Days of Darkness: the Legacy of a Broke Millionaire

Complete and unedited version for those that havent read it


I just wanted to take a ride and pick up two bundles of heroin.

But Wayne has to jump out of the car and start beating the shit out of some young black kid that he had apparently experienced bad dealings with.

I am not even from York I have no idea what neighborhood I'm in or street I'm on. And here I am a white guy sitting in my car on a street filled with thug black dudes while crazy Wayne starts shit that could get ugly real fast.

I fucking hate Wayne. I hated him from the moment I met him. But I was dopesick and Wayne is a very resourceful junkie. I hate York too, but it's like a mini badlands, in a pinch, York will do.

Strangely the other black dudes don't approach to help out the kid that Wayne is now giving the boots to. They don't ignore it, they are all watching but no one moves to help. Wayne wears himself out. He reaches down and pulls the kid's package out of his coat comes back, jumps in the car, and says "k, lets go, make a left at the next street" I say "fuck you Wayne" he smiles and throws the stash he just lifted on my lap and smiles even wider.

As soon as we were clear of the war zone I pulled into a Walgreens parking lot and opened the bag up. It was mostly 20 dollar crack vials but there were eight lorcet and five 15mg Valium. I swallowed them all with a mouthful of two day old soda.

"This will take the edge off for a little while, but do you think we can score the dope now Wayne? or are you gonna try and get me killed again?"

"I gotta get something in here, you need anything?"

I just stared at him.

He comes out with a tire gauge and a box of copper chore boy pot scrubbers.

I'm laughing at him now "doing dishes are ya? fuckin' crackhead"

He fashions the stem in record time but not fast enough to stop my stomach flops of anticipation. I think to myself "nice, you've made yourself into a crackhead now too. Good job asshole!"


Later we score the dope and he directs me toward a house he says we can get high at.

We start going through a neighborhood of very old, very expensive homes. Homes that I had no idea existed in York.

He directs me to the entrance of a miniature fucking mansion!

Wayne, are you fuckin' with me again? I'm not robbing anybody with you"

" no this is the right place, just wait, you wont believe this shit"

We parked next to a big oak door in the back of the "house" Wayne opened the door and walked in like he owned the place.

It was a kitchen entrance not like a normal kitchen in a normal house but more like a restaurant kitchen. Lots of stainless steel prep tables, grills, and steam tables.

We went through some swing doors and into a dining room that looked mre like a scaled down ballroom. There was a couple making out rather passionately at the other side of a huge dining table covered with garbage. Completely unaware of our presence. They were at it purdy good. The girl was straddling the guy face to face in a chair, she had his cock out jackin' it and they were kissing like they were trying to swallow each others faces.

After a moment of viewing this scene Wayne knocks his shoulder against mine and whispers: " they're brother and sister" I look a t him like right Wayne!, don't try to bullshit a bullshitter..

He looks at me and says: "Brian, I shit you not, they are brother and sister"

the way he looked at me and with the conviction of his speech I knew he was telling the truth.

They were brother and sister.

Yo! What the hell are you doing?" Wayne hollered. The sister jumped about 5 feet up in the air, and the brother says to Wayne with a terrified look on his face: " we, we, were just necking"

"Well put your neck back in your pant's motherfucker, and bust out some works cause we are getting high"

The sister says: "what do you have Wayne? And who is your friend"

"Two bundles. This is Brian but were not friends"

The brother says: "right on, I'm sick of these oc's"

Now at this point in my life I was a hopeless junkie. But I tried like hell not to be a needle sticking dope fiend. And oxy contin made that easy because I could chew it and get the same effect as booting heroin. So I was very pleased to hear the brother say he had oc's.


They had a whole bag of 40mg oxy contin pills, and he traded me the bag for a bundle. I was happy.

The sister didn't shoot up, she smoked the heroin and her method was very crude. She was wasting most of it. I was feeling alright now and asked her if she would like to learn a better way to chase the dragon. She liked that idea.

We went into the kitchen. And I taught her how to do it the right way.

You put the dope on a piece of aluminum foil shaped like a spoon then hold it over the flame on the stove next you hold a coffee cup upside down above the foil to trap the smoke that burns off. Then you cover the bottom of the cup still holding it upside down then move your hand away just a little and suck one big inhale out of the cup. Usually you go right to your knees when you take that hit.

She passed the fuck out. After moaning like a whore. Her moan was so loud that her brother and Wayne ran into the kitchen to see what happened.

"What did you do to her!?, What did you do to her!?, Sis! Sis! Wake up! What did you do to her!?"

The brother is freaking the fuck out on his knees slapping her face.

She came around after a few moments and told us that she had an orgasm when she took that hit.

Wayne and the brother thought she was full of shit. But I had heard of that happening to another girl I knew. So I believed her.


The problem with a junkie experiencing something like that is you want to relive it over and over and unfortunately no matter how hard you try to chase that high nothing is like the first time, thus the term: chasing the dragon.

So me and the sister hung out together that night she became instantly fond of me for dialing her in on this method that got her off.

We were sitting on a prep table bullshitting when she said: ill be right back, if my brother is looking for me tell him I got sick and went to the bathroom"

She left quietly through another exit.

Now I am alone and reflecting on why I am here with two incestuous siblings, a guy that I hate, in a town far from my home, and doing drugs. Why?! I have a nice home and a wife that loves me despite all my shortcomings. A decent moral woman. I have great kids that also love me. I have a great business that after years of hard work was finally blossoming. What the fuck is wrong with me?!

She pokes her head back through the door she had exited and whispers for me to follow her I followed her down a wide marble hallway with oak wainscoting brass rails and half shell sconces. It led to a set of steps and an exit. We crossed the drive and walked through the yard on a slate pathway for quite a way, it led to a cottage.

In the kitchen of the cottage she pulls out a ziploc sandwich bag half full of crystal white hunks of cocaine. Any coke I had used up to this point was a joke. This coke was a head ringer.

After a few lines she starts to get flirty with me. She is a beautiful woman. She kinda resembles the girl on the tv show will and grace....if she was a junkie. But just hours earlier I had seen her with her brothers cock in her hand.

But most importantly, I am married I may have been a hopeless junkie and I may have done some evil things but I am in love with my wife, and I respect her. I also meant the vows I said to her.

"Listen you're a beautiful girl but I am married, and I don't cheat on my wife"

"Hmmm" is all she said and we went right back to talking and laughing. I couldn't believe a girl so beautiful and so wealthy could have fallen this far...to the point of full-blown addiction and incest.

I have to admit, as much as I was disgusted by her fondling her brother, I was really starting to enjoy this girl's company. She was funny, smart, and interesting.


As we are continuing to do lines of this magnificent coke, we hear the door open and her brother comes in th kitchen pointing a double barrel shot gun at us.

"You stole it! You stole my coke! You fucking cunt!"

"Whoa, put that gun down man"

"Shut up! I'm gonna blow both of your heads off!"

I knew he wasn't going to shoot. Maybe in the movies the say shit like I'm gonna blow your heads off. But in real life situations if he really had murder in his heart he would have walked in shooting.

The kid watched too much tv.

"If you put the gun down now we can just forget about it, but if you keep pointing it at me you might end up looking at the business end of it yourself"

"Fuck you! Your not worth me going to jail over" he put it on the table and said: "get the hell outta here, I don't want you on my property"

About then Wayne, who I had seen the whole time behind him in the next room came from behind and grabbed his stringy black hair. He forced him to the floor cracking his face off the terra cotta tile.

I hate Wayne. But I also have a healthy respect for him. He is a tall wiry white boy that grew up in ghetto New Jersey neighborhoods. When you are white growing up in the black projects you have two choices either of which can result in you turning up dead.

