Cure For Pain

by NM Facile

  After Karl pulled away, Ty took a few minutes to contact his deliveries. There were separate webmail accounts and passwords set up with each of his five contacts. There was never any mail sent to or from the accounts. When Ty had something for them, he wrote the number in a draft. His contacts would check their account at least twice a day. If there was a draft there, they erased what he had written and left a location. In turn he deleted that and left a time. They had a set price per ounce and as long as that didn’t change there was never a need to discuss money. It had worked beautifully so far.

  Ty doubted he would hear back from any of them before he went to work at five, but sometimes they surprised him. It was still a few hours before he needed to be at Dee’s and he was looking forward to an afternoon to himself. He hated delivering pizzas, but didn’t mind working at Dee’s. Dee’s wasn’t even owned by Dee. It hadn’t been owned by someone named Dee for years. Sandra and Bill Henri had owned it for as long as Ty could remember and they weren’t even the first to own it after Dee. Sandra once told him that it had been Dee’s for so long that even though the first owner after Dee tried to change the name, everyone still referred to it as that. So it was switched back to Dee’s and had stayed that way ever since.

  The Henris were good people. Ty’s mom had worked for them for a short time before she took a job at a call center. When Ty got out of prison and had trouble finding someone who would hire a parolee, Sandra and Bill took a chance on him. Ty hated that he was using them as a cover. Yes, he occasionally made sales while he was delivering, but he never moved anything major while he was on the job. He learned from his arrest never to carry more than what could be termed as “intent to use” versus “intent to sell.” Unless he had specific arrangements to sell more than twenty bags he didn’t worry about carrying more than that. Twenty bags were more than enough to get him through times when he might be approached by his regulars.

  Ty checked his email once he was home and was surprised to see that he had drafts from three of the five. He worked out how long it would take him to meet up with everyone and stash the money. The Krasnoffs’ were always the easiest of the group. They were the most organized. He set up theirs first, followed by the COD. The Krasnoffs and Curse of Destruction gang were closer to St. Paul, so he could hide the cash between delivering to them and meeting with R. in Eden Prairie.

  After estimating the timing, he took stock of his cut of the shipment which had been packaged in a simple glassine bag. It was larger than the ones he repackaged his own in. He packaged his in small white bags stamped with a key. Stamps were like a logo or a brand name. Most who dealt had their own mark. At one time Ty had used an apple, thinking of it as the forbidden fruit. It was dangled in front of him and he took it, leading him into this life of sin. Now he no longer thought of heroin as the forbidden fruit, but as the key to his freedom.

  There was no time to weigh out and repackage it right then, so he slipped it between the pages of an edition of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. He still had enough with him if he needed it without having to pull out the scale and divide it up. It didn’t really take that long to do since he never cut his heroin with anything. It had been cut enough before he got it.

  After placing the book back on the shelf, he grabbed three beat-up gym bags containing old t-shirts out of his closet. It might have been done in almost every crime movie and TV cop show, but really, hiding money in lockers at the bus station was an effective strategy. He took some of the cash from his cut of the Krasnoffs’. He wasn’t extravagant in his lifestyle, but having a little extra cash on hand never hurt, either. The rest he would put away for safekeeping.

  He stopped in his little kitchen for a Coke before looking around the countertop for a pack of smokes. Once he had those, he headed to the door, stopping to grab his gun off the table next to it. It was a replacement for the one that had been confiscated when he was arrested. That little beauty had added some extra weeks to his time inside. Karl had given him the old 9mm Smith & Wesson not long after he’d started working for him.

  The day he gave it to him, Ty told him he didn’t want to carry a weapon. When he was little, his mom was adamant that he never play guns. It was just one of those things that stuck with him. When he sold heroin the user was directly responsible for using it, he was just a means to get it. If they overdosed it was their own fault. He looked at the beat up black grip and saw himself in the shiny barrel. Pointing a gun at someone and pulling the trigger made it his fault. He wasn’t sure he could do that. The quote, “With great power comes great responsibility,” echoed through his head.

