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My night started with a loose end. In Garden city I drove up to a rat hole apartment. Some homeless chick lay rolled up in a blanket in the middle of the grass out front asleep. Garbage was everywhere and anyone not high or drunk locked their doors. With catch and release arrests, everyone knew better than to bother calling the cops. Nothing like a junkie on bail with a grudge after you. I stepped over her unconscious body and knocked on a door on the first floor.

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A white kid in a jersey with fake jewelry answered the door. “Jay!” A broke coke head greeted me like I was his best friend. “How you been bru?”

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“I’m good, I'm good.” I stepped inside with a backpack and looked around. It was everything you’d expect. The smell of cigarettes and dirt weed filled my sinuses and rap music played from tinny speakers. the furniture was broken and covered in blunt wraps and unpaid bills. Instead of wall art he had a shelf covered in empty bottles of Ciroc, every flavor. It was as though he took pride in burning his life down.

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I set my backpack down on the moth eaten couch and asked if I could use the bathroom. He responded with the itch dripping out of him. “Sure thing, its in the back, before you do… you got any?”

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“Yeah its in my bag, help yourself. You got me for the last two though?” Turned down the hall already knowing the answer.

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“I got you dog. Soon as my album drops.” Another excuse as he reached in my pack like a raccoon in garbage. Two 8 balls worth of coke was in his grasp. I hadn’t closed the door of the bathroom before he had a bump in the hollow of his hand. I closed the door through my jacket and stood in the ashtray he called a latrine. Counting to sixty I waited patiently before flushing the toilet with my shoe. When I returned he had the whole bag on the counter next to him high as kite at his computer. “Check out my new track. Its the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.”

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“That a fact?” I sat down beside him as he played his Sound cloud trash. The beat he stole off of YouTube was too slow and his voice was repulsive. He was trying to rap and growl at the same time, all while looking like a junkie version of Malibu’s most wanted. I don’t think his mother would have even given him a like. Halfheartedly he handed my own bag over to me, afraid id take him up on it.

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I raised my hand to stop him. “Nah I got to make a few more delivery’s. The tracks good though, you make anymore?” I must have been a glutton for punishment because sure enough he did.

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Not ten minutes in though it was worth it. Old boy went from rocking back and forth rambling about his concert to swaying and breathing heavy. I rolled my chair back a little asking. “You alright man, you look a little pale?”

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“I don’t know , I-.” Breathing heavy he swung his arms out to brace himself. Standing up he looked like a drunk in an alley before the puked. This time there would be none of that. He collapsed to the floor, reaching for the welfare phone in the island of his kitchen.

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I walked around him to stand between him and that phone. His words were few but his eyes said everything. He knew he was going to die, and he was afraid.

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“You don’t look so hot, should I call the ambulance?” I couldn’t help but smile as I feigned concern. His reply came in chokes and gurgles as he fell asleep on the floor. That fake gangster bravado went to the wayside as the last words came out of that little worms mouth. “Mom.”

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Unconscious he breathed in. He breathed out. And then he breathed his last.

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Fun fact; if you ever stand over a body and want to make sure he’s dead, just wait till the bowels release. Once those fake true religions fill with excrement, you‘re in the clear. The bag of dope had one set of fingerprints so I left it on the counter. Most of it was baking soda and fentanyl anyways. I didn’t touch his wallet, his keys , none of it. Leaving the door cracked open on my exit I left him for the buzzards. Sure enough, his house got robbed before the police ever made it there. One guppie down in an ocean of ill intent.

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With one stop over the night was still young. I tossed my backpack in the back of a car I borrowed from a friend, parking in a Walmart to clean house. The shoes, jacket and shirt I wore went into a bag and then in the dumpster. I got them all from a thrift store a month ago and kept them for such an occasion. After that I put the license plates back on my friends ride and drove it back to his place. He worked at a pizza place in Caldwell and provided he kept his mouth shut I now had an alibi. Now I’d meet the real gangsters. I drove out to boulder creek apartments and met with Big Rami.

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Biker gangs are a dime a dozen here. This one didn’t mind working with non whites however and I needed some new product. The Doors played in the background in a much cleaner house as a couple of white kids played on the floor in the living room. Rami, a giant of a man with a face like Joey Diaz, worked a hot plate while his buddies drank with him in the kitchen. Seeing me come in he nodded and his friends went to play cards. Rami sent his kids off to bed and his wife went to tuck them in. His old lady wanted nothing to do with how he paid the bills. As long as the rent check didn’t bounce, the less she knew the better.