Choice one: Be a patsy and let the thugs get over on you.
Choice two: stand up for yourself and demand respect on the street. This choice requires alot of brutality.

Wayne chose # 2 and it made him into a mean ruthless cruel bastard...but he survived.

Wayne stood up grabbed the shotgun off the table and put it to the back of his neck.

Click......Click...

Both barrels were empty.

That's why I hate Wayne but also have a healthy respect and fear of him. He is dangerous and unpredictable but at the same time very deliberate. There are not too many people I have met that I am afraid of, Wayne is on the top of that very short list.

Wayne is laughing now. "You fuckin' pussy, get up. You don't have the balls to step on a bug"

He turns to me: "you believe this guy Brian?

"Fuck you Wayne"

"What?! Fuck me?! what did I do to you?!"

"If there would have been any shells in that gun you would have painted me with his brains asshole"

Over the next couple of months me and Wayne would party at the Ritz as we called it. I always looked forward to spending time with Anne. I learned alot about her and her family I avoided the subject of the incestuous relationship with her brother as much as I could. Until one day I walked in on them having sex.

He was behind her slamming it home and she was moaning just like when she took that hit of heroin.

"You know what? you are some sick motherfuckers! What the hell is wrong with you?"

They were startled and disengaged, scrambling for clothes to cover up.

I looked right into Anne's eyes and said "you disgust me"

I still kept coming around after that because they had what seemed like an endless amount of cash that they freely spent on copious amounts of drugs, And I was a sick fucking junkie. After that incident, when I caught them having sex Anne never had any inappropriate contact with her brother while I was around. They probably fucked like rabbits when I wasn't around.



And they allowed us to hang out there because they had no friends and their family had disowned them. They had alienated themselves from their "upper class" friends with their descent into addiction and sexual depravity. Their family was wealthy enough to pay for the maintenance of the estate and whatever their financial arrangement was, it was plenty enough for them to do drugs like they were rock stars.


I got a call from Anne on my mobile phone one afternoon. She was panicked and begging me to come there and make Wayne leave. I told her there was no way I could come there right now and asked her what the problem was. She began whispering in a terrified voice:

"Please Brian, Wayne brought some people here and....."

The connection was lost. Right before we lost contact I heard a man say"Bitch!"

I never made it to the Ritz that day. That might seem odd considering the urgent phone call I had received from Anne. I never called the police either to let them know something might be wrong at the estate.
One thing you need to know about junkies is that they are selfish self centered people. The reason why I didn't go to the Ritz that day was because I was busy running around looking for dope and getting drugs in my body took precedent over almost anything else in my life.
The reason I didn't call the police, is if Wayne got busted for doing something at the Ritz and he knew Anne had called me, then me and my family would be in danger. You do not fuck with guys like Wayne.

When I did make it to the Ritz, about four days later, I observed that Wayne and three hard hitters had taken up residence, they were squatting and cooking large amounts of crack in the kitchen. When I say large amounts they had a 5 gallon bucket almost half full I'm sure Wayne was extorting the money from Anne and her brother for this enterprise.

Wayne was strutting around like he had just bought the place while Anne and her brother were smoking this crack like mad. As I was observing all this I walked into the foyer and slipped into a surrealistic moment. I was staring up at the dome ceiling and watching the crack smoke drifting up and around the arched windows all the voices in the house were muffled and slipping farther away by the second. I was watching the birds darting around the window. It seemed like they were pushing each other off the sill one would land then the other would dive at him seconds later. Forcing him off the ledge then that one would land and so on.

"Yo! Brian! Listen man I want you to have something"

Motherfucker! He had just ripped me from another place. I was drifting and enjoying a rare moment where drugs and money didn't have a place. This wiry fuck comes up on me and pulls out a small cleaned out skippy peanut butter jar full of crack.

"I don't want that Wayne"


"What do you mean you don't want it? fuck man I'm giving it to you"

A guy like Wayne never gives away anything without expecting something in return.

" shit if you don't want to smoke it, you could sell it and buy those fucking pills you're always chewing"

That was it. He was trying to recruit me to help him get rid of this crack.

"I'm not selling this crack for you Wayne, that's not my thing and you know that"

"I know, I know, but what would it hurt for you to drop a few ounces off to Spook and let him and his boys get rid of it"

Spook was a dealer that ran a bunch of corners in my neck of the woods. Wayne took off his boys for so much cash and dope over the years that there was no way he could approach him for business. Spook made it known that when it came to Wayne it was shoot first ask questions later.

So Wayne needed me because Spook could move alot of dope and he was as honest as you could get when it comes to drug dealers.

"Look, ill tell you what Brian, this is yours" as he put the skippy jar in my hand " all I'm asking is that you take 4 ounces and work a deal with Spook, if he says no, the crack is still yours and I wont fuck with you about it, I promise"

A promise from Wayne, about as reliable as the weather forecast.

I was strapped for cash, that's why I made the trip to the Ritz because I needed Anne And her brothers sick generosity.

He gave me a back pack it felt like the right weight and I left. I never said one word to Anne she was tweakin away and honestly I felt a little ashamed that I did not come to help when she called on me considering the tens of thousands of dollars worth of drugs she and her brother had bought and shared with me.

The next day when I met with Spook was a day I will never ever forget.

I met with Spook at his house. I opened the backpack and said: "take a look man, whataya think? you wanna move this?"



"Hmmm, nice." Good he was smiling. Then his smile disappeared " How's my boy Wayne?

My heart started pumping, I was trying to remember his house layout so I could make a move for the nearest door.

Take it easy, take it easy Brian"

he must have seen the panic in my face.

"Yae I know it's Wayne's shit, everyone knows Wayne is cooking, he has a big fuckin' mouth"

"You know I hate that motherfucker, but business is business. But I'm only paying $50 bucks per gram because I'm sure he cut it heavy with baking soda" as he walked over and picked up the backpack off of the glass coffee table.

Bare minimum on the street crack earns $150.00 per gram. But usually way more when it is sold by rocks. It is easy to sell crack at $250.00 per gram selling it street level like that. I'm sure Wayne was looking for at least $100.00 per gram from Spook.

And it was too late because there were no negotiations he had handed the backpack off to his old lady, and that was that.

Now I am fucked. And the reason I am fucked is because I don't know how to deal drugs. A real drug dealer would not have been so stupid as to walk in and drop 4 oz's of product on the table. I don't belong here in this house dealing with these people. I belong at home being a decent husband and father. But I am a freak.

I have trouble now. I just basically gave Wayne's drugs away without a firm agreement. If Spook does give me what he said, $50.00 per gram I will be giving Wayne $5.600.00 dollars when I am sure he is expecting well over 10k.

This is bad.

Spook gave me a fat tit of heroin before I left he must have figured I would need it.

When I left Spooks house I went to the "office". The office is a bar that you can basically do whatever you want at. It is normal for people to be openly doing drugs right at the bar. I don't believe I have ever walked into the office when it didn't reek of weed.

I normally don't shoot heroin however Spook doesn't sell heroin, he uses it and he gets very high quality very pure dope. I am a little leery about doing drugs in the open so I went down into the basement and cooked up a healthy shot at a card table and went to heaven.

When I was able to walk again, I went upstairs and the first face I saw was Wayne's.

Motherfucker! I thought I would have a few days before he started giving me the press about his money.

"Wayne, What the fuck man? I just dropped the shit off with Spook an hour ago don't start pushing me man!"

"No, no that's not it. I had to get the fuck out of the Ritz in a hurry. Anne is dead, she blew her heart out on that shit"

"What!?"

"She wouldn't stop smoking it, all day all night every fuckin' day. I told her she better slow down but that bitch wouldn't listen now she is dead and Marc was freakin out. I dunno if he was freakin cause his sister was dead or because he didn't get one last hump in her"

I stared at Wayne for a moment trying to understand his callousness but realized it was futile.

