The world would disagree with you I'd think.

The world would be wrong.

Why don't you tell me about yourself anyway?

Alright, well, my name is Jake Simpson, I'm 26 years old and I'm a
current resident of Atlanta, well, the suburbs at least. I'm not much to
look at, about five foot six, short brown hair, brown eyes. My job never
required me to wear a suit so you'd probably see me wearing khakis and a
dress shirt on most days, jeans on casual Friday.

Are you married?

Yeah, I'm married, for the time being at least, to a beautiful lady
named Marie. We met in college, both of us were studying art at the
University of Georgia and we hit it off almost immediately. We dated off
and on most of the time we were there.

I'll tell you, those were good times, she was gorgeous, the parties
were great and we just had a lot of fun. I wish I could get that back.

Anyway, we both graduated and we decided to get married right after
that. The wedding was beautiful, everyone was telling me how great of a
bride I had and everything. But then after the honeymoon the old maxim of
not knowing someone until you marry them came true.

How so?

Listen, I love her, don't get me wrong, but things changed a lot right
off the bat. I had always remembered her as a wild child who I could have
fun around and laugh with. But that screeched to a halt within a week and
she was wanting to only go to dates at fancy restaurants and drink nice
wine. She knew I was never in to that stuff, but she never bothered to
tell me.

But I guess what really got to me was the kids thing. I wanted kids
bad, I still do! But she waited until two weeks after the honeymoon to
tell me that she was infertile and would have to undergo some kind of
serious and painful surgery to fix it and that she wasn't going to do it.
That just broke my heart.

You didn't talk about kids before the honeymoon?

That's the thing, we talked about it all the time, well, I did anyway.
When we started getting serious, I'd bring the issue up, talk for about
fifteen minutes on the whens and whys I wanted them and she'd just sit
there and smile. When I was finished she'd tell me how sweet I was and
changed the subject. I should have known something was up right then.

I want to know more about you.

Like what?

Your job? Maybe?

I am, or at least, was a graphic designer for a local design firm. We
did mostly contract work. A small business would want an five-star
brochure for their clients to read , but wouldn't have the people in-house
to make it so they'd hire us. The service didn't come cheap but it was
easier than hiring a full-time graphic designer and probably a lot better
quality

The end result is that I did a lot of work for a lot of different
companies who don't even know my name. Doesn't matter though, the pay's
good, the work's fairly easy and you don't get burdened down with
overtime.

Plus, it meant that Marie and I had enough money so that she would only
have to work part time. Even that wasn't really necessary but I guess
without kids to take care of she didn't want to stay around the house all
day. Besides, she got a job as a graphics consultant and between the two
of us we could afford a lot of the finer things in life without busting
our humps.

Sounds like a good life?

It was. I'm not saying it was a bad life. But I guess I kind of got
worn down by it. I mean, in college I was an artist. I used to make
sculptures out steel and glass. I loved working with my hands and showing
off what I made. I used to have them all over the house until Marie told
me to put them away because they were ugly and that I wasn't that artist
anymore. She told me I'd have to accept that.

In a way, she was right though. I was doing the 9-5 grind and I wasn't
complaining. I hadn't made a sculpture in three years and I can't say that
I had any plans to either. I guess just because you graduate with honors
from a recognized art school doesn't mean you're an artist for life. I
should probably just be happy I found a way to integrate my love for art
with my work and leave it at that.

So when did you start thinking about going on your little adventure?

I didn't. When I woke up the morning I left, to me it was just another
Tuesday morning, no different from the one before it, or before that one
and so on. It was just another day.

So what happened then?

I woke up, I ate my breakfast, I brushed my teeth, I read my paper, I
went to work and I even left work thinking everything was ok. I got in my
car, made my way through downtown traffic and started heading up 85 to go
home.

But somewhere along the way, somewhere in that thick traffic I began
thinking about what I had waiting for me when I got home. A cold wife who,
while I loved dearly, hurt me to be with. A home without art or fun, a
life without expression and all so that I could get up and go to the same
damn job that while I guess I shouldn't complain about it, I felt like it
was grinding me away.

I just got more and more mad about the whole ordeal and by the time I
looked up at the road I only had half a mile to my exit and no way to get
over. Ok, that's a lie, I could have gotten over if I had really wanted
to, but when I saw the sign and realized I was in the left hand lane, I
didn't even put on my blinker, I just floored it and started weaving
through traffic like those idiots I usually shoot the bird at.

By the time I looked up again, I was two miles past my exit and I
started to panic. I thought I had lost my damn mind, I was wondering if I
had a death wish or something. I began to think that I should seek therapy
or something like that.

But then I remembered something, when I was in college, I had often
wanted to just roam the nation, see the world so to speak. I mean, if you
don't count vacations, I'd never really left Georgia in my life. I mean,
Florida's nice for a vacation, but let me tell you, the people there are
assholes. No offense if you happen to be from Florida of course.

None taken.

Well, I realized about 20 miles later that I was doing it, I was really
doing it you know? Traffic was so thick still that it had taken me a good
thirty to forty minutes to get that far and there was no way I could
explain that to my wife. So I decided to go for it. It was that simple. I
wasn't going to let life break me any longer.

So then you started planning?

Sort of. I got my head back if that's what you're asking. I knew that I
needed money and that since my checkbook was at home my only means was my
ATM card. But I also knew that my ATM card could be tracked and if my wife
was determined to find me, she could use the trail of purchases to find me
like a homing beacon.

So, I figured while I was close to the city, I'd hit an ATM and take
out what I could. So I found the nearest one and tried to withdraw a
thousand, but of course the ATM would only let me get five hundred. I
guess I wasn't completely clear at the time after all.

Anyway, I figured I had that, the forty dollars I had before I started
the day and my watch, which could be sold if needed. But beyond that I had
no clothes except for the ones on my back and my gym clothes, no food and
about a half a tank of gas.

Sounds pretty rough. Were you scared?

I should have been, but I was exhilarated. For the first time in years
I felt truly free. I didn't know where I was going, what I was doing or
anything, but I loved it and I jumped right back in my car and kept going
up 85.

I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I knew it was going to
be great.

I just drove really. Not much to say about it. Traffic gradually
thinned out as I got farther away from the city and I gradually began to
move faster and faster. I figure I was on that road for about three hours
or so before I had to stop.

Why did you stop and where?

Well, truth be told, I was out of gas. I had a full tank when I started
the day but the commute to work and evening drive left me with an empty
tank and an empty stomach. So, I pulled in to this greasy spoon restaurant
on the outskirts of Greeneville, South Carolina for a bite to eat.

Greenville?

Yeah, Greenville. You ever been there?

Can't say that I have.

Shame, it's a good city. Pretty big actually. I mean it's not the size
of Atlanta or anything, but it's pretty big. It has a lot of advertising
agencies and so forth. I did some contract work for a couple of them a
year back and actually got a pretty good feel of the city from that.

So what did you do in Greeneville?

Like I said, I stopped at this greasy spoon near the city limits. I'll
tell you, this place was a real shithole. I mean, it was straight out of a
bad movie. The place was wall-to-wall truckers, there wasn't a clean booth
to be found in the joint and it reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap
alcohol.

Personally, I was just hoping to get in and out of this place and get
out as quickly as possible.

Pardon the interruption, but why didn't you just go somewhere else?

I guess I could have gone to a Burger King or McDonald's but, I don't
know. I guess I just felt drawn to this place. Besides, in those fast food
places you get food and you get the hell out. You really don't meet people
and I guess I just wanted some conversation.

Sorry about that, keep going.

It's all right. Anyway, I got in there and sat down at the counter
about two chairs down from this big, huge biker-looking guy. I'll tell
you, he scared me just looking at him. But still, like an idiot maybe, I
sat down next to him and he was talking to the waitress on duty.

When she spotted me, she put the conversation on hold to come over and
get my order. No sooner had I told her what I wanted than she disappeared
in the back. Probably to give my order to the cook.

But the minute that door shut behind her, the guy next to mean leaned
in and said, "You know that girl? She is something isn't she? I'll
tell ya, she's as sweet as the day is long but I'm too old for her. Way
too old. I'm so old I've got one foot in the grave."

I looked over at him, he had a grin from ear to ear and even though his
voice could wake the dead it was kind of soothing in a way, like a gentle
giant or something. I knew right then he was good guy and though he looked
like he'd been in more than a few fights, I just had a feeling he wasn't
going to hurt me.

So I spun around on the chair, chuckling with him and said, "Now
come on, you're not that old. You don't look like you're about to keel
over to me."

He kind of leaned back against the counter, "How old do you think
I am then?"