  He had tried to refuse it, but Karl had told him, “Kid, never underestimate what could happen. You may never have to use the thing, but as long as you look confident holding it people will take you seriously.”

  Even though he hated it, he knew Karl was right. He lived in a world where things were often settled with who had the faster weapon. Eventually he learned how to put the safety on and off and how to load it, but that was about it. He’d never had to shoot the thing. So far just the sight of it tucked into the waistband of his jeans had been enough to let people know not to mess with him.

  Ty wasn’t afraid to use his fists though; they were easier to use and less likely to lead to a murder charge. He had learned at a young age just how effective a few well-placed punches could be. As a smart, studious white kid, the bullying had started early in grade school. His mom told him to stand up for himself, and the bullies would back off. So that’s what he did. He took a few ass-kickings in the early days, but he learned from his mistakes and from theirs. Soon he was the one handing out the beatings, and kids quickly learned to leave him alone.

  His reputation for quick, hard fists preceded him into high school where he rarely had to use them. Only when it came to Sara did he ever have to fight someone. That girl was constantly getting him into some sort of trouble. At least it kept him in practice for prison. There, being able to take care of oneself was mandatory. It also didn’t hurt that he had the Krasnoffs looking out for him.

  Before he went to jail, he rarely carried the gun. After, he never thought twice before he grabbed it. It was just like any other item he carried with him: cell phone, lighter, smokes, packets of heroin, 9mm. He chuckled to himself; he oughta get himself some sort of man bag.

  He looked forward to meeting up with the Krasnoffs. Karl never told Ty who he reported to, but Ty had always suspected it was the Krasnoffs. They were run mainly out of prison now, but they had deep ties to the Russian mob and other crime organizations all around the world. Any gang that didn’t cooperate with the Krasnoffs wasn’t a gang that lasted long. Everyone paid their dues to the Krasnoffs and tried to stay off their radar. That’s why he figured it was them. That and they always got the biggest cut and never paid for it.

  When Ty went to prison, he was absolutely positive it was the Krasnoffs who were the big bosses. Petro was the man in charge in the state facility Ty was in. That didn’t mean he was the warden. Petro was one of the higher ups in the Krasnoffs’ organization. He was currently doing time on a racketeering charge. Ty never directly spoke with Petro but knew he was essentially his guardian angel for the five years Ty was there.

  Prison was no easy place to be. It was rampant with rival gangs and the violence that comes when multiple alpha males are locked up in the same cage. Prison was a breeding ground for the hate and violence that spilled over into the streets when people were released. Nowhere else would you find white supremacists sharing meals in the same location as blacks or Hispanics, Natives and Asians. They sat at separate tables, but they were still in the same space and the tension that caused was always there.

  Ty got into a few skirmishes. Nothing major, but people just seemed to leave him alone. He knew better than to think that it was because he was a tough guy. He had someone powerful looking out for him, and there was no one more powerful than Petro.

  He felt indebted to the Krasnoffs. What made him look forward to mee
ting up with them was an entirely different thing. Hannah. That little minx left him with blue balls on more occasions than he cared to think about. He always met up with Hannah and Julia.

  Hannah was a walking wet dream, and she knew it. Ty enjoyed their flirting immensely. He would never take her up on the offers she put out there, but not because he wouldn’t like to. He’d just learned his lesson about getting involved with anyone he did business with. Hannah’s partner Julia was a different story. That girl could strike fear into even the most hardened bastard. Julia was all business, and her glare had the effect of an ice cold shower after Hannah’s teasing. Yet, he still looked forward to his dealings with them.

  The agreed rendezvous point, a Wal-Mart parking lot, was brilliant. No one would suspect anything there. Strange people were always hanging around at Wal-Mart. He parked toward the end of the lot. The girls knew his car, and would find him. It wasn’t long before they pulled up in their shiny black SUV. Ty could see Julia scowling from the front seat. Her little face was scrunched up like she was taking it up the ass. Ty just grinned at her and winked before watching as Hannah made her way from the driver’s seat over to his passenger side. Her long, lithe body moved gracefully in tight jeans and high heeled boots, ass swaying all the way. She slid in beside him with a smile.

