My school ID photo when I was studying writing! |
The life
With
a quick poke, the needle pierces the big, pulsing vein on Willie’s right arm
just below a three and a half inch line of tracks that follow the vein to his
current injection site, revealing several years of intravenous drug use. He pushes a small amount of the dark
brown liquid into his arm. It is
still warm from cooking it up in the spoon, with the burned bottom, that is
laying on the table next him. He
pops loose the rubber surgical hose, tying his arm off, and starts to feel the
warm rush. Drawing blood back into the syringe it mixes with the sweet brown
nectar, a swirling cloud of narcotic heaven that Willie is now shooting three
or four times a day. He slowly
pushes the plunger down. As the
syringe empties he feels the opiates ooze into every pore in his body; like
warm honey. Fading into a tranquil
dream and then nodding out, he is floating in the arms of his one true love…
Heroin.
After
about twenty minutes, Willie slowly opens one lazy eye; with a sleepy smile he
thinks to himself, “well… time to earn.”
He
unbuttons his fly and picks up a second syringe, filled with smack that is lying on the table next to the burnt
spoon. Checking to make sure the
plastic cap covering the needle is secure he then tapes the syringe, point
down, to the inside of his thigh, just below his crotch, with a wide strip of
surgical tape, and then pulls his pants back up.
Driving
over to the job, Hank Williams is on the crackling old radio in his 1965, piece
of shit, Plymouth Valiant.
Even
though it’s the middle of the night and snowing outside, he’s warm and toasty,
partially from the heater but mostly from the heroin. With a dreamy smile on his face he follows along, “Hear that
lonesome whippoorwill, he sounds too blue to fly…”
His
mind wonders over to thinking about her… hotter then doughnut grease, that
one. It’s not his fault, if her
old man doesn’t know what she really needs. Most straight johns have no idea
how to treat women. He snickers to
himself, ”It’s okay honey we can try again next month.” She couldn’t get enough of him, then he
turned her on to the shit and that was the end of her Betty Crocker days. By
now he’s singing at the top of his lungs with the old car radio, “And as I
wonder where you are, I’m so lonesome I could cry!”
“Man oh man is this some great
shit,” he thinks s to himself.
She
told Willie about her boss, the middle-aged lawyer, with thinning hair and a
huge paunch. He was always
standing too close, with his perpetual bad breath and those eyes that were always
peaking down her blouse. Then one
afternoon, as Willie was leaving her house, before her husband got home, she
mentioned the safe in his office.
“Does
he keep cash in it?” Willie asked.
“Not
usually, but he’s been meeting with a client that owns topless bars all over
town and he always pays in cash.
My boss keeps bitching about it,”
She tells Willie “I’m pretty sure
he’s holding the cash in the safe, so he won’t have to claim it.”
Twenty
minutes later, Willie drives into the parking space in back of the law
office. He wonders around to the
trunk of his car to get his tool bag.
Checking his pocket to make sure he brought the key, he heads into the
empty office. Once inside he waits
a few minutes with his eyes closed, to adjust to the darkness. While he waits
he hums the Hank William’s tune he had
been singing earlier enjoying the warm narcotic haze.
Opening
his eyes, there is enough light to proceed with out a flashlight. First he throws furniture and the
contents of desk drawers around the room knowing full well that the safe is
upstairs. If he goes directly to
the safe the cops will know it was an inside job. He then goes upstairs and ransacks the other offices, saving
her bosses office for last.
Once
at the safe, he points a small flashlight at the dial and puts on the
stethoscope. Three full turns to
the left to clear the tumblers.
Hank starts singing in his head “I’ve never seen a night
so low.”
Concentrate, he firmly tells himself.
“When
tears get in your eyes”
The
dial starts to look a little fuzzy.
Willie
quickly realizes, he’s way to high to open the safe. Plan b… He’ll have to take it back home and crack it after
he comes down. A quick nudge and
he can tell it’s been bolted to the concrete floor… no problem.
Willie
gets out his pocketknife and walks over to a beautiful dark brown leather couch
in the center of the office. He
cuts out a 20-inch square of the leather from the seat cushion. Looking through his tools he takes out
a splitting wedge and a 12-pound sledgehammer. He wraps the wedge in the soft leather and tucks the edge
under the front of the safe. He
adjusts the light to shine on the wedge and stands up. Holding the sledgehammer like a golf
club, he pretends to look down a fairway and quietly says, “four” to himself
and takes a full swing at the splitting wedge. The leather muffles the sound, but the safe doesn’t
budge. For the next 10 minutes,
Willie constantly beats on the wedge, occasionally taking out his frustrations
by smashing the expensive walnut furniture, lamps and assorted decorations that
are scattered about the room.
The
safe finally gives; a few more whacks and it breaks free. He lifts the safe,
checking the weight. It’s heavy,
maybe 125 pounds. Lifting it all
the way up he thinks, “I’ll need a shortcut.” Willie drops the safe on a coffee
table just for fun, and looks around the room. He walks on over to the huge picture window that has the
words Law Office painted backwards in
black and gold old English letters.
Looking up and down the street, the coast is clear. Willie walks back, picks up the safe
and runs at the window, raising it up as high as he can, as he gets
closer. One last heft and the safe
sails through the second story window.
As it breaks through the glass the silence is shattered with the
screaming clang of an alarm.
“Shit”
he says out loud…”Time to go!”
Not
wanting to waste second Willie steps out through the broken window on to the
ledge. The safe is lying down on
the sidewalk surrounded by the shattered glass, about 12 feet below. He leaps down, but what he doesn’t see
is the ice covering the sidewalk.
When he hits the ground his feet fly out from underneath him and the
back his head smashes into the corner of the safe. Lying in broken glass he feels the warm blood dripping down
his neck and back. The police cars
sirens are now drowning out the clang of the alarm. Several squad cars screech to a stop a few feet away. The cops
jump out and surround Willie, guns drawn.
He
blurts out, “Man, am I glad to see you guys! I was walking down the street, minding my own business when
that safe came flying out the window and hit me right here on the back of my
head. I’m lucky to be alive. Just
wait tell my lawyer gets a hold of these guys.”
The
cops, less than convinced, spend the next five minutes cuffing and kicking the
shit out of Willie, followed by a quick search. They empty his pockets and overlook the dope hidden in his
pants. At the jail, Willie gives a
call to his lawyer and they toss him in a cell with a few drunks and assorted
Nair-do-wells. The guard leaves,
Willie reaches inside his pants and pulls out the syringe.
“Anybody
want to party?” he asks the other men.
They all decline. Willie
tears off a piece of his shirtsleeve and ties off his arm. He shoots the dope as the other men
look on in horror. His eyes roll
back in his head and the world is once again right. After about 10 minutes he comes to and bums a smoke off of
one of the other men. Leaning back
with a big smile, he takes a slow drag off the cigarette, blows a few rings and
starts singing, “And as I wonder where you are, I’m so lonesome I could cry!”
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