Right about there I realized I was in over my head, so I started
choking on my words. He really didn't sound like he was being hostile, but
I didn't want to piss him off you know?

"Aw, come on, guess. I won't bite ya. I promise," he said
with a smile.

I looked him up and down really good and said, "Forty, maybe
forty-five."

He slapped his hand down on the counter with a bang and yelled for the
entire restauarant to hear, "Hot damn I fooled another one.
Fifty-seven, would you believe that I am fifty-seven years old and not a
gray hair on my head?"

About this time the waitress came back with my food. "Now you
can't be 57," I said. "You barely look 40."

"I am too 57," he said. "Claire," he said motioning
to the waitress, "tell this guy how old I am."

She spun around from whatever she was doing, "He's 57 sweetie.
I've seen the license. I don't get it either."

I began to eat my food but I didn't get more than two bites in when he
spoke up again, "What's your name man?"

I swallowed hard to avoid choking, "Jake, Jake Simpson,
yours?"

"Well, my name's John but all my friends call me Little John, so
that's what you can call me," he said shaking my hand so hard I
thought he was going to rip my arm off. "So where you from?"

"Atlanta."

I could feel the eyes in the room turning to me as I said it. They
didn't like outsiders, especially those from the city but Little John
spoke up again, "Don't you pay no mind to them, they're just a bunch
of hillbillies and rednecks," he said raising his voice so the room
could hear. In unison, everyone looked back at their plates and resumed
eating.

"So what brings you to our humble town?" he asked.

"Just passin' through," I said trying to eat more quickly.

"Well, where you going to then?"

That's when the reality hit me. I looked up from my food and set my
fork down, "I don't know," I said chuckling, "I really have
no idea where in the hell I'm going."

Little John just kind of gave me a puzzled look and leaned in a little
closer, "You mean to tell me you left Atlanta and you have no idea
where you're going?"

I picked my fork back up, "Yeah, I did. I really did."

"Now listen," he said, " I don't want you to take a
offense to this, but I have to ask you something. What the hell were you
thinking?"

So what did you tell him?

I told him everything. I told him about my wife, about college, about
art about love and even about my sex life. I've never in my life opened up
so much to someone. What's funny is that I didn't even think twice about
what I was saying. I just started talking and I laid it all out there. He
got more confessions out of me in fifteen minutes than I think my wife has
gotten out of me in all our years. I couldn't believe it.

What did he say?

He smiled really big and said, "Son, I think you just became my
new hero." I couldn't believe it. I mean, I had just bared my soul to
another human being and he thought I was some kind of hero? But he kept
going, "You see, I was married for sixteen years. They were three of
the best and thirteen of the worst years of my life. She was an alcoholic
slut who banged half of Greeneville behind my back. But not once did I
have the guts to leave her, not once did I have the guts to do what you
just did. You are my hero man."

He gave me a playful jab on the arm and I quickly finished up my food.
He called for his check and I took a quick tally of my money. I knew with
food, gas and hotels that my cash wasn't going to last long. I figured
maybe 10 days at the most. A bit panicked I called the waitress over and
asked her if there was any way I could work off the bill, that my money
would have to last me a while.

"Don't you mind him Claire," Little John said chiming in,
"Just put his bill on my tab. I'll take care of it for him."

"Thank you so much," I said turning to face him, "But
listen, if it's any trouble, I got it covered."

"Naw, it's alright. Listen, you staying the night in town or do
you need to be getting on?"

I checked my watch, it was almost ten o'clock by this time, "Well,
I hadn't planned on it, but it is getting late isn't it? Know any cheap
hotels?"

"Yeah, how about free?"

"Listen, you've done too much already, I can get a hotel room,
that's not a problem…" I'd have kept going but Little John was
already waving me off.

"It's not a problem," he said, "I got a guy that owes me
a favor. Listen, when you leave the parking lot, make a left, go through
two lights and make another left, not onto the Interestate, but the side
street that's beside it. Go about half a mile that way and you'll see a
hotel called Best Inn. Go there, ask for a guy by the name of Mike and
tell him that Little John sent ya. He'll take care of you."

"Ok, I'll do it," I said jotting the directions down on a
napkin, "But can you tell me why you're being so nice to me?"

He smiled real big and said, "Didn't I tell ya? You're my new
hero."

"I still feel like I owe you something though."

"Listen, if you want to repay me, make your way to the Blue Moon
Bar. It's on the same road as your hotel, just two miles down. I'll be
working there tonight from midnight on. Just show up there, I'll buy you a
drink and make you a deal you can't refuse. I always help my heroes out
and I think I know just what you need."

Did you agree?

Yeah, I agreed. I figured if it was anything too bad, I could get
myself out of Greenville easily. I didn't see there as being much risk.

Well, anyway, he said goodbye to Claire and after finishing my coke I
left too. The only difference is that I had no idea what the hell was
about to happen next.

Well, I followed the directions on the napkin and sure enough, right
where he said it would be was run-down little shithole of a hotel called
"Best Inn." It was one of those no-tell motels that you probably
read about in the paper. I used to stay in them all the time in college,
only places I could afford, so I guess I wasn't too out of place but I
still didn't like the idea of sleeping there.

To make things worse I really wasn't sure what to do when I got in
there. I'd never done the whole so-and-so sent me routine and actually
gotten anything for it. I thought about just paying for the room myself
since it looked really cheap, of course I also thought about forgetting
the whole hotel thing and just driving on.

So what did you decide on?

I figured that a free room was a free room and the worst things the
Best Inn could do to me is throw me out which leaves me with the options
of getting another hotel room or driving on. So basically I had nothing to
lose.

Anyway, I went in there, rang the bell at the counter and out came this
filthy looking guy who was probably in his forties. He was short,
unshaven, had a huge beer gut and had this hideous Hawaiian shirt on.
"Can I help you?" he asked with a very gruff and even sarcastic
voice.

"Are you… Mike?" I asked him a bit unsure.

"Yeah, what of it."

"Well, Little John sent me here and said that you might be able to
help…" I didn't even get to finish the sentence. That man snapped
to attention, grabbed a key out of the wall chest and laid it on the
counter. I tell you, I've never seen a man move so fast. "Do I need
to sign anything or…"

He interrupted again, "No sir, any friend of Little John is a
friend of mine. You're in room 213, that's out the door, to the left and
up the stairs. Please enjoy your stay." Before I could even thank him
the man ducked back into the office out of sight. I just stood there with
this dumb look on my face trying to figure out what just happened. Never
did though.

How was the room?

It was shit. The air conditioner barely worked, the toilet didn't flush
well and three channels on the TV came in fuzzy. Since I didn't have any
luggage I just kind of plopped down on the bed and watched what I could on
the television to pass the time.

Actually, that's a lie. I did watch television, but I don't remember
any of it, mostly I just lied there and thought about what I was doing.

How so?

At first I thought about just scrapping the whole thing and heading
home. I had to stop myself a couple of times from grabbing the keys and
making the haul back to Atlanta. It was the first time I'd really stopped
to think about how crazy this was and I started getting really scared. I
even cried a little bit over the whole thing. You know, I hadn't cried in
years but it felt good in a strange way.. Kind of like getting back in
touch with your emotions. Even though I was bawling like a baby I felt
free for the first time in years. 

But anyway, every time I thought about quitting I just saw Little John
smiling at me and telling me I was his new hero. There were probably three
times I would have headed back home if it hadn't been for him, but I
didn't want to let him down and I guess I didn't want to let myself down
either. Besides, I figured I was in too deep to turn around now. 

So after I got through all of that, I started thinking about what I'd
do next. I figured I'd go see Little John at the bar. It was the least I
could do after all his help. If things got too hairy there, I'd either
leave to  go home or head the other direction up 85 and go toward
Charlotte. I didn't really have a plan to make that decision if needed, I
kind of figured I'd wing it if it came up.

So what did you do when you finished all of that heavy thinking?

Nothing. I never got to finish it really. I looked up at the clock and
it was 12:30, time to head out. I got in the car, followed Little John's
directions and found the Blue Moon Bar. When I pulled into the parking
lot, I cringed. I mean, the place looked nice enough, big parking lot,
neon sign and even a small porch, but the parking lot was filled with
Harley's and I just knew that the biker crowd was going to kick my ass.

But somehow, someway, I got the courage to go in there and I had to
laugh at myself because no one even noticed me walk in. I mean, for one
the place was mostly empty and second it turned out to be one of those old
country-western dance bars that you see in bad movies. When I walked in,
the jukebox was going real loud and everyone there was either on the floor
or drinking at the bar, either way no once noticed me.