"I'm outta here"

"Hey hold on a minute just let me know what you worked out with spook"

"I'm not getting into it right now but it's almost as fucked up as what happened to Anne. I don't know what you were expecting to make, but all I can tell you is cut it in half"

I walked out of the office he was following me trying to get me to tell him the details but I just ignored him and got into my car and went home.


I did alot of heroin the next few days. And decided once again that I was going to get clean. I failed again.

Wayne got 6k and surprisingly didn't give me a hard time about it. In fact he asked if I would do it again. As much as I knew how bad of an idea it was getting involved with Wayne I did it. And I did it again and again.

Its Saturday night and I have nowhere to go...and that is a very good thing.

I am going to write a little then have dinner with my wife and son and daughter. I rented a couple of sundance films so we will watch those and throw popcorn at each other for fun. After I will probably check and see what kind of responses this gets, then hit the scratcher.

That probably sounds pretty tame for a Saturday night to most of you, and it is. But I have had enough Saturday nights. I lived a perpetual Saturday night for a lot of years and I gotta tell you hanging out with my family and going to bed at 11pm may not be exciting, but it is more fulfilling than the most decadent night of partying you can imagine. For me anyway.


The nuthouse didn't work. In fact three trips to rehab and the nuthouse didn't work.

I had submitted to the fact that I was a hopeless junkie.


The pharmacist who filled prescriptions for narcotics like they were orders of McDonald's french fries started filling again while under indictment. Tommy got out of jail on bail. Wayne visited all Tommy's Friends and "encouraged them to donate towards Tommy's bail.

So it was on again.

In my mind I truly wanted to get clean and free myself from drugs but my body would not allow that to happen. I was quite pitiful. I was ashamed that I did not have the strength within me to overcome my addiction.

When me and Tommy started making the rounds again I ran into a guy who was in the nuthouse with me. Frank had a worse habit than mine. He would put the oxy's in his mouth until the coating was worn off then cook them and shoot it up. He would miss his veins often which resulted in big infected abscesses that would have to pe lanced to relieve the puss from the infection. Ain't drugs cool kids?

Needless to say, Frank was a good customer.

While he was in the nuthouse, I think Frank must have tagged every heina on the ward. I know this because we shared the same room along with a homosexual speed freak with aids, and a deranged black crack addict who had to be restrained with straps about every other day.
The crack addict once said in group shortly after I was committed: "I cant get away from it. Everywhere I turn there is crack. At home, at work, at the clubs, my friends, my brother, crack, crack, crackity, crackity, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, cracker, crackity, crack, crack, crack."

I was laughing like hell. No one else was because apparently it is inappropriate to laugh at someone while they are sharing in group.

so like I said earlier there was no rehabilitation for me.

It is easy to voluntarily commit yourself to a mental institution. However it is very difficult to check yourself out...in fact you cant. Once you are committed it is entirely up to the pshyciatrist to determine when you are ready to leave, and if you have good insurance like I do they make sure you are not ready to leave until they have had you long enough to collect the easy, no questions asked insurance payments.

My second night there I knew I had made a big mistake. I called my wife and told her to pick me up 3 blocks away from the hospital because I was getting the fuck outta there. Although I may have had a valid point in wanting to leave, she was at her end with me. She said she would not pick me up, and if I left the hospital she did not want me home.

I am a stubborn willful man and I knew there was nothing she could do to prevent me from coming home and once I was home if she called the police I knew there was nothing they could do to make me leave my home. I have unfortunately spent time in various institutions of incarceration and knew that I could get out of this place with relative ease... but I conceded which is rare for me...my wife is very special to me.

Apparently, your telephone conversations are monitored because the next day the ward staff informed me that they were aware that I was a flight risk and warned me that I was being watched by security for possible escape.

Security in the nuthouse consists of young lads who like to work out with weights>>not exactly a concern to a seasoned streetwise man. But it was fun playing them.

This is a summary of my stay in the nut house:

I was heavily medicated with lithium and risperdal which does nothing to me.

I was voted in as discussion group leader.

I scored heroin and other drugs 3 times from a friend at the aa meeting that was attended by the patients as well as "free" court ordered drug addicts.

I made $430 dollars selling valium and vicodin to the patients that I scored at the aa meetings.

I was offered sex in exchange for drugs 3 times by female patients and declined the offers even though I had a nut on me that felt like a lead balloon....I remained dedicated to my wife. I love her. She is my reason.

I made the security boys nervous every time they had to supervise me on mainstream activities aka- aa meetings.

I put two staff members in my back pocket.

I taught the crazy crack addict how to make jailhouse wine. Its quite simple and quite disgusting. I will teach you in the event you are ever incarcerated and need to get a jag on

first you need to collect the orange juice half pints everyday from everybody that wants to get drunk

then you need to collect white bread ,solely for the yeast content.

Then you have to brew it in trash cans that are double bagged, between the garbage is where your brew is fermented.

As long as the guards are down with you, you can ferment a brew that will get you shitty on one quarter pint>>2 shots for lightweights.

I hope this helps.



Anywho, I did my time like a good white boy and was released as soon as my insurance company's compensation ran out.

Then it was back to bidness as usual.

I have always and most likely always will have to learn the hard way.

You know that dangerous and naive attitude that men in their late teens and early twenties have that they are invincible? Well there I was, in my thirties, still a head strong cocky bastard.


Unfortunately for me I had not matured out of that phase. I have always been down for just about anything at the drop of a hat if it is illegal, dangerous, or just plain wrong. I am an adrenaline junkie as well as a dope junkie.



Part of the reason I got involved in drugs is most likely due to my proclivity towards putting myself in hairy positions. When I was a very young kid I used to steal things from a store because I liked the rush of my blood pumping as I walked out the door knowing there was a 50/50 chance I would be caught. The item I stole was inconsequential. That feeling was my spoils.




As soon as I hit the bricks from my stay at the nuthouse I was back to the same old tricks.


Only now my wife who was so innocent to the streets and the kind of life I led was aware of what I was. Before she knew what I was doing I justified my actions by telling myself that I must have a chemical imbalance that requires my body to have opiates flowing through my veins 24/7 and other lies junkies tell themselves.


But now that she knew about me I had this nagging guilt enveloping me. And honestly, I was ashamed. It may seem strange to you but I need my wife to be proud of me. I need her acceptance. But when I looked into my brides eyes whom I love so much what I saw was doubt and hurt and fear.


Believe me when I tell you that I would never allow even the slightest transgression against my bride by anyone. And here I was, the man who is supposed to love honor and protect her throwing horror on her.




Spook rolled up on me one morning and asked me to take a ride. I knew better than to get in his car the guy is trouble, trouble. But I knew he was holding and his shit was the best. So we drove to a local reservoir and fixed on the damn wall.

As soon as I was neat he began telling me what he wanted from me. You see when your in that kind of life you don't have friends all you have is people who want something from you whether it be drugs or money or a laundry list of other wants. A true friend only requires you from you.


What spook wanted from me was to go to the city and make a dope run for him.


Spook:
"The niggas who were making the runs the past couple of months wont be able to do it for me anymore. They are out of the area now. I heard they was with your partner Wayne"


So I knew they were dead. Probably caught with their hands in the till.


Spook laid out a very lucrative offer for me and I really had no other offers at the time . So I said yes. I said yes when inside I was screaming no! You fucking idiot! do you want to die too?


But it fed my two habits; Money for my drugs and the fear of the unknown that was already making my blood pump.

I hate the city.

Well, not really the city but doing business and traveling in the city. I love to party in the city. There is no place quite like New York.


I accepted spooks offer and became a very successful mule.


This was how I did it:

I would strap ladders, scaffold and a 10 foot length of white PVC pipe to the rack on my truck. The ladders and scaffold were for show and had nothing to do with transporting the smack.

