Part 1

It was never always about the money. But I admit, I did kind of lose my way, a little. Some might say to a large degree, depending on who you asked. If it were Father O'Grady, he'd say I'd lost the fuckn plot. Yet, he'd say he also understood. I should know, since he just visited me here in this shithole. He reminded me to keep my head up and to not let the guards get to me. Such a sappy old fuck. His quiet rendition of John 3:16 did strum a chord though. More on that in a little later.

For now though, there's nothing worse than waking up with chains around your ankles because of some decisions you've made, but then again I'd have to consider myself lucky. And I did, every time I recounted the moments that had me in this joint, even when opening an eyelid and a nostril or two to the stench of piss and shit. I'd rather smell the yellow and brown stained bricks than not have that luxury at all, though. Wouldn't you?

But where was I, ah yes, the money. Greed in its physical form can be what drives men and women to do some crazy shit. Not just crazy in the active sense, like snatching a purse or robbing a bank. But greed, in a moral sense. Sometimes we think we need more than we do, because we're always looking past the end of our current grasp. Like holding onto a gold bar and using it to smash some poor schlub's head open, all the while intent on taking his wallet. 

And that was exactly what got me into this shit. Greed. Some call it ambition. But when you're swimming in another world entirely, one where each drop is a penny or bank note and others aren't even getting a splash of what you're drowning in, how could that be simple ambition? Ambition is what I had before all this life culminated into a cesspool of questionable decisions, even questionable for my standards; God left the party long ago and it seems he keeps losing his invite.

That straw though, the one that broke the proverbial camels back? The line in the sand that when crossed takes you from simple and pure ambition to soulless and blind greed? Well, that's what I'm gonna tell you about, as I lay here chained and bruised in this jail cell. Chained by a burning desire, self bruised by an out of control ego. It's not so bad though, in hindsight.

I only ever wanted a modest life. Honestly. Money just became a part of the story. Like one of those characters you just can't not include because of the impact it has overall, that then becomes more pivotal and accepted as the story goes on. That's my friend, moolah. He started out as someone I just met by chance whilst chasing other desires, other thoughts and nightmarish ideas. Then after we met, and we spent more time together, we became real chummy.

He showed me the good life. When I couldn't get in somewhere, he made it happen. When I needed someone on my side that otherwise wouldn't look twice at me, he was there, all golden smiles and underhanded handshakes. When I needed a leg up to show the boss how worthy I really was, guess who? My friend moolah, shouting my name as he rained my praise all over the fuckn place. He spoke louder than I ever would and he created channels that I never could.

Money always spoke the right language to those who listened, and when you rolled with moolah you were always seen and heard by those that cared enough to look and listen. It just so happened that after a while, even with all the right connections, the right networks, the always present moolah, things just weren't enough.

I know it sounds weird, even strange to some. And trust me, sitting here listening to the bitch across the cell from me moan about being innocent, and then reflecting on how the fuck I ended up here, it's the same to my ears too. You supposedly have it all, everything a man could ask for, and you want, more?

You have the friend everyone wants to be friends with. The luxuries that come with it. The comforts, the endless praise and adoration from people who are either friends with the same friend or want to rub shoulders with him, or her, whatever the fuck. The point is, you got it all and everyone that doesn't wants what you have, or at least a taste.

And maybe that's the problem. My own greed, my own incessant nagging for more had me in contact with those I probably shouldn't have been. Let's face it, you attract those who you yourself basically are. You hang around the same people, wear the same clothes, date the same kind of women, or men, and have the same lifestyles. And if you're just hopping aboard the freight train, you want what they have and want to become what they are.

Now, sure, not everyone is this way. But I'll tell you what, show me a man who's not a priest like Father O'Grady, who's in this fuckn box and says he doesn't belong here and I'll point out a lying son of a bitch. Like that guy who keeps up about his innocence just meters away. I can hear his violin strings from my own cell, and sure, some do fall into shit like this, but more often then not you've made some decisions that have you in situations of your own creation.

So to simplify things, I'm here cause I became a greedy fuck and wanted more. More than my fair share, and it had me rubbing shoulders with friends of a friend. We all knew moolah, the egg man, the butter, and we all wanted more of his friendship than we already had. But in this case, we all wanted something for nothing, and at the expense of the others.