Sorry, I can't see bikers doing line dancing…

Oh, they weren't line dancing. I guess it wasn't even really dancing;
it was more about having fun. They had their wives or their girlfriends or
whatever out there and they were just moving to the music more than
anything. Nothing organized about it.

Sorry to interrupt, just had to ask about that.

It's alright. I understand.

Anyway, I began to walk over to the bar and sure enough there was
Little John behind it polishing some glasses but before I could even get
over there to sit down, he calls out for everyone to hear, "Hey
ya'll, it's Jake."

Immediately two guys got up and began to walk my way. I froze in
mid-step out of fear, but when the first guy reached me and grabbed my
hand in a firm handshake, I relaxed a little, "I gotta tell you boy,
I heard about what you done and holy shit you are like a God to me. Man, I
wish I had what you have. I can't believe it, someone who's actually done
it," he said in a thick southern accent.

I didn't get a chance to respond though, the second guy put his arm
around me and squeezed me a little, "Tell me something, how does
freedom feel? What does it taste like? I have to know. I've been wondering
all my life."

"It's a little nerve-wracking right this second."

He gave me a couple of playful jabs in the gut, "Aw come on, we
can fix that right here, let me buy you a drink," he said as he began
escorting me to the bar.

"Hell no," said one of the patrons at the far end, "I'm
buying him his first drink, you said I could."

"Well, I'm a lying sack of shit, you should know that by
now," the guy around me shot back.

I took up a stool at the bar and before anyone else could speak Little
John shouted out, "Now ain't nobody going to be buying him drinks
until he gets to make his decision," I'll tell you, the crowd fell
dead silent and all eyes turned on me, "Sorry about that, I've been
telling these fellas your story. Guess I got a little carried away. Anyway
though, it looks like you got a choice tonight."

"A choice?"

"Yep. You see, my second hand quit today. Now, I just talked to
the owner and he's willing to pay you fifty dollars plus tips to cover for
tonight. Since you've got such a huge fan club tonight, I'd say that
should total around a hundred dollars and it'll be the easiest hundred
you've ever made since I'll be doing most of the work."

I looked around me. Everyone was still looking at me like dogs watching
the television. I got a sick feeling in my stomach like something bad was
going to happen.

"Or," Little John Spoke up again, "If you don't want the
job, I'll take the hundred since I'll get it anyway and give you a hell of
a deal on this," and let out a loud whistle.

I looked side to side but no one moved. I couldn't figure out what the
Hell was going on. Up and down the line everyone was perfectly still, just
staring at me practically drooling with anticipation.

"Hello," a soft voice said from behind. I tell you, I was so
startled I almost fell off the stool, but slowly I spun around and there
were two girls standing there, "You must be Jake."

Prostitutes?

Yeah. I never thought of them that way but I guess so. But before what
happened could sink in Little John spoke up again, "Now they've
agreed to a special deal for you. For $150 they're yours for the night and
since you've already handed me a hundred, it's only $50 out of your
pocket. It's a helluva deal son. I know I'd take it."

Must have been a tough decision.

Oh it was. I mean I'm not the kind of guy to cheat on his wife. I
actually buy that "till death do us part" crap but these girls
were gorgeous. I mean, one was about five and a half feet tall, had long
brown hair, a delicate face and a very curvaceous build. With her features
she might have been foreign, but I couldn't tell. The other was tall,
thin, with blond hair, blue eyes and that all-American face guys can't
resist. She was the one doing all the talking and she had a charming
southern accent to boot. God that just drives me wild.

So what did you do?

At first I didn't say anything. I just kind of sat there with my mouth
open. But Little John didn't let that go on long, "So what's it going
to be, the money or the girls?"

I swallowed so hard I nearly choked, "Can I think about it for a
few?"

Little John let out a huge laugh, "I wish you could, but if you
don't want them I need to get them over to the club. So you ain't got long
to make up your mind."

That was about when everyone in the bar started leaning in and
whispering to me, "How can you say no to these girls," said one.

"Whatcha got to lose, your wife's already going to kill you. Might
as well have a little fun," said another.

After about four people whispered at me and I guess peer pressure got
the most of me and I stood up and said to them, "Ladies, I'm in room
213. I guess I'll see you there." I tell you, the crowd let out a
huge cheer when they heard me say that, even Little John was applauding.

"Hot damn son you made the right decision. I am so proud of
you," he said applauding like a giant gorilla. "I tell you what,
why don't you just take them with you and we'll settle up in the morning.
Have fun tonight my friend. Have lots of fun."

With that I left the Blue Moon Bar with a woman on each arm and my head
held up high. I wasn't even thinking about what I was doing, just how
popular I'd become.

Of course, foresight at this time might not have been a bad thing…

What do you think happened next? I got what I paid for.

Was it worth it?

Was it worth $50? Shit! It was worth twice that much.

No, I mean, how was it? Was it everything you thought it would be?

What do you want details? Listen, I ain't the type to "kiss and tell" but
I'll tell you this, it isn't the fantasy it's cracked up to be, but it sure
it a Hell of a lot of fun and if I was presented with the same offer again,
I'd sure as Hell do it again.

Ok, well, anyway, what happened after you, uh, did your thing?

Well, I actually fell asleep with the two girls. I mean, after we were done
we all just kind of dropped off and were out the second we hit the pillow.
Never thought it would be that tiring.

Anyway, when I woke up, they weren't there and I started to panic. I mean,
I had heard about these types of things where rich travelers spend a night
with prostitutes and wake up with all their money gone. But when I finally
found my wallet in my pants, I saw that all of my money was still there including
the fifty I was supposed to pay them.

I began picking up all of my clothes and checking to make sure everything
was where it should be and sure enough, nothing was missing, even my watch
was on the floor by the nightstand.

But actually, that watch was kind of a realization in itself because I had
no clue what time it was and when I saw it was 12:30 in the afternoon, I
nearly freaked. I mean, we had had the curtains drawn tight and the alarm
clock was useless so the realization there was sunlight out there shocked
the Hell out of me.

Anyway, I didn't get to think about that long because someone started pounding
on the door as loud as they could. It was actually kind of funny though,
I was standing up trying to put my pants on when the banging started and
well, it startled the shit out of me and I ended up busting my ass on that
hard carpet.

Who was it at the door?

I'm getting there. Getting impatient on me? Anyway, I opened the door and
there was Little John staring back at me.

"Hey…" he said but he stopped himself as he got a good luck at me. "Hoooooly
shit man!" I must have looked like Hell because he then started laughing
his ass off in that Jolly Green Giant style he has and said, "It looks like
someone had a real good time!"

I couldn't help but chuckle a little myself before inviting him in. I took
a seat on the edge of the bed and he pulled up one of the chairs. Still not
fully awake I kind of slurred, "What brings you here?"

"Well, I'm here to talk about money," he said.

That woke me up real quick because everything clicked, I mean the meeting
at the restaurant, the bar, the hookers, everything. I'd set myself up for
a good old-fashioned shake-down. But I was too tired to fight him, I just
plopped back on the bed and groaned, "How much do you want? Take it, I don't
care anymore."

He took a long pause and said with a loud booming voice that I'm sure the
people in the next room could hear, "Dumbass, I'm not here to take your money,
I'm hear to help you earn it." I sat up like a shot in disbelief. "You did
pay the girls right?" he asked as an afterthought.

I scratched my head and looked around the room, "No, I uh, fell asleep and
they were gone when I woke up, all my money's still here."

He just looked at me in disbelief. "Well, shit, they must have liked you!
You are the man of the hour, that's all I have to say," he said smiling.
"But listen, just to be safe, why don't you hand me fifty and I'll give it
to them when I see them, alright?"

Did you pay?

Yeah, I did. I actually gave him sixty because all I had on me were twenties
and, well, it was still one hell of a deal. But anyway, he told me he'd buy
lunch and not to worry because I'd be making the money back quickly.

"Listen," he said, "I've been working the phones with my buddies in Charlotte.
One of them's got some work you can do. It's easy work, make deliveries and
crap like that, but I'll warn ya, it ain't exactly legal. You won't be gun
runnin' or anything, but you'll still be breaking the law. But take it from
me, the money's good on the wrong side of the law."

"I guess you would know, you are their pimp right?"

"Sort of, I mean, I ain't their owner or anything but I get paid if that's
what you're asking."

I leaned in a little, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, anything you want."

"How did a guy like you get into this business? I just have to know."

"Well, take a look at me," he said holding his arms out, "What do you think
a guy like me would do for a living?"

I looked him up and down real close, "I'd say a bouncer."

