Dying Like Dogs

“Perce!” he’s yelling. “Perce, I called Kettle to ask about the money. He didn’t answer so I called around to find him. Found out he ain’t called me cause he got shot!”

“Slow down, Philly!” I keep my voice low so the people in this parking lot can’t overhear me. “Kettle got shot? Who shot him? Is he okay, what happened?”

“He’s dead, Perce.” Philly seems only slightly calmer as he tells me this. “Him, Ducky and Big Pete. All fucking dead.”

“How in the fuck?” is all I can muster, my nerves not quite catching up to the news.

“Drive-by,” my lieutenant informs me. “Outside the liquor store in Doyle Heights, man.”

“Aw, shit!” I curse quietly. “Smoke Money, right?”

“Ain’t sure who shot ‘em,” Philly tells me. “From what I can get outta people, apparently it was some sort of Nissan sedan. Tinted windows. Whoever shot ‘em ditched the thing about half a mile from where they gunned our boys down. Stolen ride, the cops are saying.”

“No one got a good look at the shooters?” I can’t believe this bullshit.

“Nah, it happened real quick so it must’ve been planned out. Only thing we know is Kettle didn’t have none of that money on him. All of ‘em straight dead and none of ‘em had anything unusual with ‘em. Cops know they’re Kingfin so they figure this shit is gang-related, but can’t figure out a motive since as far as they know we ain’t feuding with anybody.”

This strikes me as strange. Kettle’s from Sunset Point, but he’s still Kingfin and Philly still pulls rank on him so I seriously doubt he’d pocket that cash or risk leaving it with anyone. The only conclusion that I can come to is that he must’ve had it stripped off his corpse. That’s pretty sick and it’s not real likely Smoke Money’s crew would do that kind of thing if this was a vendetta hit. I highly doubt that Smoke Money has any clue we shot ‘em up at Thunder Gate, anyhow. My intuition tells me this is pure Knucklehead bullshit and that money was real, not fake.

“Three of our men dead.” I let the statement hang in the air. “Money gone off Kettle. I guess that doesn’t leave a whole lot of guesswork for us now does it?”

“What you sayin’ Perce?”

“I’m telling you this is a Knucklehead hit.” I let my tone tell him how deadly serious I am. “They want us to continue business as usual and show up at Lanky Joe’s to get at least a partial payment. When we show up, they off us.”

“You fucking serious?” Philly’s got to be foaming at the mouth now. “You think they set this shit up just to knock us off and take Benton?”

“S’right, I do. This isn’t just about Seattle, Philly. It’s some sort of gig that interests their entire fucking organization. Why else would the Diamondknuckles be doing bitch work for some fucker from LA? Why else would they toss us decent chunks of change to keep us off their asses while they dowsed the park? This isn’t some minor thing they’re looking for. Whatever it is, it’s worth a lot to them or they wouldn’t risk provoking a war with us. However, what they’ve done calls for war. None of those boys deserved to die, especially not by ambush.”

“Holy fuck!” Philly hasn’t technically known full-scare war. Beef, yes, but not war. “We’re at war?”

“Gonna need MadBlack’s approval since it’s his Doyle Heights set, but that won’t be hard for me to get. This is gonna be a war those Knuckleheads are never gonna forget. I’m going straight to MadBlack’s to get his approval. You get some troops decked out and bring ‘em to Morton’s. Fast as you can.”

Morton’s is Morton & Son’s Scrap & Salvage, our secret weapon. Philly’s got some idea about it though we’ve rarely needed to use the place before now. It’s on our payroll and he’ll learn why once things get rolling.

“Got it, Boss,” he rushes his words. “Get ‘em to Morton’s quick as I can.”

“Good. See you there.”

I click my phone shut and enter the car, smiling at Lolinda. “I hate to do this, you know I do, but I’ve got some up and coming business to handle. I’ll swing you back to your place and we’ll re-schedule the walk on the pier if that’s alright with you.”

“Okay,” her smile flickers a little. I know she’s disappointed. “I understand. You do what you’ve got to do.”

