The Subtle Art of Brutality

“I...I brought the ten spot. We started talkin’, and the cops came. Some neighbor musta...musta bitched. I think she had a new stereo and was showin’ it off and...and the cops came.”

“So?”

“So I stashed the ten spot in her garage and we rolled out while the cops were breakin’ up the party.”

“How cut was the drug?”

“It was barely cut at all. Fuck me I lost so much damn money—the fuckin’ pigs never roll up when you call them for help but when you’re makin’ a score it’s like them pieces of shit just smell it—”

“What turf war are you bitching about?”

“Shit comes and goes here. Man, if you knew the streets you wouldn’t be askin’ this shit. Elvis the Spic was untouchable five years ago sellin’ shit right in front of police HQ and the next thing you know he’s found sawed in half by the Jamaicans. Not the ones north of the river but the ones south. Those two cartels off-ed each other until us smaller guys started gettin’ footholds. Pushed ’em out.”

“And the other small guys?”

“Picked off. Jimmy Cagaloni whacked Mickey the Beef and then some coon with a mohawk whacked Jimmy. That coon went down for rape and his network melted, killin’ each other. I just kept pickin’ up scraps and then those two twats ruined my shit! Delilah and Candy’s stupid ass totally fucked me!”

“How?”

“Candy was driving the night I stashed the ten spot and she always always always speeds. Always. It’s like the bitch can only floor the pedal. She got pulled over and I was never more glad I stashed the dope. ’Cuz she had a warrant so they ran me and I had one too. We both were taken in.”

“What about the dudes you were doing business with? Who were they?”

“A guy named Pete and some other dude named Pinky Meyers.”

“They go back and get the dope?”

“No. There was a shit storm over that. I swear! They never knew I stashed it and when I sent Candy back for it—she got out before I did—Delilah said she found it and fuckin’ freaked. The bitch said she dumped it off on some ex-boyfriend who middle-manned it. Told Candy to kick rocks and never come back ’round again or she’d call the cops.”

“And?”

“And that crack whore stripper didn’t want no part of drug dealin’. Just wanted to get high. Twat found another dealer. I hear she’s dead. Fuck her. Probably bad shit.”

“Candy is dead?”

“What I hear. Now get off—”

“You have her killed?”

“I mighta called a favor in from a prison buddy, I dunno.”

Bounce.

“Try and know for me, please.”

A shower of blood from his mouth, tears from his eyes: “The big guy out there! The big guy you elbowed in the fuckin’ face! He whacked the bitch! I never asked where he stashed her! I swear!”

“So, after Candy flopped on your request you sent Benny over there to double check?”

“He was goin’ muscle her a bit if he needed to, yeah. You know how much she robbed me for? You got any fuckin’ idea?”

“I doubt very much you produce high quality drugs. Who else is looking for her?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care! My boys are sellin’. I’ll look that bitch up in due time and roll her ass and you motherfucker, you, I got people and you—”

“You’re crashing in a shithole apartment complex in the Burrows. Operation my ass.” I take a long drag, feel the burn running down my throat. We’re about done here.

Honest, detached intrigue: “Are you really the manager?”