While Texas Street was an often wicked place, it was just one of the few most dangerous areas in Whatcom County. On one’s way to the costly skiing and snowboarding resort of Mt. Baker, thirty minutes from Barclay, there was a small town halfway through the trip called Maple Falls. While predominantly a blue collar town with many lumber workers, it was also a well known drug hub with the highest substance addiction rates in all of the county. Much of the manufacturing and trafficking of substances in Whatcom, specifically crystal meth, started in Maple Falls.
Sitting in the woodlands of Maple Falls was a house; a once cozy three bedroom home constructed with the purpose of housing a lumber worker’s family. It now belonged to the drug dealer known as Tristan Smits, nicknamed Sleepy, a tall, lanky, and formally muscular man in his early thirties. Tristan earned his nickname from his brutal knockouts that put his opponents to sleep. Covering his body were more than a dozen tattoos, most of them representing his gang association. Dark bags sagged under his yellow hued eyes from his years of substance abuse. One of his front teeth was missing from a fight he had gotten into years ago.
Abandoned in his preteens, Sleepy grew up in the streets of Seattle. He barely knew his biological parents. They were both “crack-heads” who were always looking for their next fix. In and out of foster homes most of his life, Sleepy eventually found himself living with an adoptive family in Barclay. Known to start fights both verbal and physical with students and teachers, he did not last long with his new guardians. He did, however, find a new family; the Blood gang West Side Piru.
Despite the Piru’s only having around fifty members and associates in Whatcom County, their rap sheet was extensive. Their known crimes listed from the sheriff’s department included counterfeiting, theft, possession of stolen property, burglary, robbery, home invasion robbery, drug possession, the manufacturing and delivery of drugs, dangerous weapons, theft of a firearm, threats, domestic violence, kidnapping, aggravated assault with a knife, rape of a child, sex crimes, felony assault, and murder. For all the offenses listed, Sleepy had seen or participated in most of them.
After years of being a soldier for his gang, Sleepy was given the responsibility of running a Piru trap house. The cocaine they trafficked came up from Los Angeles and would stop at Seattle. Anything left over would make its way to various other counties in the state, including Whatcom. To stretch out the supply, the cocaine would be turned to crack to increase profits. However, meth was proving to be far more profitable and could be made anywhere. With the greater profitability of meth, Sleepy’s attention was turning to the new drug. So was Kenny’s.
Late into the night, at nearly 2 am, Kenny’s BMW parked next to Sleepy’s 2004 Cadillac CTS sedan. The Cadillac’s new sleek and shiny black paint job was the car’s second most impressive feature next to the gold rims on the car’s tires.
Marcus stared at the Cadillac, impressed, and whistled. “Damn. This fool must be doing good, huh?”
Kenny grimaced. He could not help, but feel jealous. “Fool spent all his money on a whip and a shitty ass house.”
“Still got a house though.”
Marcus’s comment made Kenny hold his expression. Fucking whatever.
They both stepped out of the car.
Marcus noticed the “187” address for the house. “1.8.7.” He laughed. “This fool’s saying something.”
Kenny didn’t comment. He was surprised to see that the driveway was empty. Usually, there would be multiple people staying at Sleepy’s house at any given time. Unbeknownst to Kenny, the only person in the house besides Sleepy was the seventeen year old, trailer park trash girl Tiffany. She was knocked out on Sleepy’s bed after shooting up black tar. For the last month, she had been sleeping with Sleepy in exchange for drugs. Her tight, big behind that Sleepy mounted multiple times a day made up for her pimply face and junky personality.
Sleepy sat on his old, black leather couch watching a UFC fight on his 86” HD TV. He was going to lose two grand he bet on the fight.
“Motherfucker.” He muttered under his breath.
Kenny and Marcus walked into the house unannounced. Before Sleepy could see who entered, he pointed his extended clip, Glock 19 pistol at the door with a clenched grip. The gun carried thirty-three 9mm bullets not just for protection, but to send a message.
“Who the fuck’s there?!” Sleepy yelled.
Kenny and Marcus made themselves visible carefully.
“Just me.” Kenny said.
“Shit, fool!” Sleep lowered the gun. “You don’t just be walkin’ up in a nigga’s place without notice!”
“You’d rather have me text you I need a re-up?” Kenny asked sarcastically. “Yo, Sleepy, I need more drugs!”
“Fucking knock first!” Sleepy found no amusement in Kenny’s attempt at humor. He turned off his TV. The fighter he bet on was K.O’d.
Kenny went through his left pants pocket and pulled out a few thousand dollars in crumbled cash.
Sleepy’s expression looking at Kenny’s money suggested disapproval. “You sure it’s all there?”
“Count it.” Said Kenny. “We’re good.”
The bill counter machine was in the kitchen, but Sleepy opted not to get up out of his comfy spot on his couch. His sciatica was bothering him from all the screwing he was doing with Tiffany. Sleepy grabbed the money out of Kenny’s hand and counted it. “You need to treat yourself better. Walking around with crumbled Benjamins like you got no respect for cash. You know what this shit is?”