“That’s right,” I tell her, “Don’t worry, though. We’ll get together again soon, I promise you.”

She doesn’t mind 2pac and right now that’s what I need, so we listen to The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory during the trip back to her place. I make sure she has a fifty tucked down the back pocket of her jeans before I let her out of the car. She thinks I just felt her up.

Author’s Note: more tomorrow….

Text Message

Ronnie-K and Dank let their controllers fall to the floor, the unpaused game continuing without them. Philly and I freeze, too. I’m hoping no one draws their piece at this point because the woman’s looking just crazy enough to discharge both of those barrels if someone upsets the balance of power in this room.

“What are you doing?” Tiff’s in a panic, staring at her aunt.

“What I should’ve done the first time I laid eyes on these filthy thugs!”

“Put that shit away,” Hyena barks at her. “Are you fucking nuts? We all got guns! What are you gonna do, blast us all?”

“If I have to,” Her gaze dances around the room, more than eager for an excuse to pull that trigger. “My Daddy taught me how to use this thing and he told me if it came down to it I better not pull it out unless I planned to use it. And I do.”

“Are you going to let us walk out of here?” I ask, sounding as bored as I can.

“That’s your only option.” She snarls, brave behind the firearm. “Unless you’re interested in getting a load of buckshot to fill that empty space where a brain ought to be.”

I stand up slowly, “Let’s go, boys.”

“Then I’m going, too,” Hyena tells her.

“You so much as think about taking a step towards that door and I’ll blow a piece of you off, too!”

“Aunt Jolene!” Tiff shrieks. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” the woman’s speaks slowly, “He’d better stay put until I can talk some sense into his head after these piles of trash get off my property.”

“You’d shoot me?” Hyena’s beginning to realize who he’s dealing with. “You’d kill my friends? I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Believe it,” Philly tells him, standing up slowly. “Bitch is crazier than fuckin’ Cujo.”

“Shut your mouth, wetback! And y’all keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Listen, lady,” I stand by as the others file past me towards the door, “The boy just needs you to be reasonable right now.”

“Are you talking again, nigger?” She hisses, “The only thing ‘the boy’ needs is to get away from trash like you and get his life back to Jesus!”

If I thought this angry little troll had the intelligence to understand it, I might point out the hypocrisy of this entire situation. Since I don’t, I simply roll my eyes. Philly passes me, his jaw working in a way that tells me he’s grinding his teeth to hold his tongue.

“Follow him out,” she orders me.

“I go last.” I look her straight in the eyes. “I don’t trust you so I’m gonna make sure you don’t try shootin’ one of my men.”

“I wouldn’t shoot a person in the back.” She tells me. “Unlike you, I’m not a coward.”

If I didn’t give a shit about Hyena or his sister I’d not have any trouble dropping her out of principle. She certainly seems to be begging for it by constantly provoking us. Of course, no matter who’s fault it was since we’re gang-bangers and she’s a church lady we’d be the ones going to jail.

“Dank, Ronnie.” I let her break our stare-down before I look over to them. “Follow Philly out to the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

Aunt Jolene knows I’ve overridden her control of the situation, but she says nothing. Both men look at me as they pass by, their expressions showing that they’re more pissed off than they are scared.

“Good luck, Hyena,” I tell Sam before following my crew. “You too, Tiff.”

“Move, don’t talk!” Aunt Jolene orders, jabbing the gun into my back. “Once you’re gone don’t you ever come back or, Lord help me, I’ll go straight to the police.”

And tell them what, that she held us up at gunpoint? No sense mentioning that to her since she’s not acting on any sane impulses. Once we’re in the parking lot, I tell Philly to run down to Benton with the boys to make sure things are going smoothly there. I also make sure he remembers to meet with Kettle to inspect the cash the Knuckleheads gave us. Then I kick him hard in the shins.

“Ow!” he yelps. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I told you to keep your hands off Tiff, didn’t I?” Suppressing the fact that I find this humorous is tough, but I manage.

