The Drug Dealer

 

I knew taking out a dealer would be difficult, and I acknowledged that I was submitting to a god complex by deciding that Red needed to die, but the opportunity was staring me in the face, and I knew it would help Dan stay off of drugs if his dealer died. Despite the fact that I’d only known the college-aged kid for about half an hour, I cared about him and suddenly realized that if I was going to kill, I might as well make it count in a better way than getting rid of a social tyrant. I was moving up, and I was also staying inconspicuous by changing my motive, social connection to the victim and the means by which I did away with him. I considered using a bomb this time. There was just one problem with this plan: I don’t know anything about bombs. I know that they work, and what they’re made up of, but I have no idea how to assemble one myself.

I do, however, know how to make a lovely assortment of less complicated devices, like the old alcohol and rag combo and, well, anything having to do with gasoline. After thinking this whole thing over, though, I decided that all I would need, aside from my murder weapon and precautionary items was a simple device sold in most department stores: aerosol hairspray. 

I went home, changed clothes, and set out on my shopping trip. I used cash so that my purchases couldn’t be traced. At the first store, I bought two cans of hairspray, a fifty foot nylon rope, a pocketknife and some other, less conspicuous items. No questions were asked at the register. My cashier smiled, but didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

At the second store, I bought another two cans of hairspray and threw in some nail polish remover for good measure. I picked up some shoes from the sale rack that fit over the ones I was wearing already. A bottle of bleach and a backpack later, I was, once again, lined up for judgment. There was no comment this time either. Secretly elated, I left the store.

I waited until Saturday night to make my move. Before my weekend coffee with my friends, I counted everything again, knowing that tonight would be difficult. I braided my hair tightly and wandered out with a beanie on even though it was seventy degrees outside.

Crimson picked us all up that day in her fixer upper of a mustang. I loved this car with a passion. Although she and her father had been working on it, it still grumbled at twenty five. Other than that, it ran smooth. Its curves fascinated me. The four of us rode in the beautiful deathtrap to our usual coffee house. I munched on a chocolate muffin in addition to drinking my usual Mocha.

Bunny broke the silence following our orders, as was usual. “You guys wanna go see someone tonight?”

“Who?” I asked with eyes wide. I had to at least pretend to seem interested so that I wouldn’t give away my plans for the night.

He pointed to his shirt, which proudly displayed logo of a local band. “They’re playing tonight, downtown.”

Skull nodded eagerly. She was as crazy about prepubescent boys fooling around onstage as Bunny was. Crimson was more into professional singer/songwriters, but an occasional local gig didn’t do any harm to her golden ears. She agreed also. I turned it down reluctantly, claiming that I had tons of homework to do. If all went as expected, I’d be joining them. It was nice to be able to spend most Saturdays with my friends, even the friends I had that weren’t part of our four.

Drug dealers in reality are much different than in the movies. This means that not all of them have loads of guns lying around fully loaded. They aren’t rich; in fact, most of them are poor from supporting their own habits. Dealing is usually a second job to supplement what isn’t paid for by the medial job which pays somewhere just above minimum wage.

Television glorifies dealers. It makes it seem like they’re all mansion-owning gentlemen who have good jobs, beautiful mistresses and lots of money to throw around. Not true. Still, though, taking this guy down would definitely take some skill. If all went well, I’d get to him before I blew the place up.

This was the plan: I’d find a place to leave the bleach. I’d carry two lighters, the first to be left in the house. I’d walk in asking for some stuff, claim I knew Dan, slit his throat and then burn it down. I guess you could call it a slash and burn. I’d be carrying a mixture of gasoline and nail polish remover along with the cans of hairspray. The backpack ought to conceal my load well enough. My hair was tied up enough so that DNA would be difficult to leave behind. I’d wear large clothes over my regular ones, which would, of course, be bleached and burned (using the second lighter) after the incident. Cotton gloves over my latex ones would cut down on suspicion. It should be cold tonight. Everything had already been wiped clean with rubbing alcohol and de-fingerprinted. I would have time to enjoy this one. I’d already been past the house several times this week.

By the time we were done with coffee and wandering around the music store a few shops down, I was fully exhilarated. Keeping this in was almost too much. While listening to a sample track from a new CD I didn’t have yet, I crossed my fingers, thinking to myself: Slash and burn, slash and burn. I hope this goes right.

Reviews

[Marth47]

I really liked the few last lines of this chapter. Is it wrong to hope that her plans go right? Haha!

[Brie]

"The four of us rode in the beautiful deathtrap to our favorite coffee house." haha, I liked that line. Still captivating!
-Brie