“A twenty dollar bill from a crackhead.”
Marcus tried to hold back his chuckle from Kenny’s comment.
Sleepy was still not amused. “It’s freedom, you fuckin’ smart ass. Get yourself a goddamn rubber band at least.”
“Dope fiends don’t have any respect for their money.” Said Kenny. “Not like they’re treating themselves well.”
Sleepy gave Kenny a look.
“Whatever, I’ll get rubber bands or something.”
Sleepy recounted the money several times. Kenny glanced at the bill counter, wondering if Sleepy was fucking with him or being lazy. After a few minutes of counting, Sleepy swung open his large rectangular coffee table. Inside were dozens of stacks of money with tens of thousands of dollars. Next to the cash, were large zip-lock bags of ecstasy, crack and meth.
Sleepy picked up one of the ounces of crack and handed it over to Kenny. “Here.”
Kenny eyed the ounce. “Aren’t you gonna weigh it?”
“You fuckin’ questionin’ me?”
Kenny hesitantly took the ounce and passed it over to Marcus who stashed it inside his backpack.
Sleepy lounged back into his couch and reached for the remote. “Get the fuck outta my crib, nigga.”
Kenny held his place. “I wanted to talk.”
Sleepy sighed in frustration. “Did you not fuckin’ hear me?”
Never one to pass up an opportunity when he saw one, the question didn’t deter Kenny. “Look, I don’t have any more cash I can give right now, but if you front me some of the crystal, I can get your money back just as quickly as I move the coke .”
Sleepy shook his head. “Nigga, don’t be talking to me about that shit right now. I don’t need another dealer for shards. Just get rid of the product you got first. Deal with one thing at a time”
Sleepy almost turned on the TV, when Kenny continued, “What the fuck do I have to do then? I’ve done a lot more than some of your other dealers.”
“And I give a fuck why?”
“They’re not shit to me! You want to make more money? Let me show you what I can do.”
Sleepy chuckled “Uh-huh. You think I front anyone shit anymore? That’s too many headaches.”
“Yo, Sleepy, you know you can trust me.”
The conversation wasn’t convincing Sleepy. Ready to end it, he said, “Don’t fuckin’ beg, bitch.”
The rejection took Kenny a moment to process. “Bitch?”
Sleepy had enough. “You’re not even a part of this gang, nigga! What makes you think I owe you more than I already give you? Huh? Get the fuck out of my trap!”
Kenny understood that further engaging with Sleepy would go nowhere, but he couldn’t hold back his restraint any longer. He was furious. “I bet you’re just afraid that the dudes pushing this shit to you would only sell to me if they knew who really moved it!”
Sleepy turned his gaze away from the TV and looked at Kenny. Even though Sleepy’s murderous eyes stared coldly at Kenny, Kenny wasn’t afraid, despite knowing he should. He wanted Sleepy to hear what he had to say.
Kenny continued, “Maybe you were an O.G. once, but all you do now is just sit in this trap and place bets on fighters and fuck junky bitches. You ain’t hard and don’t call me a bitch. You don’t move shit anymore, fool, and I’m not afraid of you.”
Within a blink of an eye, Sleepy got up and put the Glock 19 under Kenny’s chin. Though Sleepy was older than Kenny, he was also faster. Even through his last few years of leisure, Sleepy had retained his speediness that was responsible for all his knock-outs. The brief satisfaction Kenny felt from his speech was short-lived at the notion of being shot in the head.
“You think you come into my crib unannounced and say this shit to me?!” Sleepy put his free hand on the back of Kenny’s head, forcing the bottom of Kenny’s jaw into the muzzle of the gun.
Instinctually, Marcus stepped forward. “Wow, wow - that’s not -”
Sleepy pointed the Glock at Marcus. “You stand the fuck back! Or I blow you and his fuckin’ heads off!”
Tiffany exited Sleepy’s bedroom, walking out in just a big t-shirt that covered her naked bottom half. “What’s with all the yelling?”
“Get your ass back in the bedroom!” Sleepy commanded.
“It’s cold, Sleepy. Can I get another hit?”
“Bitch! I got a fucking gun out in the open and all you can think about is dope?”
The distraction of Tiffany temporarily made Kenny think to try and grab the Glock. Marcus thought similarly, but fear and the thought of Kenny’s brains splattering all over Sleepy’s couch kept both from making a move.
“It’s so cold.” Tiffany shivered.
“Get your ass back in the bedroom!” Sleepy repeated the command, but louder.
Tiffany put her head down like an obedient dog and went back into the bedroom.
A brief second of silence followed, before Sleepy continued, “You see that? People fuckin’ listen to me. Who the fuck listens to you, huh?”
Kenny’s defensive nature initially made him want to reject Sleepy’s statement, but the barrel of the gun underneath his chin reminded him to do otherwise.
“Nobody gets what they can’t have in this game.” Sleepy continued. “Right now you can’t have the power. You know why? Because I say so. I call you a bitch because you are my bitch and I own you. Don’t you dare think you can come in here and tell me what to fuckin’ do. I ‘ought to blow your fuckin’ brains all over this room.”
