The rising sun illuminated the Chicago skyline facing Michigan Avenue. The golden light rays reflected off the tall glass buildings, gradually lighting up alcoves and alleyways that seemed to hold darkness until overcome by the noonday sun. Pigeons set out to capture their fill of crumbs from the bustling Starbucks and corner cafes.
Coffee bearing zombies emerged from their favorite haunts to flag down taxicabs and enter the rat race. Commuters struggled with lifting their computer bags to check their watches, while keeping their coffee cups level. The crowd moved in sync and the pace quickened closer to the business district. The steady flow of bodies and cars crescendoed into a bustling city, officially closing out the weekend.
Few cars broke free of the traffic congestion by entering dark side streets and alleyways. At the opposite end of one lonely alley was a small establishment closing from a late night of enthusiasts that attempted to hold back the new week from arriving.
A big solid Hispanic bouncer escorted the last disheveled patron from the Dixie Club. Both had to squint as the sun cut down into the barren side street. The bouncer acted like he hadn’t felt the sun on his face for decades, as he watched the last patron stagger away from the building.
The Dixie Club looked well worn and dumpy with the sunlight revealing its every crack and dirty panel. It gave no clue to passersby that it was a happening club decked out in its glamorous chaser lights in the peak of a party night. Nor would anyone have guessed that its popularity hid the area king pin in the back lounge on weekends before the latest shipments of powdered entertainment were to arrive at the local docks.
The dimly lit lounge gave no sign of daylight breaking, except when a private bodyguard would glance out the back window. The room was comfortable enough to relax and big enough to house several guards during distribution conversations with the locals. But one thing the room didn’t provide was the incredible amount of respect held for one man who enjoyed cuddling with the attractive woman snuggling in his shoulder.
Sandy was a dishwater blonde, Caucasian woman in her mid forties and loved the feel of snuggling, especially when her hair was stroked. Her face was filled with contentment as a hand gently caressed her hair like a father gently stroking his daughter’s. Sandy felt there was nothing better to help her wind down and close out a long energetic weekend.
The tenderness abruptly ended as the man’s shoulder shifted. His hand reached into his Armani suit coat and pulled out a shot tube of cherry colored powder from his inside pocket. Sandy was jostled out of her euphoric state and snapped back to reality. She shifted around to get her bearings.
Sandy’s memory brought focus and enlightenment. She quickly scanned her outfit and saw that she was dressed like a floozy. Realizing that gum was in her mouth, she started chewing it like a lady of the evening. Her eyes shifted into a mode looking for sensuality. Her fingers stretched and contracted as if she were awakening her body for action. She looked longingly at the man she had snuggled with.
Mr. Diaz was a Hispanic area king pin who commanded more respect than the two previous mobsters that controlled the area. While his ability to quickly gain respect might have been due to his bent on family life and care for the ladies, most showed him respect for fear of dieing. Diaz loved his yacht and seemed to always leave a wake of bodies every time he left town.
With the tube of cherry colored powder held lightly in his hand, Diaz signaled Denny for a green light. Diaz was always careful before imbibing in drugs, as his empire had grown beyond any other and he wasn’t about to risk it on a moment of pleasure.
Diaz had started out with a simple lawn mower, rakes and a few good friends. He stepped up quickly and bought several trailers and large riding mowers once he figured out how to crack the townhome lawn maintenance market. Most of his profits came from board members signing his firm for ten grand more than the market was bearing in order to take personal kickbacks to remodel their basements with deluxe entertainment systems.
Eventually Diaz added drug delivery to his list of services, as most wealthy suburban folks didn’t want to visit the seedy side of town and would pay an extra twenty percent to keep their reputation clear of any questionable activity. Most transactions happened at the lawn maintenance trailers, as the homeowners would loudly demand a better job be done on their immaculate lawn.
The empire grew even larger once Diaz figured out how to manufacture the product for his area and sell wholesale to surrounding distributors. While his product was not patentable due to legal reasons, it was unique enough that he dominated three regions. Within a decade, he owned a vast territory and the lives of all the distributors.
