Song of the day

Stoked on this photo I took of Vinny D.

He lit his cigarette under his coat to hide the gusts of wind off of the Deleware from extinguishing the flame. Shaking and taking the first puff looking out onto the dead souls on the Camden side of the river, thinking to ones self can lead to thoughts of despair and triumph. Fuck that though this was business and for 29 year old, “James Reynolds” just another day spent scheming and doing his best to avoid the daily grind of the modern world which surrounded him. Under the heavy menthol smoke and the occasional tow boat James felt his cellphone vibrate and read the following message. “J.R, 10 MIN, SAME SPOT.” Last drop of the day and James was getting restless, throwing his phone into the brown rough water now churning like a massive catfish was splashing his way out of a crafty fisherman’s net some fifteen miles down the river.

“Ten minutes will be more or less like thirty, fuck.” Thought James. “Grab the bag, drop off the goods at “Ripping Ron’s Autobody Shop”, for Ron to start breaking up the package and getting it ready for shipment throughout the Counties and City from which James resided and in his opinion ran.grab a new cellular telephone, then head back to Ron’s around Midnight to pick up the finished load. Normally James wouldn’t be in this position of danger, but it became something more or less to do out of necessity for curing his current state of boredom. This wasn’t a daily gig down at the Burger King that you get fired from for putting an extra tomato on a Whopper because your manager is a dickhead. Out here James was more than a manager, or a store owner, he was the one in charge of putting out the new franchises, James was king. “Heroin sells itself.” He had always thought and as long as he kept away from the stuff he was good.

James knew Ron was a junkie, but a very trustworthy one. The old saying of never trusting a junkie was part of the rules. Never in his life did James follow the rules. J ames knew that if Ron tried out a bad batch of the stuff than Ron would be the first to let him know if the shipment was rubbish. If Ron wasn’t stoned, or dead then James knew he had been cheated. Most of the time there was never a problem but James knew the risk involved with dealing with outsiders. This shipment was coming down from the Elizabethtown Docks of North Jersey, being driven by his inside Union worker he only knew as “Leo” down on a twenty two footer.

Twenty Two feet seemed to draw too much attention to James for his liking but what was he to do? There was no way he was driving up to North Jersey to pick up the shit himself. Behind him James heard the sloppy break squeal from the near parking lot and fixed his attention from across the river to the near by parking lot. Where in sat his truck, uncomfortable with the silence of the driver not using the proper signal as was discussed. James began to walk towards the truck, not too fast and not too slow James hid among the walking skeletons, tourists, low lives, and whores posing as housewives. Approaching the truck from the side he had seen a patrol car with its light blazing in the distance. The car just kept on driving by, as James hopped into the passenger seat hoping everything was ok. Leo was shaking, “They know man.” He sighed. “Who the fuck knows what?” calmly stated James. It turns out the reason for Leo’s tardiness wasn’t some traffic jam, it wasn’t his Union boss who James had on payroll, it was "The New Jersey State Police", fucking swine Coughed Leo. James knew Leo wouldn’t have been released from U.S custody this quick even if he had struck a deal. Leo had his hand into James’ product and the telltale signs of this were not well hidden. Leo was sloppy, “This White Dragon is unreal.” Leo boasted. James knew he had to go, “Just follow me to the drop off point, and don’t you fucking fall asleep on me!” Shouted James losing his patience with this fucker who had no idea that these last ten minutes would be his last.

Drive him to Ron’s, do a count, and kill this son of a bitch. Killings for James became not a big deal, like taking the trash out on Thursday. He knew that murder was bad for business and that Leo had been stupid enough to had tell his co-workers where he was heading in the truck. “We’ll get him into the back of the vehicle, smash his fucking brains in with a four sided wrench, then have Ron’s little brother, “Joey The Frog” drive the truck and Leo’s corpse down to 64th street where Joey could get rid of any evidence of the day.” But there was no chance to rid the world of Leo. “Get the fuck on the ground!” Was all James heard. Leo had been working with the D.E.A for six months. The dream was dead. Knowing that Leo had known almost everything that went on within his criminal organization James knew he and his partners were proper fucked. But this seemingly typical ending is actually the beginning of a rising star of the drug trade who rose too soon, and too recklessly towards the “American Dream.”