He slammed his hand down on the table, "Hot damn boy, you got a good eye.
You're going places with that intuition." I just kind of stared at him, "For
years I was a bouncer, I bounced at a 'gentleman's club' called 'Wyld Ladyes'.
It was a shithole, but I made a good living."

I didn't realize there were strip clubs in South Carolina.

Neither did I, that's why I said, "There are strip clubs here?"

"Let me tell you something about Greeneville. You're a stone's throw away
from Atlanta, even closer to Charlotte and not that far from Columbia, Charleston
and all of these other business cities. Now, a lot of these businessmen get
a hankering for a little action and don't want to crap in their own backyard,
so they make the drive to Greenville. We got more strip clubs, massage parlors
and escort services than cities twice our size and since no one in their
right mind comes here, there's no risk of being caught."

"I didn't know that," I said stunned.

"Trust me, you're not the first businessman to come to Greeneville for some
tail, but you're probably the first who isn't going home."

"Thanks, I feel special again," I said laughing, "but still, how'd you get
in it all?"

"Well, like I said, I bounced at that club and one day one of the regular
customers got a little too rough with one of the girls and, well, I took
him out back and taught him a lesson. The little shit bitched to the manager
about what I did and I was fired on the spot but the girls, who saw the whole
thing, wanted me to keep protecting them."

"And since some of them were turning tricks on the side," I interrupted,
"they took you own as their pimp."

"Yep, that's about it. But like I said, I don't own them or anything, I just
protect them. They do what they want and they can leave anytime."

"But they don't do they?" I asked.

"Nope, no one's left yet."

"Well, I wouldn't mess with you, that's for sure."

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry about that, I don't beat up my heroes."

Well, at about this point there was a real long pause as I tried to think
of what to say next. This is also when it occurred to me that I needed to
finish getting dressed and getting my stuff together so I could leave.

But just as I was putting on my shoes, Little John spoke up again, "Any thought
on my offer?" he said.

"The one in Charlotte?"

"That's the one."

"Can't you tell me anything else about it?"

"Not really, don't know much. This guy's the silent type you know? But knowing
him, it probably involves either drugs or homemade whiskey. Either way, nothing
too serious."

"How much does it pay?" I asked.

He kind of rolled his head back like he was thinking real hard, "I don't
know. Usually it's a percentage thing, like 10% of the sale, but don't worry,
you'll be making enough. I mean, listen, the worst thing that can happen
is you say yes, go up there, talk with him and decide you don't want it.
You got nothin' to lose? You're already in deep shit as far as I can tell."

Something about that really clicked with me, I just stood up and shook his
hand, "You have a deal then."

He just started smiling real big and said, "Listen, go on up 85 until you
hit Charlotte, there, find a bar called the Red Wolf. I have no idea where
it is so just ask someone. When you get there, ask to speak to Stan, just
tell them I sent you and everything should be A-Ok."

So you decided to be come a runner?

Yep. I just chuckled at him and said, "I can't believe I'm dropping your
name twice."

He got up, slapped me on the back and said, "Well, it's a good name to drop
my boy, it's a damn good name to drop." and before I knew it I was on the
road again, on my way to Charlotte.

Actually, that's getting a little ahead of the story.

Oh?

I mean, I left Greenville right after lunch and started making the drive
up I-85. Things were going pretty smooth, I mean, traffic was light, the
weather was good and all of that stuff, but it was about halfway through
the trip, almost an hour into it, that I looked into my rear view and saw a
cop riding the back of my bumper.

Now I mean this stuff happens all the time to me, I don't drive like a
nut or anything, but I'm used to having cops follow me around on the
Interstate, so this type of stuff doesn't bother me too much. But for some
reason, when I looked back and saw those blue lights, I realized that I was
only a couple of hours away from becoming a missing person.

I mean, it was bad enough that I had just run away from my wife, but I'd
already been with two prostitutes and I was on my way to being a drug
runner and I guess I just got paranoid as Hell. I just kept waiting for him
to flick on the blue lights, pull me over and take me back to my fucked-up
life back home, or worse, take me to jail where I'd eat dog shit three
meals a day and get raped by my cellmate every night.

And it got really crazy after a while too. I mean, this cop was
following me for at least ten minutes and after a while I just started
really losing it and freaking out bad.

How so?

Well, I got these crazy visions of one of those old-style APBs being put
out on me and cops chasing me everywhere I go, police helicopters circling
me. I was even making plans to ditch the car and hike through the woods for
dozens of miles just to avoid getting caught.

And realize, even though I feel stupid as Hell about it now, right then
it made perfect sense and I started getting very jittery about it. I just
KNEW that cop behind me was radioing headquarters and was going to bust me
any second. My hands started trembling, I couldn't hold the wheel very well
and I was starting to worry I'd begin swerving and get pulled for a DUI, or
driving like an idiot.

So what did you do?

Well, I got lucky on this one, before I started hyperventilating, I came
across one of those highway rest stops and I pulled inside. I probably sat
there for ten minutes in my car just trying to calm myself, forcing myself
to breathe slowly and all of that crap. I'm pretty sure everyone who looked
in my car thought I was having a panic attack or something, which I guess
isn't that far from the truth.

But anyway, when I got myself to where I could breathe like a normal
human being, I decided to get out of the car and get some fresh air. I
walked over to the vending area and got myself a coke at sat down at a park
bench where I could watch the other cars on the interstate go zooming by
me.

I sat there, sipping my coke, just trying to think about what the Hell I
was doing. I mean, two days before all of this, I had never done anything
more illegal than a little weed in college and a few parking tickets. But
in a 24-hour time, I was sleeping with prostitutes and going to run drugs.
It just never dawned on me until right then exactly what the Hell was going
on.

It must have been quite a shock when it all set in.

It was, it was, I'm not going to lie. But the funny thing is that I sat
there and I kept trying to feel bad about what I was doing. I knew what I
was doing was wrong, at least in the eyes of the government, and that I
should probably feel at least some guilt about my behavior. But try as I
might, I couldn't. I just couldn't make myself feel bad or wrong for what
I'd done.

I mean, the way I saw it was that I hadn't hurt anyone, all I had done
was have a good time, I wasn't going to hurt anyone, just make deliveries
and the only person in the world who was going to have any legitimate beef
with what I was doing was my wife and, well, fuck her you know? She wasn't
worth feeling bad over.

So all that was left was fear. I was scared of getting caught, scared of
having my life, as bad as it was, made worse and I was scared of being a
bigger screw up and a bigger failure than I was before. I will say, that I
did get so scared that I seriously considered just going back and trying to
salvage what I could of the life I had. Truth be told, the only thing that
probably stopped me was that I was almost four hours away from home, but
less than one away from Charlotte.

So I kind of decided that I didn't have much choice but to go ahead and
make the trip to Charlotte. Like Little John said, worst thing that could
happen is that I get there, decide I don't want it and leave. If that
happened, it was only five hours back home and, Hell, I guess I didn't
think I could do much more damage by pressing on.

Well, anyway, I got back in the car thinking I had calmed down, I went
to put it in gear and I just locked up again. I wasn't hyperventilating
like before, but I just couldn't make myself drive. I tried, I tried and I
tried, but I couldn't get my hands to listen to my brain, it was like when
you're trying to wake up in the morning and your brain sends the message to
your legs to get out of bed but you still don't move. The best I figured is
that my mind might be calm, but my body wasn't. Didn't matter thought,
either way I wasn't going anywhere and I didn't want to waste any more
time.

So what did you do?

Luckily, it was one of those rest stops where, when you arrive, truckers
go one way and cars go another. So I figured that strangers have been my
best friends through this whole ordeal and walked about forty yards over to
the truck area and caught one of the drivers out walking around his rig,
probably checking the tires or something. Anyway, I explained to him that I
was on my way to Charlotte, that I had a very important meeting and that my
car had broken down leaving me in need of a ride.

Well, he whipped around from what he was doing and shot me a dirty look
that made my blood freeze. He probably thought I was a hippie, a bum or
someone just looking for a free ride. But when he saw my clothes, I guess
he figured I was being straight with him and relaxed a bit and explained
that he wasn't going to Charlotte, just around the city to head up to some
town I've never heard of before. However, he did jump into his cab and get
on his CB to see if there were any other truckers in the area who could
give me a lift and, as luck would have it, someone else right there in the
rest area heard the call and offered to take me.

So, without much in the way of second thought, or a first thought for
that matter, I left my car behind and got in the cab of some guy's truck.
To tell you the truth, it was the first time I had ever been inside a big
rig like that. I had always wondered what one had looked like on the inside
and well, I guess now I wish hadn't found out.

That bad?

