” They brush the dealer aside hoping for some action. He is left there amazed at the shit he has found himself in. He says “God hates a coward” mockingly shaking his head walking by five police cars across the street to his old life.
The dealer didn’t quit that day,but he never forgot the sound of his name said by someone he saved. A few years and many more mistakes down the road he did clean up. He decided to write. And he wrote this for you today.
If you liked that try my book Playing Your Hand Right. Hot off the presses only ten days old. Be the first of your friends to discover the new blog breakout. Link below.