  “So, handsome, what do you have for me today?” She reached over and ruffled Ty’s hair.

  “Hannah, my girl, let me take you back to my place and I’ll show you what I have for you.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled as she giggled playfully, “Just let me ditch the stick and I’ll go wherever you want.” She purred as she motioned towards Julia sitting in the SUV trying to act like she wasn’t sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Hannah let her hand rest on Ty’s thigh, and gave it a little squeeze.

  He smiled back at her, taking in the big, blonde highlighted hair and meticulous makeup. Yeah, she may have been built like a Victoria’s Secret angel, but she just wasn’t what Ty wanted. A quick flash of a different blonde angel came to mind. Ty shook his head to rid himself of the image. He motioned to the bag at Hannah’s feet. His own transfer was packed into a box of cereal; that was Karl’s doing.

  “Hannah, my love, you are welcome anytime.” He gave her what he hoped was a sexy grin.

  She just smiled wider. “Oh, Ty. Someday I’m going to take you up on that.”

  Ty pulled out before Hannah was even back behind the wheel. He had two more meetings to get to, and then a dull night of pizza delivery ahead.

  A McDonald’s parking lot was the setting for his meeting with the COD. The Curse of Destruction was one of the major Hmong gangs in the city. Having stupidly chosen a name with the initials spelling out a common fish, they were often referred to as the Fish Boys. T-Dog stood waiting with a Happy Meal in hand and an ever-present grin on his face. Ty pulled up next to him and rolled the window down.

  “Hey man. Got a li’l somethin’ for ya.” He handed Ty the little house-shaped cardboard box.

  “This one have a Barbie or a little pony in it?” Ty asked, thinking back to the last couple of times they’d met up like this. T-Dog thought it was hilarious to get Ty a Happy Meal with a little girl’s toy in it.

  T-Dog smiled sheepishly. He looked so young with his long, black hair hanging over his eyes. He was wearing the classic gangbanger apparel; dark hooded sweatshirt with baggy jeans and untied high tops.

  “Guess you just got to wait ‘n see.”

  Ty set the box on the seat next to him and reached for a box of Life cereal. T-Dog walked away after Ty handed it to him.

  There was no need to check the Happy Meal box. Ty knew the money would be in there. From the smell of it, there was a burger and fries in there as well. That was perfect because he was suddenly starving. He reached in the box and the first thing he pulled out was a clear plastic package with some pink pen and a pad of paper with a little smiling doll printed on the corner of it. He rolled his eyes at the cheap shit they gave away and tossed it aside. Ty ate his meal on the way to the Eastside bus station. He needed to make his first deposit.

  He parked two blocks away from the station and dropped a couple quarters into the meter. He wouldn’t be there that long, but it never hurt to overpay. He stuffed part of the money and the empty McDonald’s box into a small, thin, canvas bag, locked up and whistled as he walked to the station.

  He circled around it once looking over the people wandering around. Some were there to switch buses. Others were there to catch one, and a few were waiting to be picked up. There was an old lady with a scarf over her head, wearing boots and a long skirt, knitting with her head down. A couple of other people were sitting on the hard-backed seats reading the newspaper. The younger ones were all glued to their phones, either texting or playing games. No one paid him any attention, choosing to be left alone in their own little worlds. This was one of the reasons bus stations were the perfect place to leave his cash. He was just another random scrub around here.

  He traded the bag he was carrying for the one already in the locker. He knew it was empty. It would be the decoy one for his next stop. As he headed back to his car with the empty bag, he planned his route for his next cash drop-off. He always varied his route between places.

