Three Scenes

Geordy Pearson

Scene 1

A beam of light breaks the fog enlightening the vision of enormous rats scrounging the depths of mountainous piles of trash throughout the alley way. A jet black Cadillac rolls slowly to a halt. Derrick and Jahmal jump at the sound of the door locks unlatching, as the engine continues to purr vehemently. The windows meld into the dark night sky as the boys shiver in anxiousness to see what lay behind them. The door swings wide and out appears a finely ironed black slack, accompanied by a finely polished black wingtip shoe. The upper portion of this cadaver remains ambiguous, still, and intimidating behind the thick black haze of window tint.

Just as derrick's ripped up Reebok Classics pull off the sticky asphalt to welcome their visitor, the man emerges from the vehicle. His trench coat barely sweeps no more than an inch from the filth that lie below it.

Derrick's body begins to twitch. "We don't have much time man. We really gotta go. I mean we came all the up fro…"

"Shut the fuck up and listen," his thick Guido accent nearly knocked Derrick off his feet. "Do ya have the cash?"

"…yea…"

"Well, uh, okay then. Gimme the four-fifty n' we'll be on our way."

"Come on man…who you tryin to fool? I can get that for half as much anywhere else."

"Oh yea? Then why the fuck ya standin here kid?" The musty Guido holds a small, chalky white balloon sack slightly out of sight.

"Let's just go Derrick," Jahmal butts in, "we'll get it over on 4th."

"Hah! 4th? With all those nigger stick men? Go ahead…get that shit over on 4th."

"No. Fuck 4th." Derrick had actually become quite a regular to the area but, after the previous night's boost paid off, wanted to try the real deal. "We'll give you
three. That's it."

"Four-fifty my friends. Have ya already forgotten?"

"All we have is three-seventy."

The old slime-ball's eyes bulge from his fat cheeks, as his nostrils flair profusely.
"Okay, but you little fuckin flies remember this forever, ya hear?"

"Yea…whatever," mutters Jahmal as a smooth and slightly cracked leather glove slides quickly across his face with an intensive slap.

"I'm dead fuckin serious kid. I ain't yo pop, and I sure as hell don't owe ya shit."

Each corner of filthy currency folds through his leather gloves like paper snakes through an oil spill, as he counts with slow precision. .
Derrick's body continues to spasm.

"There you go," the little sack appears on the flat, black leather palm of the man's hand and Derrick jumps at it like a lion at its prey.

"Hold on now kids. This shit don't come with an instruction manual. Let me warn you: this ain't your shit fix over on 4th," his cracked leather gloves clears the snot from his nose. "Those niggers will kill your arms makin ya shoot full loads of that junk. This here's Grade A shit. The fuckin best. Take it slow. It may not hit you right away, but just wait. You won't need much."

With that said, the boys explode with anticipation, down the musty stretch of alley way.

Scene 2

Derrick always hated Jahmal's house, but they needed a lighter. The boys tip toe through the living room. Jahmal's mother twitches at the sound of Derrick's Reebok's crunching a crusty tray of gas station nachos on the dark floor.

“Don't worry man," Jahmal insured, "she's so fuckin burnt. God couldn't even bring that bitch to life right now."
They continue on into the back room. Jahmal paces through with his vivid memory of the topographical features, leaving Derrick to trip in the dark.

"Hurry up jahmal, I'm breakin here."

"Nigga, you the one who forgot the fuckin lighter."

The dark figure searches vigorously. Throwing articles of clothing left and right, followed by empty sacks and bags of Quesoritos. Some shitty Doritos knock off brand.

"Still opting for the Quesoritos eh?"

"Man, we just got this fuckin prime, and you doggin on my quesoritos?" he continues to ransack the sty. "Besides, you know dem shits is cheesier than Doritos anyway."

"Ah…right. I forgot."

"Gotcha bitch!" Jahmal lifts his arm in great liberty, lighter in hand.

"Let's do this. Tie me up."

"Not here man, you know I don't like fixin where I sleep. There's a quiet alley right out back."

Derrick's body really began to quake as they climbed down to the sticky floor below.

Scene 3

The smoky haze of the alley, somehow brings relief to Derrick's lungs. Ten minutes in Jahmal's room was like living and dying a smoker in LA.

"Tie me off," Derrick demands.

"Oh, so I get the lighter that your ass forgot, and you get to fix first?"

"Jahmal. My god damn legs are shaking like the San Andreas."

Jahmal's thick black fingers struggle to undo the tight knot in the rubber tube.

"Damnit man, how the fuck did it get so tangled up," Derrick interrogates.

"Chill out man." Jahmal directs Derrick to lift his arm.

Derrick’s scrawny arm shakes in the rough black hands, as the heaven sent tube curls around. Jahmal ties it tight and slaps the purple veins.

The dirty brown crystals float onto the oxidized old spoon. The flint snaps the flame into place and nestles up under the spoon. Smiles emerge on the boys' faces as the smoke rises. The dirty crystals disappear into a small bubbling cesspool.

"How you feelin?" Jahmal attempts to calm Derrick as he preps the syringe.

"I'll be better anytime now."

The small bite off the needle sings sweet joy to Derrick's vein, and his stress is no more.