Flower$! Ch.4 Borrowed Identity

I stood breathing heavily underneath a canopy-covered walkway in front of what seemed to be a recently closed-down nightclub. I had been running without direction a good while now and was exhausted. It began lightly raining somewhere around the time I ran through an underpass of the interstate. I began collecting my thoughts and decided to find a business that may let me use their phone so I could call the police to report the men mugging me.

                Thinking of how comfortable I would be in my bed if I could just find a phone somewhere to use, I decided to head up the street. As I walked past a few closed businesses, I noticed a bright light coming from a warehouse door cracked open a bit. I looked up and there was a hand-painted sign that read “Sanchez Appliance Warehouse” and, although I thought it was a bit odd for an appliance warehouse to be open at this time, I decided to walk in and ask if I may use their phone.

                I opened the door and slowly walked in. I looked around and very nervously said in a very low voice, “Hello… is there anyone here?”

                “Hey! What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?” – A demanding voice yelled out from behind a few crates of the half empty warehouse. There were only a few refrigerators in the far corner to my right and about 5 stoves on the next corner directly across from me. A black Yukon was parked inside facing the garage door in the back.

                Four men dressed in brown and white quickly made their way toward me. One of the four was freakishly tall, and in a very deep voice yelled out, “Identify yourself, motherfucker!”

                The large one who spoke first clearly became agitated by my silence. He pulled out a gun, pointed it at me and yelled, “Are you stupid, ese? We’re fucking talking to you! What’s your name?”

                Exhausted and fearful, I stuttered my name as well as I could. “Ja… J-James… my name’s James,” I stuttered.

                “Jimmy? Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so? Don’t look so scared, man, I’m not going to shoot you. I’m Sobres, this is Ruthless, that’s Insane and that ‘joto’ motherfucker, don’t worry about him.”

                “Alright, guys, let’s go,” said the man just referred to as ‘joto’, “time for business… we’ll talk in the truck.”

                They all started heading for the truck then insane addressed me for the first time, “come on, ese, get in the truck. Let’s go!”

                I was extremely confused and had no idea what was going on. The men were obviously armed and dangerous. I did not want to make any of them angry. I made my way to the truck and in a low voice asked, “Do any of you have a cell phone I may borrow? I have to call the police.”

                They stopped cold all at once and quickly turned around. They looked at me as if I had said… well, I said I was going to call the police and they were obviously criminals… they looked at me as if they wanted to kill me.

                The awkward silence was sharply broken by the one whose name I still did not know. “Pinche vato has jokes,” he said then laughed hysterically for a moment. “My name’s not actually ‘joto’, man, it’s Otro, but these putos think it’s funny to call me ‘joto’… don’t ever call me that, you hear? Now, come one, get on the truck, let’s go.”

Flower$! Ch.3 Jimmy the Nut

Anywhere you go in the east coast there is one name that stands out above the rest in the underground criminal world: Jimmy the Nut. Jimmy was born and raised in Boston. He came from a good family and went to a nice school. Well, as good a school could be in that part of Boston. Jimmy was well known in many areas of organized crime, but his specialty was distribution of Marijuana. He started out in Boston after talking to a buddy of his at a hip hop concert and realizing how much money he could make. He made a deal with him that same night and began his career. It wasn’t long before Jimmy moved up the ranks of Boston’s most hardened criminals.

                Jimmy quickly outgrew his neighborhood and eventually Boston. He began taking trips from the border with Canada to Florida sometimes. His trips grew longer and the loads much larger. He could see his empire growing before him with every run he made.

                His empire grew so much he started making runs west of the Mississippi. He found himself in such cities as Houston, Austin, San Antonio, Little Rock, Kansas City and Chicago. Everyone wanted to get some of Jimmy’s weed, but no one knew how to get ahold of him. Rest assure, though, if you’re smoking weed ANYWHERE from the Midwest to the East Coast, Jimmy had something to do with it.

                Jimmy’s next move was to make a trade with the Mexicans. He heard the prices in South Texas were ridiculous, and he wanted to find out for himself. He arranged meeting a few Mexicans in a warehouse in Laredo through a few connections he had in Houston. He brought a lot of money with him.

*********

                Four men in a warehouse impatiently await the arrival of Jimmy the Nut. They were told to be at the Sanchez warehouse on 88^th Street at 8pm by a man on the phone claiming to be “Jimmy the Nut”.