Diaz never desired to own the dealers and got away from the trailer activity once his cash flow allowed for manufacturing. The cherry meth in his tube was his 27th sample and his technicians were proud of their latest chemistry. The cherry meth was supposed to be like tasting a Cherry Coke followed by a comfortable marijuana buzz. Diaz was confident it would be the drug to knock out the competitive ecstasy that previously flooded the market. In his mind, it was perfect for the junior high set.
Diaz glanced back at Denny hoping for a green light and a nice buzz.
Denny Jamison spoke on his radio mic hidden in his sleeve, while glancing out the back window. He squinted into the alley through the dirty window that was illuminated by the rays of light bouncing down from the glass high rises above. The coast was clear out back and he was waiting for his men to report from four other locations. Everyone knew that Diaz needed to be protected and no one ever lived who was negligent in his duties.
Denny loved his job, as it wielded great power and more pleasantries than anyone could imagine. His stipend for excellence was around $1,400 a week, which didn’t hold a candle to his salary. His position provided all the girls, social drugs and travel experiences any secular person could hope for. It was a dream come true, except for his lack of nightly sleep due to all the legal intrusions and battles they faced regularly.
But Denny was confident he’d stay on top for a long time due to the great respect Diaz commanded. Even the police called him Mr. Diaz. And, when he was feeling really good, Denny would let his boss know by referring to him as king Diaz.
Denny’s hand rose to his earpiece to hold it in place to make sure he heard the reports clearly. The reports were coming in from man one, man two,…
Sandy needed to shift the focus back to plan. She stretched out her hand and placed it on the inner part of Diaz’s thigh. She gently rubbed his leg as she watched his face for a response, but he was too focused. “C'mon baby, you promised time with me and the night's almost over,” pleaded Sandy.
Denny looked toward the couch, “All clear Mr. Diaz.”
The top of the shot tube popped off and a line of cherry meth poured onto the glass coffee table. A hand holding a razor blade and short straw reached out toward Diaz, who acknowledged the gesture. Diaz’s smile suggested a bonus would appear in the man’s account by the following weekend.
Terry stood up proud after receiving a form of affirmation from Diaz. He marveled at the power he felt whenever he received emotional support from him. He knew that men always needed someone to be proud of them and Terry found himself to be no different. However, he did wonder if he would ever have a good person affirm him, but felt most people saw his self-confidence and muscular build as a symbol that he lacked nothing.
Terry’s good looks didn’t help the matter. Most of his friends were always concerned that he would get too bigheaded or arrogant if they praised him in any way. Yet, deep within his soul, Terry felt like a little kid always having to prove his existence, while searching for a way to make his mark on the world.
Diaz finished sculpting his first line of meth. He leaned over to Sandy in response to her request for some private time. “First a buzz to unwind, then a little romp before bedtime,” said Diaz.
“Oh, baby,” was Sandy’s elated response. She wrapped herself around his arm and hugged him tightly. She was back on plan and knew that everything was going to work out according to her heart-felt dreams.
Diaz dragged the short straw along the line as part of his routine leading to a relaxed state. With every incremental drop of Diaz’s tense shoulders, Denny and the other guards became more rigid and alert. They scanned every door and window. Reports continued in rapid fire over the radio system that was clipped to all the guard’s ears and sleeves.
Terry was down right uneasy. He rapidly glanced around the room like a driver who is about to emerge from a blind alley into unknown traffic.
Diaz drew in his first deep breath as the straw glided down the line of cherry meth.
“Do you feel good, baby?” said Sandy in a sensual voice.
“Want some?” replied Diaz who always shared with those close to him.
Terry pulled out a .44 Magnum and pointed it at Diaz. Sandy shifted a way and shot Terry a look branding him a fool. She knew he just stepped into something that few have ever survived, shy of a descent burial if the bodies stayed intact.