Well, the guy was nice enough, I can't remember his name though it'll
probably hit me any second now. He was a quiet guy and didn't talk much,
but he clearly didn't bathe or clean much either. I know it sounds cheesy,
but the place reeked of cigarette smoke and grease. I know it's the
stereotype and all, but he definitely fit the bill and, frankly, it was a
long drive to Charlotte. I mean, I didn't want to offend the guy by rolling
down the window or anything, so I just kind of sat there and tried my best
to hold my breath the entire way there.

Anyway, he took me some kind of distribution center in Charlotte. I'd
never heard of the place but it was one of those office supply companies
that no regular person has heard of, though almost every company in the
known world uses them. But that's beside the point, the manager there was
nice enough to lend me a phone to call a cab, which in turn was able to
take me to the Red Wolf Bar in the middle of downtown Charlotte.

I really didn't know what to do, so I spent a few minutes pacing outside
the bar weighing my options and trying to take in what I was getting ready
to do. But I didn't dawdle long really, maybe a few minutes because I kind
of realized that I didn't have much choice on the matter. I had nowhere
else in the world that I could go to and, besides, I was here already.

Well, I went into the place and it was actually quite nice. It was dead
because they had just opened a few minutes beforehand, but it wasn't
anything like the Blue Moon Bar in Greenville. Outside of being clean and
well-lit, it was big, open and not flooded with thick smoke. It was almost
the kind of place I would have gone to before all of this crap started.

But anyway, I walked up to the bartender on duty, who was polishing
glasses at the time, and said, "My name's Jake, Jake Simpson, I'm here
to see Stan, Little John sent me here."

He looked up at me and after giving me a thorough once-over said,
"Come with me," and led me into the back of the bar.

Well, the bartender didn't say much of anything; he just walked me
through the kitchen area and led me into what was probably a storage room
of some kind. In there, well, it was a scene straight out of one of those
bad gangster movies. There was a card table with a guy sitting behind it
shuffling papers, a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling and nothing
but bare walls and concrete floor.

Literally, my first thought when I entered the room was "Oh Jesus,
I've walked into a cheap mob flick."

I can see why you'd think that.

It was bad, very bad, and I wasn't making things any better. In high
school I used to watch a lot of Humphrey Bogart films so I just sort of
slipped into character without realizing it. I kind of put my hands in my
pockets, threw on a scowl, walked up to the table and said, "Hello,
I'm Jake." I'm lucky though, I stopped myself from talking with the
accent, that could have been embarrassing.

Anyway, he looked up from what he was doing, "Yes, you must be the
guy Little John sent up here to help us out." I just kind of nodded
politely and let him continue. "I don't know how much, if anything, he
told you about what you'd be doing so I want to let you know now that it's
not legal and there are risks. If you're going to back out, I suggest you
do it now."

I looked around the room for a second, out of the corner of my eye I
still saw the bartender standing in the doorway. "I've got nothing
better to do."

"Very well," he said motioning to the bartender to take a seat
beside him, "I've got a job for you that will take about two weeks of
your time. If you do it though, it'll make you a lot of money and it
shouldn't be that dangerous as long as you don't freak out."

I glanced over at the bartender and back to Stan, "Ok."

"You still on board with us?" Stan asked.

The Bogart in me slipped back out, "I'll have to check my day
planner, but I think I'm free for the next few weeks."

That dumb crack only got a chuckle as he reached under the table and
pulled out a small brown suitcase. Carefully, he punched in the
combination, opened it and spun it around to face me. Inside it was several
bags filled with a white powder. Now. I'd never it before then, save on TV
or the Internet, but I knew right away it was cocaine. There was no
mistaking it.

"What you see in here," Stan started, "Is a little over
eight pounds of cocaine. The street value of this is well over one million
dollars but to you and me, it's worth a three-quarters a million. Your job
is to get this bag and it's contents to Los Angeles in one week. Think you
can handle that?"

That's a lot of cocaine you're talking about.

I know, it looked to me like it almost filled up the suitcase, though
I'm sure they could have put a lot more in if needed. But it still amazes
me that you can fit one million dollars worth of anything into one
suitcase, just shows you how valuable the stuff really is.

But anyway, I reached over into the suitcase and pulled out one of the
bags and held it in my hand feeling how heavy it was and trying to grasp
what I was really holding. That, of course, really pissed off the
bartender, who was apparently playing watchdog, but I didn't care.

In fact, I really didn't give a lot of thought to much of anything, the
whole moment just felt so surreal to me that I just kept doing what I
thought was expected of me. "Sure," I said.

Stan went to speak but the bartender leaned into his ear. I don't know
if he wanted me to hear what he was saying or if he's just a bad whisperer,
but clear as a bell I heard him say, "Can we really trust this guy? We
don't know him after all."

Stan just muttered something back about Little John and the way I was
dressed and the issue seemed to be dropped. Then he turned to me and said,
"Sorry about that, here's the details. At 5:30 PM, one week from
today, an acquaintance of ours will be waiting in the men's bathroom right
inside terminal one at LAX airport. He'll have a bag identical to this one
only that bag will be carrying $750,000 dollars. Now this is important,
before you switch bags, ask him his name, if he answers with anything but
'Cobra', you get out of that airport as fast as you can without drawing
attention and get your butt and that suitcase back to Charlotte. Anything
besides 'Cobra', got that?"

"Cobra," I repeated, "Got it."

"Then," Stan continued, "You bring that 750,000 dollars
back here within one week, one week, and we'll settle up. For your part,
you get ten percent or 75,000 dollars. Not bad for two weeks work? We'll
even give you a few hundred to cover expenses to get you there, but the
trip home comes out of your pocket. If you need to, use the money in the
suitcase but if more than 75 grand is missing when you get back, we're
going to have problems."

"Sounds easy to me."

"It is, but let me warn you real quick, you run off with that
money, you're dead. I've got guys all over this country, you will be found
and you will be killed. The same goes for if you're caught by the police
and rat us out or do anything stupid like try to sell it yourself. You give
it to 'Cobra' at 5:30 a week from today and no one else. Then, you bring
the money here and nowhere else. Do it right, you'll be rewarded, fuck it
up, you die."

Pretty strong threat?

Yeah, it was and I got a lump in my throat just hearing it. I knew he
wasn't screwing around either. He was dead fucking serious. Sorry for the
pun.

So what did you do?

The only thing I could do, I looked at him and said, "You don't
have to worry about that."

"Good," he shot back. He then spun the suitcase around, closed
it back up and slid it across the table, "There you go."

Without even thinking about what I was doing, I snatched the suitcase of
the table and said, "I guess I'll see you in two weeks then."

"One more thing," Stan called out, "I need the license
plate of your car. Just to make sure you're not going to get pulled for
something stupid like a suspended license or too many fucking speeding
tickets.

Then it hit me. Like a 2×4 my stupidity smacked me right in the back of
the head, I had just agreed to run drugs across country and my car was
parked in a rest stop along I-85. I've never wanted to kick myself so hard
in all of my life.

So what did you say?

I stuttered a lot. "I-I-I don't have a car right now. It's kind of,
uh, inaccessible to me right now."

Stan just jumped out of his chair and slammed his palms against the
table, "You what!?"

"I-I don't have a car, I left it at a rest area along I-85. I'm
sorry."

"And just how the fuck were you planning to run anything when you
don't have wheels?"

By this time I was really panicking. He was very pissed and that
bartender looked like he was ready to do some real damage to me "I
didn't think about that, I'm sorry!"

"Give me that suitcase back so I can find someone with brains to do
this?" he shouted.

I started looking around the room frantically trying to find a solution.
I knew I needed the job. It was my only break and without the money I was
either going to have to go back home or just straight to jail. My first
thought was to fly, but that's too much money and security is way too tight
for that. You can't just walk into an airport with a million dollars worth
of cocaine these days you know?

You'd like to think that at least.

Then the big idea hit me, "I'll take the bus," I said.

"The bus?"

"Yeah, the bus. It's perfect. It's something like two and a half
days from Atlanta to LA it shouldn't be much longer from here. That's
plenty of time, it's cheap, there's almost no security and, best of all,
cops don't pull Greyhound busses over. It's the safest way I can go."

If nothing else this got him to calm down and think, he sat back down
and started whispering with the bartender, even though I couldn't hear much
of what they were saying, they seemed to be nodding their approval. Finally
they broke apart and Stan said, "Well, I guess if you ain't got a car
then you aren't going to run off with the money," he said.

I just sort of smiled and said, "You got a point."