“Aw shit, man.” Philly’s rubbing his sore leg. “She came on to me last night, I couldn’t say no cause I didn’t want to piss her off and get us kicked out of there so we couldn’t guard the place like you asked us to.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.” He knows I’m mocking him. “Next time you do like I tell you or I’ll aim for the balls.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ beg her!” He protests loudly, causing Ronnie-K and Dank to burst into hysterical laughter. “Didn’t beg her aunt, either.”

“Nuh-uh!” Dank’s collapsing against the car while he says this. “You screwed both of ‘em?”

“Damn straight!” Philly scowls at him. “Why you think the old bitch got mad when she found out I balled her niece? I only did her while Tiff was in the shower, otherwise I was too busy bangin’ Tiff to fool with her.”

“Oh my god!” Ronnie-K’s wracked by a fresh wave of laughter. “You did the old chick, too! Oh my fucking god!”

“Okay, okay,” I jump in, impatient to get out of here so I can make a call. “Enough high-fiving over balling skanks. We’re all proud of you for scoring the world’s easiest lays. Philly, get to Benton with these two monkeys. I’ve got shit to do. Call me if you need anything.”

With that I get into my car and pull out of the parking lot. All this insanity has left me hungry and since I skipped breakfast I’m going to need some form of sustenance here real quick. I hate eating alone, so I reach for my phone to call around and see which of my females feels like a date. While I’m opening the phone, a text message comes through. It’s from Hyena.

“not going to texas. see you after they leave. stay true.”

I have to smile at the kid’s determination. Might be more difficult to get out of his predicament than he thinks right now, but my gut tells me he’s going to pull it off.

I fire back a message of my own: “do what u gotta do.”

Author’s Note: There it is.

It’s All in the Money

“What is it, Philly?” I growl.

“Just got a call from Kettle.” He’s verbally tip-toeing, I can tell. “Sent him to Benton to make sure the Knuckleheads were cleared out by the time they told us. All of ‘em gone except for this dude, Hulk.”

“You mean Hurk.” I sit up to fish around in the ashtray beside the bed for a roach worth smoking. “What’d he want?”

“Well, Hurk or whoever, says the Kobra dude wants the park for another night.” I can almost hear Philly holding his breath, awaiting a negative response.

“Really?” I touch the flame of my lighter to the roach and suck in the smoke. “They plan on paying?”

“Yeah, Hurk gave Kettle five grand.” Philly relaxes noticeably since I’m not angry. “Said we know they’re good for the rest. We can pick it up at some place over in Cherry Hill called Lanky Joe’s. A bar, I’m guessing.”

“Lanky Joe’s? Yeah, I’ve heard of the place.” I blow out the smoke lazily, taking my time with this conversation. “Knucklehead owned & operated for a decade or so now. They hold meetings and shit there, real honky tonk.”

“Oh yeah?” Philly’s as confused by my response as he is cheerful. “So you wanna go over there later or what you thinkin’?”

“Thinking they don’t plan to pay us.” I let these words drop like lead.

“What do you mean, man?” There he goes getting nervous again. “They already gave us five grand. Why give us that and then bail on the rest?”

“Cause they plan to kill us later today when we go pick up the money,” I tell him, relishing the opportunity to show my street smarts. “Get us out of the way so they can have Benton for as long as they like. Whatever they’re looking for is too valuable for them to stop. They figure we’ll refuse to let them use the park a second night, see? Figure we’ll pocket the cash they gave Kettle, then tell them no at Lanky Joe’s.”

“Tell you the truth, that’s what I thought you’d do, too, Perce. I know MadBlack’d be pissed the fuck off if we let them have another night in Benton.”

“Damn straight he would.” I have to grin at Philly’s honesty, but frown at the roach burning my fingers. “So we can’t ask him, not even gonna try. Besides, did you check that cash Kettle got handed?”

He’s hesitant. “No.”

“Did Kettle tell you he checked it himself?”

“Nuh-uh.”

