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. Continue Reading