“Hey, what time is this guy getting here, I’m hungry!”  Asked an oversized cholo Mexican dressed in brown and white from head to toe. He was wearing white Nike Cortez, white tube socks with brown stripes, brown Dickies long shorts, brown t-shirt and a brown bandana covering his forehead but leaving his slick, black hair exposed.

“Shut up, fool, you’re ALWAYS hungry!” one of the other four answered mockingly wearing basically the same uniform and it seemed as if the only difference between the two was about 275 lbs.

“Shut the fuck up, fool, no I’m not! I just like eating all the time.”

“That’s worse, pendejo!” A third Mexican interrupted with a much deeper voice than the first two, but he was as thin as a broomstick and taller than a palm tree. He was dressed much different than the first two, but still in the basic brown and white scheme. He was wearing a brown pull-over with a gigantic hoodie almost covering his eyes. The word “Ruthless” printed in white across the hoodie and “Familia Guzman” across the top of the back. The middle read Lane St and the bottom said “killers.” Most criminals don’t usually go around telling people where they’re from, but the Familia Guzman gang flaunted their territory and wanted everyone to know what set they were from.

The fourth Mexican just stood quietly leaning on a tall, wooden crate sitting on a pallet in the middle of the warehouse. He was the shortest but fattest of the four and also the quietest. The most input he contributed to their conversations was an occasional chuckle here and there. He was wearing a white shirt with a mural air-brushed in the front spelling out the words “Insane Guzman” in a sparkling, chrome-looking style.

“Do you think he’s real? Or do you think someone’s fucking with us?” asked “Sobre Guzman,” the oversized, hungry gang banger.

“Shut up, ese, you’re annoying me!” answered Ruthless.

The four continued cracking jokes and picking on each other to pass time as they waited for what could be anything and were starting to become extremely impatient. It could be a set up by the police or an ambush by a rival gang. There WAS, however, the possibility that it MIGHT be the deal of a lifetime and if the buyer was who he said he was, the gang had potential to make money in amounts reaching the millions.

Flower$! Ch.2 Shop Super Smart at Super Mart

                My Friday evenings weren’t like most typical Friday evenings kids my age had. Instead of being out at a bar drinking and socializing, I was usually stuck working the late shift at Super Mart talking to overworked single moms who know nothing about technology but are trying to buy a gift for their spoiled teenage kid who does nothing more than nag the entire time they’re there. There would occasionally be a pretty girl or two walking around the store, but usually too young and accompanied by their parents and/or younger siblings. Since Super Mart opens 24 hours, my shift usually ended around 2:30 or 3 in the morning and by that time I was usually too tired to go out.

                I got out of work last Thursday night and was a bit irritated when I walked up to the bike rack in the front and saw the front tire of my bike was flat. Since I only lived but 5 blocks away, I decided to walk home. It was a nice night, pleasant temperature and there was a nice breeze that made the mid-summer heat feel more like early Spring.

                I had almost made it home when I noticed two thugs standing at the corner of the street I lived on. They looked a bit shady, but I’m not really one to judge.

                As I got closer, I noticed they had begun walking toward me and I was instantly alarmed. My heartbeat sped up and I could feel my palms begin to sweat. At one point I remember tripping on a crack in the pavement. I decided the best thing to do in this situation was to take initiative and show them they don’t scare me and with that thought in mind, I quickly blurted out, “good evening, gentlemen.”

                One of the two thugs, the taller one with a really shaggy blonde mullet, yelled out, “yea, right!” and began laughing hysterically. The other pulled out a switch blade and growled, “GIVE US ALL YOUR MONEY, PUNK! AND THAT PRETTY LITTLE WATCH, TOO!”

                My mind went blank, and I didn’t know what to do. I stood there frozen without moving a muscle. I thought about yelling for the police, but even if I did, I didn’t think anybody in the neighborhood would be awake to hear it.

                The momentary silence was broken by the blonde thug, who was also much thinner and taller, when he walked so close to me I could smell the cheap whiskey in his breath and in a much less enthusiastic, but threatening voice said, “well, bitch, give it here… we want your money!”

                I put my hands about halfway up, just about in front of my chest and in a trembling voice I cried out, “h-hold on, here… I don’t have any money on me, I only use my debit card!”

                “THEN GIVE US YOUR FUCKING WALLET, PUNK!” – yelled out the fat thug, who I suspected was in a bad mood because he hadn’t been fed in an hour or so. “DON’T MAKE ME FUCKING HURT YOU!”

