An Ode to Dust

Dust, dust, dusty Dust. Ummm...falling...

...smash.

The World Around Me

To see what can’t be seen is truly unnerving;
Though mysterious creatures are we,
We are never prepared for the strange.
The mundane is all we seek in life,
And that is very sad.

On a dark night, I walked a lonely street
When a voice called to me by name;
I recognized neither the voice nor the face.
Approaching me, tall and blind, offering me the way,
He gave me his right eye and it opened my eyes
To a world that constantly surrounds me,
But one I have never witnessed.

It scared me. Not only the witnessing,
But the knowledge that I was the blind man
For all this time was a deeply troubling prophecy.

Into the Abyss

“Foolish mortal; how dare you disturb me? You do not realize the powers you toy with! For, I am the Abyss! You think you can just stumble into my realm and disturb me without consequence? Oh no, there are grave consequences for your actions, mortal!”

“Wait, are you talking to me? What are you talking about?”

“Ha! Do you feel the darkness pulling on your very soul? Uncomfortable, is it not? Slowly, the darkness will surround you and eventually consume your very flesh.”

“Um, it is dark out but…it’s not even that dark. I mean, there are streetlights on.”

“Oh…A minor setback, for the time being, but I assure you, mortal, that this fact will shortly be remedied. For I, the Abyss, will now summon the surrounding darkness to do my bidding. Shudder in horror, mortal, as I entwine the very strands of darkness, and combine them into large tentacles for which to destroy these lights you speak of, along with…you. Wah-hah, wah-hah, wuh-huh-huh-hah!”

“…Well? Nothing’s happening.”

“Ah…While you may have quashed my shadow tentacles–”

“I will assure you that I didn’t do anything.”

“–Nothing…can prepare you…for the horrors that now await you.”

“…Is that…the end of your story?”

“Silence!”

“…”

“…Just now, I call forth to the deepest depths of the void, in which lie the gruesomest–”

“That’s not even a real word!”

“–horrors you have ever seen. As we speak, these creatures begin to rise up into your mortal realm in order to clutch you in their horrible appendages. You will be dragged down into the deepest, darkest area of the void, never to be seen again.”

“Okay, you know what; you don’t have any special powers. I can see you; you’re just some guy with a blanket over his head. Do I even know you?”

“Stop! Do not touch the blanket of the Abyss! Aha! A hellhound has come!”

“That’s a black lab…on a leash…”

“Come, hellhound, protect your master from this…stink…beast…of stink! The Abyss, away!”

“…”

I've Come a Long Way, Baby

“What happened to you? Last I heard, you were at the top of your class, you loved your country, and you were a model citizen. Then you appear before me in the court for a crime such as this. You have come a long way, Wesley. How does the accused plead?”

Wesley looked up from the stand, into the icy eyes of the judge, and said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The bailiff spit out his coffee in shock; he, as well as everyone else in the courtroom, knew that the boy was full of it. The judge caught wind of this and continued, “You mean to tell me, under oath, that you mean to plead ‘not guilty’ to the charges?”

Wesley thought about his response. He finally added, “Well, no. I did it–”

A large gasp fell over the crowd.

Wesley paused again, surprised at the reaction, before continuing, “I did it, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Silence fell over the courtroom, besides a faint sobbing of a small child that could be heard near the back of the room. The child eventually quieted down once the child’s mother reassured him as best as she could.

The judge proceeded, “Let it be known that the accused pleaded guilty to this most heinous of crimes. Now, the accused shall be sentenced to–”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

The stone cold gaze of the judge came back to Wesley. Whispering in the courtroom grew to louder discussion. The judge pounded his gavel on his block, “Order! Order in the courtroom!”

He then proceeded to point the gavel straight at Wesley, “You aren’t in a position to tell us what is right and wrong. The law is on the books, and you disobeyed it.”

Wesley shook his head in disbelief, “I didn’t do anything wrong…I mean, I’d do it again in a second.”

A larger gasp than the first ensued and people started shouting. Several members of the jury stood up in disbelief, and one of the jurors fainted. “Order!” shouted the judge, pounding his gavel once more, “Order!”

“I mean, I crossed the street on a red light, but there weren’t even any cars coming! I didn’t do anything wrong!” continued Wesley.

“Such a thing to say! You broke the law,” the judge was at a loss of words, “How can you say such things?”

Wesley looked at the crowd and couldn’t help smiling at the recklessness that the judge could not control. He looked back at the judge and said, “I guess I’ve come a long way, baby.”

I Shall Exterminate Everything Around Me that Restricts Me From Being the Master

“Everything around us is a means for learning. Life is the domain that I have created to allow us to attempt to adapt to our surroundings in order to grow, physically and intellectually.

“I am creation, remember that; it is probably the third most important thing I can teach you, not that you care about what I’m saying one bit. I create and I observe, and I attempt to learn from the past in order to improve the future. Despite what many believe, what the others believe is, in fact, true: I am not perfect. And this is where the second most important lesson I can teach you comes in.

“You are destruction and do not forget that you are the most necessary part of this domain. I create, I build, but I do make mistakes. It is up to you to destroy the mistakes so that I can improve upon them; you are needed to make room for the future, as I close in on perfection.

“Of course, you do not believe me that I am using you for these purposes. You feel that you have free will, but the truth is you do not. You believe that you exterminate everything around you that restricts you from being the master. However, this brings me to the most important lesson I can teach you.

“You are a part of me. I know you do not want to believe me, and I know you never will, but I want you to know that. Just remember that your quest to become the master will never come true, because you are nothing more than a tool to help me reach perfection.

“I am the master.”

A Thing of Beauty

I open my eyes and look straight ahead of me. It’s mid-day by now and the sun is out in full force, but it’s obscured by the translucent curtain partially covering the open window. A calm breeze causes the curtain to waver; as I lay there, I watch as its shadow dances slowly and seductively up and down the ceiling. The stifling heat normally gets to me on afternoons such as this but today was different; I am at peace with myself and the world around me, and with her.

For the moment, I can feel her but I can’t see her. From the way it feels, she’s right where I left her, laying next to me with my arm around her, although she feels different than she did, but not in a bad way. No longer is she filled with anger; no longer is she yelling. No more talk of leaving me comes from her luscious red lips. No, both she and I move past that moment to embrace the laziness and the calm of the afternoon.

I look at her. She lies facing me with her eyes closed. Her red hair flows around us, entangling every part of us so that neither of us can escape this moment. Being locked in an exquisite embrace with a goddess such as this makes me want to cry; that there can be so much beauty in the world and it can all be lying in bed beside me.

I run my eyes up and down the body of my goddess, marveling at her perfection. Not only are her hair and lips exquisite, but she has an intensely cute nose and well-formed cheekbones. I glance down to the covers barely clinging to her luxurious curves and back up to her perfect breasts. I see the knife protruding from one of them, amazed at the amount of her blood attached to her and me and everything around us. The blood, which once matched the colour of her hair and lips, is now much darker and very dry, yet it is still a thing of beauty, hardened to its surroundings.

I continue to gaze at her pale, lifeless form, continually wondering how I can be so lucky to spend eternity in a wonderful embrace with an angel such as this. Have pleasant dreams, my sweet.

Without Me

Tom stared at the couple. “It’s not that I don’t like weddings,” he said to the man to his left, not taking his eyes off the bride. “In fact, I used to really like weddings. I mean, I was planning on getting married myself.”

He looked to his left; the man was staring at the couple attentively. “Of course,” Tom added, “you aren’t listening to a word I say. That’s okay, though. I’m used to that now.”

He turned his attention back to the bride and groom, who gazed into each others’ eyes with a look of longing and what appeared to be true love. Tom felt his eyes water up; he choked back sobs and took off his glasses, wiping his eyes. He looked back at the man to his left, “I-I don’t even know why I’m wiping my eyes; it’s not like anyone will notice anyway.”

He regained his composure and put his glasses back on. Making sure not to look back at the couple, he managed to continue speaking to the man to his left, “Since I know you’re so interested in everything I say…”

He trailed off, waiting for any response. The man to his left scratched his nose, shifted his weight a bit, and then returned to the position he was sitting in. “…I’ll continue. You know how I said that I was planning on getting married myself? Well, you know who was supposed to be my bride?” He returned his gaze to the bride, motioning in that direction, “It was her.”