Denny pointed his gun at Terry with a crooked smile as if he longed for that moment. “No one threatens king Diaz.”
Terry pulled out his badge and showed it to Denny, then Diaz. “You have the right to remain silent…”
“And, you have the right to die a tragic death,” interrupted Diaz.
The sound of multiple guns cocking filled the air. Terry’s peripheral vision could see four guns within inches of his head and he sensed two more behind him. His eyes got wild. Fear and adrenaline pumped through his veins. He knew that life was about to change, but wondered how many lives would survive the moment. All it took was one gun to go off and an entire dominos effect of triggers clicking would send more to their grave.
Approaching distant sirens broke the tension in the room. Sandy took advantage of the momentary distraction to bolt up from the couch and shift the focus to her.
“I've been waiting for him all night and you're not going to stop us!” shouted Sandy like a crazy woman.
Everyone was taken aback by the explosion of estrogen and stared in disbelief. Sandy jumped on Terry and started beating him with all the force she could muster. “No one keeps me from my man!”
Terry spun around and slammed Sandy down onto the glass table. Her face was smashed up against the glass and her nose was next to the second line of cherry meth. Terry placed his gun against Sandy’s temple. He glared at Diaz and cocked his gun.
“Call your men off.”
“How 'bout I help you,” responded Diaz in a glib voice. He reached over and wiped the meth across Sandy’s nose. She inhaled it with a jolt. Her eyes rolled from the unexpected dose. She smiled.
“It'll lessen the pain baby,” said Diaz. “I'll have Tony come for you in a few hours.”
Diaz signaled his guards. They all dropped their guns and left the room. Denny held his position until Diaz could stand and head to the backdoor.
Sandy shook loose and spun around, hitting Terry square in the jaw. She turned to Diaz, “No! I'm coming with you!”
Terry spun around and grabbed Sandy in a bear hug.
“Get off of me!” shouted Sandy as she pushed back off of the couch.
Terry lost his balance and the two fell backwards, crashing through the glass table onto the floor. Sandy spun around and punched Terry with all her might like a banshee on steroids.
Denny and Diaz took the distraction as their signal to leave and slipped quietly out the back door, but Terry noticed as the sound of sirens increased and diminished with the opening and closing of the door.
“Stop! They're gone,” whispered Terry in hopes that the beating would end.
“They're watching through video feeds you idiot,” whispered Sandy in an intense voice. “I'm not breaking cover.”
The muted sirens came to a stop in the front of the establishment, but Sandy continued the beating.
“I'm not going to fight back, so lighten up your punches,” pleaded Terry.
“It'll show on the video,” retorted Sandy. “It's your punishment for going off plan.” Anger flared on Sandy’s face and she slammed her fist across Terry’s nose. Blood splattered on the couch.
The curtain door to the lounge left little to the imagination as the police broke down the front door with a steel battering ram. An officer flung open the curtain revealing another officer in a shooting stance. The backdoor clicked shut.
The first officer hustled over to Terry and took a knee. He looked back at the second officer, “Officer down. She's headed out back.”
Two officers headed out the back door, while the remaining officer looked after Terry’s wound. Terry pinched his nose closed. “I hope your guys treat her like scum,” Terry shook his head. “For the sake of the camera.”
The alleyway was long and filled with debris waiting for garbage day. At the opposite end of the alley Diaz slipped into his car. Sandy’s sprint wasn’t fast enough. She came around the corner just as the car was pulling away. “No!”
Sandy stopped in her tracks and sucked air deeply. It had been too long since she had to run the forty to re-qualify her status for fieldwork. The only thing in her favor that kept her safe at work was her age matching the range of the crooks in power.
“ughmf,” choked out Sandy as the wind was knocked out of her and she crashed to the pavement after being tackled by one of the officers in pursuit. The second officer put his knee in the center of her back keeping her down while he placed handcuffs on her. Sandy could feel the small pavement stones cut into her face from the pressure.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
Sandy’s breath diminished, her eyes rolled and she blacked out.