The PVC pipe was the vessel.


I sanded a white end cap down so that it was small enough to fit inside the pipe instead of over it. I leathered it with PVC cement and shoved it as far up the pipe as my arm would allow then I mixed a batch of clear epoxy and poured it in from the other side when that epoxy cured inside the pipe it created a seal so tight that a blast from a fire hose couldn't make that plug slip.



Then I would put the dope in 6 inch lengths of 2 inch PVC pipe and put end caps on both sides then I would simply shoot them down inside the six inch pipe and leather up a white t shirt with PVC cement, tie a rope to it and push that shirt as far as my arm would allow down the other end that was facing the wind.



This gave a very convincing appearance of a piece of pipe on a contractors truck. Even if a trooper dropped back to look inside he could not be able to see through the other end even if it was clear due to the height of his car. The only way I could get pinched is if I were pulled over and the cop climbed up and looked inside the pipe.




I wore navy blue dickies work pants and shirts complete with the iron on name patch when I did my business in the city. I would carry an empty tool box and a small light aluminum ladder into a public building my man would follow me into an elevator I would get off on a floor and he would get off on the next floor up I would go into the stairway open the lid on my tool box and as we passed on the stairwell he would reach in , remove the money and drop the balloons in.

Beautiful you might think.


However, mules are the lowest on the drug chain. Reason is because the risk of getting killed, robbed, busted and greedy is very, VERY high. So it pays very good


I took a lot of precautions so as not to get robbed or killed .
I chose the area of the city where we would meet
I would choose the building minutes before we were to make our exchange by cell phone
I made the hand off man aware I was coming up those stairs heavy.
I always had a second plan to exit the city just in case something happened to my truck.
I picked the day of the week and the time.
I had no partner/shotgun rider.


To me it was easy money. Each trip I earned 1k and 3 bundles.


Everything went fine. I would make 4 or 5 trips per month, I had dope and I was able to pay the bills and give my wife the appearance that I was working and making a living for us.


When in actuality both my businesses were basically shut down. I didn't renew my licences with the banking commission and I had not completed one building contract in over a year.


But I was high.


I was also wracked with guilt. Depressed, lonely, and on top of that I had begun to notice very odd behavior I was exhibiting but only after the fact. I was becoming increasingly paranoid and quite unpredictable in the way I associated with people.

My head was filled with grey thought that I was struggling to stop thinking about but I was unable to do so.

My odd behavior became a pressing concern because I was becoming unpredictable at home around my wife and kids. I went to a psychiatrist and was diagnosed as schizophrenic . Cool huh? How would you like to live with a 6 foot 230lb paranoid schizophrenic junkie drug mule?






The culmination of these problems I was experiencing was about to impact with someone more dangerous and more unpredictable than I could ever be. This is a bad time.

Things had changed when I was released from the nuthouse. I was only committed for three weeks but man! I was coming home to a load of bullshit.

Wayne was at my door the next morning after my release. Im not sure if it was a coincidence or he somehow knew.

Whatever the case, he was desperate, I could see it in him.

"What the fuck are you doing at my house Wayne? We talked about this a long time ago"

"Relax dude, we need to talk about something pretty damn important"

Wayne's important thing was he was strapped and needed money, dope, and a car and due to the fact that he "gave" me dope and I made money with him selling dope he figured I owed him. That's one of the many negative things about getting involved with guys like Wayne they are like parasites.

I knew better than to tell Wayne to get bent. Even though that is what I wanted to do and what he deserved. The reason being, Wayne is a genuine badass who has no conscience. I wasn't worried that we would throw down even though I had seen him in action and knew I would most likely lose but rather he knew where my family lived and I could not put them in harms way.

"Listen to me Wayne. You need some help and I am willing to give it to you. However I want something in return; forget you know me, never come to my house again, never call me, after this we are strangers, ok?"

"Sure man, whatever. I think you are over reacting, but whatever"


I gave him $500 bucks and transferred ownership of a piece of shit 85 sedan deville into his name.

He was shot and killed 4 days later in Newark as he slept in the backseat of my old caddy. It was bound to happen.



So I knew my suspicions were correct that spook had tracked Wayne down into New Jersey and had him killed when he told me that his last two mules were with Wayne. That was his way of intimidating me. Spook was not the kind of guy to come out and tell people what he had done even though everyone including the police knew he was responsible.

Someone like spook exists because he instills fear in everyone>>>including the police.



Spook was BLACK. You ever see a piece of anthracite coal? well it is the best representation of his skin color. There are black guys then there are BLACK guys .biggie smalls was white compared to Spook.

Even though spook was a ruthless drug dealer, I have to admit he had honor and was surprisingly honest for a thug. He didn't look or talk or act like a thug either. Those guys usually die before they are 25. Spook was a guy about 35 an OG is what he is considered because like I said the guys who are in this lifestyle have a short life span. 35 is approaching senior status.


The last time I delivered dope to J, spooks main man. J locked the door and asked me to go downstairs with him. Spook and another guy I had never seen before were standing around a bar in J's cellar.


"Where is my motherfuckin' money?"

"What the hell are you talking about spook?!"

"Don't fuck with me and make this worse than it has to be the guy you met in the city this morning came up 5k light!"


"whoa, whoa man! I didn't touch that money except when J gave it to me and I counted it in front of him. It was all there right J"

"Yea it was all there... last night when I gave it to you"


"Smoke this lying fucker Spook"

It may have been the first time I had seen this guy but I knew I didn't like him after that comment.


Spook pulled out an automatic pistol, put it next to him on the bar, and asked J and the other guy to leave.


I could not believe I was going to die for something I didn't do. But it didn't really matter if I stole the money or not. I was the stupid asshole who got involved with this guy even though I knew I shouldn't.

I was scared shitless and mad as hell at the same time.



"You are either gonna believe that nigger or me is what it comes down to spook."





"Did I just hear you say nigger?"


"Yea I said nigger. nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger. And you! You are the biggest, blackest, ugliest nigger I have ever seen! "


There was a long pause.


He who speaks first loses.



Instead of shooting, spook started laughing.

"You know what? You are the craziest white boy I have ever seen! You're alright man!"

13 is my lucky number.


I dodged a bullet with spook big time. A lot of people would call my reaction to a dangerous guy like spook stupid. Well that's cool. I am not offended by those who under estimate me due to my appearance or actions, in fact, I count on it. It is what gives me my edge.

When you strip a man of everything he shrouds and protects himself with like money, power, education etc. the only thing left are his balls. If you don't have a set, you're fucked in this world.





I remember when I was a little kid maybe seven or eight years old my brother and a friend of his let me tag along with them to go play miniature golf. When my brother went to pull into a parking spot a low rider cut my brother off blatantly and took the spot. My brother flipped him off and we found another spot. As we were walking toward the entrance, we were suddenly surrounded by dozens of cholo gang bangers. They made a circle around us and a huge mean looking dude covered with tats approached my brother in the center and said: "you got a problem with my homey white boy? Well now you got a problem with all o f us"


My heart was pounding out of my chest my brother's friend looked like he was watching a horror movie. We know about these guys, we lived in their barrio, we know what they do, these are scary evil people.


My brother was silent. Just staring at the guy. Then he said:

"You know what? FUCK YOU and your homey! He is a fucking asshole. He cut me off for a parking spot so I flipped him off. No big deal. But then he comes crying to you because I flipped him off? He is a pussy! Here pussy suck on this(my brother was flipping the original guy off at this point)


The guy looks over at the guy who cut us off then turns back to my brother and says:

"Damn! You got balls a white boy. I like that! Were cool"

He turned and walked away and the circle broke up.