* * *

Amy sits in the small, cluttered office. She shakily reaches for a package of cigarettes on the desk. She had quit smoking almost four years ago, but she really needed one right now. She manages to pull one out and puts the pack back on the desk. She picks up the lighter that is sitting next to the pack and attempts to light the cigarette. Her hand shakes so badly that she drops the cigarette on the floor in between her legs; frustrated, she throws the lighter to the floor and drops her face into her hands, her whole body convulsing as she sobs heavy sobs.

The door opens; in walks Detective Lonnegan. He sees the condition she’s in, so he closes the door and moves over to her quickly. “Hey, hey,” he says in a quiet voice as he approaches her. “I know how hard this is, and I know how…horrible something like that would have been to…experience.”

He sees the cigarette and lighter on the floor, crouches down and picks them up. He stands in front of her, offering the cigarette in silence. She looks up after a few minutes, tears running down her face, and she accepted his offer, placing the cigarette in her mouth. He lights it then pushes over some papers; he sits on his desk in the space he cleared.

They sit without speaking for a moment, silence save for the occasional sob. He finally gets the nerve and says, “Like I said, I know how hard this is for you, but I just need to ask you a few questions about…him.”

In between sobs, she manages to say his name, “Thomas.”

“Yeah,” Detective Lonnegan adds. “Thomas. I understand that you and he had…a past.”

“We were going to get married, if that’s what you mean,” Amy answers quickly.

“And?”

She looks up at him through her tears, “And what?”

He clarifies his question, “And what happened? Why didn’t you get married? Why were you getting married to this other guy?”

She pauses, looking away from him toward his bulletin board covered with all sorts of clippings and pictures and phone numbers that mean nothing to her. “Thomas went missing.”

“He went missing?” He looks surprised with her answer. “Just like that?” He adds with a snap of his fingers.

“Yes, just like that,” she continues. “I had no idea what happened…I thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead.”

She starts sobbing again. They say nothing for a few minutes, Lonnegan looking around the room. “But you’re sure it was him,” he adds.

She looks back up at him and shouts, “Of course I’m sure it was him.” Quietly, she adds, “B-but I don’t remember seeing him come in, and neither does anyone else. All I remember is the noise…and then seeing him…”

She breaks down again, crossing her arms and sobbing into them on his lap. He puts his hand on her back and rubs it slowly.

* * *

“Yeah, it’s true,” Tom added with a slight sob. “Amy and I were engaged.” He paused, looking away from her and back at the man to his left again, “I was engaged to the most wonderful, beautiful…intelligent person in the world…”

He looked back at Amy, tears starting to stream from his eyes. He took his glasses off once again, wiping his eyes. Without putting them back on, he turned his attention back to the man to his left, yelling, “But then this happened! I-I can do this and you won’t even notice!”

With that, Tom shoved the man to his left into the woman beside him. She immediately looked at the man to his left with disgust; he apologized immediately, trying to draw attention away from the scene he created, then returned to his original position, paying attention to the ceremony once again.

As soon as everyone settled, Tom continued yelling at the man to his left, “You see? I-I don’t know what happened, but no one can see me or hear me or anything! Hell, I can’t even see myself when I look into a mirror!”

He paused. He faced Amy again, quietly adding, “But I’m still here. I’m like a…ghost. Of course, I can still do things, but everyone seems to ignore them…or think that it’s someone else’s fault.”

Tom sighed. He continued, still looking at Amy, “But that’s what went wrong. Amy saw that I was missing and she tried to find me, but no one could. I tried to communicate with her, but that didn’t work at all.”

He turned back to the man to his left, chuckling to himself, “I actually wrote her a message, but that just scared her silly. She really thought that someone was messing with her. After about a month, she thought that I was…dead.”

He paused, looking back at the Amy; he could see how happy she was. A tear fell down his cheek. He looked back at the man to his left, “Of course, who could blame her? There was no sign of me for that long; it was a logical conclusion. They held me a sort of funeral service of sorts, but without any earthly remains.

“Then life just sort of…went on. Slowly, everyone stopped thinking about me. No one wanted to talk about me, especially her. She had a hard time living her life, but it slowly happened.

“Months passed, and she found another man to spend her life with,” Tom motioned up at the groom. “Yes, she found another man who gets to spend the rest of his life with the…sweetest woman to ever roam this earth.”

Tears came back to his eyes. He started sobbing, but continued talking, “And here I am, spilling my guts to some guy I’ve never met before…who can’t even hear me right now.”

He sat there sobbing quietly for a moment before saying, “I’m going to miss you, Amy.”

* * *

The minister looks at Amy and pauses, smiling. He returns his gaze to the groom, saying, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

The minister pauses once more then turns to Amy, “Amy…do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Amy looks into the eyes of her husband-to-be and back at the minister, “I do.”

The minister smiles and looks from one to the other. In a loud, booming voice, he says, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you–”

His statement is interrupted by a gunshot coming from the crowd. Everyone looks in the direction of the sound; to their horror, a man is sitting in a pew a few rows back, clutching a gun. His brains, no longer in his head, were blown out the back of his skull onto the guests who were sitting behind him.

The man to his left sports a shocked expression, one that can be made out despite the blood covering the right side of his face. He looks up to the couple and the minister, muttering, “H-he…N-no one was th-there…H-he j-just appeared…”

Amy looks down the aisle into the lifeless eyes; there is no mistake in her mind of who it was. Her heart nearly sinks into her stomach as she whispers, “Thomas.”

Death of a Hero

“So, Lightning Rodney’s dead.”

“Lightning Rodney? Who the heck is that, some sort of Mexican wrestler?”

“Not quite. You never heard of him? He was that superhero.”

“A superhero?”

“Yes.”

“Named...Lightning Rodney?”

“Yes.”

“...What was his superpower?”

“Well, he was sort of like that made-up superhero, the Flash, more or less.”

“More or less? So, he ran fast?”

“Well, yeah, he ran fast, only he couldn’t do it all the time. You see, Lightning Rodney could only run like that when he was under a certain weight.”

“And what weight was that?”

“How the hell should I know? All I know is he figured it out. But it was hard for him to stay below that weight.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he lost as much weight as he realistically could before losing most of his muscle mass. I mean, if he lost too much muscle, he probably wouldn’t have been able to run like he did, so he had to improvise; he had to lose as much weight as he could in other ways.”

“Meaning...?”

“Clothes; he didn’t wear any clothes, minus really good running shoes.”

“...Are you joking? You mean to tell me Lightning Rodney was a superhero who ran around really fast, so long as he was naked?”

“Well, not quite. That still wasn’t enough. He really had to be creative to get his weight down...Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“I don’t know...The moon...lit up for a second there...”

“Really?”

“I thought so. Anyway, it must have been my imagination. Where was I?”

“Being naked wasn’t enough for Lightning Rodney.”

“Oh, right. Like I said, losing his clothes didn’t quite get him down to the weight he needed to be in order to run like the wind, so he had to trim off everything he could. He did what he had to; he trimmed his hair.”

“And that made him light enough?”

“Well, he shaved his head completely, and he had to shave and pluck all the hairs out of his body. Oh, and his nails. They had to be trimmed down as much as possible.”

“So, he couldn’t run really fast until he was naked and hairless?”

“Precisely.”

“Interesting. So, how did he end up dying?”

“Well, Lightning Rodney was weakest in the morning, immediately after waking up, since his hair grew while he slept. He had to get up and shave and pluck and everything before he was able to run really fast. Turns out, some of his enemies figured this out as well, and that’s when they surprised him.”

“Oh, so that’s how he died; they got him while he was slow.”

“Not exactly. Like, they did break into his house and who knows what they were planning to do to him once they were there, but he didn’t die by the hands of his enemies. No, Lightning Rodney sort of did himself in.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You see, apparently he heard them break in or whatever, and he decided to make his move and get out of there.”

“But wasn’t he heavy and slow?”

“Yes, but he figured he needed to lose a bit of weight quickly and then he’d be fine. So, he grabs a knife and stabs himself in one of his main arteries.”

“Oh my. Why on earth would he believe that was a good idea?”

“Well, I guess he figured he would lose enough blood to be able to run fast then he’d make it to a hospital in time for them to patch him up, and that’s what he tried to do. From what I gather, once he was light enough to run quickly, he ran with his wound facing forward in so that the pressure would hold his blood in. I think it worked, since they didn’t find any blood in his path to the hospital.”

