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Summer Drugs (Green Tea and Pineapples)

Summer Drugs (Green Tea and Pineapples)

A Chapter by Cahjli Symes
"

Mr.Goldwasser begins working with Milano and Tarkovsky.

"


    7:00AM the next morning, I immediately woke up and filled a dozen water bottles full of green tea, took my notes and headed up north to the lab. When I got there, I locked all the doors and began opening all ports of ventilation within the premises. After that, I went to work on my product. To help with getting into my work, I would play songs from Vivian’s all-time favorite albums. For the first one-hundred pound batch I made, I was listening to the first three albums from The Smiths and the album "Selfish Machines" by Pierce The Veil; however, her all-time favorite band is The Deftones. Honestly, I always hated these pretty boy propaganda drones; but somehow, some way-she f*****g got me into them. I’m honestly more into s**t like The XX, Motorama, Plastique Noir, Com Truise, Tears for Fears, Human Tetris, Phil Collins and maybe Joy Division; but I can’t really get into this scream s**t that happens to be the new wave these days. I wonder what the next popular gimmick is; Drug addicts mumbling? But anyway, we actually connected when The Cure toured the US going into our sophomore year. The summer of the year 2000 is the year we fell in love and bonded to their 1989 album “Disintegration”.

    The main significance of that album started from when I began sleeping over her house. We would stay up all night writing poems to each other, talk about how s****y school was, what we wanted to do in life, and theorizing what type of people our real parents were. She always wanted to be a therapist because she admitted to me that she gave out better advice than she took. She hated seeing people miserable, it’s like if someone is sad she immediately took on the sadness and guilt of that person; even if she wasn’t involved. Moving on, I rather not document my formula and the process; in case this journal gets into the wrong hands.

    At around 8:49PM, I finally finished five-hundred pounds of the product, loaded them in capsules and placed them inside business suitcases. I drove back down to my house and arrived there at around 10:52PM. I walked to my bathroom to take a piss, took a shower, then changed into a short-sleeved sand color dress shirt and purple jeans. I walked over to the desk in my room to review my customers and where to meet. I then heard the dreaded sound of my Godzilla theme ringtone going off. It’s my goddamn adopted parents. I aggressively proceeded to take the battery and sim card out of my phone, and ditched it in the drawer of my desk. I then continued to my notes. Five minutes later, I heard four pounds on the door and the obnoxious voice of my adopted mother.

    “Jorge! ARE YOU IN THERE? Come on we need to talk to you!" Shouted Mrs.Goldwasser. “Come on son, we’re worried sick about you. We know you’re home, your car’s right outside." Pled Mr.Goldwasser.

    “Son of a b***h.” I violently slammed my notes on my desk, breaking the top of my clip board and walked to the doorstep in extreme displeasure. I then creaked the door open three inches.

    “Can I help you?”

    “Jorge we’ve been worried sick about you! We haven’t heard from you since Bavaria.” said the worried Mr.Goldwasser

    “And you’re phone is off!” said Mrs.Goldwasser distraughtly.

    “Dad that was only a few weeks ago and I changed my number. How did you even get my new number anyway?!”

    “Ethan’s brother gave it to us!”

    “I didn’t give permission.”

Mrs.Goldwasser proceeded to ask “Jorge may we please co-“ “No.” I quickly cut her off.

Mr.Goldwasser stated “But-“

My patience was officially long out the window with these two. “Hell no.”

Mrs.Goldwasser snapped “What the hell did we do to you?! We did nothing but the best-“ I coldly cut her off “If you call blackmailing undocumented Haitian immigrants into babysitting me and your rotten son to get drunk and high on codeine at your “Penthouse Meetings” and passing me off as a Cuban immigrant your best; I recommend you insert another coin.”

Mr.Goldwasser responded “Look Jorge that was the past okay. We had to do a lot of things in order to insure you and your brother of a better future.”

“What better future? I have a master's degree and I’m f*****g miserable!” “But you’re not on the f*****g street or in jail right?!” yelled Mrs.Goldwasser.

“Obviously not, have you recently asked your son the same question?”

“Jorge! Look we’re trying to connect with you. We understand you’re grieving over Vivian

and we just want to spend time with you. Please, at least give us five minutes to catch up.” “Ugh…” I closed the door on them to grab my stopwatch. I went back to the door and started my timer in front of the two.

“You got five minutes. Come in.” I opened the door to let them in. They gazed around my house as if their detectives with a f*****g warrant. They then walked over to my kitchen. “The dining room is to the right." I told them, aggravated.

“Oh right!" They simultaneously responded to me embarrassed. I sat on a stool ten feet away, while they sat next to each other on the chairs of the dining table.

“Wow…everything in here is…clean!” Mrs.Goldwasser awkwardly stated.

“Very orderly!” said Mr.Goldwasser trying to not make this encounter more painfully awkward.

“Are you expecting me to live in a pigsty?”

“Well no Jorge, you just have a way with colors.” he told me.

“I beg you're pardon?!”

Mrs.Goldwasser hesitantly responded "Like Jorge there’s clean and orderly and then there’s… there’s you!”

I immediately told her “You got two minutes.”

“Jorge all of the color schemes in your house are synchronized from dark to light in every room. Have you developed OCD since Vivian’s passing?” inquired Mr.Goldwasser.

“No I don’t have OCD! What kind of ridiculous bullshit are you telling me?!”

Mrs.Goldwasser then interrogated “Jorge are you a hermit?”

I've finally had enough of their bullshit. “DO I LOOK LIKE A HERMIT TO YOU?! I HAVE

A JOB AND A CAR IN MY DRIVEWAY!”

Mrs.Goldwasser then lost her patience as well “JORGE WE’RE JUST ASKING ABOUT

YOUR WELFARE BECAUSE WE CARE!”

“SINCE WHEN DID YOU TWO EVEN CARE? WHEN I GOT MY F*****G MASTERS!”