I can’t help but laugh as I light a second roach I’ve found. “Old tricks, Philly. Knuckleheads didn’t get where they’re at by playin’ it straight. They also aren’t going to be forking over twenty grand to their rivals, either. So one of three things is going on here: the envelope doesn’t have any money in it, it’s got fake money in it or, and this is my bet, it’s got the cash in there because they plan to ambush our asses at Lanky Joe’s.”

“Motherfucker!” Philly’s got his volcanic anger back. “You really think so? What are we gonna do?”

“First thing you do is have Kettle check that envelope.” I snuff the second roach out before it scorches me. “If it’s empty or has fake bills, then they expect us to arrive angry which means they’ll meet us with lots of armed troops. If it’s genuine cash then they’ll be waiting to surprise us once we get there to collect the rest and won’t expect us to be ready to get jumped. We need to have an idea of their plan before we make our move.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Philly’s getting the hang of this way of thinking. “That’s fucking brilliant, man. I’ll call up Kettle and see what’s poppin’ with that envelope. You want me to call you back?”

“Nah, man,” I yawn. “I need a shower before I give a Sam a ride over to Tiff’s aunt’s place. Just wait for me there and you can fill me in once I show up.”

“Ok, so stay here and chill for right now?”

“That’s right. Besides,” I let a little evil creep into my tone. “I don’t want you running off anywhere. I owe you an ass-kicking for getting busy with Tiff.”

“But I–” is all he has time to try replying with before I hang up, laughing to myself. Though I couldn’t care less if he shagged the girl or not, Philly’s always fun to wind up.

Author’s Note: From here, things are bound to get more interesting….

What’s Buried in Benton

Once we get everyone suited up and strapped, we’re ready to roll. I check the Luger in my shoulder holster, enjoying the sound of the metallic click when I turn off the safety. After this I check the matching pistol I’ve got belted tightly inside the waist of my jeans and double-check my extra clips in the side pockets. I’ve probably got enough ammo on me to waste their entire crew, but as the old saying goes, ‘It’s better to be safe than dick-down and dead in the dirt!’

“MadBlack!” I call to him over the opening credits of The Devil’s Rejects DVD he’s just had one of his bitches start up for his viewing pleasure, “I’m snatchin’ a blunt off your stash! We’re going to Benton to take care of shit, aight?”

Mr. Nonchalant doesn’t even bother to turn his head or vocalize. He simply waves the back of his big hand at me in a shooing gesture.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too, baby!” I yell as I get into my parka. It’s freezing out there with a stiff wind blowing in off the ocean, so my Rocawear parka with sky blue fur lining is my protection from the miserable Seattle winter. Sky blue because that’s our color.

Every gang has its colors and Kingfins are no different. We usually roll in sky blue and dark green when we need to represent. The two rides we’re taking tonight are both Oldsmobiles since that’s the brand most Kingfins favor. An Aurora and an Intrigue, both from 2002 and both of them a shade of hunter green. The Aurora’s been worked on more since it’s Kettle’s ride and he’s a vain dude. He’s got it chromed out and the sound system’s been replaced so he can blast his Wu-Tang CD’s louder than he ought to. Kettle is visiting us from Sunset Point so normally that’s where he’d be, but when something goes down and a Kingfin’s around then we join right in. The Intrigue is stock right now and belongs to Ducky, who’s one of our newer recruits here in Doyle Heights. Even though most of us are smoking as we head to the rides, we wouldn’t need to in order to get the same effect, it’s cold out here and you see your breath with each exhale.

All together we got me, Philly Mako, Kettle, Ducky, Ronnie-K, Junior Maze, Dank, Big Pete and Whistler. Since the smoke starts settling into my lungs, I’m feeling pretty good and not real worried about the situation in Benton Park. Most of these boys are seasoned and with the exception of Ducky, capable of handling a gunfight if need be. Doubt we’re going to run into too much resistance. Kettle takes the lead, with Philly at his side and I slip in next to Ducky since I’m not too fond of arguing with Kettle over which Wu-Tang CD best fits the mood. I can be quite particular in my musical tastes which sits fine with Ducky. He agrees to go ahead and load up some old school Warren G for our trip. In a couple minutes we’ll be at the park, so even if he doesn’t dig the beat, it’s not long to suffer.