“Well, if it worked, how’d he die?”

“Like I said, he made it to the hospital, but then no one was ready for him. Lightning Rodney bursts in the emergency doors and stops running. He barely has the time to yell, ‘Help me,’ or something like that and the blood starts gushing out again. Without the pressure holding it back, the blood just sprays all over everyone; the nurses and all the patients waiting in the room get covered in Lightning Rodney’s blood. He didn’t have a chance by that point.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Now we have one less naked superhero.”

“Yeah, I agree...Wait, turn around. Check out the moon. It’s starting to glow again.”

“You’re right. It keeps getting brighter and brighter. And what’s that sound?”

Voip. Sizzle.

Cheese Grater

I eat the souls of mortal men
So what, I’d do it all again
I’ve peered into the depths of Hell
But I came back to maim and kill
I steal from rich and give to poor
And I will canvass door to door
I play poker, but tend to fold
I try to win; that is my goal

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The Real Deal

While we got Sammy cleaned up, he told us all about the real deal. I figured he should have no reason to lie to us about it at that point, although we were keeping close tabs on him. He said that only one person was supposed to go to make the deal; since his freedom was revoked until further notice, it was decided that I’d make the transaction. While I did so, the three of them had to wait in the car, Bill making sure Sammy didn’t try anything stupid. Caroline’s job was to observe them; if I came back and Sammy was dead, I wanted there to be one hell of a good reason.

The building the actual deal took place in was pretty nice, especially compared to the dump Sammy tried to off us in. Nothing really exciting happened; I got buzzed up and came in. The buyer was pretty sketchy looking, but he seemed pretty easy going. We basically made a bit of small talk, exchanged cases, checked to make sure we weren’t getting screwed over, and then I left. As a plus, Sammy was still alive when I got back.

We drove back to Bill’s place completely silently. Once there, we divided the money, five-hundred thousand a piece; every dollar was accounted for. There was a loud discussion about what to do with Sammy’s share and Sammy, but I felt that he still organized the deal and did a lot of work, so he deserved his share. Besides, what’s the worst thing that would happen if we let him have his money, he leaves town? As for what to do with him, I felt we should talk about it more in the future. Until the rest of us came to a decision, however, we’d be watching him.

Bill continually harassed me to come to a decision about what to do with Sammy, so I told him we’d talk about it. Today, that’s what we’re doing. We sit at the cafe, a block away from the house the opposing gang used to reside in. It’s actually a very nice place, and we have come back a few times since that excitement. As a bonus, it doesn’t seem like too many people knew about it; it’s not a bad place to come to for discussing matters like this.

“I want to kill him,” Bill tells me, straight up. “I mean, he almost killed you; this shouldn’t be such a hard decision.”

“I know,” I reply. “I’ll never be able to trust him again, but I just can’t bring myself to kill him.”

We sit in silence, sipping our drinks. I look at him; he finally says, “I have no problem killing him.”

I raise my eyebrows, “I never doubted that for a second.” I pause, “But I don’t think we should kill him; it’s not just that I can’t physically kill him, but I can’t just sit back and sentence him to death.”

We stop talking again. I glance away, observing passing cars. “What I think we should do,” I add, “is tell him to get out of town.”

I look back at him, continuing, “I mean, we can’t trust him anymore, but I can’t kill him; it’s the only thing we can do.”

He sits there, considering what I said. “Well, I guess that’s what we have to do, then,” he tells me.

Silence again; another sip of our drinks. He looks at the traffic, and then adds, “But I still think we should kill him.”

* * *

I hit the buzzer to Sammy’s apartment. We wait a few seconds, but receive no answer, so I hit the buzzer twice more; still nothing. “Hmm,” I say, “He doesn’t appear to be home.”

“Or at least he’s not answering the buzzer,” Bill adds. “I don’t like it.”

We stick around for several minutes until an old lady walks up with two large grocery bags. Bill and I walk up quickly behind her as she opens the door. “Here, let me get that for you,” I say, as I hold the door for her.

She smiles at me, “Why thank you, young man.”

Bill rushes in right after her and presses the button to the elevator, holding it open for her. She walks in and, seeing that we aren’t following, asks, “Aren’t you taking the elevator?”

Bill responds with a large smile, “No, ma’am. We’re actually on the first floor.”

“Such gentlemen,” she says as the elevator doors close.

We walk over to Sammy’s apartment, and Bill knocks on the door. We wait a few seconds, with no answer. “Try the door,” I say.

He tries it, and it opens. We walk in, yelling, “Sammy?”

We both look around, and he doesn’t seem to be in. I sit down on his couch and notice an envelope with a letter beside it. I pick up the letter and shout, “Hey, Bill. Check this out.”

He comes back into the living room and sits on the couch beside me. I read the letter aloud, “Dear Max, Caroline, and Bill. I can’t blame you for being angry with me. I have a hard time believing that greed could cause me to act the way I did, but I can’t deny that it happened. I felt an unyielding sadness every time I looked at you ever since the incident, and I could see that you never looked at me the same way either. Therefore, I felt it would be in all of our best interests if I left town forever.

“In the envelope is most of my share, minus what I used to chip in for the cost of ingredients and also minus a small amount to help me get on my feet when I start my new life. You may also notice that the remainder divides three ways very easily.

“I know I will always live with the burden of what I have done to you, but I hope that, while you will probably never forgive or forget what happened, you will believe me when I say I’m sorry. Because, that’s what I am: sorry.”

I cover my mouth. I feel like I’m either going to laugh or cry, or both. Bill says, “Well, I guess he’s gone; great minds think alike.”

“P.S.,” I continue reading, “If your name isn’t Max, Caroline, or Bill, please don’t take the money.”

The Deal

We couldn’t find out anything about the people who shot at us; no one knew anything, or at least no one was talking. It probably would have helped if I saw what type of car it was; I’m sure a description better than, “it’s black,” could have jogged some more memories. I also considered that they could have mistaken us for someone else, but I didn’t want to assume something like that. No matter what, it seemed like a good idea to ditch the car and get myself another one. I ended up getting an old ’95 Civic beater. I didn’t like it as much as the Caddy, but it was cheap, fuel efficient, and completely inconspicuous. Plus, if my random assumption was right, there was no possible way anyone would mistake me for the same people again. No matter what, we were all on the lookout for suspicious individuals in black vehicles, and in general.

Sammy told his buyer that we required three months to make the Meth, and he agreed. And, let me tell you, we worked extremely hard in those three months. We basically lived at Bill’s place during this time, which is where the lab moved, and we were constantly running all over the city to different pharmacies and hardware stores to get more ingredients. We were also a lot more careful when it came to security. Really, if we were caught before, it would have been nothing compared to now, with extremely large amounts of methamphetamine sitting around. We also had to be careful in regards to other people hearing about how much Meth we were producing and deciding that they’re entitled to it. I hadn’t ever seen that much Meth in a single place before. Actually, I don’t even know if we had even produced that much up to that point. I mean, we spent near fifty-thousand dollars on ingredients alone for this big pile of Meth. Luckily for us, the three months were fairly quiet; no bullets and no Roepers.

“Turn there,” Sammy says, sitting beside me.

“But there’s nothing over that way. It can’t be over there,” I respond.

Here we are, the four of us in my car guarding two-million dollars worth of methamphetamine, and we can’t even find our way to where this deal’s supposed to take place. “It has to be over there,” says Bill. “We’ve been around everywhere else in this area already.”

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll turn down there. We’ll check it out.”

I turn the car down the road, “I don’t know. I don’t think we’re heading in the right direction.”

“Wait!” exclaims Caroline from the back, pointing, “That place right there! Is that what we’re looking for?”

She’s right; that’s the address. I don’t see any other cars, which is a good sign, because we beat them here. We wanted to get here before them in order to look around and check the place out. I stop the car and we all get out, Bill carrying the case containing the drugs. We walk over to the front of the small, dilapidated building and I open the screen door, which is hardly attached to the building. I walk inside and the others follow. I flick on a light switch and the bare bulb in the centre of the room flickers on; I’m surprised that this place is actually getting electricity, to say the least. The room has an old table in the centre and a few broken chairs lying around. There’s a counter near the entrance, some cupboards at the far end of the room but, other than some cobwebs and dust, not much else. “Looks like a good fixer upper,” Bill says, chuckling a bit to himself.