“JORGE IF WE DIDN’T CARE WE WOULDN’T HAVE TAKEN YOU IN GOD

D****T!” Shouted Mr.Goldwasser

“YOU GOT A CHECK EVERY F*****G MONTH AND I WAS NOTHING MORE THAN

A TROPHY CHILD TO IMPRESS YOU’RE NARCISSISTIC FRIENDS! WHO THE F**K

NAMES A RUSSIAN-ISRAELI CHILD JORGE?!”

“Jorge have you even talked to anyone about Vivian? We don’t even know til' this day about what happened that night. It's okay to tell us she had a relapse. I mean she WAS a junkie trying to recover, it's not your fault. It was obvious she didn't have her s**t together; but Jorge this color order synch s**t just isn’t normal human behavior!” said Mrs.Goldwasser getting in my face.

“ The f**k did you just- EXCUSE ME?! HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY HOUSE AND

JUDGE ME YOU NEGLECTFUL ZEALOT?!”

“Jorge you need to see a shrink!” stated Mr.Goldwasser immediately.

“YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Mr.Goldwasser shouted “JORGE WE’RE ONLY SAYING THIS BECAUSE WE CARE-“ “GET OUT BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!” The Goldwasser's proceeded to walk out of my house. Mrs.Goldwasser then stated “Jorge, we just want you to know we love-“

Before she finished her sentence, I violently slammed the door on them. How dare they play with me like that?! That was the only time they ever told me they love me. Distractions. That’s all the world is, just one big f*****g distraction! I can’t let them draw me out to anger. I WILL NOT let them draw me out to anger. Focus. Focus.

I suddenly got a call from Kiki requesting if I can make it to her uncle’s residence at 1:00AM. I told her to tell her uncle I’ll make it. That at least gave me time to study my objectives and to cool off from that ignorantly grotesque episode with my adopted parents. I drove down to Plantation acres to Lee’s estate at around 12:50PM, and met a big a*s eight foot gold gate and two armed security guards. I showed them my I.D. and they notify Lee via walkie talkie. Once confirmed, I was directed to park into Lee’s driveway. I got up to his door step and immediately met with Lee’s maid. She guided me through Lee’s house which is extremely clean with lavender walls and neon green carpet. The house has the smell of incense and mango scented candles. But the further I got into the house, it started to reek of hash and backwoods. I finally got to Lee’s living room, which was darken with only lime green lights and a sound system blasting the song “The Sprawl 2” by Arcade Fire. I met him taking a frog shaped bong from his nephew; while Kiki was simultaneously smoking a blunt, handling music from a laptop. She's wearing yellow lens tactical glasses, and is dancing horribly to the rhythm of the music. Yet again, I can't say it's horrible since I hate dancing in general and I dance like a nerve damaged blowup mattress.

“JORGE! MY N***A!”

“Hello Lee…uh who’s your friend if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh s**t! Jorge meet my nephew Kenta.”

“We’re twinzies!” Shouted Kiki, pointing at herself and Kenta.

“Hello Kenta.”

“Hey Jorge! You burn?" Asked Kenta.

“Nah he’s straight edge. F****r doesn’t even drink.” Lee then proceeded to rip the bong for four seconds and started exhaling smoke shaped “O’s” from his nose.

“Oi Kiki!” Shouted Lee.

“Hiy?” Shouted Kiki.

“Play some chill a*s s**t, this room is f*****g spinning.”

“Hmmmmm, Kikuchi Momoko?”

“You’re goddamn f*****g right, Kikuchi Momoko!” He then took another hit from his bong.

"Hey man understandable." Laughed Kenta.

Kiki then played the song “Deja Vu” by Kikuchi Momoko.

As the song started playing, Lee passed his bong to Kiki while Kiki passed her blunt to Kenta.

Lee proceeded to rub his face while staring off into the ceiling, to the rhythm of the music. “God damn

I love Jamaicans.” He then looked at me stoned as s**t, cracking a smile. “Jorge, did you know clans in Japan and Korea would kill for this type of dank?”

“What do you mean? The weed sucks in Japan?”

“Well no it doesn’t suck. It’s just. This s**t isn’t even from here, well my dealer lives near actually. Jamaican Italian archaeologist who venture into the villages of their expeditions to get all sorts of strains. Then they'll have Ethan’s family export it back to the states to distribute around the east coast. Ethan’s family owns a few international shipping companies to get everything done. I'm sorry, a few is a lack of superior a word choice. Ethan's family are international shipping tycoons. But you see, their s**t is the real potent dank s**t cause they venture into tropical areas mostly, where the soil is all fertile and s**t. But goddamn this s**t is fire as f**k.”

“Okay so you called me in here to talk about pot or what? Cause I’m not into smoking weed.” “Oh yes! Gah. You know this s**t’s good when you go completely off topic. Okay! So reason I brought your happy a*s in here tonight is because well. At the request of both me and Ethan’s family, we want you to see a therapist-“

“F**k no. I’m not seeing a shrink.”

“Kid we’re not asking you. Look okay, this isn’t your average shrink-”

“I thought mafia is against this shrink s**t?”

“Okay Jorge-shut the f**k up and let me finish. My god you’re so f*****g uptight and s**t.” “Ugh. I’m listening.”

“Okay, you cool?”

“Cool as in?”

“You’re done being a stubborn brat.” “Sure.” I told him sarcastically.

“Whatever. Anyway knowing that we are professionals and you’re currently working within the underworld, we need to make sure you are in top psychological condition.”

“Like what crazy? I’m not f*****g crazy.”

“No Jorge not as in crazy. As in we don’t want you to go to bed with demons every night. This is mainly for you not to eventually get PTSD or develop paranoia to the point where it compromises your mental state when dealing with business. You must be a soldier in this s**t. We need to make sure if the time comes where you do kill another man with your bare hands it won’t haunt you or cloud your future judgment.”

“And will this require me taking opiates?”

