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Lights Out -- Part Two

Updated on November 2, 2016

The air smells of the oncoming storm as Walt parks his car next to the VW. He turns the key shutting the Chrysler 300 off. A deep breath in seems to calm his nerves as he looks over to his left at the VW. A sticker on the front windshield shows the name Marcus, and Walt could see the windows were cracked in order to let some air inside. It was a mess in that car with pieces of discarded paper and empty soda containers. He couldn’t see the floor from his current seated position, but he kind of figured it to be loaded with garbage as well. He looks over to his right at the beat-up jalopy of a ride. The paint on the car has worn off in spots here and there, and there are scratches and dents. The back window has a large crack and the back passenger side window is missing. The hood is dented, and he can see the tires are balder than his friend James.

“What a piece of shit,” he said under his breath. He reaches down grabbing the brown paper bag sitting next to him. Opening it up, he grabs the contents from within holding it up in the air. It was a glazed doughnut, and he takes a few bites while thinking about a nice cup of hot coffee. That would go really nice with this doughnut, and it would wake him up a little for the meeting he was about to attend.

“Did you park yet?” James was still on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m parked. It doesn’t look like much is going on in there. I can’t hear or see anything.” He bites down on his doughnut licking the glaze from his lips.

“They’re in there. If Marcus has his car there he wouldn’t leave it alone for too long. He doesn’t trust anyone. He always thinks people are out to harm his car. But I think what he should really be worrying about is the meth stored in his trunk. If certain people knew about that he would have more to worry about than his car getting hurt.”

“He has meth in his trunk? If he already has some in there why are we trying to sell him more? Why am I even out here?”

“This is a business Walt. Marcus is a big time user of the meth, but he also sells it to other people. He gives us a good price, and then makes his money back plus more when he resells it.”

“How come we don’t skip him and sell it ourselves to these people?”

“I don’t know that many people who I could sell to. Sure I could stand on the sidewalk in a long trench coat trying to sell, but I would risk getting caught. It’s easier for us to sell a bunch to him then forget about it. We still make money, and we do it safely.”

A final bite of the glazed doughnut leaves his mouth feeling sweet and dry. He crumbles the brown paper bag up.

“Do you think they have any coffee in there James?”

“I highly doubt it. Why don’t you get this over with quickly and I’ll have some coffee for you when you return.”

“Sure thing, I’m hanging up now,” and he presses the “end” button on the cell phone.

Stepping out of the Chrysler 300, Walt pops the trunk before he closes the door. He walks to the back of the car making sure to check his surroundings. The road was clear, and so he takes the large duffle bag out of trunk.

“This better go nice and smooth,” he said while walking between his car and the VW.

Make sure you leave your car running.

“That prick,” and he sets the duffle bag down on the ground as he gets back into his ride. He starts the Chrysler 300, and then steps back out. He closes the door as he leans over grabbing the duffle bag once more. Ahead of him he sees a curtain pulled back inside of the house. There was somebody in there watching him, and so he waves.

“Ready for your meth you junkies?” He said in a whisper.

The person in the window closes the curtains after waving back at him. Walt notices that he was still holding the crumbled brown paper bag in his hand. He looks over at the VW, and then tosses the garbage through the cracked window.

“A little something extra for you.”

Some thunder crackles overhead as he walks toward the house. The dirt driveway gives way to a small set of cement stairs that curve right. He walks up those stairs which brings him to the porch. It was a large porch made out of long wooden planks. The boards creaked under his feet as he went. Past the porch were more trees and a vast darkness. He wonders if there are any bears in there waiting for him to wander into their dinner plates. They would tear him to shreds with their massive claws. The thought gave him a shiver, and then he turns toward the front door of the house.

Knock, knock, knock.

He listens but hears nothing from behind the door. A moment later he hears someone walking around. And then he hears someone screaming.

“Get over there now!” It was Marcus, and he was yelling at someone.

Some mumbling which was the other person being hollered at, and then,

“I told you to get over there! We’ll deal with that later.”

Another knock by Walt.

“I’m coming, hold on a minute,” Marcus screamed.

“No, take your time. I’m only holding a bag full of meth worth hundreds of thousands.”

A moment later he can hear Marcus making his way over to the door. It swings open revealing the guy he would be doing business with tonight. A twenty-two year old junkie with tattoos all over his upper torso. There were no muscles, he was very skinny and dirty looking. Unshaven, and teeth so rotten they could be mistaken for raisins.

“Walt, my friend.” A smile so large shows off those disgusting looking teeth. He waves his hand inviting Walt into this secluded house in the woods.

Lights Out

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    • Faith Reaper profile image

      Faith Reaper 17 months ago from southern USA

      Good writing. Looking forward to see what unfolds.