He walks through the doorway on the far side and into the back room. Caroline brushes off the counter and sits up on it; I touch her leg as I walk by her. She smiles. Sammy walks over to the other doorway and flicks on the light switch beside it. He looks at me, “Should I inspect the basement?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I reply. I look at the floor and table, noticing the dust dispersed in certain places, and I add, “Hmm...It looks like someone’s been here somewhat recently.”

Sammy walks through the doorway and I hear his steps creaking down the stairs; they must be old and wooden. I look back at Caroline. “So, Maxwell; you nervous at all?” she asks me.

I step closer. “I wouldn’t say that,” I answer. “I’d say I’m more...excited than anything. But, I suppose ‘nervous’ could describe it as well.”

Bill walks back in. “Nothing through there,” he says. “However, there is a questionable looking toilet, if anyone needs to-”

Bill’s interrupted by a loud crash coming from the basement. We all freeze, listening for anything else. I yell, “Sammy? Is everything okay down there?”

A pause, and then Sammy yells back, “Um...I might need someone’s help down here.”

My heart nearly stops. I motion to Bill to come with me down. He nods, but runs over to Caroline and gives her the case. I walk to the doorway leading to the basement, and look over to her, worry plastered on her face. I change my glance to down in the basement; the stairs have walls on either side of them. At the bottom, it opens up to the right, into what looks like a larger area, where the light is coming from. I start down the steps slowly, creaking as I walk. I look behind me at Bill, who pulls out his glock. I get to the bottom, where I step around an old crate sitting on the last step.

From the bottom, I can see into the basement itself, but I still don’t see Sammy. I almost walk through the doorway, but something doesn’t feel right. I stop and say, “Okay, Sammy, I’m-”

A shotgun blast hits the wall immediately in front of the doorway. I get startled; I look up at Bill, and he also has a look of surprise on his face. I know I need to think fast; I could grab my revolver, but I’ll probably get shot in the process. I look down at the crate. I pick it up, and I ready myself. I wait a few tense seconds, and Sammy whips around the corner, shotgun in hand. I heave the crate at his head, and he falls back, shooting at the ceiling as he does. I look back up at Bill and yell, “Run, run!”

He runs, and I follow, running up the stairs two at a time. I get to the top, and Caroline is off the counter with a terrified look in her eyes. Bill’s trying to get her to run, and I yell, “To the car!”

She listens, tossing open the screen door. She runs across the street followed closely by Bill. I exit the building and start to follow, but I hatch a plan; I crouch next to the door and wait for Sammy, who I’m sure will be tailing right behind. Moments later, the door flies open again. I spring up and grab the barrel of the shotgun. This completely surprises him; I feel that his grip isn’t that tight on the firearm, so I bring it up swiftly, hitting him hard in the face with the barrel. He stumbles back somewhat, blood spurting from his nose. His grip loosens more, and I bring the stock of the gun hard into his stomach. He falls onto his knees, and I relieve him of his weapon.

I kick him over so he falls on his back. I walk over, grab him by the shirt, and pull him into the yard, getting him away from the door; he lies on the ground, still holding his stomach. Bill and Caroline stop running at this point. Bill flies back to the yard in a fit of rage. I step in between him and Sammy and yell, “Bill! Bill!”

He doesn’t want to hear it; I can see that he wants to tear Sammy apart, limb from limb. I try yelling some more, “Hey! Hey!”

He looks into my eyes, and I say, “Here, hold this,” giving him the shotgun. “Just don’t shoot anyone with it right now.”

Bill stops and takes it, but I can see that he’s still fuming. I crouch down in front of Sammy and lift him up by the shirt, which is quite bloody at this point, the blood still rushing out of his nose. “Sammy,” I say quietly. I pause, gathering my thoughts, and then shout, “What the fuck was that?”

He doesn’t respond. I shake him, “You just tried to fucking kill us! Why the fuck did you just try to kill us?”

He looks me in the eye, a sorry display of a man. “I wanted the money,” he tells me.

I continue looking at him. I don’t know what to say; I just can’t believe he could look me in the eye and tell me that. I let go of his shirt and stand up. I can’t bring myself to even look at him anymore. I cover my eyes with my hand, and I try to choke back a sob, but it doesn’t work. Tears come; I do everything I can to control it, but every time I look back at him, I can’t stop it. I look at Caroline, who walks closer at this time, then I somewhat regain my composure. I look back at Sammy and ask, “So, wait; the deal’s still on?”

Sammy looks up at me, “Yeah. It’s going down somewhere else.”

I stop and think about it, drying the tears from my cheeks, and most likely rubbing some of his blood on in the process, “How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know...still an hour or something,” he answers. “I don’t know what time it is right now.”

I think about it longer; time to snap into action. “Sammy,” I say, authoritatively, “stand up. We’re going to go back in here and get you all cleaned up. Once we stop that bleeding, then you’re going to tell us – Bill! Don’t point that shotgun in our direction!”

Bill seriously looked like he was going to fill Sammy full of lead as he was standing up. He points the gun away, so I continue, “Sammy, come with me, we’ll see if we can stop the bleeding.” I point as I speak, “Bill, Caroline, come chill out in the house for a bit, and we’ll get ready for the actual deal.”

We all head back into the house, tensions high.

Laying Low

I told everyone to lay low after the Roeper incident. Sammy asked around and it turned out that Roeper was playing it smart, telling everyone he got mugged by some big, black guy. Still, in case he started talking, I wanted everyone to play it cool; no selling for a while. We all went our separate ways briefly; Caroline and I went on a short road trip out west and Bill went to Montreal for a bit. Sammy stayed in the city, writing a novel, or something. The whole time, my mind was elsewhere; I was aching to get back to making money. Apparently, Sammy shared my feelings; he approached me soon after Caroline and I returned.

Laying low for Sammy may have proved to be quite beneficial, financially speaking. People kept asking him to sell to them while we were gone, but he kept telling them that we weren’t operating right now. Apparently, demand got so large that someone else was stepping up to the plate to provide for them. He was approached by a man who wanted to make a large buy from us, obviously to sell it at a marked up price to all the starving junkies.

Sammy and I sit in my idling car. No sound, besides the radio playing quietly. He looks at me, and I look ahead, watching the few people walking by while I consider what he just told me. I look at him, “So how much were they offering?”

He responds almost instantly, “Two million dollars.”

I look ahead again, wiping my mouth. We made a lot of money, but nothing like that. We sit in silence again. One deal would get us five-hundred thousand dollars a piece. I turn to him again, “And how much do we need to make?”

He pauses this time. “Five kilos,” he tells me.

I keep looking at him, thinking about what he just said. “That’s a lot,” I pause. “We need time. We don’t have supplies right now, and it’s going to take long enough to run around getting all that.”

He opens his mouth, but I interrupt him, “Not to mention the time it will take to actually produce that amount.”

I let him speak, “It’s possible; we can do it.”

“I agree,” I add, “It’s possible, but we just need time.”

I look ahead again. He watches me intently, waiting for me to say something else. “Man, I can’t even begin to appreciate how much time that will take,” I say. I look at him and raise my eyebrows, “Five kilos?”

He nods his head. “Getting the ingredients for five kilos’ worth is going to be a task on its own but, even after that,” I tell him, closing my eyes to do some mental math, “one batch takes us two or three hours to make. And how much does one batch make? Half, maybe two-thirds of an ounce, if we’re lucky. So, we’re going to make how many batches?”

“Around four-hundred,” he tells me.

I mouth the word ‘four-hundred,’ and I shake my head. I add, “Okay so, after we get all our shit in gear, it’s still going to take us a...Month, month and a half, to actually synthesize that amount.”

He nods. I look at him, not knowing what else to say at this point. Two million dollars was a lot of money; we could quit after this and never look back. We sit, listening to the radio without talking.

Our peace is suddenly ended by a gunshot, and my rear window shattering. Without thinking, I push the stick shift into first, pop the clutch, and floor it. I pull out quickly, but another shot sounds, my side mirror getting knocked off in the process. I look over at Sammy who appears to be scared out of his mind, but not wounded, and I yell, “Get down!”

He listens. I glance in the rear-view mirror and see a black car following. I fly around the next corner, nearly hitting a car waiting to turn left. I hit the gas and manoeuvre around another car in front of me. We gain a lot of ground, but I see the black car speeding around the same vehicle a ways behind me. “Hold on,” I say, as I run a red light, swerving through the traffic.