“No drugs. Just therapy. Just release and vent whatever is deep inside, and let it go. Just someone to talk to. Nothing will be on file, nor documented. Everything is confidential. But she will take note of your mental state and progress. Not any details.”

“An underworld shrink?”

“Well she has a degree in psychology and currently works at a nut house to make ends meet. We used to date for a bit. I really did fall for her too cause she’s very understanding. She even helped my brother to finally come to grips with his PTSD and cope with it to the point where it’s virtually none existent. It’s just; I eventually had to come out to her about my lifestyle and she broke it off with me because she doesn’t want her or her child to be affected by you know- my lifestyle…which is understandable.”

“So she’s not an underworld shrink?”

“No. She’s a- well, I don’t know how to say it but kind of like a shaman/therapist. It’s hard to explain. She got me into outer body experiences and all that s**t. She’s for anyone who wants therapy without the bullshit pharmaceutical s**t. No offense.”

“None taken. It’s the reason this country's at war anyway. How often do I have to do this bullshit?”

“Only once a week, as long as you’re not venturing into self-mutilation or suicide.”

“And this woman can be trusted?”

“If we couldn’t trust her we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. You a morning person?”

“I do my work during the day, I distribute at night. I’ll fit it into my schedule.” “Good. That’s what the f**k I wanna’ hear!” Suddenly my phone rang.

“It’s Elizabeth.”

“OI KIKI!”

“Hiy?!”

“TURN THAT S**T DOWN-BUSINESS CALL!”

“HIY!”

Kiki shut the music off completely. Kenta then passed the blunt to Lee. Lee took the blunt from Kenta and took three quick hits. "Answer it." Lee said to me while he’s simultaneously exhaling smoke from both his nose and mouth.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Said Elizabeth in a demanding tone.

“On the shitter. Am I needed?”

“I need to go over a few things with you. So yes, get out of the s**t bowl, wipe your a*s and meet me over by Specter Park within twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” I hung up the phone on her, turned my phone off and remove my battery from my cell phone.

“What the c**t say?”

“She wants to see me. She didn’t specify but I think it’s about the Russians.”

“Well I’ll leave you to it. Just get back to me when you’re done with your sales.”

I immediately left Lee’s house to get to Milano in five minutes. I parked into the parking lot and waited ten minutes until she arrived in a pale white mustang. I stepped out the car simultaneously as she did. We both walked up to each other and started staring each other down for three seconds.

“Must you be so early?”

“I don’t bullshit when it comes to time.”

“Well time is merely a social concept Jorge. You don’t have to be so f*****g punctual to the point where you're thirty to fifty-five minutes early.”

“Well it’s a concept I respect and I’ll continue to stand by it.”

“One day kid, I swear to f*****g god you’re gonna’ pull this stubborn s**t on a Billy badass who REALLY doesn’t give a f**k about social concepts nor your pretentious hipster life. So keep f****n’ with me Jorge.”

“Well when that day comes, I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes. Hell; I can maybe try to take a selfie of it, and post it on Facebook for you and the world to see."

“F**k off!”

“Quit wasting my time woman, I could be in the lab.”

“Ooouuu- the way you talk to me makes me want to punch you in your pretentious Russian-

Jew nose, you know that?”

“Do so and you won’t have my Russian-Jew nose helping you out with the Russians.” “How did you know-“

“I’m a f*****g psychic. Quit your f*****g bigotry and get to the point of this meeting.” “Errrr! Okay. I need you to meet up with Tarkovsky at his night club down in Wynwood. It’s across the street from mine.”

“Club Gomora? I thought it’s owned by some media mogul?”

“Who Ilai Cain? No-no-no, Ilai is just the face of the club. It’s owned with Tarkosky’s money and sponsored by Ilai. Anyway, don’t worry about that f****t right now just stick to your objective. Which is Tarkovsky. I arranged for you to meet with him within the next hour, in which you are to give him a sample of your product.”

“And how much of a sample are we talking here?”

“Whatever your pencil pushing a*s got within the next hour. Since you love the social concept of time. By the way if you’re late, the Russian’s will f**k you up. You can clearly see I had your best interest in mind.” She said to me, ending with a gross smile.

“How kind of you." I said to her with sarcasm. What else is there?”

“Report back to me on the Intel you’ve received. And tell him he has a week to get back to you or the deal is off. Anyway you got fifty-five minutes to get the f**k out of my face and get to your objective; or, these Ruski’s will slaughter your f****n’ family. Tu-Ta-Lu Ruski-Jew!” Elizabeth then spat on the floor and walked into her vehicle, speeding off.

“F*****g c**t.” I said before she entered her vehicle. I simultaneously got into my car and sped down to Wynwood within fifteen minutes of me meeting with Elizabeth. Arriving at around 1:57AM. I walked towards the club at around 2 AM and the usual happened, searched by armed security. I brought a folder containing contracts based on my distribution policy with me. I informed them stating “I’m here to see “Mr.Tarkovsky” and was guided through the club towards his office. The club had indigo, white and pink strobe lights with a bar on each corner of the club; while the Sound systems blast the original Russian version of the song “18” by Code Red. Within the middle of the club was a pit containing a dance floor with a bunch of teenagers and young adult’s dancing erotically, swapping MDMA pills via kissing. Girl on girl, guy on guy, guy on girl dry f*****g; some covered in fluorescent body paint. I’m surprised no one whipped their c**k out to start f*****g on the dance floor. Based on how they’re dancing and gyrating, they might as well be having an orgy. I was rather disgusted by the near Babylonian activity going on in here, but I had to keep my morals to myself and pretend everything going on here is normal. Above my head are two booths per-corner, which is only for VIP guest. In front of the pit is a stage for the DJ and a ten-foot screen flashing red and yellow graphics with monarch butterflies transitioning in and out every half second.