                Then, at that very moment, in the blink of an eye, my whole life changed with one decision which, considering I am now looking at death or time in prison, I still don’t know how to feel about it. I made a fist and I don’t know where the hell it came from, but I found the courage to deliver a cross punch to the fat guy and I took off running across the street immediately. I didn’t even look back to see if they were chasing me… I just ran as fast as I could, turned as many corners as I could and jumped as many fences as I could.

Flower$!: Chapter 1

I looked in the rearview mirror of the Yukon I was ordered to drive. I looked ahead as far as I could see, but it was hard to focus on the tiny white blur ahead of me: the white van I was ordered to follow at all cost.

Right before I boarded my vehicle, I was handed a silver 380 that sparkled like spring water in morning sunlight. I did not have a shoulder holster so I just shoved the gun in the back of my pants and covered it with my white undershirt. I was fine the first two miles or so, but the hard medal began digging into my back and it became very uncomfortable and annoying.

                We must have been on the interstate for about 30 miles before the target exited and turned east on a farm road. The rural road, vegetation, and the fact that we were getting away from civilization made me a bit uneasy, but I followed my orders and trailed the white van, which sometimes reached speeds of over 100 miles per hour. We traveled down this road for about 5 miles… further and further away from civilization.

                I pulled out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and put one in my mouth then began desperately looking for a lighter. Patience was definitively NOT one of my top qualities at this moment.

                I finally found a lighter inside one of the compartments of the dashboard, but as I quickly learned, it was out of fluid. I threw the lighter out the window and yelled a few profanities. I did not know when I would have another opportunity to purchase a lighter.

                I reached out to open the glove compartment in hopes of finding a lighter, but just as I was opening it I heard the worse sound I could have possibly heard at that moment… sirens! I freaked out a bit and jerked the steering wheel a few times before regaining my composure and straightening out the vehicle. Now I found myself in quite a pickle… on one hand, I was told to follow the white van at all cost by some very nasty people who don’t like being disobeyed and on the other, this is THE POLICE! I’ve seen on TV what happens when you don’t pull over.

                I could NOT believe I found myself in this plight considering 72 hours ago I was working at Super Mart as Team Leader in the Technology department… and didn’t even know what a damned cigarette tasted like!

Dreams of a Person Who Dreams of Doughnuts

Dreams of a Person Who Dreams of Doughnuts

As the morning break hit dawn and the birds began to chirp, little Timmy Toole dreamt away of Doughnuts and Shakes. Little Timmy had a sweet-tooth, a sweet-tooth, yes he had indeed! His dreams always felt real, but there was something more to this particular one. There was an intoxicating scent of maple syrup in the air. This made Timmy dream of doughnuts even more. The stronger that sweet scent became, the stronger became the pull from within Timmy’s tummy telling him to get his fat ass off the bed and put something inside of it already!

Something was wrong, though… this time Timmy could not get up as quickly as he once did before. He swung his right foot off the bed and “oh, shit, what the fuck did I become?” Timmy sat in awe as he stared amazed at the fact that his feet had gone away and become something that seemed to be a doughnut hole. Both feet, gone… the left one was glaze and the right one white powder sugar.

Timmy stood up and headed toward the kitchen. His balance was a bit off, but he could still walk considering he had doughnut holes for feet. He opened the refrigerator door and reached in for a plate that had a slice of apple pie on it. He turned away from the refrigerator and kicked the door shut with the nearest foot, but as he did this, he saw the reflection of his food on the aluminum door and almost dropped the plate. His calves had turned into chocolate bars. His left one Snickers and the right 3 Musketeers.

As baffled as he was by this, Timmy went ahead and grabbed a fork anyway… and dug into the pie shoveling huge chunks of pie into his mouth.

He dropped a bit of pie and quickly went to grab a towel, but as he took his first step toward the sink, he slipped on the same piece of pie he had just dropped, but he did not see it because his whole midsection had turned into a cinnamon roll. He also did not feel a thing when he fell and hit the floor. He just caught one last glimpse at his big, fat ass hitting the floor shaped like a cinnamon roll.

He awoke in a jolt back in his bed. This time he was actually awake. He got out of bed and headed to the refrigerator. He opened the door and saw a reflection of his face on the aluminum refrigerator door. He chuckled to himself and reached in; this time, however, he grabbed an apple instead of pie. Then he put on his gym clothes and went out for a jog.