People honk at me, but slam on their brakes, narrowly missing a collision. Our friends stay behind, not opting to do the same stupid thing. I turn a left this time, cutting someone else off; he gives me the finger. I drive down this street a ways and, not seeing the black car behind us, pull into an alleyway. I slow down a bit, back into someone’s parking spot, and turn off the car.

I see him shaking in his seat. “Hey, Sammy, don’t worry,” I say in as calm a voice as I can muster. He looks at me, still shaking, and I continue, “We lost them. We’ll just stay here for a little while, and we’ll be safe.”

I roll down the window and pick up what remains of my side mirror, barely dangling to the side of my door. “Jesus,” I say, when I consider what just happened, letting the mirror pieces dangle once again.

I turn to look at the rear window, looking at Sammy in the process. I see that he’s calming down slightly, but still a bit shaky. What can you expect, though? I’m not surprised something like that rattled the guy. I’m more surprised that I’m taking it fairly well.

I look to him. “Sammy,” I say, and he looks back at me. “We need three months. Two months might do it, but I want to do it right. Tell him that.”

“I w-will.”

I continue staring at him, “And Sammy, remember; if anything looks bad...If he gives you any reason for us not to trust him, or even if you just get a funny feeling, we won’t go through with it. I’m leaving this one up to you.”

He looks a lot less shaken now. I hear the conviction in his voice, “You can count on me, Max.”

Roeper

“I asked around,” says Sammy, “and Roeper’s been talking for a little while now. No one else wanted to get involved.”

The four of us are sitting around the kitchen table in my apartment. “It’s like I was telling Bill,” I say, taking a swig of beer. “I’ve been running into him every now and then for some time. It looked like he was following me or something a few times, so I’m not too surprised that he went to the cops.”

“Well,” adds Bill, “You know what we have to do, right? We can’t just let him get away with this. We need to show him that this won’t stand.”

We all sit in silence. Caroline looks me in the eyes, then at Bill, and back to me, “Just don’t kill him, okay?”

“What do you want us to do?” exclaims Bill. “If we rough him up, that douche is probably going to run back to the cops.”

“I agree with Caroline,” interrupts Sammy. “He tips off the cops, and then he dies mysteriously? People are going to start asking questions, and the most likely answers will involve us.”

Silence again. I tell them, “Okay, I agree. We’ll hurt him and scare him,” I point at Bill, “but no killing. We just need to make sure he doesn’t run back to the cops.”

“But, really, how are we going to stop him?” Bill asks, more calmly this time.

All three of them look at me. I say, “We’ll go to him and see how intent he is on getting the cops involved again,” I pause. They wait to hear what I’m about to say, intently. I continue, “Then we’ll do what we have to.”

We sit at the table in silence for quite some time.

* * *

I see Roeper come out of the lab, looking like he’s concentrating on walking home. It looks like he’s trying very hard to avoid eye contact with anyone who happens to be around, even though the only other person nearby is me, and I don’t think he saw me. I walk behind him quickly and come up beside him, “Hey there, buddy. What’s the rush?”

He looks at me and turns pale, saying nothing. I continue talking, “Don’t worry about it; I’ll give you a ride. Hop in.”

He looks forward, then back at me, and tells me, “Oh, no. I’m actually just going to walk.”

I pull out my revolver and point it at him, keeping it close to our bodies just so no one would be able to see it if they walked by. I smile a cruel smile, and say, “No, no, I insist.”

I walk him over to my car, open the door to the passenger side, and push him inside. I close the door, walk around to the other side, and get in. I start up the car, and pull out. I look at him, still pale, and tell him, “I see my friend’s taken the liberty of introducing himself to you,” referring to Bill sitting behind him. “Yeah, don’t make any false moves; he’s got a gun. If you try to get out or anything, he just might get startled and blow your head off.”

He understands the situation, not saying a word or moving in the slightest. He’s breathing heavily, and I’m not surprised. Finally, he asks me, “Where are you taking me?”

I pause to think about what I’m about to tell him, turning onto Spadina, “Let’s just say, we’re taking you somewhere...”

Bill finishes my sentence, “Secluded.”

I look over to Roeper, still frightened, and back to Bill, “I wouldn’t say that. ‘Secluded’ is such an ugly word. I was going to say something more like...‘Intimate’.”

Bill laughs. Roeper doesn’t seem to find anything funny about the situation. Eventually, we arrive at the harbourfront. At this time, most of this area is deserted, excluding the occasional warehouse set up for a rave; none of them seem to be booming, so we’re probably good. I drive around a few corners, making sure we’re alone. I stop the car. “Get out,” I tell him.

Bill and Roeper both step out of the car, Bill with his weapon out still. I put my gloves on and then follow. Outside the car, I start walking toward Roeper. “Okay, now I’m sure you know why we’re here,” I say.

He stands in silence. He finally says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I slap him across the face and he cries out. “Come on, Roeper,” I say to him. “Right from when we picked you up, I could tell you knew what was going on. Cut the bullshit.”

He looks at me, holding the side of his face, saying nothing. I step forward and deliver a nasty blow to his stomach. He leans forward, the wind knocked out of him. I just push him down to the ground. I crouch down in front of him, “You know, I can keep this up all night.”

“What do you want from me?” he shouts, suddenly. “What do you want me to tell you?”

His sudden emotional outburst surprises me somewhat, but I don’t let it rattle me. I yell, “Why did you do it, Roeper? Why’d you tip off the cops? Did you think we’d just take it, and let you live your life?”

He gives me that same look of hatred from several months ago, “I thought you’d wind up in jail.” He pauses, and then adds, “I can’t believe everyone was just pretending nothing was wrong! You’re selling Meth; it’s illegal and you’re ruining peoples’ lives, and no one else seems to care!”

I stand back up, and turn my back to him. I look at Bill, and he doesn’t look happy in the least. Roeper continues, “I couldn’t believe Dr. Jones didn’t report you when he had the chance.”

I turn around, “Dr. Steve gave me advice and helped me out; he told me I’d succeed, if I was careful.”

He laughed, “Yeah, right. He didn’t want to get in trouble, that’s all. He just wanted you out of there. In fact, he thought you’d get caught by the police right away.”

I stare at him, and I’m sure he can see the rage that is building up inside me. Roeper looked much more comfortable now, “I followed you around, and it didn’t even seem like the police noticed or cared. I just gave them a push in the right direction.”

We sit in silence, staring at one another. “I’ll tell you what, Roeper,” I say finally.

I pull out my revolver, and I can see the hatred on his face change back into fear. I take aim, and he closes his eyes. I fire a single shot through his left thigh, and he wails in agony. I drop down to his side, and I grab his thigh. “If you ever,” I dig my thumb deep into his bleeding wound. He continues to writhe in pain, and I say, “EVER contact the police again...”

I let go of his thigh and point my revolver at his forehead. He opens his eyes, tears flowing from them. I finish, “You won’t live to see your next birthday.”

I stand back up, and I start walking back toward the car. I turn around, look at the disgraceful display on the ground in front of me, and say, “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

Bill and I climb back into the car. We drive away in silence, leaving Roeper alone to bleed all over the pavement.

That was a Close One

We waited patiently and watched carefully for days, but there was no retaliation. The days turned into weeks, so we looked into it further. As it turns out, they were scared shitless; word on the street was that they left the area after something spooked them. To verify, we checked out the house, and they were gone. The weeks turned into months and months without seeing our friends again, so I stopped caring.

I bought a car. It wasn’t anything special, just an old ’69 Cadillac; I wanted a slicker car, like a Shelby, but I figured I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself. I drove it around quite a bit, but I found that Toronto traffic and pedestrians generally made me an angry man, so I tended to drive in moderation. Yeah, night driving wasn’t too bad, but it got ridiculous during the day.

On this particular day, I was walking. I had to run a few errands, which were basically comprised of buying some new clothes and some groceries, but that was about it. I don’t really have anything exciting to say; I got two pairs of jeans that fit me very well and I bought some food.

I turn the corner right before my apartment, when I see something peculiar. I turn around and go back quickly; there are two guys in suits sitting in front of my place reading the newspaper. It wouldn’t be too much of a surprise if there was, say, a bus stop in front of my place, but no; they’re waiting for someone. I peek back out. It looks like they’re been here for a little while, since they went through at least two coffees a piece. I stay behind the corner, pull out my cell phone, and dial Bill.