As I’m about to walk upstairs, I’m met by a thirty-five year old, sugar free gum-popping, obnoxious, six-foot blonde, Caucasian male; wearing a purple jacket with a black dress shirt and purple pants. He's in top physical condition, with great posture and an upbeat attitude similar to Ethan's. However Ethan showed more confidence and was humble. This guy is just the type Han Solo despises, cocky. His attire is well-tailored with very expensive quality fabric and has a clear disregard for reptile life; since he wore snake-skin shoes.

“Hi there, are you our guest?”

“Are you Tarkovsky?”

“Nope.” He then sticked his hand out. “Alfred, Alfred Rosenbaum. Care to be of your acquaintance.”

I then shook his hand. “I’m here to meet with Mr.Tarkovsky.”

“Oh I’m well aware.” He then turned to the security that brought me inside. “Alright, scram. Grown folks business.” He said to his security in Russian. The guards then walk back to their post and left me with Alfred.

“Alrighty follow me.” I followed him upstairs. “So I see you’re new to our operations. Well no need to worry kiddo, you’re in astonishing hands with nothing but professionals. We heard a lot about your product and my f*****g god you got some good s**t. By the way, I’m Tarkovsky's distributor in chief and also manage the club every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday night.” “Great to know.” I said to him, slightly uninterested.

“So let me give you a little ground rules before entering okay. Mr.Tarkovsky is not a man to be met with eye to eye in the flesh unless it’s some serious s**t or you’re somebody important, Okay? One time at his 62nd birthday party, I brought over some bad Yugoslavian b*****s and you know what happened to me and the crew involved in that celebration?” “What?”

“He cut our f*****g pinky tips off with a cigar cutter. You take this from me, you’re someone very motherfucking important! Now when you get in there look’em in the eye, have your f****n’ manners for the love of god please! Man- I’m seriously getting tired of cleanin’ the f*****g blood off the staircase railings. Like he f*****g drenches the s**t. So remember, manners and look him in the eyes. Oh and he already knows more about you than you know yourself. Ehhh like a Rasputin.”

“Oh give me a f*****g break!”

“I’m serious man. This guy's way of getting things. It’s uncanny.”We then arrived in front of his office door. Alfred knocked on his door twice.

“Mr.Tarkovsky?”

“Yeah?” stated Tarkovsky in his office.

“Your two-fifteen is here.” Alfred stated in Russian.

“Oh and relax. He’s a chill guy. He’ll probably help you bump a line or four.” he stated back to me in English.

“Come in.” said Tarkovsky. We proceeded into his office. His office has a red and yellow hue with a white desk and blood-red carpet. On his desk is his name “Ivan Bullski Yefimovich Tarkovsky” with a black and white chess board. He’s wearing a jet black turtle neck with a blood-red jacket and black cargo pants. He looked to be in his late 60's and is bald with a shaved face. However his posture is even better than Alfred's and he looked more fit than Alfred.

Mr.Tarkovsky is standing in front his desk. Ivan is only shorter than Alfred by two inches. “Jorge Goldwasser?” “Yes sir.” I responded.

“My god you’re probably the only person I’ve met to show up to a meeting damn near fifteen minutes early.”

“I take my job seriously sir.” I told him in Russian. Ivan’s face lit up in shoc,k while Alfred was complexly flabbergasted.

“YOU-YOU SPEAK RUSSIAN?!” Asked Alfred in shock. The rest of this meeting is in Russian.

“Well yeah, my father is from Astrakhan.”

“But your name is Jorge?! I thought you were Mexican!”

“A Mexican with the last name Goldwasser-come on Alfred don’t be a f*****g dunce! His father’s a kraut!”

“I was adopted by German’s, but yes my father is Russian.”

“Splendid! Alfred there’s two drunk a******s fighting in the parking lot again. I need you to get security over to it and break it up. I don’t need heat from the media about me letting in junkie high schoolers into my club. After that I want you to find those punks selling MDMA without my permission on my premises, round them the f**k up and bring them to me. Scare them a bit in the process. Can you do that?” inquired Tarkovsky with a smile.

“Right away sir! Alfred immediately left the room.”

“Please Jorge, have a seat. Do you care to have a quick game of chess?”

“I’d love to but with all due respect, the demand for my product is at an all-time high and I’m on a very tight schedule.”

He then took a seat behind his desk. “Let’s get down to business then, shall we? I’m not one to waste time, I like to get straight to the point. Milano is your boss right?”

“I’m my boss. Milano is just one of my business associates helping me with sales. I’ve sold all over from the Yakuza, the cartels, the Italians, you name them- I've supplied them.”

“Well the reason you’re here is because she called me and told me I can start getting shipments from you. I’ve heard about the product’s psychoactive properties and I must say, I’m highly interested. Speaking of psychoactive properties, what’s the recommended dosage?”

“As with everything it depends on your body weight. Someone tall and lean like you would be 150 milligrams, under 160lbs would be 50 milligrams. “

“I’m 182lbs.”

“Yeah so 150 would be perfect.”

“Now Mr.Goldwasser, let’s say there’s a few fowls and owls on the street that chirped in my ear about the fact that not many people can handle this s**t; but once you do, you become god like.”

“That’s what they tell you?” I asked him with a poker face, even though inside I’m laughing my a*s off to the bullshit.

“Everyone who has been around survivors of the drug tells me.”

“Which I don’t think is much. Last thing I heard is a Yakuza underboss and a Ukrainian laundry man were the only ones who can handle it.”

Tarkovsky out of nowhere swiped his entire chess board, smashing it against the wall viciously

“I’LL BE DAMNED IF I OVERDOSE BEFORE A F*****G UKRAINIAN! I know who

you’re talking about! Both of them. I’m enemies of that underboss’s clan and associates with the Ukrainian.”

“Interesting.”

“Let me ask you something Mr.Goldwasser, how many appointments do you have after me? I see you're so busy, you even brought a f*****g folder.”

