The Dirty Blog 5

By Dick Johnson

(This is part 5 in a series, the other posts can be found under “The Dirty Blog” category)

So, after seeing the baby daddy, I decided to head over to the park and see if I could find Randy the heroin dealer, who rides a green bike. It was still fairly early, by drug dealer standards, so I might get lucky.

I drove over to the park, and parked my car down the road a ways, so no one would figure out it’s mine.

Then, I went into the park. There were a couple of people on the playground equipment banging each other. I couldn’t tell if they were guys or girls. It was just a bunch of grunting and breathing. They did not stop when I walked by.

I headed toward the pavilion where I figured Randy would be.

I could see someone under the pavilion roof, sitting on a picnic table alone. They were smoking a cigarette, and leaning against one of the pavilions support posts was an old 10 speed bike.

As I approached, I started to fake a limp. I kept getting closer, and the guy on the table stood up, when he saw me. I got closer and he tossed his cigarette as I stepped up on the concrete under the pavilion. I looked at the bicycle, it was a scratched up green color.

This was Randy.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Randy said.

“I’m lookin.” I said.

“Lookin for what? What are you talking about?” Randy said.

“Come on Randy, Travis sent me.” I said, moving even closer.

“I don’t know any Travis, what are you talking about?” Randy said.

Randy stepped back.

“Here’s $20.00” I said, holding out the bill as I stepped closer.

“Back the fuck up man, I don’t know you.” Randy said, taking a step back.

I cleared the distance in a heart beat, and knocked him on his ass.

“What the fuck?” He said.

He reached into his waist band, pulling out a small pistol.

I dropped down and drove my knee into his chest, as he struggled to get up and aim the gun.

I grabbed the pistol, it was a little .22 automatic, and twisted it out of his hand. Then, I stuck the barrel in his mouth, which hung open in surprise.

Oddly enough, as soon as the barrel went into his mouth he quit struggling.

“Ok, here’s the deal Randy. I ain’t no cop. But, you owe me now.I own you. You will give me 10% of everything you make. That means 1 dollar for every 10. You will keep it in a roll for me, and give it to me every time I show up. If you don’t, I will fucking hurt you. You got it?” I said.

He nodded and tried to talk, so I pulled the pistol out of his mouth.

“You got any idea whose shit this is?” He said.

“I don’t care. My beef is not with them or you. I’m not taking the shit. or stopping you from selling, I’m just taking a tax. Consider it income tax. I gotta pay taxes to take care of sacks of shit like you, so you owe me.” I said.

“They are going to get you man.” He said.

“And then, I’ll get you.” I said. “So you better keep your mouth shut, and just skim off your end, not theirs.”

“Fuck you.” He said.

I put the pistol barrel into his ear.

“What? I couldn’t hear you…now listen. You are going to move out of this park and sell some where else. I don’t care if you sell to your dead beat friends, but you sell around kids, and families. Find a new place.” I said.

Randy nodded very slowly, with the gun in his ear. He smelled, and his hair was nasty, I felt like I should take a bath after touching his nasty ass.

“Now, give me all your money or I’m going to shoot you in the dick.”

I pulled the pistol from his ear and hopped up away from him, so he could fish out the money.

“Stay down there.” I said.

He twisted around on the concrete floor in the spilled, soda, cigarette buts, and used condoms, digging for his money in his pockets. He pulled it out a roll and tossed it to me.

“That’s not just my money, it’s their money too.” He said.

I figured as much. I stuck the roll in my pocket.

“That’s your problem.” I said.

“You said only 10 %.” Randy whined.

“Consider this a late fee. You should have found me and begged me to take your money.” I said.

“Fuck you” He said.

“Just have the money when I come around.” I said.

I backed away, wiped my prints off the gun and threw it in a trash can. Then, I quickly disappeared into the park and made it back to the car by a round about way.

I sat in the car and counted the take. About $300.00 not too bad for a few minutes work. Robbing criminals was the way to go for now. They couldn’t run to the cops.

(Bio: Dick Johnson is a writer from St. Louis, Mo.)

Published by .

Publishing Editor for The Yard: Crime Blog.

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