“Pick up,” I say, hoping it’ll help cause Bill to be home.

It rings twice, and then he answers it, “Yeah?”

“Bill, it’s Max. Two cops are outside my apartment. I think they’re waiting for me.”

He pauses. “Like, they pulled up in front of your place with a cop car? They’re just sitting there?”

I peek back around the corner, so as to give an accurate description, “Well, no. They’re in suit suits, not cop uniforms. But I can tell they’re cops. I need you to get Sammy and come over, quick. I’ll meet you at the back; we have some cleaning to do.”

I sneak around to the back, and both of them are here shortly. “Where’s Caroline?” Sammy asks as we go inside.

“She’s out with friends, thank goodness. I’ll bet they buzzed up here and didn’t get anyone, so they’re waiting.”

We get up to my apartment, and I let us in. “Okay, fellas,” I say, “Let’s clean this up as fast as we can. Remember, neatness counts. And – Sammy, wait!”

He freezes in place. I continue, “Whatever you do, don’t go near the window. If they see someone up here, the jig’s up.”

We take a good half-hour making sure there’s nothing around that can incriminate us. By the end of it, we load all the glassware and ingredients into my car. “Here, Bill. You drive, and I’ll have to walk up to the front with my groceries now,” I toss him my keys. “Oh, and take this,” I take off my holster and revolver and hand them to him.

I start to turn around, but then I stop and say, “Wait. Remember, drive the speed limit. Oh, and don’t do anything stupid like getting in an accident; something like that’s liable to get us all in jail.”

“Don’t worry about a thing. We’re in the clear,” he reassures me.

I sneak back around and walk up to my apartment with my keys out, pretending to be oblivious to the two men. I see one motion toward me, and the other looks, at which point they approach me. “Maxwell Turner?” one asks me.

I put a puzzled look on my face, “Uh...Hello there. How can I...help you...?”

The other one speaks, “I’m Detective Flannigan and this is Detective Lubic.”

I shake Lubic’s hand, and Flannigan continues, “Can we come up with you to your apartment, sir?”

I ask, “What seems to be the problem?”

“We’ve got a report of a methamphetamine lab in your apartment,” answers Lubic. “We’d just like to look around a bit.”

“Oh-okay,” I continue my confusion, “If you have to. Are you sure you don’t have the wrong person? I can assure you-”

“Sir,” Lubic cuts me off, “just let us in.”

I lead them up and into my apartment, and they proceed to look around. “Would you two care for anything? Coffee?” I say, as I think of the irony of offering them coffee after seeing several empty Tim Horton’s coffee cups at their feet outside.

“No, we’re just going to look around, if that’s okay with you,” says Flannigan.

“Sure, no problem,” I respond as I walk into the kitchen and start putting my groceries away.

I finish, and I realize I need to go to the washroom. “I’ll just be in there for a second if you need me.”

Lubic nods and I go. As I’m washing my hands, I notice three small bottles of iodine tincture sitting on a shelf in my bathroom. I mutter under my breath, “Oh, man. What the hell are those doing there?”

My mind races quickly. How am I going to explain that being here? “Oh, no, officer. They’re for sanitizing my drinking water. Toronto water, you know.” I probably would be able to say that I use it as an antiseptic when I cut myself, but seeing the tincture would probably give them reason to keep tabs on me, especially with there being three bottles. I look around frantically: the window. I open the window and place them on the ledge out there, just out of sight, closing the window afterwards.

Once I come out of the bathroom, Lubic checks in there and Flannigan frisks me. Lubic comes out, Flannigan looks at him and says, “He’s clean.”

Lubic shakes his head, “Nothing in there either. We’re sorry to have bothered you, sir.”

They both leave and I breathe a sigh of relief. My relief is short-lived, however, when I grab the iodine back and get enraged. “Who the hell puts ingredients in the bathroom?” I say to myself. I then pause, and my rage changes gears, “And who the hell called the cops on me?”

I walk over to my living room window and watch the cops drive away in their car. Suddenly, it dawns on me. I mutter, “Roeper.”

Lesson 5: Don't Fuck With Us

Sammy told us about the guys who messed him up. He was out selling at the time, when this gang came up on him. They told him this was their turf and they didn’t want someone else muscling in on it. They must have been new in the area, since I hadn’t heard of them before this; probably a brand new gang trying to get known. It worked so far, as they left an impression on me. They wanted to make sure he understood, so they roughed him up and took his Meth and money.

We did some sleuthing, and we found the guys who matched the description Sammy gave us. Turns out, they were exactly what we thought, a brand new gang making sure everyone knew they meant business. And here we are, Bill and I, a block away from their crib, waiting for almost all of them to leave. There are only five of them, so we’ll wait until we count four of them leaving. Fortunately for us, there’s a coffee shop a block away with perfect visibility from the front patio.

I sip my espresso, “So, I don’t know what’s going on. I keep seeing him around; he could be stalking us, you know. It’s something to look out for.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Bill tells me. “We don’t want him calling the cops on us.”

I put down my cup, “That’s what I’m afraid of. But I don’t think we have much to...” I see him looking into the direction of the house intently, “Are they leaving?”

“Yeah, it looks like...Three of them.”

“Okay, and the other one’s still gone?” I ask.

He looks at me, “Could have went in the back, but it looks good.”

“Good enough for me. Let’s do this.”

We walk out and over to the house. I look around, and there’s no one in our immediate vicinity, so I pull out my revolver and make sure it’s still loaded. I flip it closed with a click, and put it back under my jacket. “Ready?” I ask.

He adjusts his jacket slightly, “I was born ready.”

I knock on the door. We wait, but there’s no answer. I can hear loud booming bass playing inside, so I rap on the door much harder this time. We wait, and the door opens this time, opened by a tall, lanky guy. He looks us over quickly, and says, “Can I help you?”

I respond, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you can,” and I nod to Bill.

Bill pushes the kid down on his ass and walks inside. I follow him in, close the door behind me, and lock it. The kid looks shocked, and stutters, “H-hey, do you have any idea who I am?”

The kid scrambles back slightly, and Bill walks toward him, saying, “Why, yes. Yes, we do.”

“And do you have any idea what these are?” I add, as we both pull out our pistols.

The kid freezes, and I tell Bill, “Bring him into the back room. I’m going to check upstairs quick.”

Bill proceeds to grab the kid by his hair and drags him into the other room. The kid screams. I climb the stairs carefully, the music getting louder as I get higher. I push open the door slowly and look around: no one’s there. I check the other rooms, and I don’t find anyone. I head back downstairs and into the back room, where I can hear the kid sobbing, “Don’t kill me, man. Please, don’t kill me.”

I walk through the door and see the kid in a chair, tears all over his face, and Bill’s glock almost right in his mouth. I put my revolver away, “No, we aren’t here to kill you. We’re here to warn you. We’re just messengers, here to tell you that you fucked with the wrong people.”

“No!” he yells. “I’ve never even seen you before!”

Bill tells him, “You don’t even know who we are? You might be out of your element.”

I walk around the room, their kitchen, the kid sobbing the whole while. I turn to him and walk right up to him, “And now, I really want you to remember this.”

I pause, my face close to his. He opens his eyes, and looks utterly terrified.

“DON’T,” I yell this as I knock his chair over backwards. He hits his head hard on the floor, “FUCK,” I kick him as hard as I can in his side, and he reels from the blow, “WITH US!”

I finish off by stomping on his jaw. I can feel his jaw break under the force put forth by my foot. The kid wails in pain, bleeding from his disfigured mouth, and I nod to Bill. We walk out the back door.

We walk a roundabout route back to my place, ever so cautious that no one is following us. I can feel the adrenaline starting to slowly wear off. Bill looks at me, and says, “And now, we wait and see if they retaliate. Better stay ever vigilant.”

“Yeah,” I reply, “we’ll see if they’ve got any balls.”

We laugh.

Lesson 4: Get in Shape

We started selling. I worked in the Chemistry lab less and less, until I stopped going altogether; I decided that I should commit myself fully to synthesizing and selling. It started out slowly, as expected, but people were slowly hearing about us. Eventually, we weren’t doing too badly for ourselves, but we could always be doing better. Demand never diminished, so there was nowhere to go but up. I was hoping to find one person or group to buy a lot of our product in one fell swoop one day, but we didn’t have to worry about that yet; better off staying grounded in the present, not to get ahead of ourselves.

