P1 Ch 3
BAIT
Drew is looking over his shoulders as he slowly walks out the front door of the jail. His BMW was parked out front — no impound. He had all his cash, jewelry, and clothes. “What the hell is this bullshit,” he mumbled to himself. He got into his car and started looking for bugs. “Oh hell nah, they on some kind of bullshit here,” he ranted. He looked at the speedometer and saw the picture of his mom and sisters. A wave of nostalgia rushed over him…
Drew grew up in a large family — the fifth child of nine. He was great at sports, but could never finish what he started. He dropped off the wrestling and basketball teams. He was too interested in girls and making money doing what his older brothers were doing to devote any more than some spare time to conventional “extra-curriculars.” He was the class clown the teacher always yelled at but privately admired. Drew’s smile would light up the room and his antics would quickly spoil any chance of a teacher being able to control the class. He was never outwardly disrespectful, but sometimes his flippant, carefree attitude would drive others a little crazy. He wasn’t the best student and his grades were below average.
Drew always stuck up for the underdogs. He felt like an underdog himself and felt a out of place his entire life, so he felt a the need to be a protector to those unjustly being made fun of for things they couldn’t control. He tried many times to break free of the streets and the “family business” of dealing, but he never could seem to shake it. It just felt like he was destined to be a part of the streets.
He never liked actively taking advantage of people, but at the same time he didn’t mind dealing poison to them. The way he saw it, he knew what was in his dope — other dealers didn’t care if they killed the addicts just as long as they got the reputation of having the “fire.” In a fucked up sort of way, he kind of felt like a Robin hood. He always kept Narcan and Suboxone with him just in case one of his regulars od’ed…and the Suboxone if they wanted to quit. He figured he didn’t start this poison, but if he could regulate it and never pushed anything on anyone he was doing good. Besides, it was phat cash. He might as well be making it. Someone else would if it wasn’t him.
All of his past rushed through his brain as he sat there, frozen in the front of the car. Why did he go down this path? Why didn’t he try harder in school, go to college and be some dickhead baller like on ESPN? Why is he sitting here about to get popped in some kind of bs bait car? His thoughts ceased as a sudden chill rushed over him. Another dull ache crept up his spine like the night before when the dark figure appeared. It was almost like a dream — a nightmare. He had no explanation for it, and even questioned whether it had happened at all. The uneasiness continued to build until he couldn’t think of nothing else but getting away from this place. From this feeling of intense dread. Concern of bugs and bullshit took a back seat to his desperate need to get home.
He violently swerved through traffic, running several red lights, and cutting off a Sheriff along the way. Nothing was going to deter him from getting home. Drew kept reliving the painful ache from the mysterious figure. Five miles, four miles, three, two, and then one mile away. He turned onto his street relieved, until he looked at his house and saw two black Mercedes parked. A man walked out of one and stood directly in Drew’s path. Another black Mercedes whipped in behind him, he was pinned. No where to go but the driveway…
