I’m not a fan of gangster movies or the lyrical content of rappers who make themselves out to be ex-drug lords and mob figures, but I would like to try my hand at writing a story that has to do with that lifestyle. This is my first attempt at writing a story on the subject of drugs, just to see how it turns out and what type of reaction I’d get from it, if any.
I thought about it a few times during that two minute time period. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea: Speeding off from the side of the road, initiating a highway cop chase on a crazy Friday night, not to mention possibly leading them to the drop point where the exchange was scheduled to be made an hour from now. Nah, that’s too much of a risk, so instead, I remained calm in the driver’s seat with my right hand laid flat on my lap, trying not to look over and draw attention to the glove compartment, where i’d usually stash the pistol under some old receipts, empty condom wrappers and a mess of Starbucks napkins.
I had fire in my eyes while looking into the side mirror, watching as the two officers made their way toward the whip. All I could think about was the nine kilos stuffed in a black hockey bag, located in the corner of the trunk, behind a spare tire and a pair of jumper cables. Sweat began to form on my forehead before the officer stopped at my door. I exhaled while rolling the window down, preparing myself to speak to the officer in character to avoid any suspicion. I played it cool, but the thought of the drugs being in the back of the car caused me to studder, and I hadn’t studdered since junior-high school. He looked over the interior as I tried my best to play cool. It wasn’t working and he knew something was up.
One minute later and I was standing outside of the car with sweaty palms and shaky legs. This was my first time transporting coke by myself. I was just along for the ride the first time, and now i’m about to blow it on my first try. The second cop ran my name and plates through the system as the first cop kept his eyes on me, knowing there was something in the car that I didn’t want him to see.
The ’98 Camry was in my name, but the coke in the back was in the name of a heavy player who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me or anyone related to me if I didn’t arrive with it in full that night. I couldn’t afford an arrest that night. I had to do something to avoid being in the back of a cop car and getting nine kilos siezed by these cops who pulled me over for no real reason whatsoever. I knew I wasn’t speeding, I made sure of that. Montgomery County cops are the worst, this is why I stay my black ass in the District.
The interior was clear. Thank God I let Troy borrow my pistol yesterday, or the officer would’ve found it during his inspection. I began to think the cop was playing games with me, looking deep into my eyes while telling me that they were going to search the trunk. An old Jay-z song began to play in my head, something about needing a warrant to search a locked portion of a vehicle. I wasn’t sure if that was true, or if those rules applied in the state of Maryland, so I just kept my mouth shut and waited for them to open the trunk and find the surprise.
The first cop tossed my keys over to his partner standing further behind him near the trunk. He glanced at the contents at first, but then leaned over a bit, as something didn’t look right to him. I then started to imagine a scene where I grabbed the pistol from the officer’s holster and plug both of them with two shots to the chest and one in the forehead, but that’s just from me watching too many action flicks. I wasn’t built to kill anything, which made me think twice about being in the drug game.
I knew the cop had found the bag and was going to see what was inside. To my surprise, he slammed the trunk and looked my way with his head cocked to the side…
“I thought this vehicle model had a light in the trunk.” he said. I shrugged my shoulders, relieved that he didn’t find the backpack. I don’t know if the trunk had a light or if it was working, thank God it didn’t. I was let go on a warning, that’s all he said to me, and I didn’t even do shit. Mo-County cops are the worst, I swear.
I got back into the car and proceeded to pull off slowly from the scene. I was afraid to look back, thinking it would cause more suspicion for them to rethink their decision and do a more thorough search. I was lucky to get away so clean, but those cops, they must’ve known something was up, they didn’t look like fools, how could I had got one over on them so easily? Maybe God was on my side that night. Anyways, I was back en route to the drop point with a funny story to tell about two dumbass County Cops who let nine bricks of coke drive off into the night.
Thirty minutes later and I made it to the drop point. There I was standing face to face with some serious players in the drug game, I mean these guys were like those crazy murderous gangsters you’d see in a movie or something. I couldn’t help but sweat and tremble in their presence. Anyways, I began to tell my story about the stop on the highway, while we stepped over to the back of the car. I popped the trunk at the exact moment where my story ended, which by then they were supposed to laugh and find the whole story entertaining. I was supposed to had reached further into the back of the trunk space and hand over a heavy black hockey bag filled with cocaine, but instead, I reached into the trunk and was met with nothing but an empty corner space. My heart skipped a beat.
“My God,” was what I said to myself, realizing what had really happened back there on the side of the road. Those county cops werent as dumb as I thought they were, in fact, they knew what was going on the entire time, as the second cop pulled the bag from the trunk and placed it behind his legs, letting me leave in direction to what he believed would be my death. They knew I what I was transporting, and they let me go, believing I’d get a more fatal punishment than a cell or a few years sentence could ever give to a rookie thug such as myself.
The joke was on me, and nobody was laughing.
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