We didn’t run into many snags at this point. Well, I had to yell at Sammy a few times for doing stupid things. One day, he came in with about two-dozen boxes of Sudafed, all of which he got from the same Shoppers Drug Mart. It took us a long time to explain that this wasn’t a good idea, because he had it in his mind that he was being smart since they were on sale at the time. Eventually, though, we convinced him that people look out for possible Meth dealers at pharmacies, and he hasn’t done anything like that since.

Today, Bill and I are sparring a bit at his place. I figured I healed enough since last time, when he threw me through a wall in the basement, so I should be good to go. Ever since some potential clients gave us some trouble a while back, we decided we should know how to fight, and we started sparring every chance we got. We didn’t really feel like hitting Caroline, so she didn’t come along; plus, I tried to make sure she wasn’t out on the streets if I wasn’t around anyway. Sammy didn’t come along basically because he was a bit of a wuss, and very opposed to anything involving physical pain. We tried to get him involved, because you never knew when it would come in handy, but he wouldn’t have it.

Bill and I also started going to the gym regularly. The workout was gruelling, with both intense cardio and strength training, but the results really paid off. Now, I was able to run for quite a long time without really having to rest, and I’m sure I could really pack a wallop if I hit someone else. Well, I knew Bill’s punches really hurt, anyway. Plus, I looked good, so I didn’t mind keeping it up.

We chose Bill’s basement for sparring mainly because it was spacious. We take off our shirts and shoes, Fight Club style, and start circling around. “Ready to get owned again?” he asks me, laughing.

I come at him, with a large haymaker to start things off. He’s ready for me, and he steps to the side, delivering a punch to my stomach in the process. He goes for another swing, but I step back. He comes a bit closer, but I deliver a nasty kick to his thigh, so he backs up slightly.

“You’d better be ready this time, Bill,” I tell him. “This is gonna hurt.”

I come straight at him again, faking another punch. He tucks his chin in, ready to move with it, but I jump up and deliver a knee, aimed at his face. I don’t jump high enough, and get him in the chest instead, but he still falls back. I keep coming, delivering several hooks. He blocks a few and gets a few good ones in the face. I grab him, ready for some dirty boxing, even though Bill’s much better at dirty boxing than I am. Suddenly, my cell phone rings.

I look at him, and he looks back at me. It rings again. We disengage, both breathing heavily. I turn as though I’m going to get the phone, then I hit him once in the arm, and run to my phone. “Ow. Jerk,” he says, rubbing his arm.

I pick up my phone. “How strange, I don’t recognize the number,” I tell him. “Must be Sammy calling from a payphone.”

I answer it, “Hello?”

“Hey Max, it’s Sammy.”

Bill looks at me, and I give him the thumbs up. “Hey there, Sammy,” I reply, “what can I do for you?”

“Uh...Where are you right now?”

I pause, “I’m at Bill’s. Is something wrong?”

Bill looks concerned at this point. Sammy continues, “I need to talk to you. I’m outside your place right now. Do you think you can come on over?”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll be right there.”

Bill and I grab our stuff and rush over to my place. We come around the corner and see Sammy sitting there. “Sammy!” I yell.

Sammy gets up and I’m not prepared for what I see. He’s bleeding from his nose, which looks broken, he has a cut on his forehead, and his left eye is purple and swollen shut. He says, “We definitely need to talk.”

Lesson 3: Know Your Surroundings

Now I had people I trusted helping me out and my Meth lab was set up. I got Sammy to practice synthesis a few times and, once he got the hang of it, we both made sure Bill and Caroline wouldn’t blow us up either. While we were still in this practicing phase, I took a lot of time to walk around and make sure I knew the area really well, and I recommended the same to the others. If we were going to be dealing around here, you never knew what kinds of sticky situations we’d get in. It would be useful to be able to always have several escape routes on hand if, say, the cops came down on us.

On this particular day, Caroline and I were walking around the neighbourhood in the middle of the afternoon. “Wow, look at that house, Maxwell,” she said to me. “How would you like to live there?”

I looked the house over. It was a very nice, well-kempt two-storey house. It had the old-world charm of most of the houses in this area, but it was also fixed up; old meets new. “I don’t know. I like the big bay window in the front, but I’m not a big fan of the grey bricks,” I told her. “Hmm...The back yard isn’t too big, but they really have a large, wooden fence back there.”

She stood on her toes, trying to look past me at the fence and yard. “You know,” she added, “I think someone would be able to hide in that yard quite easily, should the need arise.”

She looked back at me, “Okay, genius, what house would you like to live in?”

I looked around at the houses in the area. I wasn’t a big fan of any of the houses. “I don’t know,” I said. “Everything around here isn’t that bad, but I can’t say that anything really jumps out at me.”

“Looks like you can run into that alley and hop a couple fences to get onto that street,” Caroline told me as she pointed. “Let’s take a look where that leads to.”

We turned the corner. It looked like we were on a fairly quiet avenue now. “Not bad,” I said, “barely anyone around.”

“And it’s not that far from Bloor,” she added, “so we can get here quickly if we need to.”

We walked further down the street, and I saw it: a house I absolutely loved. “There it is,” I told her enthusiastically. “That’s the house I’d live in.”

She took a good look at it, and asked me, “Really? But it’s so run-down.”

“I know,” I added, “but it’s got character. It would need a bit of fixing up, but it would be worth it. I love the look of it; it really looks like nothing else around here.”

She considered it, “I guess. Although, I wouldn’t dart into that yard in a hurry if I were you.”

She pointed, and I could feel my eyes widen, “Holy geez, look at the size of that dog.” I paused, “Isn’t that a pit bull? I thought there was some law banning those in this city.”

She laughed at me, “Are you for real? Since when were you such a law-abiding citizen?”

I just laughed, “Well, what do you say we head home?”

She had a huge smile on her face, “Okay.”

On the way home, we passed by the post office, the bookstore next door, and the two-storey apartment building next to that. I stopped walking, and Caroline looked at me, confused, “What’s the matter?”

“You know,” I spoke to myself as much as I spoke to her, “that ‘For Rent’ sign has been on that apartment building for as long as I can remember. I wonder...”

I released her hand, and walked around to the side of the building. I looked up and down the building, and she just stood there looking at me. I walked back to the bookstore, still scanning the buildings. The bookstore was right up against the apartment building, and I noticed a small walkway between the post office and the bookstore. “Come on,” I said, jogging down the walkway.

She followed, and we wound up behind the post office. There was an alleyway with several Canada Post trucks parked in it. I scanned the wall of the bookstore, and saw the downspout of the rain gutter coming down. Next to the spout was a garbage can; I climbed on the can and hoisted myself up so I could grab the rain gutter. With a bit of effort, I hoisted myself up and onto the roof of the bookstore.

I looked down at Caroline, “Okay, give me your hand.”

She climbed onto the garbage can, and held up her hand, at which point I helped pull her up. We looked around. The building was slightly higher at the front of the bookstore, but it was lower where we were; no one would be able to see us from the street. “Aha,” I said, really excited at this point, “Just what I was hoping for.”

I gestured toward the single window from the second-storey of the apartment building. I walked over and tried the window; it budged slightly, but it was jammed. I really yanked on it a few times, and it eventually came open. I stepped into the apartment and helped Caroline in. The room was completely bare, albeit quite dusty. “And here, my dear Caroline, is a very good hiding place.”

Lesson 2: Find Good Help

I figured I should get more people to help me out before I started synthesizing Meth. I mean, not only would it be tough enough to do everything on my own, but I also thought that there would be times where having other people around to back me up would be useful, and there have been. However, while this was true, I didn’t want to have too many people involved; I wanted to have an intimate little group of people I’ve known for a long time, who I could trust. The last thing I needed when drugs and money were involved was someone stabbing me in the back.

The first person I talked to about this was my good friend, Bill. Bill and I went way back, all the way to elementary school. We’ve been close ever since, even though we took different paths in life; Bill never did anything after finishing high school. At this time, he was working some dead-end job in a call-centre, and I knew he was strapped for cash, so I figured it’d be pretty easy to get him on board. I also knew he sold pot for a while a few years back, so he shouldn’t be too opposed to selling some Meth instead. He had a head on his shoulders and, beyond all else, Bill was really loyal; if he got caught for possession, he wasn’t talking. If trustworthy was what I was looking for, Bill was the way to go. Plus, he was a pretty big guy; you never knew when you would need some extra muscle. Just as I thought, Bill came on board without too much discussion.