"It's cool by us as long as we book the tickets for you." I
just nodded my head. "Then I guess that's that. I'll call a cab and
have him take you to a hotel. If things go well, I won't see you again for
two weeks."

"Do you want me to take this with me?" I asked holding up the
suitcase.

"Take it, I don't want to see it again." I turned around and
started walking toward the door but he called back out to me before I could
leave, "One more thing, guard it with your life… literally."

Well,
one of the tips I had gotten was for a hotel with a great weekly rate
that was practically within walking distance to the airport. Sure,
they're nightly rate sucked but if you were going to stay longer than
something like four nights, you'd get off cheaper just paying for the
week and checking out early.

Anyway,
sure enough, the tip was dead on. It wasn't a chain hotel or
anything, in fact, best I could tell it was run by an elderly couple
that probably just made it to America, but it was clean, it was in a
decent part of town and it even had a few restaurants around it and
places to shop. It wasn't a Hilton, but it would work you know?

The
only downside to it was that the hotel fee was more than the cash I
had on hand, I guess I'd bought too many Cds in Nashville. I ended up
having to put it on my credit card, which I knew was a huge risk, but
I figured that since I was on the other side of the continent, by the
time I'd been tracked down, I'd be long gone. After all, what was my
wife going to do, drive to California and get me?

So
what did you do in L.A?

Not
a lot really. I think I got there late Sunday and my "appointment"
wasn't until Wednesday. I pretty much just spent my time either
eating, watching TV or sleeping. Well, I also did a fair amount of
planning about how I was going to spend the money, you know, start my
new life.

I'll
tell you, for a while there I had it all mapped out. I was going to
get a new identity, move to LA,, Miami or some other coastal town, buy
a nice house and start up a new life doing whatever I wanted. I mean,
I might take breaks to make runs like the one I was on, but that
would only be once in a while and to pay the bills. I just wanted a
good, easy, happy life away from the people I knew, the work I hated
and the world, I… I guess the world I felt trapped in.

But
anyway, to answer your question, I spent most of my time killing
time.



Well,
that is, save your little run-in.

Yeah,
well.



You
going to tell me about it or do I have to tell it for you?

No,
you'd get it wrong and I want you to hear how it really happened.

Ok.
Go ahead then.



Well,
at about 3 o'clock Friday, afternoon for the record, there was a
knock at my door. Thinking it was housekeeping, I answered it without
even looking through the peephole and found myself toe-to-toe with a
huge guy, something like 6'6 weighting 250 lbs., wearing khaki pants
and a bright red polo shirt. He took a look at this notepad he had in
his hand, one of those little "black books" you know, and asked
me "Are you Jake Simpson?"

Kind
of knocked back, all I said was "Huh?"

"Jake
Simpson, you him?"

At
this point, I knew something was wrong. This guy was giving me chills
he was so cold and he had that kind of energy, you know, like a
killer almost. However, the best I could do was continue to act
surprised, "Who the Hell are you talking about?"

"Jake
Simpson. You don't know anything about him?"

"No,
I don't know any Jakes, much less a Simpson," I said trying to keep
calm.

"You
sure look a lot like this picture I got of him," he said holding up
a copy of my wedding picture.

When
I saw the picture, I panicked because that was when it all added up.
My wife had tracked me here and had probably sent the police after
me. I had a million dollars worth of cocaine and my wife was going to
get me arrested for something stupid like abandonment. "I look like
every white-collar American on the planet, listen, I'm here on
vacation…"

He
interrupted me, "But his credit card was used to reserve…"

"I
don't know anything about a credit card, I paid with cash," I
shouted back.

"But
the hotel manager said…"

"Then
he got it wrong alright? Now get out of here before I call the
police!"

That
was my great desperate bluff. You see, I still thought he was the
police and I was honestly expecting him to just reach back, flash his
badge and take me away. Still though, it was the only thing I could
say to get him to back off and I was very surprised when it actually
worked. He heard the word "police" and just shut up.

Then
he made me real nervous. You see, he didn't say anything for a long,
long while. If he had just said something, anything, it would have
been better than staring up at his flaring nostrils for about five
minutes. Instead though, he just reached into his shirt pocket,
pulled out a card and handed it to me. I took a look at it and though
I can't remember the name or anything like that, I'll never forget
seeing the words "Private Investigator" written across the top of
it in big, bold letters.

"If
you see anyone named Mr. Simpson," he said, "Have him give me a
call, his wife wants to speak to him about some urgent matters."

I
just took the card and nodded. He slowly turned around and walked
away. Heading straight out into the parking lot. Me, I just shut the
door behind him and watched him from the window. He walked out to the
far side of the lot, got into his car, a blue sedan of some kind, and
moved it to a space directly across from my room where he parked and
waited. It was so flagrant! He wasn't even trying to hide what he was
doing. He just sat there in plain view, in broad daylight, letting me
know he was there.

Must
have been scary.

It
was. I knew I was in trouble right then. My first thought was to
ditch the suitcase somewhere. However, if I did that then Stan would
have me killed. Then I thought about running to the police but life
in prison didn't sound too appealing either. I felt trapped. I was
literally on the verge of just breaking down and crying. I mean, how
helpless can you feel?

What
did you do?

The
only thing I could do. I got on the phone and I got the number for
the Red Wolf Bar in Charlotte from information. There, I got the bartender and I asked
to speak to Stan. Let me tell you though, Stan wasn't too happy to
hear from me. I started out telling him that I made it to Los Angeles
ok and that everything was fine, but he kept insisting "What's
wrong? Why are you calling me?"

Eventually
I broke down and said, "Listen, I'm being watched."

"Who?
The police?" he barked back.

"No,
no cops." I said. I could hear him breathe a sigh of a relief. When
he calmed down enough I continued, "I think my wife has sent a
private eye to bring me back to Atlanta."

"Your
wife?" he asked.

"Yeah,
I kind of, you know, left my wife."

"So
did I, but she didn't sick no private dick on me."

"Yeah,
but, you see, I didn't tell her," I said as calmly as I could.

I
heard him turn his head away from the receiver on the phone and
scream "Fuck!" as loud as he could. Then he put it back up to his
ear and said, "You should have told me about this shit!"

"I
didn't think it would be a problem…"

"You
don't think!" he shouted back at me, "You just do. I do all of
the thinking for you. You got that?"

I've
never felt so small in my life, "Yes sir," I said in a pathetic,
weak voice.

"Good!
Now do you know who this guy is?"

"Yeah,
he gave me his card."

"Perfect,
give me all of the information on it. Everything, even the fax number,
and I'll handle it."

And
you did it I assume?

Yeah,
I did. I gave him every single line, even the fax number like he
asked. I didn't know what he was going to do with it; I honestly
figured he'd just pay him off or something. You know, private eyes
are for hire anyway, they work for the highest bidder, you give them
a little more cash, and they go away. Made sense to me you know?

But
that's not what happened is it?

No,
it's not. I finally got the courage three hours later to peek through
the curtain and, when I did, I saw that the car was gone. It was a
huge relief. Just envisioned that private investigator getting a call
on his cell phone offering him twice the money if he dropped the case
and him speeding off into the night. Seemed logical enough to me you
know?

I
never even considered that, well, this would happen.

And
what exactly is "this"?

The
next morning, I was woken up early by blue lights outside my window
in the parking lot. I looked out the window and saw a whole bunch of
cops around the hotel dumpster, they were pulling out a body and,
from where I was, I couldn't see the face or anything, there wasn't
much mistaking that bright red polo shirt.

So
it was him?

Yeah,
it was him. I heard about it on the morning news a few hours later
and I was just waiting, just waiting for the cops to come knocking on
my door. I mean, how suspicious can you get? Finding the body of a
private eye in the dumpster of the hotel of the guy he was tracking.
That's beyond suspicious.

The
worst part was that I couldn't leave, I had nowhere to go and all I
could do was sit there and bite my nails, waiting for the knock that
I knew would come. Again, I was trapped.

Why
didn't you just go to the police and turn yourself in?

At
that point, I felt like I'd killed him, like it was my fault you
know? Sure, I didn't know what Stan was going to do, but any idiot
could have figured it out. I mean how stupid am I really? If that
wasn't as plain as fucking day, I don't know what is.

Anyway,
I wasn't about to turn myself in but I wasn't about to run. I figured
that if the police wanted me for questioning, it'd be best to let
them come to me. After all, I didn't see anything, I didn't hear
anything, and maybe I could just go about my business and play
oblivious just a little longer.

Still
though, must have been tense.

