Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Shorties: Number 60.5



Due to requests, I am adding a conclusion to Shorties: Number 60


Brakes straining, the car stopped beyond where Frank wanted. He felt embarrassed by that.  The kid stepped cautiously toward the car.  Frank rolled down the window.  Looking this way and that and then at the lad, he asked, “You got any snow?”

“Sure, I got snow.  How much you want?  An 8 Ball?” 

Frank’s mind swirled.  There’s a slang word for everything in the drug world.  What the hell is an 8 Ball?”  The voice in his earpiece immediately said, “Yes, take it.  You got enough money.”

“Yeah, an 8 Ball.  How much?”

“For you, 150.”

“His earpiece said, “What the f***!  Is he nuts?”

Frank blurted, “Are you nuts?”

The voice added, “Offer him 100.”

Frank said, “I’ll give you 100.  That’s a fair price.”

The voice chimed, “Good Franky.  You’re a natural at this.”

The kid acted insulted and replied, “Hey look, I don’t gotta sell you nuthin’.”  He turned to leave when the voice said to Frank, “Tell him, you can do 120.”

“Wait-a-minute.  Look, how ‘bout 130.”

His earpiece whispered angrily, “That’s not what I said.”

The boy stopped and returned to the car.  With narrow eyes he defiantly stated, “140.”

“Lemme see what I got.”  He pulled the wallet from his back pocket.  It was full of 20 dollar bills given him an hour ago by one of the drug enforcement officers.  Frank knew he had $200.00.  He held the wallet close to the door and below the car window.  The boy tried to see how much money Frank had.  Frank noted this, gave the boy a dirty look, and lowered the wallet further out of sight. 

Finally Frank said, “Alright you little shit, here’s your 140.  I needed some of that for gas going home.”  Frank extended his arm offering the money.  His hand was trembling with nervous energy.  The boy saw the shaking hand as he snatched the bills from Frank.  He started to count the money.  Impatiently, Frank demanded, “Hey, c’mon.  Gimme my stuff.” 

The boy finished counting and reached into a pocket of his hoodie.  Then he tossed a small zip lock bag into Frank’s waiting hands.  Immediately, the youngster turned and ran up the street.

Frank eyed the contents of the bag as he rolled up the window. Then spoke to those back at the command center, “Alright, I got it.”  He heard applause in his ear and the voice added, “Good job, Franky.”

Completely happy to be leaving the neighborhood, Frank yelled, “Stop calling me Franky, asshole.” 

There was laughter in the background as the voice said, “Sorry ‘bout that.  You are a natural at this.  You really are.  You were able to ad lib a little bit.  We may call you again.”

Frank said nothing.  He was just happy it was done.  With more distance between himself and the drug exchange, Frank started to think maybe, just maybe, he wanted to do it again.

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