The Deal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about a painkiller-addicted kid trying to score some more pills for the night. The deal goes wrong, and the kid gets his revenge.

Submitted: August 23, 2010

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Submitted: August 23, 2010

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THE DEAL
 
The night air streams coolly outside the window of the car as I drive. I feel the current pushing refreshingly against the skin of my arm. The roads are cold and empty, just like the night.
I feel the vibration of my cell phone through the fabric of my pants. I turn down the radio to take a call. It's a number I don't know.
 
"Hello?”
 
It's her. We both put aside our mutual hatred for a few minutes, there was business at hand. Nothing turns enemies into friends quicker than a good deal. Her voice sounds sweet, but I'm no fool.
 
"Baby, I got your message. My phone is dead. I'm calling from a friend's phone. How many did you want?"
 
"Can I get five?"
 
"How soon can you get here?"
 
"Wait, can I get eight? I forgot, my friend wants some as well"
 
"Ok, but can you throw one in for me? Pretty please?"
 
I hesitate. I recall having enough cash for an extra. Why not? She sing-songs in answer:
 
"Thank you, baby. I'll give my guy a call."
 
I make way to my friend's house to pick up his share of the cash. He tells me we'll have to make a quick stop at the bank. I pick him up, drive to the ATM, and chill in the parked car while he makes his withdrawal. I watch him anxiously as he stands in front of the machine. Again, I feel the phone whirring through my pants. It's her.
 
"Listen baby, I need you to come over here as soon as you can. The dealer is with me right now, and he's only going to be here for another 15 minutes…"
 
I tense up. I'm going to have to rush to make it there. I'll have to drive fast…
 
"Can you make it?"
 
"Yes. You know me; I don't fuck around."
 
"Don't keep us waiting."
 
"Ok. Wait, can I call you at this number?"
 
*click*
 
My friend gets back in the car, and we haul ass to his house. He makes some small talk along the way, but I don't really listen to what he says. My mind's eye is set on one goal for the night. Once we get to his house, he invites me inside.
 
"Say friend, you don't look so good. Why don't you come in and hang with us for a while, smoke some pot, relax? We're watching the football game on T.V., you can chill with us for a little while."
 
I explain to him my urgency. By now, I'm starting to get sick. My face and palms are slippery with sweat. I promise to him that I'll be fully liable for his investment if I happen to get ripped off, which won't happen anyway. I know this girl. I trust her.
He heads back into his house, into the loving arms of his younger girlfriend. She's a good-looking blonde in her early twenties. They're not like me. They're not sick, and won't get sick if they doesn't use tonight. Lucky them, and unlucky me.
I speed my way toward this girl's house. I'm now two full minutes late when I feel the phone through my jeans. It's her.
 
"Where the hell are you? I'm gonna call the deal off!"
 
"I'm at the light under the bridge. I'm literally a couple of minutes away"
 
"Ok, well meet me in the parking lot of the MacDonald's"
 
I peel into the parking lot. I park right in front of the entrance, shut my engine and lights off, and step outside. I see her walk towards me. We say hello, hug, and I kiss her on the cheek. It's a fake kiss that I want to feel as genuine as possible, and I'm sure she feels the same way.
 
"You can't come with us this time. You can wait here, or I can give you the keys to my house and you can wait for me in my room. You know, you can fuck up my shit if I try to pull something."
 
Her tone is joking. Without second thought, I take the keys. I don’t want to wait in this shady parking lot. Brazenly, I take the money out of my wallet, count it, and hand it over to her. A couple stares at us while they drive past into the drive-thru. I figure, the more obvious I make it, the less suspicious it is.
She takes off, and I decide to drive over to her house to wait. I open her front door and hold my breath while I carefully creep my way past the black widow spiders which nest in her garage. Her crazy landlord father-figure is passed out asleep on the couch in the living room, so I sneak my way past him into her room. I turn on the light and lock the door.
I curiously rummage through her personal stuff. I open her cabinet and find some long-tip syringes. I check them and see that they're all new. I figure I could probably trade some of my short-tips for her more comfortable and larger-gauge long-tips. I put that thought aside as I see what looks like a diary bookmarked with some letters.
I skim through the letters. She's corresponding to a friend of hers that got locked up in some kind of mental institution or jail. She's upset because her friend didn't put her on the visitors list. I read the letters in reverse chronological order, from newest to oldest.
The first letter I read says something about her friend breaking up with some evil jerk boyfriend. The last letter I read says something about how she should still be happy despite the hard spot she has come to in life; at least she still has some things to live for, like a newborn son and a man who shows his undying love.
I put down the letters and turn to her computer to check the news on the internet. I feel my phone through the pocket of my jeans. It's her.
 