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He led me out back to have a smoke. I normally didn’t but it was never a good idea to turn down an offer from a Sergeant at Arms for a club. Scars from attempts on his life lay covered in prison tattoos like warnings cut in braille. He lit a smoke and tossed me the lighter as a plume left his nostrils. “Everything alright? I heard you got some problems getting your money back?”

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I sparked mine up, hiding the orange glow in my hand as I smoked the red 100. “Oh him? Nah, no problems. I think his accounts cleared up for good. I heard he won the lottery.”

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Big Rami laughed to himself as he leaned over the grate to his back porch. A gargoyle bent in his schemes. “Is that what their calling it now. Forget about it, Skid mark had it coming. Speaking of, I think someone else will win it big here soon. I need a guy to make a delivery. Ill throw you half a pack if you’re down? More if it goes well.”

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I took a drag and thought it over. 10 grand was a lot of money and I just pulled something similar off for free. I had to push the envelope a little though. “Half a pack and some gas?”

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He glared for a second, then relented. “Some gas it is. Just don’t tell me all of it’s going up your nose.”

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“Nope, just on my hustle.” I shrugged as I took another drag. I wasn’t affiliated with anyone yet so business was expensive here. Besides I wasn’t stupid. Most people get wet work for twenty. If he’s gonna short me he can at least put some powder on it.

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“Ill have it for you when you get back. Go to this address and he’s got my dinner ready. Just make sure you don’t eat some to.” An evil grin flashed across his jaw as he laughed handing me the paper. “Have a lot of problems if you do. Any questions?”

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“Just one.” I took it from him as I killed my smoke. “Isn’t Rami short for Ramirez? What are you doing in Idaho riding Harley’s?”

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Rami looked surprised. I guess it was a while since anyone called him by his Christian name. He thought a moment before flicking his smoke off the rail. “Times are different now. Out east id be rocking a Guayabera, flipping bones with wise guys. Its cold out west. You want to work, you wear leathers. Don’t laugh so hard you might be wearing a set here soon yourself.” If it wasn’t clear already I was being sized up for association. The big leagues. I smiled at the thought, shook his hand and so was on my way.

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Slipknot blared in my speakers as I hit the road. This hatchback was mine so I played whatever I wanted. I drove through downtown in weekend traffic yet in those light I felt not a care in the world. If I got popped now they had nothing, and by morning I was sure i’d have enough to lay low and relax. Maybe id hit Vegas for a bit. With ten Gs in my pocket i could do whatever i wanted.

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Pulling into a parking garage, a man with his hoodie up beneath a Dickies coat came to the window. From his pocket he flashed his hand around a snub nosed .32. I rolled down the window and raised a hand. “Waddup man, Big homie sent me.”

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Beneath the hood was a gaunt face and jaundiced eyes. The work he did and the stuff he was on clearly had a hold of him. One wrong move and I’d be full of holes. Those eyes narrowed a bit as he looked me over and nodded. “Yeah he called.” Looking around he tossed me the contents in the other side of his coat. It was a bag of black liquid. I thought it was Heroin yet that came sticky like tar. This stuff looked like alive, wriggling in the bag like jumping beans but a loose ooze instead of pills.”

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“What’s this?” Even touching the bag gave me a shiver of revulsion. I was used to hawking grime but this was bad by my standards.

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“You don’t want to know.” Even the hood looked relieved to have this stuff off him. Upon further inspection what was moving in the bag was not happy. The liquid alive in its container was ramming against its prison walls.

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Before I said anything more he was gone, Back in the shadows of that parking garage. Knowing I was too far in to back out now I stuffed the package in my glove box. There really wasn’t a place to hide it if I got pulled over. If it was coke id have slid it down my pants but I'm not having a moving eel of slime wrapped around my prick while I'm trying to drive.