That's
just it. Even though it was tense as Hell, this time I was too angry.
I honestly wanted to strangle Stan. I'd called him for help and what
did his guys do but make things worse. I mean, they dumped the God
dammed body in the hotel dumpster, not that I wanted him dead in the
first place. For a few thousand dollars, this guy probably could have
been on his merry fucking way and they instead decide to kill him and
leave his corpse maybe fifty yards from where I was standing. It was
like they were trying to get me arrested.

God
I could have killed him right then, I really could have?

But
what happened?

The
knock never came. I just sat there and watched the news unfold. By
something like eleven o'clock they were calling it a "drug-related
killing", whatever that means, and said they had pictures of
suspects, two black guys that looked nothing like me.

You
were off the hook.

Yeah,
as off the hook as a guy carrying a million dollars worth of cocaine
can be.

Nothing. I mean I was still scared to death. I just wanted out of California and fast. My gut was screaming at me to runaway and runaway fast. I just knew that any second the police would figure out why the private eye was really killed and come knocking on my door.

So why didn't you run?

Like I said, I was holding a million dollars worth of cocaine. I stay there I might go to prison. I leave, I' be killed for certain. Better to be judged by 12 than carried by 6, that's what my dad told me.

So, eventually Wednesday came around and then…

I made my way to the airport. Well, first I had to fight the urge to get there early, really early, and sit around in the terminal with the suitcase from Hell dangling in my fingers. Not smart. So I used what willpower I had left and I called a cab at about 4:50 pm and he dropped me off sometime around 5:10 pm in front of the terminal.

At first I was nervous that the bathroom might be past security and with all of this post Sept. 11th stuff going on, I knew I'd never make it past the screeners, much less with the guys carrying the M-16s. I mean, there was enough shit there to make a pro nervous, me, I was practically shaking.

So how did you get in?

I played it Bogart again. I got out of the cab, paid my fare and walked right into the airport, right past the reservists with the M-16, pretending like I was in a hurry for some imaginary flight. I then got inside, found the bathroom in question, went inside and locked myself in a stall.

Figured you'd be safer in there?

No, I needed to throw up. I felt more trapped then than I ever did with my wife and the game was much more serious. This wasn't about a job or a house, this was about my life. For the first time I could remember, I felt stuck, helpless and, worst of all, scared out of my mind.

But anyway, after I got out of the stall and started cleaning myself up, I glanced at my watch and noticed that it was about a minute past five-thirty and, as if on cue, someone else walked into the bathroom carrying the exact same suitcase as me.

Can you describe him?

I didn't really look at his face much. He was a big black guy, probably around 6 foot, 6 foot 2 maybe, 250 pounds or so and he was wearing a nice suit, tie and everything. Looked kind of like a bouncer you know?

Anyway, when I saw him I started running my hands under the water like I was washing them and he took the sink next to me and started doing the same. I really don't know what came over me, I guess I just started acting out a scene from a movie I saw, but something clicked and it was like I knew just what to do.

"So where you flying to?" I asked.

"New York," he said with this really gravely voice, "Going to see my family."

"You know, I thought I'd seen you in New York, what's your name?"

"Cobra," he said more softly.

I exhaled loudly, it was the right guy. I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, as far as I was concerned, all I had to do was switch bags, get the Hell out of the airport and on the first bus back to Charlotte. It was like the weight of the situation had been lifted from me you know?

"That's a nice suitcase you got there," I said as I used my foot to nudge my bag over closer to him.

"Yep," he said, sliding his bag closer to me, "Real nice. Real expensive though. Plus, if you don't read the instructions on the inside flap you might not know how to use it and wind up doing something stupid."

The tone of his voice really spoke to me there. He wasn't just making fake conversation at this point, he was giving me instructions. I didn't know what, but I knew it was important.

"I know what you mean," I said, still trying to be nonchalant. There was a long pause while I waited for him to say something else, when I was certain he had nothing left I added, "Well, it's been nice chatting, I best be on my way," as I scooped up the bag he came in with.

I turned to leave but as I stepped away he called from the sink, "Just remember, those bags are very expensive, don't let anything happen to yours, it would be a real shame if it did."

Pretty ominous, if subtle warning wasn't it?

Yeah, especially with the way he said it. It was very condescending and threatening. Right then I was more scared of him than the guys outside with the machine guns.

So what did you do now that you had the bag?

I got out of the airport as fast as I could without drawing attention. I left by a different exit so different people would see me coming and going and I hailed a taxi out front as quickly as I got to the curb. I had him take me straight to the hotel where I barricaded myself in the room for a few minutes, trying to take in what had just happened.

Must have been hard.

It was, very hard actually. I had just made a major drug deal in a major airport bathroom with army men literally twenty feet away. Pretty gutsy. But when I calmed down I realized that I needed to at least check the suitcase and see what ?Cobra? was referring to by instructions.

Now, honestly, I expected the case to be locked, I figured anyone who put three-quarters a million dollars in a suitcase would lock it, but it sprang right open when I flicked the latches, exposing the contents to me without any fight at all.

What were the contents?

Money. All denominations and in all forms imaginable. There were several packs of fresh hundreds, some loosely strewn about twenties and even a few tens and fives floating around. It wasn't neat and pretty like in the movies, but it filled up the entire suitcase, and entire suitcase filled with cold, hard, green cash.

Must have been beautiful.

It was. It was. But I was too scared to mess with it right then. Instead, I just slid my hand into the front pouch and pulled out a sheet of paper with some handwriting on it.

What did it say?

It was hard to read, it had obviously been hastily written, but it basically told me that the heat was on Stan back in Charlotte due to the Private eye and that, rather than meet him at the Red Wolf Bar I was to meet an associate of his in the men?s restroom at the Greyhound station in Charlotte. Apparently it was the same deal though, a week from that day, 5:30 pm and so on only this time I'm looking out for the name ?Gabriel?, like the angel. I would take my 75 grand and pocket it in advance, then hand him the suitcase. Pretty simple.

The funny part though was that on the back of the sheet were the instructions on how to input a combination and lock the suitcase. I don't know if that was on purpose or not, but I followed them to the letter and set the dials to triple sevens, I guess I was hoping it would bring me luck.

Sounds like luck was already on your side though, I mean, one down, one to go right?.

Yeah, that's how I saw it. Or at least that's what I was telling myself as I got my return ticket from the bus station. I honestly figured that the worst was behind me.

I guess I should have learned though, the worst is never behind you…

I don't know really, I slept through most of it, I mean, most of the time I was in California I didn't sleep a wink. After that whole ordeal with the private eye, I just sort of stayed up most of the night wringing my hands.

Magically though, as I watched the bus leave the station and eventually cross the California state line, I just felt all of the weight, the guilt, the pain, everything get lifted right off of my shoulders. The air was thinner, the sun was brighter and even though Greyhound buses aren't the safest place in the world, especially when you're carrying 750 grand in a suitcase, it still felt as secure as home ever did.

Long story short, once I watched the bus turn it's back to the California sunset and cross the state line, I nodded off and only remember bits and pieces of the rest of the trip.

Anything interesting?

Not really. The same dirty Greyhound stations, the same bad food and the same dull scenery. You know, nothing special.

So what did you do when you made it to Charlotte?

Well, since I didn't want to sit around in that California hotel room, I left right after I was done at the airport. The bus trip itself was only four and a half days and my appointment was a week from the first pickup. This meant that when I got off the bus in Charlotte, though I could literally see the bathroom where the next drop would take place, I couldn't just wait around for it. Standing around a Greyhound station for 2 days with a suitcase full of money is just begging for it to be stolen.

What I ended up doing instead was catching a cab and going to another hotel. This one just a cozy chain hotel fairly close to the station. It was a bit of a dump, but it was nice enough for a few nights and it was still within walking distance to food and such. I couldn't complain.

Oh, and for the record, this time around at the hotel, I paid cash and I used a fake name. It's amazing really, but if you pay cash and put down enough for a few nights in advance, they won't even ask to see your ID or anything. They just took me at my word you know?

Maybe you just look like an honest guy?

Doubt it. By that point I'd been sleeping in the same clothes for almost a week and I looked like I was worn down to my wits end. All I really needed was a shower and a shave though, especially the shave. Beyond that I was pretty happy though.

Anyway though, you were still set up for two more boring days in a hotel room.

Not really. I mean, there wasn't a lot to do, but I did find a small hole in the wall bar down the street from the hotel to hang out at. I just told them all I was in town for some big graphic design convention and they just kept asking me about my job, my family and my life, hanging on every word like I was some kind of idol or something. I guess the fact that most of them were stone drunk might have had something to do with that.

Anyway, I spent some time there, watched some TV, got a lot of delivery pizza and kind of made a party of it. Honestly I felt like I was celebrating my survival and my freedom and, though I was still kind of lost and unsure about what to do, I made the most of it this go around.

