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.
Monday, March 9, 2009
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lol, I remember this story!!!! Well, it wasn't part of this story at the time. But I definitely remember it!!!!
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