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All things considered the ride was fine. No cops, no accidents. An easy A to B. I pulled into a trashy trailer park out of town for my final destination. I slipped the package in my pocket and went to the door of a double wide with a dead lawn. Broken furniture and a trash can cut into a fire pit lay scattered. I walked up the steps around the trash and knocked . Some skinhead by the name of Kevin opened. Combat boots , beer stained wife beater. Couldn’t have been more stereotypical if he tried. He looked me up and down and asked me what I wanted. The fact I was Mexican was not something he appreciated. I kept my cool and let him know Big Rami sent me.

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He asked why he sent somebody he didn’t know to do business, making sure to comment on my brown skin. Spitting his words he glared at me from the doorway, looking for my reaction.

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The fact I remained calm upset him even more. “No idea, do you want it or not though. I can head back and tell him you were good.”

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He snarled and let me in. The place was nothing unexpected. More ratty furniture, an IRA flag hanging from his wall with a pool table covered in scored felt. Taxi Driver played from a cheap TV as Marb Red packs and lotto tickets buried every surface around. We walked to a wooden table where he handed me a chair. He went into his room for a moment while I waited. When he returned to sit He crossed his arms expectantly as I revealed the stuff. That black ooze wriggled and writhed like a tadpole stuck in hell. He nodded and revealed a rig. I got up to leave him to it when he raised his hand.

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“And where do you think you’re going?” He pointed back to the seat like an angry parent. I took a step away anyways, heading towards the door. “Sorry but I don’t partake.”

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The skinhead put a fist down on the table and leaned forward with a growl. “Rami sends some no name with a baggie and you expect me to just take it and leave. No. You think I’m stupid if you think you ain’t taking at least a skin pop before you leave.”

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Look man.” I tried to reason with him still inching towards the door. “You can check my pockets, look at my phone and in my car. I don’t care. But this wasn’t part of the deal. I’m not down with that.” I nodded towards that still moving blob of dirty ink, writhing on the table.

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He pulled a Ruger pistol from the back of his waist and pointed it at me. “You can be down, or we can get down. I put a hole in you, throw the dope back in your pocket and when the cops come you’ll be a home invader. Either a bullet or a needle is going in you before you leave this room.”

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My hands went up as I looked down the barrel of a pawn shop German surplus. It wasn’t pretty but it didn’t need to be to kill me. I sat down with arms raised. He shook the gun at my jacket which I removed tying the band around my arm. “What is it?” I asked , doing everything i could to mask my anxiety.”

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“To be honest. I don’t know.” Kevin laughed to himself as he watched me squirm. “I told Ramirez that Meth wasn't doing it for me. I like to shoot up before I put work in but now I got to hardline crystal just to keep me normal. He Told me about this stuff and promised It “would take me to Valhalla“ if I let it. I guess were both about to find out what that means, huh?”

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I swallowed hard, my heart smashing against my rib cage. I tried to pick up the bag yet my hands couldn’t stop shaking.

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“Give me that.” The sociopath was more annoyed than anything. Ripping the contents from my hand, he jammed that needle right through the bag. It struck true, sucking up a chunk of that dirty slime in the syringe before giving it back to me as he continued. “Funny, the more you squirm, the more I think your were trying to kill me.” A sick smile crossed his face, placing the rig into my hands.

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“Who me? Never.” I clenched my teeth, put the needle in my arm, and pushed the plunger down.

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-

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The first thing I noticed when I woke up was blood on the ceiling fan spinning lopsided with a broken fin. Sitting up I saw the reason why. Kevin the skinhead was in pieces. Blood lay pouring out of his body like a broken milk jug. His jaw had been ripped off the bottom half of his face and his head was caved in from the back. It looked like a deflated soccer ball, making the widened eyes of terror all the more disturbing. That jawbone was in my hand. That blood now on my shirt, dripping down from off my chin.

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Realizing what I’d done I wretched. Ive watched people die before but this was too much. The bile spilled onto the floor mingling with his remains when my phone vibrated in my pocket. The number was anonymous yet in the pit of my gut I knew who it was.

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“How’s it going?” A voice buzzed through a cheap scrambler. He spoofed the connection and hid his voice in case he was bugged. Its funny, technology that was considered sci-fi now only took a minute on the App Store.

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“What do you mean hows it going?” My voice boiled in anger and panic. “No! You tell me what was in that baggie you sent me.”

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The voice swore over the scrambled connection. “You didn’t take anything you weren't supposed to right?”