I learned a lesson from my brother that day and on many other occasions that you have to fight through natural human reactions that spring up inside in certain situations like fear for instance and never back down. Listen to me. Never let the bastards grind you down.


I stopped making trips to the city for spook that day.

About a week after my "showdown" with spook I stopped by the office on my way to pick up some furniture we had bought from one of my wives colleagues from work. And I was pleasantly surprised that 160mg oxy contins were for sale. $80 bucks per pill but worth it. When someone is at the very end stages of cancer in a hospice and the pain of the cancer eating their body is so unimaginable they will prescribe one 160mg oxy contin every twelve hours and it eases the pain magnificently. It is a wonderful drug for those who suffer.

I bought 10 and chewed up four right then and there.


When I arrived at the address my wife gave me I was fucking hammered,. You could have wailed on me with a ball bat and I probably would not have felt it till the next day.


The building Seth lived in was100% Jewish occupied it was Friday afternoon and I know that they turn into pumpkins or some shit at sundown and it was late in the day so I had to get a move on.


Seth was a really cool person. He was enjoying every minute of moving the furniture with me watching the reactions of his neighbors toward me and we were laughing and joking about Hitler and white power to fuck with them. And he was as put off as I was by the building's resident's reaction toward having a big, bald, illustrated man riding the elevator and walking their halls. It was ignorant and ridiculous.


When we were putting the last of the items in my truck, I began to feel sick. I ran over to a hedgerow in the back of the parking lot and puked. I was thinking what a waste of a good high.


I don't know if something jarred free inside me when I was puking but a huge unexpected change was about to occur.

Seth asked my wife how I was when he seen her at work Monday morning.

That let her know that I was definitely on the horse again.

Listen to me. You have to understand something about my wife. She was completely innocent when I met her. So up until I went to the nuthouse she had no idea that I even had a drug problem. I could come home with my eyes dilated completely black, wearing long sleeve shirts in the summertime, dose up downstairs and nod the rest of the night and she wouldn't know what was up.

She grew up in a small city that had very little crime or drugs. Her family had nothing more than a few too many at a wedding reception once in awhile. Whereas I grew up in southern California pinching my brothers bag and drinking booze by the time I was nine.

She did everything right whereas I did everything wrong.

When I was starting fires, shoplifting, and getting expelled from elementary schools> she was being a regular little girl, playing with dolls, skipping rope and drawing on sidewalks with chalk.

When I was serving time in the California youth authority> she was in ninth grade playing volley ball for the school and earning straight A's.

When I was marrying some evil bitch in Las Vegas for all the wrong reasons> she was graduating High school as valedictorian of her class and earning an academic scholarship.

When I met her as a young man in my early twenties my initial intention was to use her to get myself out of a bad situation. She was a college graduate with a good career and I was broke. I had just been evicted from my apartment my van was seized by the police because it was a stolen vehicle. I had numerous bench warrants for my arrest and a lot of other bad shit was coming at me from all sides.

But I gotta tell you the truth, after just a few times dating her as a friend I fell in love with her. There was no way I could use her and throw her away when I was done as I intended. I had been married before and had lots of girlfriends but I was never in love with anyone, until her.

She gave me hope and strength that I could overcome everything crushing against me. I wanted to change and be the kind of man that she deserved. It may sound silly but I wanted her to be proud of me.

I cant begin to describe to you what this girl meant to me she was my angel. For crissakes I didn't even try to sleep with her while we were first dating. Not that I didn't want to but I didn't want to do anything that she would regret after we parted ways. I wanted to enjoy her while I had her and leave her the same as I found her for someone that could offer her the things she deserved in life, the things I could not offer her.



She accepted me as I was. Initially her intentions were to dabble with fire a little bit. I was a strong well built good looking blue eyed blonde haired Southern California boy with a wild side. That was very attractive to a sheltered East coast girl. It is a fact: good girls like bad boys.


However, as the weeks went on she began to fall in love with me too. And that scared me. Her love didn't scare me what scared me was that if I accepted her love and pursued a relationship with her I would certainly drag her down into the muck with me.

I made a hard decision one night. I made up my mind that I was going to break it off with her before our feelings for each other went any further. I decided that sooner was better than later so the next night as we were driving to a club I began to tell her that I didn't want to see her anymore.

"Listen Cathy, it has been a lot of fun the past couple of weeks but I don't think we should see each other anymore. I really like you but I have some things I need to work out on my own and seeing you is interfering with that"

"WHAT!? What is so important that you wont have any time to see me? That doesn't make any sense"


We went back and forth for awhile. I told her all kinds of lies to try and make her hate me and want to break up with me including that I was seeing someone else, but she wasn't having it. She knew I was lying. I didn't want to but she finally ground me down to admitting the real reason why.

"Ok look, you are too good for me. You deserve a better man than me. I care about you too much to drag you down with me. If you keep seeing me your life will eventually get as fucked up as mine and I don't want to be responsible for that. There is nothing you can say that is going to change my mind so just accept it, it is the best thing, believe me."

I asked her to pull over. I got out of her car fast and stood up so she wouldn't see the tears that were purging from my eyes. I was pissed. I was pissed that she was making this harder on me than it already was. I was pissed that I was such a fuck up. I was pissed that I had fell in love with her.

I wiped my eyes , closed the car door then leaned in and said "good bye Cathy"

She would not leave me on the side of the road. She kept rolling along side of me while I walked and ordering me into the car. I eventually realized that she was adamant about this plus I was thinking that I must look like some spoiled bitch so I reluctantly got in her car.


She saved me that night. And that was just the first time.




When I accepted that she loved me I felt strong, strong enough to conquer all the problems that I had brought on myself. I wore her love like it was my armor.


A good woman can cause a bad man to change.


I gave up the night life and settled down. Not completely but I was not running wild anymore. I buckled down, worked full time and we rented an apartment and lived together for near two years before she became my bride.


It took years to right my wrongs. Hell I wasn't able to be issued a drivers license until I was 27.


She gave me Two beautiful children and accepted my daughter from my first marriage and supported me in my efforts to build a relationship with her.


Let me tell you something, this is truth if you are willing to consider it: the best thing a man can do is be a good husband and father. That is the pinnacle of success.


Right before my son was born we bought a home and were living a relatively normal life. I say relatively because I am not going to tell you that I was Ward Cleaver. I had my share of legal problems that usually stemmed from my propensity to party way too hard. I never wanted the night to end.


I had no family on the east coast and her family accepted me as a brother. Our life together was awesome. I never had a drug problem, well I was never addicted to anything. I steered clear of hard drugs I drank and smoked weed with an occasional trip now and then. But that was it.



I became a junkie on accident. I hurt my back and I was given pain medication. My back never got any better in fact it is still thrashed so I was on pain meds regularly.


And the problem with opiates is that your body becomes immune to their effect and the dose is constantly increased.


Let me clarify, it was an accident but I was not totally innocent. I liked the effect and I abused the drugs from the beginning. After about a year I knew I had a problem but I did nothing about it well except for engage doctors other than my regular doctor to write for me.


That's how I got into the life.


Dope eats your ambition so I had no desire to further my career. I just dropped out.

I never wanted to deal drugs. But I had to for the money. I didn't need to deal to support my habit believe me when I tell you that anyone who can talk well can get anything they want from doctors. I had three doctors writing for me.


I think I could have cleaned up from percocet and vicodin if I would have gave myself the opportunity but when hillbilly heroin exploded I had no chance. That drug is better than heroin. And just as addictive if not more.



While I was making runs to the city for spook I found the best areas to buy coffins. Coffins are little clear plastic containers used for packaging and selling top quality sensimiliia..

I would buy a bunch of them and bring them home for some friends that did not have the time to go to the city for this primo hydro. This shit was so sweet.

