I Gotcha!

October 1, 2016 at 11:11 am (Cussed Dumbers, Drunk and disorderly)

I have a new weapon in the war on crime.

It was a typical Friday night. Everyone’s been paid, but it wasn’t too busy. At 10 PM the drinkers are out, and the street trash is drunk and either ready to crash or just getting started. (Meth, the wonder drug.) I see it all from my captain’s chair, the upside-down milk crate.

There’s been a lot of activity in the Master P camp, some of which I will be discussing very soon. Secrets have been kept, but gag balls, I mean gag orders have expired, and we can talk freely.

There is a fourth Master P store now. We took it over last night, midnight East Coast, 9 PM West Coast. It will be a gold mine. More on that later. Much more on that later.

But we still have three other stores that need our love and attention. Eva Braun is my new boss at the Nightclub Store, and Southie is in charge of opening the West End Store. (That’s all the hint you get; this keeping-a-secret bullshit takes a while to wear off.) Rumor has it they will switch back once construction, wiring and other “manly” stuff gets finished. In the meantime, I get a new set of eyes watching me/us, a new set of procedures and preferences to learn, and a reminder that I cannot call Eva an idiotic cocksucker in the heat of an argument. (Time to bone up on my sexual harassment protocols. Southie would punch me, but he wouldn’t sue me.) I can take a punch…

Next week I will have a full week at the Nightclub Store. I like that. If I’m there a few days, word spreads and stability ensues. The shitbirds fly elsewhere. But when I’ve been gone a while? Well, they’ve gots to grab some beer to walk to the next store they’re gonna steal from!

Kayo was lurking under the scaffolding near the abandoned restaurant. Fagin was spread out on the sidewalk next to the payphone. (One quiet sleeper takes the space of five upright drinking panhandlers. Sweet dreams!) I was dealing with a line of hard-looking gents in search of peach Swishers when a middle-aged black man walked past us, bags of chips and jerky cradled like a baby. I watch wide-eyed and helpless as he walked right out the door. “Hey…” I said weakly. Whattayagonnado?

As I hand R Kelly a book of matches, another middle-aged black man walks out the door, cuddling two six-packs of 16 oz Budweiser tallboys. “Hey…Hey… HEY! Really? Please don’t make me call the cops…”

“Call the fucking cops,” the man laughed. “By the time they show up we’ll be ready for dinner and a nap. Sorry man.” He kept on rollin’. Wow.

I couldn’t even see which way they went, because of the store crowd. I called Clean & Safe, got Officer Songbird on the line, and gave him a brief description. “So I’m looking for a forty-year-old black man with a small moustache in a dark coat and stocking cap? I’m sure that won’t be hard to find.”

“If he’s drinking Bud it’ll narrow the probabilities…”

Crime-Fighting Tool

Crime-Fighting Tool

I went outside to the sidewalk, and asked Kayo, “Did you see which way that guy with the beer went?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. Why?” Kayo doesn’t usually miss things.

“Beer run.”

Fagin spoke up, “Why didn’t you spray him?”

“They won’t let us use mace. Lawsuits.”

“The grizzly bear gets ’em with Silly String. It’s hilarious!”

“What?” I must try his drugs sometime.

“The big dude with the short grey hair and stubble (Yogi) has a can of Silly String behind the counter, and he sprays it at the guys running out the door. He figures it marks them. I know it made a hell of a mess all over your sandwich cooler…”

“No shit…”

I went behind the counter and poked around, and sure enough! I took it out by the scaffolding and test-shot it.

Step into my web, said the Spider to the Fly…


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