Sociable Sunflower #5
He certainly didn’t look like a genius, he looked more like Charlie Chaplin on cocaine. Short. Black hair. Thick mustache. Used out.
But I wasn’t bothered by how Simon looked. All that mattered was that he had blow, and I was desperate. Ever since the last dirty bomb went off downtown, access to cocaine, hell access to anything contraband, had been stripped down.
You’d think the black market would sustain itself better than the national economy, but it’s wrong. Everyone’s been so high on fear lately that they don’t need drugs. And since Patriot Act IV went into effect, people have been deathly afraid of getting caught. Five years in jail minimum, no matter how much blow you got or who you know.
We stood in the back of the pitch-black alley, just me and Simon. Must’ve been getting close to 1 a.m. I could smell prostitutes, maybe a few homeless drunks, in the cool air.
While Simon struck me as a washed out poor excuse for a dealer, I still had respect for the guy. Reminded me of my high school principal, who actually sold me a hit or two back when I was sophomore. They both had balls and they wouldn’t let higher powers scare them from what they wanted to do.
“You got the cash?” Simon inquired.
I opened my wallet and promptly threw down my money. “150,000 yen,” I said. “It’s all there. Go ahead and count it.”
He counted slowly, then nodded. “We’re done here,” he said. “And don’t recommend me to your pals. I don’t have much left. Once I’m out, I’m out. The supply’s drained.”
I stuffed the small ivory-colored bag into my pants pocket. I stepped out from the alley, looking left and right to make sure no one had seen me. I couldn’t afford to be caught. Everything’s grim enough, prison would just be too much. It’d likely kill me.
The neon glow of the Masquerade strip club caught my eyes as I walked. It sobered me up and reminded me of my responsibilities. People to protect, democracy to enforce. I walked back the same way I had originally come down.
I stopped just before my patrol car and looked through the windshield. Empty. My partner Jermaine must’ve still been inside the strip club “checking out a lead.” That’s what we called it whenever we were somewhere we shouldn’t be.
He must’ve been in there for an hour. Too long.
I headed to the tinted double doors of the club and stopped in the entrance. The overweight bouncer looked at me and then looked toward the back door. I took his signal and headed to the back, barely noticing the dancers. As I began to push the back door open, Jermaine came through.
He was smiling wily. “Did you get your fill?” I asked. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied. We walked straight out of the club and back toward the lonely car. “Maybe we should get some food,” Jermaine said. “I have a feeling we’ve been off the clock a little too long,” I replied.
A short pause.
“Remember, we have a job to do,” I said starkly. “We’re Seattle’s finest.”
Jermaine stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed and I followed his lead.
We stood on the street, laughing, cursing at the clouded sky. We were kings of nothing important and that’s the way we liked it.
But I wasn’t bothered by how Simon looked. All that mattered was that he had blow, and I was desperate. Ever since the last dirty bomb went off downtown, access to cocaine, hell access to anything contraband, had been stripped down.
You’d think the black market would sustain itself better than the national economy, but it’s wrong. Everyone’s been so high on fear lately that they don’t need drugs. And since Patriot Act IV went into effect, people have been deathly afraid of getting caught. Five years in jail minimum, no matter how much blow you got or who you know.
We stood in the back of the pitch-black alley, just me and Simon. Must’ve been getting close to 1 a.m. I could smell prostitutes, maybe a few homeless drunks, in the cool air.
While Simon struck me as a washed out poor excuse for a dealer, I still had respect for the guy. Reminded me of my high school principal, who actually sold me a hit or two back when I was sophomore. They both had balls and they wouldn’t let higher powers scare them from what they wanted to do.
“You got the cash?” Simon inquired.
I opened my wallet and promptly threw down my money. “150,000 yen,” I said. “It’s all there. Go ahead and count it.”
He counted slowly, then nodded. “We’re done here,” he said. “And don’t recommend me to your pals. I don’t have much left. Once I’m out, I’m out. The supply’s drained.”
I stuffed the small ivory-colored bag into my pants pocket. I stepped out from the alley, looking left and right to make sure no one had seen me. I couldn’t afford to be caught. Everything’s grim enough, prison would just be too much. It’d likely kill me.
The neon glow of the Masquerade strip club caught my eyes as I walked. It sobered me up and reminded me of my responsibilities. People to protect, democracy to enforce. I walked back the same way I had originally come down.
I stopped just before my patrol car and looked through the windshield. Empty. My partner Jermaine must’ve still been inside the strip club “checking out a lead.” That’s what we called it whenever we were somewhere we shouldn’t be.
He must’ve been in there for an hour. Too long.
I headed to the tinted double doors of the club and stopped in the entrance. The overweight bouncer looked at me and then looked toward the back door. I took his signal and headed to the back, barely noticing the dancers. As I began to push the back door open, Jermaine came through.
He was smiling wily. “Did you get your fill?” I asked. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied. We walked straight out of the club and back toward the lonely car. “Maybe we should get some food,” Jermaine said. “I have a feeling we’ve been off the clock a little too long,” I replied.
A short pause.
“Remember, we have a job to do,” I said starkly. “We’re Seattle’s finest.”
Jermaine stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed and I followed his lead.
We stood on the street, laughing, cursing at the clouded sky. We were kings of nothing important and that’s the way we liked it.
posted by Sean Ludwig at 11:01 PM
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