  Ty made his next couple of bag exchanges as he worked his way through the city to the suburbs to meet up with Ryan. Most called him “R.” and he ran the southwestern suburbs. He controlled most of the heroin sales throughout Eden Prairie, Chaska and into the white, middle-class Minnetonka area. Two-story houses with double garages, manicured lawns and swing sets from Fleet Farm in fenced back yards. Gangs were rarely a problem here with the only colors being the ones of the local high school. This was an area where both parents worked hard to give their kids everything, including too much unsupervised time and too much money.

  R. was the only one of Ty’s contacts who was not involved in a gang. The gangs Ty supplied all knew about each other and had a gentlemen’s agreement about not selling in the other’s area. R. was left alone because he didn’t sell in gang territory. He stuck to the suburbs. The problems that did arise came from the new crews coming up from Mexico bringing in black tar heroin. They had their own chain of command and their own way of dealing. When they tried pushing into gang territory they were taken out. Ty didn’t know how R. avoided trouble, because as far as Ty knew he didn’t have any backup. Maybe it was because R. kept it low key and blended in with the neighborhood.

  Ty stuck to the main street in the area. He passed a mall, a movie theater, a couple of day spas, hotels, every fast food chain you could think of, a dozen different banks, and just as many churches. He found the Caribou Coffee shop he was looking for and pulled in and parked next to a black BMW. He thought back to the pretentious prick with the coffee that morning and chuckled.

  Ty walked in and ordered a black coffee. He looked around the room as he waited. School must have been out, because the place was filled with teens. There was a group of girls looking at him and whispering behind their hands and giggling. The obvious leader of the group was a little redhead that was no doubt a cheerleader and the prom queen. Ty got his cup and stepped in their direction. She smiled big and threw her shoulders back, sticking out her chest as she tossed her long hair to the side. Ty saw her shoulders slump as he continued by and nodded towards the guy sitting in the corner watching the whole thing with an amused grin.

  Ty walked back out to his car and opened the door. He reached down to the floor for the bag of “coffee” he had there.

  “I can’t believe you just passed up that prime piece of teenage ass back there.” The familiar voice taunted.

  “I’ve seen enough of the inside of a cell.”

  “Oh, man. That little sweetness in there is worth it.” His smug grin sickened Ty. “And believe me, I know.”

  Ty looked at the short, slimy man with disgust. He exchanged coffee bags with him. The first time Ty met R. he felt he should count out the money. Ty always had the feeling that R. would
shortchange him, though he never did. Karl reassured Ty that R. had been well informed on just what happened to those who tried to screw them over.

  “Until next time,” Ty said to him as he moved to get in his car.

  “You’re such a straight ass, T. J.; don’t you ever do anything fun anymore? What about all those stories I heard about you?”

  “That was a different man,” He answered without looking back. He saw R.’s reflection move towards his car next to him before he pulled out.

  There was always something about R. that left Ty feeling dirty. He tried to keep his interactions with him as short as possible. He didn’t know how Karl got hooked up with R. but he just didn’t trust him. Ty pushed thoughts of him to the back of his mind. He had one more cash drop off before work and he was running late. Once he was in his blue baby, he lit another cigarette and turned up the radio. He checked his rearview mirror as he pulled out and caught the reflection of a man with wild black hair, dark sunglasses and a cigarette between his lips. He wondered who that man was.

  It was not the fifteen year-old with plans for college and ambitions of a high paying job. It wasn’t the seventeen year-old trying to impress the beautiful girl, who tossed away all his common sense just to get a hit of that pussy. It wasn’t the nineteen year-old in his charcoal graduation suit listening to a judge sentencing him to prison, or the scared youth in the orange jumpsuit who tried to hide his fear of being left to the mercy of those who really were in charge of the prison. It wasn’t the boy who grew into manhood surrounded by hardened criminals and regrets. It wasn’t the man who stood at his mother’s grave in that same charcoal suit and decided that all he had ever wanted in life wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t the man who at twenty-four years old stood on a street corner after being set free, only to realize he had nothing and nowhere to go. It wasn’t the man he wanted to be, yet it was the man he was.