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A string of obscenities came as I threw the phone across the room. I picked it up again as he waited patiently on the phone. “That tweaker put a gun to my head. I didn’t have a choice.”

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Panic came through even the mix when he replied. “Alright. Meet me at the spot and I’ll talk to you.”

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Before I could respond the call ended. Putting it away I choked down my urge to sob. I turned my shirt inside out before putting it back on. Even now I was hiding what i could of evidence before I left. No cleaning up the vomit though. I had to get out of dodge and soon. I hopped in my car and pulled away and not a moment too soon. The flicker of sirens heading to the scene I left behind.

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He didn’t have to tell me where the spot was. For years If anything went down here the park was the place to be. Even as a kid it was considered a safe zone. Only people who stayed here were the homeless and they kept anyone who’d be a problem away. Feds tried coming with a snitch to pick at the trash once. That guy got caught with a fingerprint case and got jumped so bad the hospital set his face with wire. As I pulled up in the dark I cut the lights and parked. There he was, sitting alone at a metal grate table waiting for me.

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“What’s up.” I raised an arm to him as I half ran in the night. As I got near his face was grave. Half in shame and half concern.

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His reply ignored my question. “Sit down.”

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I sat across from him and before I spoke he raised his hand. “Look kid. I got a lot to tell you and not a lot of time. Cops will be after you real soon. I’m assuming Kevin is dead?”

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I nodded as the fear dropped further in my stomach. The cloak and dagger was gone. He spoke plain, no fear of wandering ears, Knowing I’d not be alive to tell.

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“So… First off what you took Is a death sentence. Your going to die here. What you shot up is going to turn you into an animal and the only way to end it is to put you down. But lemme start from the top. It’s common knowledge now but you know it was originally the government who brought crack to the streets back in the day right?”

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“Yeah back in the da-

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He cut me off again looking at his watch. “

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-“Not a lot of time here kid so I’m doing you a favor. The CIA brought Cocaine and the recipe to make it into crack into the country as a way to kill off the poor. Heroin was the same, even Meth. This stuff is no different. Suits came in, gave us a briefcase and said either it hits the streets or every car in prison wont make it a month. In return the system will turn a blind eye to our business inside and out. Once we figured out what it did though, it was more evil than even we could stand.

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PCP looked like pixie sticks compared to this stuff. Junkies eating their kids, hookers chewed the face off pimps. Every place we pushed it ended up in a killing spree. Every hit equaled a string of murders, blood and guts everywhere. We knew the government was using drugs as a way to cull the population but they weren’t even trying to hide it now. There’s not even a high, just black outs in waves turning people into monsters. Only to come back long enough to witness what they’d done. We’ve taken to calling it Ghoulie. The chemist we got took one look at it and found its not even a drug. Some kind of biological agent he was calling it. Takes over your brain and makes you feed, like that parasite with the slugs.

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Anyway, we couldn’t take it off the streets. A war is one thing but nobody’s taking on the feds. We couldn’t put it in anyone neighborhood either cuz who would buy it? So everybody had a sit down with all the tables in prison. Each car gets a baggie and anyone who needs to die on the outside and fast gets this in their needle. Feds got a rat with a wire and that rat turns into a monster. Its hard to take a snitch seriously when he frothing at the mouth With blood on his hands.

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And this is where you come in. Unfortunately Kevin got wise and if I were you I’d have taken the bullet. Your going feral here again in half an hour. Don’t even ask if there’s a cure, there’s not. The only reason why I’m even telling you all this is because its curtains. I’m sorry it turned out this way. I was even going to put in a good word, open the books for you. Before I let you go though, I can do this.”

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Ramie reached into his vest and pulls out a 9mm with a rag to keep his prints off it. He sets it on the table with a sigh. “I’m going to leave this here. Do what you will but you got about thirty minutes before you turn back into a ghoul and that'll be the end. One way or the other your done kid, sorry.”

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With those words he stood up to walk, leaving me in the dark behind.

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So here I am. Writing all this out in the only place I could think of. When you catch me on the news just know all this is going on. There will be a string of murders all over the country from people like me. Each one more violent than the last. Laws will be used to crack down on anyone with drugs and those who own the prisons will get a fat check with the new population growth. Before I go, to any of you who lost somebody to any of the stuff I’ve been pushing.

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I’m sorry.