One of these friends was George, a French Canadian guy in his late forties who spent ten years in Graterford for Grand theft and a bunch of other charges George was a safe peeler.

Safe peeling for those of you who do not know is the lost art of prying the steel layers of a safe and spreading the layers open with chisels and mash hammers in order to allow you enough room to remove the items from the safe.

This is not an activity that can be conducted on site which means you have to take the fucking safe with you. Needless to say this requires someone with brute strength not just for carrying the safe but peeling a safe takes unbelievable upper body strength and George had it. He wasn't an enormous man but he was built like a tank. The guy wore a size 50 coat and he was only about 5'8"-175lbs.

George turned his back on his past when he was released from the penitentiary and never committed another crime. I respected George. He was and still is one of my closest friends.


His past however came back to haunt him. His son Joey was fascinated by his fathers past and the reputation he had with the wrong people. Joey was drawn in by these people who glorified his dads past. And as much as George tried to teach him that kind of life is nowhere the truth is when you're hardheaded and 18 you have to learn for yourself.

Unfortunately Joey pulled me into his mess when things got out of control.

When Joey called me early that morning I had no idea what I was about to encounter.

For a while now I have had a theory that doing hardcore drugs is a good idea. For the sake of this argument I will use heroin as an example, since it qualifies as a hardcore drug and is probably the best drug to do. Anyway, whenever you make a decision, you should weigh the positive and negative consequences, and make your choice accordingly. Now, we all know that doing heroin is detrimental to your health and social life. But what all of us non-users aren't taking into account is the sheer volume of extreme pleasure that you get from heroin. I've never done heroin, so I don't know how good it is, but in Trainspotting it was described as "Take the best orgasm you've ever had, multiply it by a thousand, and you're still nowhere near it..." John Belushi said doing heroin was like kissing god. Other heroin users said that these analogies are pretty dead on. Now this sounds like a pretty good advertisement for dope.

Most people think of drug abusers as pathetic losers. But maybe we are the pathetic losers. Just think of what life would be like if you were perfectly straight edged, never took any risks, and never even had sex or masturbated (blasphemy!). It would suck balls. Of course you are taking a risk by having sex. You are risking unwanted pregnancy, a plethora of std's and all sorts of shit that goes along with sexual relationships. Yet none of us would dare give up sex. And they say heroin is not even comparable to your BEST orgasm x 1000. Most of us would agree that the ratio of good/bad consequences for sex is positive, thus we nail anything that moves. Lets analyze the ratio for heroin. For this we will have to stipulate that heroin is at least 1000 times better than sex. So if the negative consequences of heroin were less than 1000 times worse than from sex, heroin is a better mathematical decision than sex. I move that (the bad that comes from heroin) is less than (the bad that comes from sex X 1000). And it probably is. This means that doing heroin is mathematically a better move than having sex, on a risk/reward basis. Basically, doing heroin has a very high expected value.

This theory has not been tested, and that's the only problem. I was thinking about doing heroin, but I have a much better idea. YOU do heroin, and give me a cost analysis.

I wouldn't dare ask anybody who is actually productive and contributing positively to society to participate as a guinea pig in this little experiment of mine. But lets face it, you're probably not the least bit productive.

If you fit at least 2 of these criterion, you should try heroin.

If you have never been committed to a mental institution... well people, you don't know what you're missing. Ask insanethemind he can put you in the know.

For me, being committed wasn't forced on me there were no burly men in white uniforms hog tying me to a gurney and putting me in the back of a van I caused it. Intentionally. I had to.

I have to stop here and let you know before you read further that the following account has a positive ending. however, after close to 4 years of being drug free, recently I have replaced dope with booze. I am a success at recovery from drugs which is rare especially when the drugs are opiates. I may not be snorting and chewing oxy contins and sticking my arms with syringes full of heroin but I am drinking a pint of whiskey on ice after work. I am losing.




If there ever was a junkies paradise I lived within its borders for a short time. I had access to milk crates full of 500 count bottles of oxy contins. Obscene amounts of money flowed through my hands. If I felt like blowing 3 or 4k on coke in one night I could make it happen. I partied in hotels for weeks at a time that offered 24 hour room service and bidet's to wash it all away. With drugs and money comes lots of beautiful women, But I did not succumb to those particular availabilities. I remained devoted to my wife throughout my wicked ways. I love her .


But all good things come to an end.

The following is a partial list of how things went wrong fast.

The pharmacist got indicted on several counts one being a hybrid murder charge because some junkie overdosed on the dope he was selling him.

My "doctor" got scared because I was shaking down the pharmacist while he was vulnerable and the pharmacist told him about my extortion attempts. He would not write me anymore scripts.

Tommy went to jail for extortion.

Wayne disappeared into ghetto New Jersey.

The pharmacists dope and my shotgun protection services I provided to Tommy were my only source of income.

Anne was dead and her brother moved to Portland.

I was forced to buy 40 mg Oxy's on the street for $20 bucks per pill. My habit was up to 10 40mg oxy's per day just to prevent myself from getting dopesick. When I couldn't find oxy's I was forced to take runs to the Philly badlands for heroin. Ask rizzo about the badlands.


So I went through several different rehabs. They didn't take. In fact I would smuggle in dope to get me through the cold turkey withdrawal programs they offered.

I deteriorated to the point of getting myself committed as a last resort to get clean from drugs. One method of having our insurance pay for a trip to the nut house was to claim I was suicidal so I had my wife drive ne to the hospital one night and I told them I was sucking on my revolver. That earned me an all expense paid trip to the nut house.

The people and the bizarre situations that I encountered during my commitment are the things that butter cream birthday cake dreams are made of.

Joey shows up at my house after calling that morning asking if I would help him with something.

I tell him sure, come on over.

He rolls into my driveway with a big white appliance of some kind sticking out of his trunk. And his car totally fucking smashed in on both sides, front and back. It looked as if he had been in a demolition derby.


"Holy hell Joey what happened?"


He is white as a ghost. And has a panicked look on his face and an even more panicked inflection to his voice.

"Uncle B, open your other garage door I need to pull this in there!"

"Alright Joey keep your britches on! I have to pull the tractor out first"

He almost clipped me pulling in as I was backing out. He jumped from the car and hit the close button. I noticed when he whipped by me that what I thought was an appliance, looked very odd. I walked into the garage and he immediately started babbling.


"Shut the fuck up Joey! Just shut up for a minute"


I went to the back of the car and the item was definitely not a washing machine. It was a safe.

It was painted after it was put in the trunk. There was white paint around the perimeter of the safe as it laid in the trunk, and the area not seen from the outside was not even painted.


"Talk Joey. and don't lie to me. Choose your words carefully, im warning you if you lie to me im not going to help you I will turn you out if you lie to me"




This is what he told me:

He and three other knuckleheads boosted the safe from a salvage yard office in Allentown 2 weeks earlier. They had been trying to open it ever since. He said that he tried peeling it like his old man used to but he made no progress. So they tried pushing it off an abandoned railroad trestle over and over for several nights and again, that didn't work. Then they rented cutting torches and were able to get a decent sized hole in it. Enough of a hole that they could get their hands on the cash inside but too small to remove their hand with the cash out of the hole.

So their collaborative bright idea was to have a little kid fish the cash out>>>my kid.


"Why Ian? Michael(one of the knuckleheads) has a son, what the fuck Joey?"

"Uncle B, we talked about a lot of kids doing it but we couldn't trust any of them to keep their mouths shut. I knew if you told Ian to keep quiet he would"


"You are a fucking idiot Joey! Now what the hell happened to your car?"


'A cop bumped his siren and flashed his lights but there was no way I was going to pull over so I floored it. I guess the weight of the safe made the back end unstable and it started fishtailing and smashing cars on both sides of the street. I made a turn into a bug that was crossing the intersection he spun out and the cop smashed into him."


