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| A whole fucking Mayday | Started by: Vincent-Alo on Oct 02, '18 13:47 |
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O.K. So. They weren't lying when they said Midas turned shit into gold. I mean, every time I went through the security gates with a full load of high quality south american cocaine, and then added and a little something tripling the original amount just to end up selling the whole thing to the rich kids of South Philly, it pretty fucking looked like gold to me. Judge all you want pal, but I assure you that you won't find better way to make money around here. But don't get eluded and start thinking this business it's all sunshine and rainbows, no. Low ranks like me have to do the dirty work, and travel about 36 hours through jungles, catch two plains, one way in one way out, grease a million palms, sweat like a pig and not shower, eat shit versions of burritos for two entire days, and be searched at least a dozen times by ugly so called paramilitaries working for drug lords. You needed a stomach to get it done and to me? I just wanted to get my part done to earn my stripes so I could finally go back to my couch life spending my days on a not so special brothel. I enjoyed the simple life you know. Now let me tell you how I got this scar. As this becomes routine, you get reckless. You don't consider the angles. You just want the business to be over to get the satisfaction of counting another pile of cash. And then you think everybody is the mother fucking Pope, with the highest business ethics and best of intentions. That's when you get fucked. That guy was me one of these days. I was in a tiny, almost desert village of Mexico in hopes to give my money, get their ten kilos of coke and maybe then, who knows, we could spend the rest of the evening like we knew each other for decades watching the sunshine alongside strong tequila shots. Instead it ended with me having guns pointed to my head. And don't ask me how, in the middle of all that mess I killed one of them. I ran for forty five minutes non stop until there was no signs of them. Now I just had to do a simple thing. Go back home with a bag full of coke, another full of money, knowing a cartel was probably chasing me while I considered my options. I picked the phone and dialed an American number "It's a whole fucking mayday Joe" |
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"The fuck do you mean a whole fucking mayday, Vinny?" Joe was in his office in the Operations Center at the airport. He'd not expected the call, let alone the message coming through. Vinny had been entrusted to get the job done. One fucking job. Give the money, get the coke. He'd been in the business long enough to know a simple task, should stay a simple task. When things got sideways, that's when Joe got out of sorts. If you fucked with his business or became someone who'd stand out as someone likely to, you weren't going to get a pair of cotton socks for Christmas. Lumps of coal, possibly. Brass knuckles down the throat as your teeth jumped ship, more like it. "Tell me some good news, Vinny. Tell me you got the coke. Or at least still have the money." |
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| Reply by: Adonis at Oct 02, '18 16:30 | |
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"Joe? Joe? Can you hear me? God fucking dammit" I guess I shouldn't be surprised for being in a bad connection while in the middle of nowhere trying to call home. That and the fact I was being stared by the only four people in the shop. I mean, you're a white guy in a suit, they are a bunch of poor fucks in a poorer village, what else do you expect? You know the look on their eyes means you got caught and they already tipped the ones who run the show around here, and it's only a matter of time until they come and get you. "Joe? What? I can't hear you. Listen, if you get anything I say know that I got the dough and the product. I'll explain everything later. For now bail out. I am being hunt down. Get me outta here Joe" When I slammed the phone against the received I turned my back looking for the exit when one of them spots me from outside. BANG. |
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| Reply by: Vincent-Alo at Oct 06, '18 12:57 | |
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