"Hey man, these fucks, these fuckers took the money and ran off! I'm chasing them now, I would have gotten them but I got a bad knee… Oh that's them right there!"
 
*click*
 
It's not her.
 
After a moment of confusion, the harsh reality sinks in. I've been ripped off, and for a good amount of money too. The anger sets in but I maintain my calm, as I always do in these situations. There's no point in losing it, in screaming or breaking things. I glance at her computer. I don't hesitate.
I unplug the computer and place it on the floor. I open up her window and peak my head out into the night. There's nobody outside on the street, and all the neighbors seem to be asleep. I grab her computer and I place it through the window onto the grass outside. I hurriedly sneak back through the house, past the crazy sleeping landlord, past the spiders.
As I carry the computer to the backseat of the car, I hear a car approaching on the main street. I try my best to hide the computer as fast as possible, but my fingers fumble. I get it in quickly, but they must have seen me. I get in the car as fast as possible and start it.
Oh shit. They're gonna pull in behind me. I'm gonna be trapped right in front of this goddamned garage with nowhere to go. She's gonna go inside and see that her computer is missing, and they'll chase me down. I don't think I'll be able to get away.
I look through the rear view mirror and see the path behind me is clear. I look around and see that there are no cars in sight. The adrenaline must be messing with my head.
I see another car approaching in the distance. That could be them. I peel out and charge down the street, keeping my eyes on the car as I pass it going the opposite way. They take a turn down another street, it's not them.
 
I call my friend from before, the football guy, and tell him the unfortunate news. I tell him that I jacked this bitch's computer. I tell him that I will repay him tonight if he so wishes. He says it's alright, as long as he gets his share of the stuff within a couple of days. I usually don't like hanging onto other people's money, but I'm sure I'll come across something soon.
I get home. I unload the computer into the safety of my apartment. I check my 9mm carbine, load it, and prop it up on my bed. I toss my ten-pack of syringes on my table. I start cold-calling people, anyone who might have any idea of where to get something. The syringes start to look more and more useless with each call, sitting by themselves on my table.
I give up. I lay in bed shivering, feeling horribly sick. My nightmares are haunted with visions of her and of my rifle.
 
THE NEXT MORNING
 
I wake up and my bones ache. Every movement feels like I'm stretching my muscles beyond their tearing point. I've missed first period for classes, but I make in to the university in time to sign in late for second period. I sign the tardy sheet, pick a chair and sit down. After about thirty minutes of mind-numbing lectures, I feel my phone through the fabric of my jeans. I step outside to answer. It's a friend of mine.
He asks when I finish school, he asks when I'm coming back home. He asks how I've been doing. I explain to him my current state of dope sickness. He scolds me in the way that only a caring friend can.
 
"I told you, you would lose control. Didn't I tell you? This shit is not good for you. You're taking the same exact steps I've seen all of my junkie friends take"
 
I explain that I'm sorry. I promise I'll try to get off. I admit that I have lost control.
 
"Why are you doing this? You know you don't need this shit"
 
I tell him that I haven't shot up for a day. Technically that's a break, right? He's not impressed. I give in. I tell him about my suicidal thoughts, which have only gotten worse since I decided to leave home for this wasteland town. Drugs practically saved my life, the depression would be worse without them. I'm self-medicating. I know he won't understand. He doesn't. We agree to continue the talk later.
Another couple of hours pass. As I am leaving the university to go home, I receive one final call. It's her. Her voice is no longer happy, instead now the self-pity shines through with crystal clarity. It's pathetic.
 
"Hey, I know you took my computer, and you have all the reason to, but before you do whatever it was you wanted to do with it - please hold it until I get your money back"
 
Now it's my turn to burn her.
 
*click*
 
I'll take the initiative this time. I'll make the call. I call my friend from back home. I ask him if he's gotten his computer fixed.
 
"No, it's still at the shop. They tell me it's no good. I'm fucked. I haven't been able to do any of my schoolwork"
 
I ask him if his P.O. Box address is still the same. He's getting a new computer.


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