“I have to do a drop off, that’s it. And this folder contains documents I need to discuss with you. Why?”

Tarkovsky went into his desk and pulled out a clipboard with a few sheets of paper on it with names, addresses, and phone numbers.

“I have a list of interested consumers with names, dates, addresses and availability.

“What are you asking of me?”

“You give me a free sample, [Ivan simultaneously slid the clipboard toward me while talking] I give you this list to put some money in your pocket.”

“What’s your cut?”

“No cut at all. Just a free sample for myself, that’s all I ask. No fine print, no gimmicks, no bullshit.”

“Well here’s how this works. I have a policy in which I don’t sell to anyone under the age of twenty-five who makes less than $500,000 a year. In this folder contains a distribution clause for you to sign, agreeing that you will not violate my policy. I give you two capsules. One with a 50 milligram dosage and another with 150 milligrams. You will have a week to get back to me, if you’re interested in doing further business. If me nor “The Mistress” don’t hear back from you by the end of that week, the deal is off and I move on. If there’s a problem with this proposition or anyone on this list that violates my policy, please let me know and I’ll walkout leaving you with your list.”

"May I see your contract?" I pulled out the contract from the folder to give to Ivan. Ivan read the contract for thirty seconds, then looked at me.

"Everyone who buys from me has to sign this. It's absolutely mandatory, that way neither party gets fucked over."

Ivan took out a red pen and signed the contract. Once he finished, he handed the contract back

to me. I immediately checked his signature and placed it back into my folder. He then put his hand out for me to shake it. “As perfect as the cosmos itself.”

I then shook his hand firmly. I gave him a dime bag with the two capsules inside. Suddenly Alfred came in with four armed security guards and four scared teenage drug dealers. Outside the room, I heard the DJ switching the song to a Superginger remix of “Gimme The Loot” by Notorious B.I.G.

“We got’em! One's twenty-one, one is sixteen, another is twenty-two and the other is eighteen.” stated Alfred in aggression.

“Excuse me a minute Mr.Goldwasser.” Ivan then switched to English. “Now-now children, don’t be afraid. EVERYTHING IS OKAY!” His armed security then forced the drug dealers to drop on their knees to the floor.

“Mr.Tarkovsky I kinda’ have to go now-“

“No no stay. I need to show you something.” He proceeded to converse with the drug dealers. “Wow, what tender ages. Sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, and twenty-two. You know how old I am? I’m going to make this quick because I got better things to do than to deal with f*****g jits! Clearly American’s don’t know anything about the concept of manners and respect since you little s***s think it’s cool to sell drugs on another man’s property without his consent. It's like walking into a f*****g McDonalds just to sit down and eat your Subway sub! I believe in this country it’s called narcotic solicitation and trespassing.” The eighteen year-old cried “Please dude we’re sorr-“

“SHUT! YOUR F*****G YAP! It is what it is and you talking back is only going to make Alfred’s trigger finger itch.” Alfred pulled out a suppressor enabled Gsh-18 handgun and violently cocked the chamber. “Now you four have an ultimatum.” said Ivan trying to calm down.

The sixteen year-old sobbed “Oh my god, look please-“

As soon as Ivan cracked his knuckles, Alfred shot the sixteen year old dealer in the back of the head. The remaining dealers got even more scared once he dropped dead on the floor; some even breaking down into tears. I wanted to vomit after what I just saw. This sick son of a b***h shot a sixteen year old in cold blood.

“Get a f*****g grip you cowboys. Talk back like a cowboy, you die like one. This is nothing but an elementary lesson in cause and effect. F**k with me, you get fucked up. LISTEN to me, you get back up and on to your pathetic, worthless lives. Now!” His eyes then focused on me. “Pay attention.” I couldn’t blink. My mind is still registering the fact he got this terrified kid shot. “Its either you three work for me, end up like him [Ivan pointed at dead dealer’s body], or leave here and never step foot on this property again”. They all agreed to leave. “Alfred, you know the drill.”

“Alright kids; drop your wallets, drugs and money out on the floor. But slowly. No swift/sudden movements.” All three of them explained how the drugs and money isn’t really theirs but their suppliers.

“Not my f*****g problem. It’s either you die here, you die there or work for us. Pick your poison.” Shouted the disgruntled Ivan.

“F**K THAT! N***a I ain’t getting no f****n’ necktie! Kill me!” shouted the twenty-two year-old.

“Sure thing kiddo.” Alfred shot the twenty-two year old in the throat twice. He quickly stared into my eyes dementedly. Then back to Ivan. “And then there were two.” Alfred said this with a dementedly deeper tone of voice. Almost as if he was possessed by a demon. The two were so horrified they immediately agreed to working with Ivan.

“Splendid, now your first task is to get rid of these two bodies. Alfred take them to the roof to chop the bodies up.”

“Come on guys, move your asses and quit crying like a f*****g b***h.” Said Alfred to the two dealers. Ivan unfolded two body bags and Alfred loads the two dealers into them. The other two dealers followed Alfred out the room, dragging the bodies behind them. The armed security guards follow them out the room as well.

Ivan turned to me and gave me a sadistic smile. “You’ll hear from me within the week.” He then removed the pages out the clipboard, folded them together eight times and handed it to me. I took the folded pages from him and placed them in my pocket.

“I’ll be awaiting your call.”

I left the sadistic b*****d’s lair and drove straight home. I needed some time to think…but I just don’t want to go to sleep. This is f*****g me up a bit. That dosage I gave him is enough to kill him in in three hours. His body wouldn't be able to handle one.

I got home at around 3:00AM, went to my room and unfolded the paper with multiple targets listed. I left out at around 4:00AM to get started on whoever was awake at that time. Which was about five people. I got home at around 8:00 AM, when I actually felt burnt out. As soon as I collapsed on my bed, my phone rang. I heard the dreaded sound of my Hall and Oats "Maneater" ringtone going off. It’s Elizabeth calling me. At that point I was cranky as s**t and was about to f*****g flip! I grabbed my phone and answered it, grinding my teeth.