"Goddamnitt! You were probably followed!"


I went to the window and peered through separated blinds. There was nothing out there.


"Uncle B, I slowed down and kept heading up here and never saw another cop. I am positive I wasn't followed"


As he spoke to me I noticed something about him. .his distressed look was not just due to his current stressful situation, he was dopesick..

"How positive are you Joey? Are you as positive as I am that you are a fucking junkie?"


He didn't say anything. He started crying. Then he started bawling like a little boy.


He was only a lad, 20 years old. He was always trying to be a hard ass, but he wasn't a hard ass he was just like most 20 year olds; confused about the world, his place in it and overwhelmed by letting the boy go and becoming a man.


I couldn't help but to try and comfort him even though I was pissed off at hin for laying this jackpot on my doorstep. I walked over to him and gave him a hug. As soon as I touched him he grabbed me and nearly squeezed the air out of me bawling into my chest like a little boy.


At one point I glanced over his shoulder and saw my wife watching us through the mudroom door window. She had a look to her like: what in the hell is going on now!

Her eyes were darting back and forth between the wrecked car with the safe in the trunk and Joey who she had only met briefly who was now snubbing and sniffling into my chest.

"GET IN THE FUCKING HOUSE!"

As soon as I screamed at her I wish I could have taken it back.


I really drug that woman through a whole lot of shit. And treated her shabbily at times. She never knew what to expect from day to day. I still am amazed that she stuck it out with me.



My yelling snapped Joey to attention.


I wasn't sure what to do. I had a million things racing through my mind the foremost being that this situation would not only put me in the middle of a grand theft charge but also my wife because as far as the law sees things it is her house too and she would go down with me and Joey.




"Lets get that fucker out of the trunk"


When we had it on the floor I got my flashlight and looked inside through the jagged crudely cut hole.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

I looked up at Joey and had a smile on my face from ear to ear. He just looked at me puzzled. He had no idea what he had stolen.

What Joey thought was useless paper was actually rag paper. Normal paper used daily, like the newspaper, or the paper in books is made from trees . Paper the government uses for money is made from cotton and linen fibers. Rag paper is pressed with thousands of pounds of pressure that is what makes new cash so crisp.


And this was not just ordinary rag paper you can buy at your local staples, this was the stuff the government uses.


How and why I knew what this paper was when I peeked through the hole in that safe is inconsequential.


What was important about this paper was I was 100% sure that the theft was not reported to the police, which was a good thing. However, I was also 100% sure that the owner of this safe was actively pursuing its whereabouts, and that was a bad thing.


"Joey, I gotta call your dad. He is the only one that can open this safe without fucking up the contents"

"Please Uncle B, there has got to be another way other than letting my dad know what I did, I don't want him to know"



We wiped that car down good and waited until dark. We drove out to a stripping hole and shoved it over.



I wasn't paranoid as much about having that safe in my garage now that his car was gone. But I wasn't exactly breathing easy about it.


When George showed up I knew I had to be on my best game trying to bullshit this ex-con. George was a smart guy.


When I had met him earlier that day I thought I picked up a sign from him that he smelled something funny about my story.


I told him that me and Ironhead Timmy boosted the safe and were having a hard time getting it open. He knew I wasn't a thief but he also knew that I was a junkie and I was hoping that he would figure I had resorted to burglary like so many junkies do on their descent into addiction.


I asked Ironhead Timmy to show up for effect.


The contents of the safe yielded very little cash or items that can be easily converted to cash.

It was mostly personal papers deeds, certificates shit like that.

Really, the only thing of interest was 2 bottles of ink with a sticker indicating the paints magnetic ratio. And the rag paper.


It was evident that the guy was a small time counterfeiter. It may surprise you but there are lots of people who counterfeit and get away with it their whole lives because they don't get greedy about it. They just print enough to make their lives a little more enjoyable. The guys who get caught are the guys who churn out half a million and start floating it everywhere.


This guy probably only printed 10k in a year, enough to take his family on vacation or something like that.


There was $1800 bucks in cash that looked like the real deal. I broke it up in the thirds but George refused his cut he insisted that me and ironhead Timmy split it up.


"Lets get rid of this B, I got a place"

We shoved the safe over that damn wall where George had dumped so many other safes not to mention pay telephones, parking meters, change makers etc.



George floored me with what he said next.


"This is the last time I am bailing Joey out. And it is your last time too. From now on he will deal with the consequences of his actions. I cant trust you anymore B, you lied to me and it doesn't matter what circumstances there were that caused it, the fact remains you to lied to me and we cant be the kind of close friends that we were before this. Don't call me or come around anymore"

I thought I had pulled the wool over his eyes. Don't ever underestimate a con. Their life behind those bars is dictated by lies. Just one con knows more about lying then 100 each of politicians, lawyers and salesmen.


The next day I contacted the owner of the safe and arranged to meet him.
__________________

Breath.


To keep Joey from getting any deeper, I met with the owner of the stolen safe at a bar in Hazleton. As long as this guy knew what had happened to the safe he would stop looking for it.

I gave him back all of his paperwork in the bar and told him the rest of what was in the safe was out in my trunk...save the $1800 bucks.

I told him the truth. A couple of stupid kids stole his safe and when they couldn't get it open they came to me. And because one of the kids was a friends son I helped them. I didn't get into details about all the bullshit I had to endure but I told him that I split the money in the safe with the guy who helped me.

"I want that money"

"Listen I understand you got ripped off but I didn't rip you off that is not my thing I am not a thief. Believe me when I tell you that I earned that money, and there is no way I am going to give it back"

"I want the fucking money or I am going to call the police!"

I slammed my phone on the table.

"Call em' motherfucker!, call em'! and I will make sure and turn over the rag paper and the magnetic ink in my trunk!"


Look, I don't care if you are printing, in fact, good for you. I brought all your papers as a gesture of good faith. There are birth certificates and deeds that I know have to be very important to you. I could have burned them, or let the knothead kids take them but I am trying to show some respect to you here.

'Respect? This is respect? Stealing from me then rubbing my nose in it? You have a strange way of showing respect! I want my money!"

"Try this: want in your right hand and shit in your left hand and see which one fills up first"



"Fuck you!"


"Alright consider me fucked. If you want your stuff lets go"

I got up to leave but he asked me to sit down.

"I am glad to get this stuff back...but $1800 bucks is not something easy to let go...and that safe cost me a grand"

"believe me, you don't want that safe. If it is any consolation to you, the kid totaled his car out because of that safe, it was a nice car too, a 72' Skylark totally restored"

He lightened up some and we started to talk some. By the end of the night we were having a good time he even invited the two ringers he had in the bar that were supposed to beat the shit out of me to the table.

Im friends with him to this day.

__________________________



On my way home from the bar that night. Driving drunk and high ...once again, I had a moment of clarity

I hated moments of clarity. I always had them when I was alone driving at night for some reason.

My clarified thoughts would always begin with me reflecting on the death of my mom, which is the worst thing that I ever experienced. When my mom died I felt robbed by god. I turned my back on the very little faith I had. And cursed god with a clinched fist.


My mom was my hero. Even though I chose the wide path more times than not, she taught me how to follow the straight and narrow if I ever chose to do so. I put forth at least an effort to be a good man out of respect for my mom and also because I could not lie or hide anything from her.


My mom could tell the signs because she went through years of my brother doing drugs so she was hep. I couldn't hide anything from my mom. I began my descent into addiction shortly after my mother died. I needed to mask that pain of her death, and my back problem was a good excuse. I didn't have to keep myself in check for her anymore.


I loved my wife but I always thought that she would turn her back on me if I fell out. I believed that no one could love me unconditionally like my mom considering my numerous shortcomings and character flaws....but I was wrong.