Still, the honeymoon had to come to an end right?

Yeah, it did. Wednesday came around and it was time to take care of business. I walked to the bus station, it was about four blocks away, and ended up waiting nervously in the lobby for about twenty minutes while I watched the clock, praying and praying for 5:30 to come early.

Well, it didn't come early, but when the clock did finally read a few minutes before 5:30, I made my way into the bathroom and immediately choked back vomit.

Your nerves finally catch up with you?

No, the bathroom. My God. In college I used to hang out in bars and clubs all the time, I've seen my share of disgusting bathrooms. Hell, to be honest, I've thrown up in a few. But this was wretched. The smell alone was enough to make me gag and somewhere between the holes in the wall and the bad lighting, it was almost too much to take.

And the weird thing there was that the rest of the station was actually pretty nice. I mean, well-lit, fairly clean, you know, not bad for a bus station. It was like night and day, or something like that at least.

Anyway, I started breathing through my mouth and went over to the sink to start washing my hands. Unfortunately though, I wound up standing there for at least a good five minutes running my hands under the water. This guy was obviously late and if anyone walked in they'd probably think I had a disorder or something. I was literally washing my hands that long.

However, he did eventually come in, about 5:35 on my watch, and he followed suit, washing his hands in the sink next to me.

So what did this one look like?

He was different from the guy in California. The other guy was big and dressed nice. This guy was a smaller white guy with a goatee and long hair wearing khakis and a polo shirt. Looked kind of like a yuppie blues player or something. Same as last time though though, I probably couldn't draw you much of a picture of him. It wasn't his face I was interested in, just his name.

Well, he pulled up next to me and almost immediately started talking, "Hey, haven't I seen you around here before?"

"Probably not," I said pretending to focus on my hands, "I'm just passing through."

"Come on, what's your name?" he asked.

I didn't know how to answer really. I wasn't given instructions on what to call myself but since I figured "Gabriel" probably wasn't his real name, I could lie too, "Daniel," I said.

"Cool," he said, "My name is Duma."

I almost froze. He was the only guy in the bathroom, he was playing the game, but the name was wrong. I tried to keep my cool, but I know that he could see the terror in my eyes, "Duma, huh, like the angel of, um, silence isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, puzzled, "You know your stuff don't you."

"Yeah, I've done some studying," I said turning off the water, "Well, I need to be going. I've got a ride to catch. I'll talk to you later though."

He went to speak to me again, but I just walked right past him and out the bathroom door. From there, I hurried across the lobby and, when I got outside of the station, I just broke out in a dead run. I mean, I'm not in any real shape or anything, but I ran, just ran all the way to the hotel.

You were that scared?

Yeah, I was. I got to the room, I threw open the door, dashed inside, shut it, locked it and leaned my body up against it like someone was going to break it down. I was just freaking out. I was seriously losing it.

I was there, alone, in Charlotte with three-quarters a million dollars in drug money on my person and no way to get rid of it. I'd never seen so much money in my life and it was amazing how eager I was to give it away.

So what did you do?

I paced the room and tried to think about what I wanted to do. You know, try to collect myself. I thought first about going to the Red Wolf bar and seeing if I could get in touch someone there, but I knew the cops would be there waiting on me. I then thought about going back to the bus station, but I figured that guy was probably a cop as well and that they'd be waiting on me there, besides, without knowing what this Gabriel guy looked like, I'd never be able to pick him out and he probably wouldn't be able to pick me out either.

So, all I really did know was that I was a sitting duck where I was. A hotel room with one door was not a smart place to hide out at. I needed to move. So, I basically started planning my escape.

I dashed to the nightstand and ripped open the phonebook. I knew that I had at least 75 thousand that I could use in order to get away, more if things became real ugly.

What was your plan?

First I wanted to go by bus again. But I realized that that would make me go back to the station where I envisioned swarms cops waiting on me. Flying was out of the question thanks to airport security and I didn't know enough about trains to make a call there. Besides, there you have the problem with waiting at the station again. Not a smart place to be.

So, what I eventually settled on was the idea of dipping into my funds and buying a cheap used car, you know, hopefully find a crooked car salesman where if you paid cash he'd look the other way type of thing. Figured it couldn't be too hard and it didn't have to last long, just enough to get me out of town.

Anyway, I had just about finished finding a car dealer when a knock came at the door. I almost completely froze. I was literally shaking as I set down the phone book and walked over to the door.

I looked through the peephole and I saw a guy that looked a lot like the one I'd seen at the bus station just awhile before. You know, long hair, goatee and all of that.

Frightened, I shouted, "Who is it?" through the door.

"It's Gabriel," he replied, "Open up!"

I exhaled so hard I though my lungs were going to collapse. I threw off the chain, undid the deadbolt and opened the door as fast as my nervous hands could move. When I got it open though, there he was, looking almost exactly like the first guy, just a little taller and with different eyes if that makes any sense.

Somehow though, I just knew that this guy was the real deal. He even acted more authentic, especially when he barged in the room and shut the door behind him without saying a word to me. Oddly enough, his rudeness was comforting, it just seemd more real I guess.

Well, he came in, checked the room quickly and switched off the lights, letting the room only be lit by the sun coming through the partially closed blinds. Beautiful sunset that day by the way.

When he was satisfied, he looked at me long and hard and said, "Ok, you didn't give the suitcase to the guy in the bus station did you?"

"No," I said pointing to the case on the bed.

"Good," he said as he dashed over to the bed and began to pick up the suitcase. I told him the combination to the lock and he threw it open.

"Have you taken your cut yet?" he asked.

I shook my head no, "I put it back after the bus station."

He started counting quickly and laid a pile of money on the bed. "Here's a hundred thousand, consider the extra twenty five grand a bonus for not screwing this up."

I walked over and sat on the bed where I started counting the money, "Thank you, but what the Hell is going on?"

"Bad shit man, bad shit. You know that private dick in L.A.? Well, Stan paid off some gang there to take him out. The dumbasses got caught, screwing up an easy as Hell job."

"I saw that on the news, they called it a gang shooting," I said trying to relax.

"Yeah, well, it was. That is, until those dipshits started talking. They told the police everything to save their own skin. Now their gang is pissed at us because two of their guys are in jail and the cops are after both of us."

"Shit, that is bad," I said, "Which gang was it though?" I asked knowing full and well I wouldn't recognize the name.

"Some hispanic gang, Los something or another. I don't remember Stan told me."

"So where is Stan now?"

"Stan, he's out on bail, hiding out. They arrested him on some bullshit charges. Got me too though. I just got out myself a few hours ago. That's why I missed our little appointment."

Suddenly I started realizing how serious this all was. Sure, it was Stan and them that were being arrested and shot at, but I was now a drug runner too, this could fall on me as well. "So, is any of this going to stick?"

"Not likely," Gabriel said, "Cops don't got any evidence but the weak confessions of two scared young gangster punks. They can't get him, not with his lawyers."

"That's good to hear," I muttered. For his part though, he just ignored my comment and kept counting.

On an on he went until he blurted out, "It's too dark in here, turn on the fucking light so I can finish this and get lost."

I obliged without saying a word and he wrapped up the last few stacks of bills in a hurry.

"Well, it's all here man. You're about fifty bucks short but right now I don't think anyone will care," he said standing up by the bed," just be sure to take your cut and get the Hell out of town. Where you go ain't my problem, but get lost and quick. Stan might call you when things cool down."

I nodded my approval and extended my hand to shake his hand. He met me with a firm grip and I said, "It was real nice to see you."

"Nice doing business with you too," he replied.

I turned to open the door but, just as my fingers touched the knob, I heard a muffled explosion. Though I didn't recognize what it was or where it came from, it was immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass and a loud, but dull thud.

I turned around just in time to Gabriel, his eyes already lifeless, fall straight to the ground like a bag of rocks.

I'll tell you, I've seen dead people before, I've been to funerals and such, but I'd never seen anyone die right in front of me and it was scary. I mean, he was obviously dead before he hit the ground. He didn't rattle, no blood spurted out of him or anything for that matter. None of the stuff you read about. The only thing I saw when he hit the ground was a deep dark red hole in his head that was kind of oozing this really dark blood out of it. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

I stood there in awe for a second, too stunned to even think about own safety you know? I knew he'd been shot, I knew I should take cover, but I just couldn't move.

I know I wasn't there long though, it sure seemed like an eternity. I snapped out of my trance when someone outside shouted, "That's Los Gorilas motherfucker! Los Gorilas!"

I knew then I was in deep shit.