I sighed very loud and aggressively to answer, “Hello.”

“Wake up. I need to see you.” Demanded Elizabeth on the line.

I condescendingly responded “I thought vampires slumber through dawn?”

She then immediately snapped on me “JORGE IF YOU DON’T QUIT YOUR F*****G S**T-“

I had enough and snapped back. “SHUT THE F**K UP I’M ON MY WAY!”

I then hung up and punched a hole in my wall. “F**K! WHY THE F**K DID I DO THAT TO MY WALL?!”

In a very pissed off fashion, I got into my car and drove straight to Elizabeth’s house. As I got to this stupid c**t’s driveway; she’s standing outside with her arms folded, wearing a black dress robe and no makeup. She has dark bags under her eyes and very bad crows feet. Like a mercenary who hasn't slept in eight years bad. I was so pissed off I drove straight into her, but I slammed on my breaks; stopping one foot in front of her. She didn’t even flinch.

I got out of my car, violently slammed my door shut, and walked straight to her.

“What?!”

“What the f**k is wrong with you?”

“What the f**k's wrong with me is I had no f*****g sleep and I had to sell to five idiots between now and 4:00 AM. I’m cranky as s**t, I’m f*****g dehydrated and I had to have a meeting with that sick f**k Tarkovsky!”

“Oh I see. Tarkovsky showed you his true colors and you were trying to keep yourself awake. What kinda’ f*****g Russian are you, f*****g get a grip b***h. You don’t think I’m cranky toosearching for people to sell YOUR s**t to?!”

“Tarkovsky is a f*****g DEMON! He murdered a sixteen and twenty-two year old in his office in cold blood.”

“So what?”

“SO WHAT?! WHAT THE F**K YOU MEAN SO WHAT?!”

“Keep your f*****g voice down. I only called you here for Intel okay, I WANT TO KEEP THIS SHORT! I don’t give a f**k about what little s**t Tarkovsky kills okay. Life f*****g goes

on. God if Jesus were to see you like this over two punks, he’d be disappointed.” I quickly gave her Tarkovsky’s list to go over. She's read it for about two minutes.

“Which five did you do?”

“The last five.”

“Alright well you got enough for my people and his?”

“Yes.”

“Alright well hit me up when you’re done with this list. How long you think this is going to take?”

“If I sell to everyone? By Saturday morning.”

“Good to hear. Got a copy of that list?”

I then unfolded an extra copy from my pocket to give to her.

“Thanks, you’re so sweet. Now get the f**k off my property.”

I violently got back into my car and reversed out of her driveway. I drove back to my house to get at least eight hours worth of sleep. I woke up at around 4:00 PM, drank a fuckload of water and went straight to work.

Friday Night:

I finally sold to everyone on Tarkovsky's list, besides these last four. The last of the list is a pretty boy post-hardcore band, who wanted to take this product for “meditative purposes”; my god, what a special kind of stupid. So late Friday night, I met up with these stupid f***s at their studio. We got into a conversation about drugs, chemical compounds, and the reaction it does to the brain. While some of them actually knew what they were talking about, it just turns out their just a bunch of junkies looking to try something new. And well, since this s**t technically isn’t scheduled as a narcotic and the fact that we’re in a capitalistic society; the cause of the judgment in this transaction, supply and demand. So I pretty much asked them if they knew about the effects, and they told me only rumors. So the band ended up buying ten grams, per person! This literally gave me a f*****g headache.

Out of curiosity, I wanted to check out their music, so I asked what label they’re on. They told me “Babel Tower Records” is the name of their label and they gave me a copy of their latest EP. I later drove home and did some research on my own about the band’s record label. Fun fact kids:

Tarkovsky owns that label and the band’s sales have dropped dramatically since their last album.

That's when I thought about that conversation I had early with Lee, and that term he told. “Connect the dots.” That term just kept ringing in my head nonstop, the more I did my research on the record label. After putting two and two together, I suddenly got a call from Elizabeth and lost my train of thought. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Local. I finished all my chores.”

“Wow you work quick. When can I see you?”

“I can stop by now.”

“I’ll see you at around 11:45.”

At around 11:35PM, I drove up to Elizabeth's estate. It’s not as big as Jesus’s but it’s average sized, with a guest house. And yes, it was all in black. Surprisingly she had no security, which I found very unusual compared to the amount of bodies she has on her head and the soul fact she’s a f*****g drug baroness. However, her front yard is littered with cameras. I parked my car in her driveway and walked to her doorstep.

I rang her doorbell and waited for approximately seven seconds. Suddenly a fourteen year old girl of middle-eastern decent, with red hair answered the door. I was horrified to see this child answer the door with a black eye and a cast covering her left shin. I’m going to guess this is Malalai.

“You Mr.Goldwasser?”

“Uh call me Jorge.”

“Follow me.” She said to me unenthusiastically, as she lead me inside the house. The interior of the house is blood-red with a gold color roof, while all the furniture is black. She then lead me to her office room door, which is locked and closed. Within the room we hear the sounds of binaural beats.

Malalai knocked on the door. “Mom, you’re 11:45 is here.”

“Why is he ALWAYS F*****G EARLY?! Ugh, give me five minutes.”

She then guided me into the kitchen where I stood by a counter with chairs. Malalai then walked over to the fridge.

“You can have a seat you know.”

“It’s cool, I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” She then searched in the fridge “You want any food or anything? Theirs a lasagna I made last night, chicken Parmesan with shrimp, beer, vodka, whiskey, a stake I just finished cooking, red velvet cake; I got some dank as well from this kid in school upstairs as w-“ “No thank you.”

"Alrighty cool.” She then obnoxiously closed the fridge out of slight disappointment, and turned to me “so what’s your story?”

“I’m a chemist.”