“So, Ducky,” I ask between puffs of my blunt, watching Ronnie-K and Dank passing a joint in the backseat, “You ready for this shit, man? May get real violent tonight. Think you can handle it?”

Ducky’s got his favorite Florida Marlins cap socked down low over his eyes, but he nods vigorously, “Hell yeah I am. I grew up right across the street from Benton. In those Squarewood apartments? My mom used to tell me to stay out of the park after dark because of muggers. Me and the homeboys would drink out there. Remember that shit, Ronnie?”

“Uh huh,” Ronnie-K’s freckled face has that relaxed look that tells me he’s getting a lot of good off that joint. “Fucking King Cobra or Mad Dog or whatever the fuck we could get a hold of. Good times.”

“Shit yeah!” Ducky’s head bobs in agreement, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I remember your old man came and found us out there one night when we didn’t come home. Passed out, drunk as damned bums. About four o’clock in the morning, wasn’t it?”

Ronnie nods, holding the smoke in from his latest drag. Dank takes the joint from him, grinning crazily. Dank’s quite the heavy smoker, nearly always stoned. He says it’s because he comes from a long line of opium-smoking Chinese, but his folks actually came over from Cambodia before he was born.

“My mom was at work so I beat her home from her shift at the restaurant,” Ducky follows Kettle’s Aurora and pulls into the parking lot behind them, looking for an open slot. “You musta got smacked around pretty good for that one because you had a black eye the next day.”

“Yeah,” Ronny doesn’t appear to like this memory, “Scottish temper, man, he always had that Scottish temper. ‘Specially when he’d been drinking all night.”

Our car rolls to a stop and Ducky cuts the engine. Philly Mako and his crew are already getting out of the Intrigue. We aren’t the only cars here this late despite the fact that the park closes after dark. Plenty of business gets conducted in Benton twenty four hours a day. In fact, after surveying the area I’d say there are more cars here than usual. That’s most likely because the Knuckleheads shook the dealers down tonight. Probably caused a few shortages and now the customers have to wait around to score. I exit the vehicle and stroll over to Philly who’s waiting leaned up against Kettle’s car.

“So how you wanna do this?” he asks, lighting himself one of those nasty Newports he smokes. “You’re in charge here.”

“Bet your ass I am,” I tell him with a grin. “I’m thinking Dank and Junior Maze should re-tag our shit since that’s what they’re good at. You guys got your spray ready?”

Junior Maze speaks up first, “Hell yeah,” he shakes the backpack he’s brought along for the job, causing the cans to jangle. “I can cover that shit real quick. ‘Specially with a partner.”

“Long as he’s got the paint,” Dank adds, “I’m up for some art, man.”

“Right on,” I tell the group, “Ronnie-K and Big Pete, I want you boys to keep our rides on lockdown and ring my cell if you see the cops moving in. Got it?”

“Nobody gonna touch ‘em,” Big Pete assures me with a toss of his head.

“Good. Now let’s go find Ramos. Where’d he say he’d be at?” I ask Philly.

“He usually hangs out in the dark part and has his girls do the transactions,” Philly responds, thumbing the direction he believes Ramos to be in. “Surprised he ain’t come walking this way, but he’s probably sweating over the lost cash.”

“How much did he lose?” I ask.

“I think around two grand.”

“Shit!” I’m surprised the moron would keep that much on him after dark. “Must be a good night for slangin’ then. Whatever. Let’s find him and figure out what the story is on these Knuckleheads. Then we’ll hit up the other dealers and see if they got shook.”

The four of us head towards the dark part of the park, looking larger than life in our big parkas. The park would have lights all over it, but for years it’s been the same story: the city installs new lighting on the north side and the next night it gets shot out again. Dealers like their cover, you see. So do the dope fiends that frequent Benton. If one side doesn’t darken the place, the other will. All in the name of capitalism.