Pride would make me say that I overcame my addiction because I am a strong willed man. But that is a lie. Pride is what got me into most of my jackpots.

There is no stronger force on earth than the unconditional love we offer each other in this life. It is also much too rare.


I told my wife after several attempts to clean up that I was a lost cause. I was going to die a hopeless junkie. And I should have been dead along time ago. But she would not accept my fate as easily as I did.


Listen to me, love does not make you weak and vulnerable, it does quite the opposite. It would have been easy for my wife to divorce me and let me drown. But she was powerful. Stronger than me and stronger than opiates for sure she would not allow me to drown. She walked out onto the water. She laid on her belly. She reached down, found my hand and pulled me up from the reef.


She did this for me more times than I would like to admit. A strong man would have required this helping hand just once. Unfortunately I was a weak man.

13th Street

Like I have said before: it seemed there was no rehabilitation for me. Not because I was unwilling but every method of treatment that I submitted to failed. I say that the treatment failed because ultimately I did rehabilitate so I was able to get clean, so it is not always the addicts propensity to return to substance abuse that is to blame.


Hi, my name is Mick and you are all full of shit.
I attended AA and NA meetings for a few months religiously. I would go almost every night. I felt like such a worthless motherfucker because the only thing I got out of those meetings was new connections for dope. AA and NA are nothing more than outreaches for the catholic church. I don't care if they claim to be unaffiliated with religion. Their dogma is the same copout bullshit that the catholic church spews:

Thou shalt not sin. But if you happen to rape a little boy, walk into the wooden box inside the church, tell the masturbating priest on the other side of the curtain what you did, say 5 hail Mary's, and don't forget to grope your rosary beads while you chant, and then you are forgiven...until next week when you rape another little boy.


I really tried to get something out of attending those meetings but all I got was bored, disgusted, and like I said new dope connections. It is really quite pathetic. Towards the end of every NA meeting I ever attended drug dealers would either come into the room and stand in the back or wait outside to provide their services to the "recovering addicts".


I would watch as people that claimed 6 mos or 2 years etc. of clean time would hook up with the dealers after the meeting, then would show up after a weeks run and have a pity party at the meeting


________________________________

Eventually being the perpetual capitalist that I am, I could not help but be attracted to this opportunity. I hooked up with one of the dealers that attended the meetings and we began making runs to the badlands.


The Badlands is a 4-square-mile area in northern Philadelphia, where Gangs dominate a large open-air drug market. The volume of heroin sales in this area of Philadelphia is so large that the Pennsylvania State Attorney General's Office created ECHO>> the Eastern Corridor Heroin Operation enforcement team to disrupt drug sales in the Badlands.


The reason for the high volume of drug business is because Philadelphia's heroin purity is far higher than the national average of about 39 percent, badlands dope is predominantly South American and the purity is between 70- 95%. And ECHO or not this area is ruled by the gangs. The cops have given up, at least that is the way I saw it. They don't call it the badlands for nothing.


Philly was a 3 hour ride for me. 2 if I was feigning.


Like a phantoms we would roll into the badlands dark and empty streets. Passing crackhouses and trash-filled lots, past abandoned buildings where junkie hookers stood in shadows, past barefooted dirty toddlers playing alone on the streets without a parent in sight. Past high school kids rushing to the drug corners scared and dopesick. I don't think these neighborhoods could bear anymore sadness or despair without stirring the actual streets and buildings to cry out for mercy.


Corners along 13th street is where we were getting the best deals and where our faces were recognized as well as where we recognized the dealers. All you have to do when approaching a drug corner is slow down to a crawl and they come out in the street. The transaction is similar to placing an order at a drive through.


Their must have been a turf war on 13th street because when we rolled down the street one night, we didn't recognize anyone. And these dealers were very aggressive. They were running out in the street trying to slow us down. I dint feel comfortable at all. I told my partner that he should get out of here quick, he agreed but he was unable to gun it out of there because something had just jumped off ahead of us blocking the street.


There were dozens of people darting out from the sides of the streets and converging in a group arguing violently in Spanish. We decided to hang a louie but when we looked behind us, there were cars and people rushing towards the altercation in front of us. We were trapped.

Lenny, the hillbilly, sells all kinds of stuff at his home/warehouse/farm and performs various services, and appears to make a nice living at it. He looks like the Henry Winkler well,...only if the fonz had been a chronic junkie ever since he was on crappy days. He sounds like Ross Perot, he's bald, and has a timeless sense for fashion. He wears a green dickies cap, that matches his green dickies shirt and britches (I've never seen him wearing anything other than dickies) his bright blue sunken eyes shine out of his dark tanned face, and sweat pours out of Lenny's dark tanned neck that resembles beef jerky when he lies. When he fuck's something up, you know it, because he says okay after each and every sentence he speaks while he attempts to put the blame on anything other than himself

can I get a minute? Ok? can I get a minute? Ok? can I get a minute?! can I get a minute? Ok

Anywho, I ordered a bike rack for the back of my wifes SUV from Lenny on a Saturday, he said it will take a few days for the rack, as I ordered something he does not stock. He also installed a receiver hitch. And some other shit. When he was done I went to pay him but had forgotten my checkbook the bill was like $360.00 I paid him 200 out of cash I had and said when the bike rack comes in we can settle up then. Lenny was cool with that.

Friday afternoon comes around and I haven't heard any thing from Lenny. We were going camping, that Saturday, and were planning on riding bike. I call him, He says "oooooh yae,the guy never delivered it" which means... Lenny forgot to order it. Rather than get bent outta shape, I went to a bike shop and bought a rack, Why should my kids be unable to ride their bikes because Lenny has the brain of a cat.

The one from Lenny's store had the feature of a ball at the end of the rack so you can also tow a boat, and that was very cool, as it would eliminate fucking up my boat by loading bikes in it. Very efficient.

Well when he called to tell me my rack was there I went down to grab it and also to settle up on the balance I had never discussed with Lenny the fact that he was gonna have to sell the bike rack I bought at the bike store to get the rest of his money, what am I gonna do? eat $100.00 bucks on a bike rack that I shouldn't have had to buy, if Lenny would have Ordered the rack In the first place> Or return it to the bike store? They were not at fault, why should they get fucked? When I got there, his neck instantly start pouring sweat. He says the catalog that he used to quote me a price for the rack was old, and its 35 dollars more than what was on my invoice, he wants $195.00 instead of $160.00

My response was, no, its 160 minus one hundred for the bike rack I had to buy he says what?? I'm not taking that bike rack, its not even mine, I said "it is now", and gave him 60 bucks. I get home and the efficient bike rack that I was waiting for was a piece of shit!


Unless efficient means in order to open the hatch back, you have to lay on the ground and use a socket wrench to take the vertical bar that holds the 4 bikes off, and oh yae, you should offload the bikes beforehand unless you like pedals in your face and being impaled by a kick stand.

Instead of just pulling a pin and the rack just drops out of the way of the hatch back, with the bikes remaining secure, like the bike shop rack that I just shoved up Lenny's ass.


Sooo, back to Lenny's I go. When he sees me his expression is like, oh fuck what does this crazy dude want now? I tell him That the rack is a POS, and I want the bike shop rack I shoved up his ass, and the $60.00. He gave it up. Maybe, he didn't feel up to dealing with me anymore and felt it was worth it just to get my ass outta there.

Well the reason for posting something that happened last summer is because of what I found in my SUV today, there is a little door for storage in the cargo area of monteros, I was in there to fish wire this morning and found a little package I instantly knew it was drugs. As it was a business card folded tightly , with a lump in it. I just figured it was mine, from some time in the past. Except this was lenny doctors card that is used to act as a reminder of an appointment as well, and heres Lenny's full name on it. This lump is coke, bout a gram and a half, Sucks to be Lenny