“Got it. Say no more.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? Alright well let’s see, hmmm. Excuse me a little, please allow me to attempt a PG rated explanation of myself. My slave name is Maria and I was adopted by the great wop of death. And I’m not even being f*****g racist here but you seem new to the game; that’s the name on the street the Italians gave her since she fucked a lot of them over. "Mistress Milano" is what she prefers to be known as since her favorite past time is eating dinner with Jesus while watching reruns of the show "Charmed". What's even funnier is, that's a new alias the feds gave her. But anyway back to me, what else you wanna know?”

“Anything to kill time and awkward silences.”

“Have it your way sour puss. Alright I’m fourteen, I turn fifteen August 25th.”

"Oh the irony. We're the same sign.”

“We totally are my good sir. I see you’re the uptight/condescending smartass, while I'm the pretentious loud mouth b***h; well, according to my so-called mother. As much luxury I’m in, I rather be on the goddamn street than live with this [ she pointed toward direction office] diabolical-baby killing b***h.”

“She’s not your biological mother?”

“Nope. Adopted at the age of ten to lose all my rights as a human being to her. Wanna know what happen to my shin?”

“Please, you don’t have to.”

“No it’s cool. I like your vibe for some reason. It’s weird like, you’re the only person besides my friend's Craig and Hugo I’m comfortable talking to.”

I understand her. I know how she feels. I was neglected while she is abused. Both adopted by evil f***s.

“Gah, god damnit. What happen?”

“I tried to run away.” “That’s horrible!“

“It’s okay though! I’m healing. Hopefully my leg gets stronger, eh. But yeah you know- since I moved from France to Miami, everything went downhill. Like my parents were such good people and then you know, s**t happened. And Jorge, you’re a good guy. I can sense it in you.” “How the f**k can you sense anything in me? I’ve only been here for three minutes.” “Because you’re wasting your breath on a brat like me. Also, I heard about how grossed out you were by Ivan killing those dealers. But I need to keep this short and sweet and give you some pointers okay? Everything with her is a Psy-op. Reverse psychology, forced awkward moments. All this as a form of coping with her paranoia and also to know your weakness. Which you’ve kinda’ exposed. And that my friend is seeing innocent bloodshed. It’s okay. It shows you still have some form of humanity left in you, but regardless she’s going to use that s**t against you; to control you. When you see s**t, say nothing. Do not get emotionally compromised. Repeat those f*****g words every time you’re about to snap! Remain cold-blooded and careless.”

“I am not taking innocent lives, I don’t give a f**k!”

“And you won’t. Just don’t get emotionally compromised. Don’t let the s**t get to you man!

Trust me, what you’re doing is for a greater cause.”

“Not this greater good bullshit again.”

“I’m dead f*****g serious! It is. You can’t let the murders get to you or else she will take advantage of you. To avoid all this Psy-op s**t-call her out on her rude behavior and don’t take her s**t! You’re her only contact for your product and the feds are using you and her to take out

Tarkovsky and the rest of his syndicate.”

“What did you just say?!”

“Listen to me. I know more about this bloodsucking serpent more than the feds and Jesus combined. I have enough info to get this b***h and her sponsors in jail for life. Want some pineapples? We got three more minutes. “

“…sure. I said to her in disbelief.”

She walked casually to the kitchen and started slicing the pineapple. I’ve never seen someone cut pineapple down so quickly in my life. She did it in under thirty seconds. She then placed the chunks on a paper plate and handed them to me.

“Uh…thank you.”

“Welcome.” Malalai walked over to me eating a thin strip of pineapple. “Right now she cleaning a facial mask off her face. You heard about the deep web?”

“I'm aware of it.”

Malalai then took a pen out of her pocket and started writing on a napkin. She then gave me a napkin which happened to have an encryption code with numbers written on it.

“Ask Rosenbaum how to get you access. He’s the grand master of internet black marketeering. After that, go to this forum site called “thefalloftroybabylon”. There’s “4’s” in place for “A’s”. It contains files, atrocities, legal documents on her case; videos, pictures-you name it!”

“And how the hell will I find you?”

“I’m the admin. And she’s out in three, two, one.” Milano walked out of the office toward me. "Maria pour me water." said Elizabeth with a dirty attitude. Malalai poured Elizabeth a glass of water. Elizabeth then focused on me.“So how did it go?”

“Sold ten “G’s” worth.”

“So you cleared out Tarkovsky’s list?”

“Sure.”

“Good s**t Jorge!” She turned to Malalai. “You see Maria. This is how civilized people behave.” She turned back me “They get s**t done with no questions-“ Malalai then cut her off with a loud allergenic sneeze. “Was that a sneeze?”

Malalai slowly turned to Elizabeth. “Yeah.”

“Give me my s**t and go blow ya’ f****n' nose! F*****g savage”. Malalai then gave Elizabeth the glass of water. Elizabeth quickly snatched the cup out her Malalai’s hands to drink. Malalai went to go blow her nose with a napkin. I examined Elizabeth’s glass carefully as she drank the water. I realized Malalai actually sneezed in her water, since Elizabeth immediately drank a floating booger unbeknownst to her. She then finished her water in order to quickly get back to me.

“Anyway-the f**k was I? Yeah, what did you and Ivan go over?”

“Properties and rumors about my product; along with the list that was given.”

“Brilliant! I must say although you’re a Jew and we don’t meet eye to eye, you sure know how to get s**t done! Unlike that pathetic Shi'ite in the kitchen.”

Malalai violently responded to Elizabeth’s gross comment, by slamming her fist on the kitchen counter snapping “I’M ALGERIAN!”

Elizabeth immediately responded to Malalai by viciously throwing her glass into Malalai’s hip; dropping her to the floor in severe pain. Malalai then clenched onto the counter, doing her best to hold in her tears.

“WAS I TALKING TO YOU?! SHUT THE F**K UP C**T-DON’T MAKE ME GET MY

OAKSTICK! A MATTER A FACT GET THE F**K OUTTA’ MY FACE- NO BODY WANTS

TO SEE YOUR UGLY A*S!”