Ramos looks pretty nervous. Took us a while to find him since he decided to hide out in case the Knuckleheads came back for him. He’s by no means the only dealer out here tonight, probably five of them all together, but he’s the most established and definitely has his regular clientele. As far as slangers go, Ramos is a decent dude. Of course, that’s not saying much because he’s still the kind of guy who’d cheat his own mother if he saw the chance to make a buck. Unlike some of the crackheads out here trying to hustle, Ramos spends his wad on his appearance so he always looks sharp. Some people think he’s a pimp and others swear he’s a gigolo. He may be both. I couldn’t care less either way.

No matter which way you slice it, even in the orange haze from the streetlights, Ramos clearly identifies as a metrosexual. That or a homosexual, take your pick. He’s got on his usual wintertime coat, some expensive designer label duster. His stocking cap looks normal enough to me, but he probably spent a fortune on that, too. Standing in the shadow of an ancient redwood, he watches our approach. He’s definitely feeling skittish tonight, I can tell by the way he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot as he scans the park.

“Finally!” his voice is high, grating against my buzz. “Took you guys long enough. What the fuck? I pay you good money to protect me and you can’t even send me soldiers in under half an hour?”

“Chill out, Ramos,” Philly barks, “We got more to do around here than wiping your ass. Now tell Perce what happened.”

“Fucking Knuckleheads, man,” Ramos’ anger boils, he’s rubbing his nose with his gloved hand every few words. “Came through here and started saying they want payment. I say payment for what? For not curbstomping us tonight they tell me. Four great big dudes, all biker’d out in chains and leather and shit.”

“Shook you down?” I ask as I exhale some smoke in his direction. “How much they take?”

“Off me?” his twitchiness irritates me, must’ve dipped into his own stash to handle the stress. “Shit, like two grand, easy. Searched my pockets for it. No way I was gonna take them on. Big ex-cons, looks like. Beards and all that Hell’s Angels bullshit. You guys know how they are.”

“Shoulda popped ‘em one!” Ducky says, demonstrating by whipping out the piece I gave him back at the house. “You can’t take that kinda treatment, man! Cap one and I bet they all run, too.”

“Ducky?” I’m glaring at him. He can tell even in this poor lighting. “Shut the fuck up. And put that damned gat away. Ramos doesn’t need to be shooting people. Only draws the cops in here, any ways. Smart thing is to let us handle it. Right, Ramos?”

“Definitely,” he nods emphatically, “Besides, I don’t strap when I’m selling. I got a Maglite and that’s risk enough. I see trouble, I usually run, but these guys came in from different directions and running from a Knucklehead is only gonna earn you a blanket party. Even if you get away, they’re gonna put a price on your ass after that.”

“That’s right,” Philly lights himself another cigarette. “So what they want with Benton Park? Did they tell you?”

A woman comes striding up from Ramos’ left. She pauses and her eyes flit towards us, trying to determine if we’re friends or foes. When she reaches Ramos, they reach toward one another like they’re about to shake hands. She’s passing him cash and he’s giving her dope. It all happens extremely fast and if you aren’t aware of what you’re looking at, it’d simply look like they just gave each other five. Since she greeted him with, “Hey Daddy,” I know she’s telling him she needs a few grams of cocaine. Expensive stuff. She’ll walk that back to the customer who just paid her. Most likely some middle manager in a Lexus or similarly half-luxurious ride. The girls who work for Ramos give him an extra buffer by doing the transactions for him. He’s very methodical in the way he sells. The girls handle the customers, he bags everything himself with gloves on to eliminate prints on the bags, and he’s got pockets with escape hatches for the dope should he be approached by the police. He’s methodical about personal hygiene, too. His teeth practically glow white whenever he grimaces or smiles.

“Said some dude named Darkhorse told them to take Benton,” he sounds apprehensive about revealing this next bit, “Said Kingfins got twenty four hours to give up the turf or there’s gonna be a war over it. Called you squids, though, not Kingfins.”

The boys all look to me for my reaction, which is a chuckle, “Twenty-four hours, huh? That’s all official of them. I don’t know who this Darkhorse fucker is, but he’s in for quite a re-adjustment to his ballsy way of doing things. Kingfin territory doesn’t get given up. They want blood, they get blood. Theirs, not ours.”