Sleepy expected Kenny to lose his confidence, visualizing Kenny tearfully apologizing. He could feel the sweat on the back of Kenny’s head. Kenny breathed heavily through his nose, exhaling loud wheezes, as if he was on the verge of a panic attack. But despite Sleepy’s efforts, Kenny kept his composure. It both aggravated and impressed Sleepy at the same time. Sleepy understood that Kenny probably could flip the meth and turn a profit quickly. He knew Kenny was a reliable dealer who was faster at flipping profit than the other dealers Sleepy had. The truth, that Sleepy desperately hid, but Kenny sensed, was Sleepy feared Kenny. He had the same hungry look in his eyes that Sleepy used to have before his got yellow and baggy.
“Yeah, you act tough” Sleepy began, intensely looking at Kenny eye to eye. “But I can see right through you. You’re trailer park trash, just like the other bitch in the bedroom. Only difference is I don’t need to fuck you for you to know I own you. This isn’t your fuckin’ turf and you’re working for me. You want to sell more? You follow my rules and never insult me. Get back here when you’re ready to do that. Get back…”
Sleepy looked closely at Kenny’s face, studying the boy’s details. From his years of selling dope, Sleepy could sense a drug addict when he saw one. From Kenny’s large pupils to his scarred, chapped lips, Sleepy could tell he was staring at one right now.
“Get back when you’re clean, you fuckin’ junkie.” Sleepy tossed Kenny’s head back.
It took every ounce of Kenny’s common sense to prevent him from saying something back. He walked out of the house angrily; rage brewing through every confine of his body.
Marcus closely followed him out. “What the fuck was his problem?”
Kenny grabbed Marcus with ferocious tenacity and pinned him against Sleepy’s car. It was a miracle the alarm did not go off.
“You were just gonna let him point a gun at me, huh?! Huh?!” The anger behind Kenny’s eyes could have been seen from space. “I thought you said you were a real one!”
“Shhh – calm the fuck down! What if he sees us?” Marcus was not concerned about Kenny hurting him. He was worried that Sleepy might come out to find him pinned against the Cadillac.
“I should have brought Dom!” Kenny released Marcus, shoving him to the side.
Against his best judgment, Marcus approached Kenny carefully. “Hey – Kenny – look, you can trust me. I know I didn’t do anything in there, but if you give me another chance -”
“You don’t get another chance!”
Kenny’s pained, angry eyes briefly stared at Marcus.
Marcus’s eyes looked away, his head pointing down in shame. “I’m sorry.”
Kenny began desperately trying to light up a menthol Newport 100, but his lighter wouldn’t spark a flame. Marcus, after hearing the dozens of flicks of Kenny’s lighter, offered Kenny his lighter. Kenny snatched the lighter out of Marcus’s hands and lit up his Newport. He exhaled a long, contemplative drag from the smoke.
“He’s a fucking dinosaur.” Kenny’s voice sounded softer, but underlying with hate. The rush of the nicotine and the cooling sensation of the menthol swept away the fear of death he encountered a minute prior, but the understanding was still there. “If his crew knew who pushed his shit, they’d be doing business with me.” Because you’re the only one keeping that fool afloat.
He took another drag from the cigarette, thinking of ways to not only get what he wanted, but something even more powerful.
Revenge.
Kenny inhaled a deeper drag, the smoke filling his mind with dark thoughts. He turned to Marcus. “You can get another chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Next time we’re here, we wrong that piece of shit for disrespecting us. Next time - Next time it’s the last time I do business with him.” Kenny’s dark eyes grew even darker as his mind filled with murderous intent. “You know what I mean?”
Marcus did not need to think over what Kenny wanted, despite its serious implications. He only wanted to prove his loyalty to Kenny, the only person he knew who gave him a chance. “I got you, fam.”
Marcus extended his hand out to Kenny. Kenny looked at Marcus’s hand, contemplating whether to take it or not.
“Come on.” Marcus begged. “You’re the only family I have now. I ain’t gonna fuck up. I promise you.”
Somewhere in him, Kenny knew the words to be true. He understood that without his support, Marcus had nowhere else to go; nothing left to lose. He grabbed Marcus’s hand to shake it, but, to his surprise, Marcus pulled him in for a hug. For most of Kenny’s life, his experiences with genuine embraces were limited to brotherly moments with Bobby or animalistic, sexual encounters. Marcus’s experiences were similar, but he wanted to show Kenny he cared, even if that meant doing the unthinkable.
Next time, I won’t let him down. Marcus thought. “I’m with you all the way, bro.”
The rage Kenny felt began to die down. The feeling of his nerves and edge subsiding initially made him uncomfortable as Marcus hugged him. For Kenny, being on guard most of the time was a familiar place. Feeling any sort of connection to someone or having trust was like stepping into the unknown. But Marcus’s embrace felt good; a safe place where he could let go and not worry. He patted Marcus’s back as the weight of the world rolled his shoulders.
Perhaps, together, they could get past the traumas of their lives. Perhaps, together, they could kill Sleepy.