Malalai quickly glared at me and limped out the room infuriated, but she’s still hiding her pain. Elizabeth stared at me aggressively. I never wanted to choke the s**t out of her like I did then, but I really had to hold my cool.

“What did you two talk about?!”

“How much she misses her birth parents.”

“Well b***h needs to get over it. People die every day. I got her from the slums of f*****g France- don’t let this savage b***h toy with your emotions Jorge.” The more she talked, my urge to choke her until I snapped her neck grew stronger.

“What you do with your child is none of my f*****g business. So don’t put me in your personal s**t.”

“You’re right. That freak of nature isn’t worth talking about anyway. Just a petty servant nothing more. Now Jorge, you got a meeting with Jesus in thirty minutes. He’ll be here in ten. You got our forty percent?” “In the trunk.”

“Okay great. We split it when he gets here and then we’ll go over our next assignment.” Ten minutes later Jesus showed up in a black hoodie, sunglasses and a beard. We went over distributing the product to Jesus’s political rivals, as well as politicians who have a strong antiimmigration stance. Everyone on this list as Jesus explained is known among each other for their prescription medication abuse. All ten of them. Once we all agreed to everything, I gave Elizabeth her forty percent while she gave half to Jesus.

“Oh Jorge before you leave, I’m going to need you to wear a wire to record conversations.” stated Jesus.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that sir.”

“Okay well maybe that’s a bit extreme. Alright I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you time to sleep on it while I think of alternatives. I need the recordings for myself only. I’ll edit your voice so no one will know it’s you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Sleep on it kid.”

As soon as I got home, I walked to a payphone in a plaza nearby to call Ethan’s family and my private investigator connect for intel on these ten. I later went to the Korean supermarket to see if Lee was there. Kenta guided me to Lee’s office and left us two alone to talk. I told him everything about what went down with Milano and Tarkovsky. Then we went into this whole wire bullshit.

“Tell Jesus and Elizabeth to go suck their mothers’ c**t! You’re not wearing a f*****g wire. You don’t need a f*****g wire. Too much heat. You got a cell phone?” “Naw.” I responded in sarcasm.

“Use the voice memo in your phone to record or just get a 1990’s tape recorder. When you’re done with that operation, come back to me and I’ll have the twins edit the recording to heighten the pitch of your voice. After that I’ll give you the recordings to give to them. You will then play the recordings in front of them. You can’t trust them since Elizabeth is working with the feds, they will f**k you over.”

“Speaking of the feds, Milano’s daughter told me she’s working with the feds for her own territory in exchange of taking out the Russians. They know of my product.”

“And what else?”

“Told me to check out this forum she admins on the deep web. But I don’t know how to get on and she told me to ask this guy name Alfred Rosenbaum.”

“OKAY-OKAY-STOP. Anything involving anything that can get you in trouble come to me immediately okay? Leave the dark web s**t to the experts. Also don’t let Rosenbaum know too much. That Serbian son of a b***h sold his own parents out into an organ trafficking network just to work closely with Ivan, as well as doing a couple years working as a guard during the Bosnia situation in the 1990’s. He idolizes Ivan more than blacks love Jesus. And I’m not talking about

Cortez. What’s the forum called and what’s on it?”

“Everything about Elizabeth. Files, videos, pictures, atrocities, everything. It’s called

“thefalloftroybabylon” but has “4’s” for the “A’s”.”

“You mean to tell me Elizabeth’s sixteen year old daughter has all this dirt on her? And sold out her own mother?!”

“No, her fourteen year old adopted daughter made the forum. Apparently she knows everything the feds and Jesus don’t.”

“Did she give you an encryption code?” After Lee finished his question, I immediately gave him the napkin Malalai's given me earlier.

“I’ll have Kenta crack this s**t when I get home. I’ll call you in three days to let you know

everything I find. By the way, your meeting with Ms.Proudstar is tomorrow.”

“Who the f**k is Ms. Proudstar?”

“You’re therapist.”




© 2017 Cahjli Symes



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Reviews

I agree that this reads a bit stiff, loosen up a bit and have fun with your characters. Let them speak for themselves. Good start though

Posted 1 Year Ago


This reads like a report, I'm afraid, because you're focused on plot and are presenting it as a chronicle of events. But readers come to us to be entertained, not informed. In this we learn what's done, but not what's driving the character, And how can you care about a character if you don't know what they view as important?

The problem you face, like most hopeful writers, is that you left school believing they taught you how to write. They did, but only nonfiction, because they were readying us for employment, not to write professional fiction. No time was spent on managing dialog, how to present the scene-goal, or even the three questions a reader wants answered quickly.

Writing fiction, because its goal is different from nonfiction, requires a different skill set. It's not all that hard to learn (though perfecting it is a b***h, and takes time). In fact, your local library system's fiction writing department is filled with useful information.

You might also want to look through the writing articles in my blog, because they're meant for the newer writer.

Sorry my news wasn't better. But if you write a little better each day than the day before, and live long enough...

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

Posted 1 Year Ago


First off I would separate this in to two or three chapters. Or at the least put spaces between the paragraphs. And the first part with the vent thing it should be ventilation ports within the premises. There a few more. But that's the first on I saw and I would say have someone read it or read it out load your self. But is is Just a long read and I kept on getting side tracked. And it hurt my eyes and I am still not sure if I processed it all. So yeah but it is a good idea.

Posted 1 Year Ago



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Added on September 6, 2016
Last Updated on January 17, 2017
Tags: tragedy, horror, crime, science fiction, psychological, gothic, gothic fiction, suspense, noir, death, grievance, trauma, mourning, dark


Author

Cahjli Symes
Cahjli Symes

Cloud City, FL



About
Hi my name is Cahjli and I write poems,screenplays and lyrics. Hope you enjoy :D more..

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