“I know, Perce,” Ramos sounds whiny at this point. “You know I’m down with Kingfins. You know that! Thing is, I can’t protect myself down here and I’m losing a lot of money. Money you guys get a cut of, every time,” he’s lying but I let it slide. “And I ain’t got nobody here to look out for me. If they come back, what do I tell them? I’m gonna call my friends?”

“You don’t say anything,” I step forward, taking some smoke from the blunt, holding it while I talk. “What you do this time is run. Fast as you can. Then you call us and we ride down here and make these overzealous shit buckets wish they’d never heard of Benton Park. You clear on that, Ramos?”

“Oh yeah,” his grin is wide but scared. “Okay. Okay. But I mean, I lost money and…”

“They take any your supplies?” Philly asks him.

“Couple sacks of primo Columbian, yeah.”

Now I’m suspicious, “They snort the shit in front of you, too?”

“Yeah man, sucked it right up their noses. Must be dedicated baseheads.”

“Uh huh,” my eyes narrow. I smell a rat. “And you didn’t pass them a trick sack?”

Trick sacks are what Ramos carries to sell to people he hates. Or narcs. Looks like your normal dope, but it’s poison. Sometimes arsenic or something equally lethal. In this case he should’ve employed that and it would have put a stop to this.

“Man, I can’t do that!” Ramos’ eyes double in size. “First one to drop into convulsions would’ve got the others on me like a pack of dogs!”

He’s got a point.

“Aight, well, look,” I tell him, gesturing with my blunt, “We got our tags going back up right now. We’re gonna talk to the other dealers and figure out what all went down. They come back, you call us that very second.”

“Hell yeah I will,” Ramos seems relieved. “And sorry I can’t pay you guys for tonight.”

“It’s cool,” I reassure him. “You can owe us later.”

He starts to protest, then thinks the better of it.

We walk off towards another of the dealers. First we hit up Duster, a tall and scrawny dude who got his name from the long black coat he wears through every season. He’s walking back from the parking lot, just having completed a sale. I immediately notice the cut above his right eye. Though he hasn’t got any useful information for us, he does confirm that he got that cut from the Knuckleheads. Apparently he felt they weren’t entitled to five free hits of his best acid. Smart mouthing them turned out to be a mistake. Duster whipped out his knife and they didn’t appreciate the resistance. Jumped him quick and held him down so they could slice him with his own blade. A lesson, they told him, of what happens when you don’t know your place in the Saxon pecking order. Took a whole bunch of his blotter supply, too. They didn’t bother with his shrooms.

Oxy, the pharmaceuticals specialist of Benton, tell us he played along. A kiss-ass routine seems to do a little better with Knuckleheads. None of his cash or pills got taken because they liked his attitude. Knowing Oxy, I’m sure he seemed harmless with his poofy afro and down home demeanor. Of course, the fact that he happened to be the last dealer they approached gave him a definite edge. After watching what they did to the others, he knew getting bitchy was liable to cost him. Two of them he remembered names for. The biggest one, who wore an eye patch, was named Uncle Fritz. The one with streaks of red dye in his beard they called Skully.

Last, but certainly not least, we found Josiah sitting at one of the picnic tables. Josiah isn’t a big guy, but he’s strong as a pitbull and has the temperament of a starving wolverine. I’ve seen him fight before. I still remember the time some dude yanked a bag of weed from him and tried running off. Josiah caught him somewhere around the basketball courts. Tackled the thief with such finesse it’d have made any good coach tear up. He claims he wrestled in high school a few years ago, but since he spent more time studying bongs than his homework, he lost his scholarship. Mouthy by nature and one of those guys who hasn’t got the slightest idea when to shut up, his strategy involved trying to debate the Knuckleheads. It got him a few punches. Those gave him one hell of pair of black eyes. Lost a tooth, too, the poor fool. Despite this, he managed to find out why those bastards want Benton.

They’re dowsing for something buried in this park.

Author’s note: You can find Chapter Three here on November 13, 2009!