Now when that whiny crumb shuts the fuck up and let's me get some shut eye, when I awake I'll tell you exactly what got me in the big house. Until then, maybe take in the amazing aroma of this joint. Whatever the fuck, just don't be complaining like that greaseball or we'll have problems, ya hear? Father O'Grady can only save a person from so much, and last I remember, replacing front teeth ain't on the church curriculum.

Part 2

How was my sleep you ask? You try resting your body on a hard concrete floor. And your mind, whilst listening to hardened criminals cry like life bent them over. But, I'll survive. Like all do that bounce back from life's miserable backhand. One moment you're sitting pretty, maybe in a nice new suit with a hat to match. Then the next you've got coppers breathing down your neck, trying to pin something on you. Maybe this time it's justified, maybe not. But past transgressions always catch up to the present. Always.

And that's how it all took off, really. I'd been in the liquor business a good few years before coke sniffed me out. It was always fine and dandy moving crates, even of the stolen and reselling variety. People wanted it. It harmed no-one except the middle men not guarding their cargo. And why shouldn't it be taken? If a man wants something, he fuckn takes it. If another man has what he wants, and he can't protect it, he fuckn cops it sweet, right on the chin. Or if he holds onto his pride, he sinks along with it, and the fishes.

This was the life. It was a good life. It was how I met moolah and how it kept me in the right light in Vegas, under the brightest of bright spot lights. A friend always said a million a week keeps the boss happy. I like to think it keeps the bullets at bay. And that was me, the million dollar man. Every week, without fail, kicking up to the boss like a happy little worker. And I was truly happy, as much as anyone could be without a heart.

But as the story goes, ambition turns to greed when the money train loses it's brakes. I lost more than my ability to stop. I lost my head, my heart and very much couldn't recognize my soul even if the devil flashed it before me. He owned me, as he did all friends of moolah. They were the closest of chums, closer than any human was with their mother after just being born. You could say the horned one was the umbilical cord. He was always there, between moolah and me. But for the most part, I never cared to notice.

That was until I got word of a new player in town. It's a hell of a drug, cocaine. Just ask Hollywood. Show me a movie star and I'll show you a potential customer. It may not be as big news as liquor, or opiates, but if it wasn't stacking cabbage I wouldn't be in here today. It has a certain way with the ego. Makes them feel like their gold, so they part with theirs. And they did, over and over again. I couldn't believe the ease it started to flood the market. Liquor may be the everyday peoples choice, but cocaine is the everyday hustlers choice.

Not to all, though. Some see it as dirty business. Something to up the nose at. We have high morals and ways of living and being in this life, and even now some still won't shake a stick at it. But me? Shit. I turned that stick into a rake and started pulling in the cheddar. With every deal there became more demand. With every re-up I was pushing more and of course making more. See this is where greed takes flight. When ambition gains momentum to a point it's basically out of control, greed steps in with it's black goatee and promises of grandeur.

Now if I still had a soul by this point, it was on another train the fuck out of there. You can't hold a conscience when dealing in a habit forming drug. People love liquor because its always been a part of society. A way to mellow out after the stress of the everyday workaday man. But cocaine? It found its place with the high flyers and high rollers. The sort that can sniff its fair share without a damn care. And not-one did. Not the users, or the suppliers or even the pushers. Why would we? Moolah smiled a great big fuckn smile and we smiled back all the same.

So there I was, knee deep in it. In my own greed, wading through tons of cheddar and power. Oh and the power. When you're pulling in that kind of money, some may notice. You certainly fuckn do, but some may also see the flashes of extravagance and comfort. But on the level, when you're kicking up a mill a week to your employers, that right there is power. Not for the recognition. But for the accomplishment of knowing you have that kind of ability not many others have. You set yourself apart. And I'll tell you now, I felt like a fuckn boss.

But with all that's created, it must all fall down at some point. We built castles in the middle ages for them to be replaced by something else. Pyramids before that. We've seen dynasties come and go in the blink of an eye. And what I built, what I toiled over fist over fuckn fist, brick of coke over brick of fuckn coke, it all fell. This is why I'm here, in this jail cell, telling you my story.

Now, I just remembered I have to make a phone call. But I'll tell you what exactly happened when I get back. These assholes are finally letting me speak to my people. Maybe they can sort something out with the lawyers to get me the fuck out of here. You seem a good sort, but there's only so much bitching I can stand from these other assholes, who may as well put on a uniform and wield a stick too, cause they ain't no fuckn friend of ours. Anyway, I'll be back shortly.