Chapter 7

"How?" I asked as soon as he picked up.

"Shot in the head. Apparently Damon told me someone tried to rock him by not paying and they had a gun."

"So they just shot him? They coulda just scared him off. All they had to do was pull the fucking gun on his face and he woulda gave them their shit and ran away. Why the fuck, what the fuck-" Even though I knew why.

"They killed him, of course." He spat in disgust.

I held my head with my free hand and pressed gently down on the temple with my thumb. "What about the police?"

"Fucking gang feuds and all. Our guy didn't have shit left with him. Police ain't never gon' be a problem here." He replied, his tone bored and arrogant. I wanted to shut him up badly, never underestimate the fucking police, it maybe the 90s but in future, times will be different.

"Good. Tell Damon's guys to be loaded with arms or the fuck ever to protect themselves on the streets while selling. There's nothing we can do when there's fucktards like that roaming around. Jesus."

"Yeah. They took the crack and on top of that, they took his life, without asking too." I hung up on Luigo and dialed Damon's number. He picked up on the third ring.

"What do you have to say? You already have your money with you. 'Member I paid for the half I took?" His anger was justified. I would probably be out of my mind too if I were in his shoes. It's true I sold him only half of what was shipped into the D, and it was his guy that was dead and his money that was due, meaning He was the one in loss. But things didn't work that way. If I withdrew myself and did not care enough, I'd only be inviting trouble, since not only I'd be losing his distribution but also facing threats from LA. Eventually I'd be killed or lose my job if the flow of drugs and distribution didn't continue in Detroit due to reasons of this kind.

"First off, how many bags did your guy have on him?" I asked a bit tentative so as to not piss him off.

"Probably five 30$ dollar bags."

I squeezed my eyes shut in disappointment. That was one hundred and fifty dollars and five gram of fucking coke lost. Coke. These motherfuckers are from the well off areas, then. Whatever it is, this had to be put an end to.

"Look, we got to find these bitches out quick or soon that figure will go up to hundreds along with dozens of your men dead. And you know what this means? Loss. Loss."

The line on the other end was silent. I was guessing he was thinking.


"We investigate. You find out where your guy was last seen, or better you send another of your men to his jurisdiction. His area of distribution, got it?" It was funny how I used the word, jurisdiction which made this seem like we were the law and authority here.

"But don't send someone there so soon. Just wait a month, let them feel we are afraid, the dealers do not want to get killed and they fear for their life. We want these motherfuckers to grow confident and brave enough to try to pull up this shit again."

"You mean wait till they come out, ready to kill again like till they think shit's cool?"

"Yeah. Let this shit die down. These people are dangerous. They shot your guy probably because they didn't want him to remember their faces and come back the next time with back up or not come back at all. They didn't want that. Which further proves that they gon' kill again for free stuff. Once you do it, you do it again, right? that's how those ma'fuckin' serial killers came into this world. Even so, you still want your one fifty dollars, right?"

"Fuck yes. And some blood for the murder of my man!" He added, vengefully.

"So We catch them and make them fucking pay. Send your guy with back up. Go yourself if you want, bring fucking machine guns, I don't give a fuck. I'mma be there too." Whooshing out a breath, I said. "I hope your guy has a family who cares enough to give him a proper burial."

"Yeah I understand completely now. The next guy would be a snare to catch these fuckin pussies. And don't worry even if he didn't, I will see to it he does get one."

"What was his name?"

"Real one? Well, Javier."

Finally, having at least some identification to this dead person, I managed to put the phone down. Surprisingly, the hangover and headache got even worse somehow. We as a team lost a man and so much of fucking money, it was fucking unbelievable. Not wanting to think on this subject anymore, I pounced on my queen sized bed and sleep kicked in after five seconds like the product I sell.

Have you ever felt this sudden, overwhelming force on your chest, on your arms and on your legs when you're desperately trying to wake yourself up from a dream you clearly didn't want to see commence? Like someone is there, weighing down on you, making sure you didn't wake up? That's exactly what I felt like, and this is no horror bullshit. I was having a nightmare. I had nightmares every once in a while, they paid me visit occasionally. But this time, this fucking cliché time, I was desperate for my wake up call.

I watched a heavily built man in a hoodie walking with a limp reach out to a cowering woman and grabbed her by the arm. Both of their faces so vague and unclear for me to know who they were. But I knew alright, and was thankful that in this nightmare I couldn't see their faces. But then there was a sudden movement, a flash, and there she was.

Fuck no.

No. No. NO. NO!

A little girl with blonde locks had stepped into the room where the man and woman were.

Cut to another scene, I watched the same girl die as the life diminished in her pale blue eyes like a light bulb fusing very, very slowly. She looked as dead as a corpse could be, the color gone from her once rosy lips and cheeks. And she laid in my arms, with me hovering over her protectively and sobbing uncontrollably.

A gaping wide hole located on her tiny chest through which blood had flowed till her last breath.

A/N: I'm sorry there was no Marshall moment in here. Please read and vote and do your shit, I'm trying to make this story worth reading/enjoying.

Thanks. :D

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