What If We Had It All

Armed and Dangerous

"Armed and Dangerous"

Javier

|43|

"Hear wah go gwaan', yuh can either deal wid mi or yuh deal wid him." Dandre pointed at himself then to me, "And deh one deh, trigger happy. Him nuh think twice, him just leggo bullet."

Dandre wasn't getting anywhere with getting this man to speak and there was no need, we knew he'd been getting high on our supply.

He either was plain stupid or he thought we were plain stupid.

The bastard couldn't even sit up straight and the subtle nose twitches and flicks, were hard to miss.

He was blatantly playing in our faces at this point.

He sat there high off the narcotics he's meant to be distributing.

I had everyone who worked in the same department in the room with us. I wasn't a fan of anyone who fucked with my money and I'd make an example out of this clown.

Haven't he heard? You don't mix business and pleasure, no matter how damn good it might be.

Fools like him is the exact reason why people like me made bank selling product.

You can't go wrong in this business.

Not when they always keep coming back for more.

After one sniff, they feel so good and they tell themselves they only need two more and soon they realize that doesn't do the trick anymore, so they have to up the dosage.

They're stuck in this constant game of cat and mouse with the euphoric high.

Soon, the highs become too high, so it causes the lows to feel rock bottom, sometimes even worse than they were before. It sparks a needy hunger inside, one so desperate to be fed.

It messes with the mind, slowly deteriorating and overstimulating the brain and they'll be lucky if they don't go insane.

They become so accustomed to this feeling that they never really owned, but they don't know that. They think it's theirs to keep, so they try to keep it.

One sniff after the other.

Then they fall down the rabbit hole of the white lady, cocaine herself. . .in all her glory.

"Him nuh wrong." I shrugged, nonchalantly. When my gun's weight burdened my hand, it itched like a bad rash and I wanted nothing more to put it to good use.

I aimed my gun at his head, it would easily be a clean shot, execution style.

But if I moved it down a little, maybe just down to the neck, I'd be able to watch him slowly choke on his blood while he, himself listened and felt as his body weakened, his pulse slowed and his breath slowly leave him and by then he'll want to die, he'll be begging for it to stop and at some point his brain will finally go dead, ending his torture.

I pulled the trigger, taking the shot.

The sound of the bullet echoes through the warehouse and his body falls with a hard thud.

Messy

Blood was already leaking from his corpse.

I look around the room at the other men. They all stared in gratitude or pity, thankful it wasn't them but sorry they had to witness one of their own go down like that.

"Clean it up." I placed my gun carefully on my lap, not bothering to put it back on saftey just yet. I wouldn't want to give anyone the notion that they were safe.