The only other person I wanted to approach at this time was my other friend, Sammy. I hadn’t known Sammy as long as Bill, but we were pretty close as well. I met Sammy in high school, when we had almost every class together. After high school, he decided to take Chemistry along with me, so I still wound up seeing a lot of him. I considered Sammy not only because I was fairly close to him, but he thought about things in a creative way; while he didn’t always have common sense, he could come up with solutions to the strangest problems. I figured, as long as Bill and I were around to keep Sammy grounded in reality, this would be an asset, plus he would be able to help with the actual synthesis of the Meth. The only problem I foresaw with Sammy was that he was generally nervous in regards to doing something different and taking a risk, especially if he expected jail time or bodily harm, so it might take a lot of discussion before he became part of this project. No matter what, there was no harm in asking him as I knew he’d never tell anyone that I asked if he didn’t take part; he wouldn’t get in trouble. As was expected, it took some convincing, but the money involved was the biggest factor that really helped to get Sammy involved.

At this point, I was basically ready to start, but my conscience got the best of me. After thinking it over for a while, I felt that it would be unfair to my girlfriend, Caroline, to do this without telling her about it. And, really, we lived together, so I’m sure I’d have a hard time hiding it from her. I also felt that she should have the option of not staying involved with someone who’s manufacturing and selling illicit drugs. In hindsight, I probably should have talked to Caroline before approaching either Bill or Sammy, but it was much easier to bring it up with both of them.

We were sitting on our couch at the time, just talking. Well, she was doing most of the talking; I was too busy muddling how I was going to bring this up with her in my mind. In amongst all her random stories she was telling me, she finally looked at me and asked, “Hey, is there something wrong, Maxwell? You haven’t really said much all night.”

You see, Caroline was the only person really close to me who used my full name. It was strange at first, since I was used to everyone calling me Max all the time, but I warmed up to it. I mean, I like my full name. I looked back at her, “Yeah, there’s something I wanted to bring up with you, but I wasn’t sure how to...say it.”

She smiled. I loved her smile, “You know you can tell me anything.” She slapped my leg, “Come on, Maxwell, we should be past this awkward stage by now.”

“I know. This is just,” I paused, to give myself time to come up with the right word, moving my hands around while I organized my thoughts, “big.”

She laughed, “I’m sure there’s nothing you could tell me that could be shocking.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I added.

She paused and gave me this strange look, “You’re not asking me to marry you, are you? I thought we already talked about this.”

I laughed, “No, nothing like that. It’s just...”

Her eyebrows rose, “...Yes?”

“I’m going to start producing and selling Crystal Meth.”

Her face was frozen in the same expression. A smile slowly crept to her face again, “What, really?”

I nodded. We sat in silence briefly, and then I added, “I got Sammy and Bill on board. I already practiced the synthesis in the lab several times, and I’m careful, so you don’t have to worry about me blowing myself or anyone else up. I just wanted to let you know...”

She stared at me. I continued, “You know, if you want to get out, this is the time to do it.”

She looked up at the ceiling, then back at me, smile still on her face, “Okay, I’m in.”

I looked at her seriously, “I meant this is the time to get out of the relationship. I don’t want you involved in this; I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Her eyebrows rose again, “You don’t want anything happening to me? I don’t want anything happening to you. Come on, I’m sure you can use another person helping out. Besides, what am I going to do when you’re at home making it? Sit around? Do the dishes? Bring out the Tang and cheese crackers for Bill and Sammy?”

I smiled. She looked like she was thinking about what she just said, “And, really, who else is going to make sure you all do it right?”

“As long as you’re sure this is what you want.”

She crept closer to me, “Of course it is.”

She kissed me gently on the lips.

Lesson 1: Do Your Homework

Let me tell you a bit about myself. I worked in a Chemistry lab at the University of Toronto before I found my true calling. Ever since high school, I enjoyed Chemistry more than other subjects, and I knew I’d be pursuing it further once I hit University. University hit, and I kept with it, but my enjoyment was diminishing more and more with each passing year. I knew my parents thought the prospect of a Dr. Maxwell Turner would be a dream come true, but I was finding it harder and harder to imagine myself going all the way.

It’s not that the people I worked with were tough to get along with either. Dr. Jones and I got along famously; we were always joking around and he was there for me whenever I needed help. I also liked all the other Masters students working in the lab with me. Well, I liked all of them except Roeper, but no one really got along with him. Roeper was this guy who was always completely by the book when it came to his experiments; he was very slow on the draw and had a very limited sense of humour. Roeper was actually his last name, I think, his first being Mike or Paul or John or something. I think he sort of had a problem with me because Dr. Jones and I were fairly tight, while Roeper wanted to be the golden boy. No, we never saw eye to eye but, otherwise, my lab experience wasn’t an overly negative one. It just started to get very tedious.

One day, I was wallowing in my own mediocrity and considering what I should do with my life, surfing the internet, when I came to a realization: Crystal Meth was really easy to make. I remembered hearing that methamphetamine is the number one selling street drug right now, since it’s so cheap and easy to make, so I searched out a recipe on Google and several popped up immediately. If I were to make and sell Meth, this might be able to add some excitement to my life and get me copious amounts of money in the process. However, I knew the dangers of making it, so I figured I should practice carefully several times before attempting to mass-produce. I figured I could stay late in the lab every now and then trying it out, since they should have basically everything I need to make the stuff and the rest of the ingredients were really easy to pick up. I just had to make sure no one else was around when I practiced.

It was the third time I stayed late, I think, when it happened. I was concentrating hard on drawing a layer of ether off a layer of water, so I didn’t even notice Dr. Jones walk in. He startled me when he spoke, as he was standing right beside me, “Hey there, Max. What’s going on?”

“Oh, hi, Dr. Steve,” Dr. Steve was what everyone called Dr. Jones. “I didn’t see you come in. I’m just purifying something right now; I don’t think I’ll be much longer.”

He looked at my apparatus then asked nonchalantly, “What are you making, methamphetamine?”

I froze, not saying anything. He added, “Yeah, that looks like Meth to me. I hope you’re not planning on getting high; you’re liable to kill some brain cells.”

“No,” I figured there was no point in lying to him, “I was planning on selling it.”

He laughed, “Ah, feeding the junkies. You know, you’re not going to make very much money selling that little.”

“I know,” I was feeling a bit more comfortable talking about this with him now. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t blow myself up before trying to make a large batch.”

His tone suddenly turned very grave. He told me, “If you're actually considering doing this, make sure you’re completely serious about it. Once you’re in, you’re in; there’s no turning back.”

I nodded, and he continued, “And you know I can’t have you making Meth in my lab. If I had tenure, then maybe I could play dumb and keep my job, but you know I’m getting terminated if you get caught. So, you’re just going to have to take your Meth lab elsewhere, Max.”

He stopped talking for a bit to make sure everything he was saying was sinking in. He looked away, and back at my eyes, then went on, “I don’t expect you’re really going to get talked out of this one right now, but just make sure you’re careful,” he paused. “I’ll tell you what; you can take what you need from here, glassware-wise.”

I looked at him, “Really?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll say some first-years broke them and order some more.”

I stopped to think about it, “You don’t really seem too concerned about me making and selling Meth.”

He didn’t even have to consider what I said, “I don’t know. If you’re smart about it, I’m sure you’ll make your money. Plus, if you’re going to be convinced that it’s bad, I’m sure you’re more likely to understand if you run into problems first-hand, rather than some old guy telling you that you’re stupid. Life lessons are the way to go.”

We sat in silence for another moment, at which point he added, “Of course, remember that I said you’ll make your money if you’re smart about it. Don’t get caught again.”

I looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I won’t.”

He smiled, “You’ve got a head on your shoulders, Max. Play your cards right, and I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

He started to leave, but he stopped, and added, “Oh, and remember, we never had this conversation.”

I gave him the thumbs up, he walked out, and I cleaned up. I left that day with my new glassware. On the way out, I walked past Roeper. To this day, I remember the look he gave me; he glared at me as though he hated every part of me.