The Right Decision

The Right Decision

The loud music was pulsating throughout the entirety of the club, encouraging both men and women, often more drunk than not, to waste their money and have a good time. It wasn't often I found myself in one, but whenever I was, it was for business and not for leisure purposes. Tonight was no different, and was perhaps finally my chance to make it big.

I worked in a business few would ever dare to enter, one that took years of perfecting, years of being careful, and even more than that to train myself for its many hardships. It’s a job that allows me to learn many new things every day, good or bad. To be honest, there are times in which I doubt my career decisions, but it probably was for the best I ended up doing what I did. It’s not every day you’re offered a chance at making millions, right? And with millions of dollars on the damn table, who the hell would throw all of that away to live in some godforsaken cubicle day after day typing transaction statements into a computer? I sure as hell wouldn't.

What did I do for a living, though? It wasn't legal, that’s for sure. My occupation ranged from hit-man, to armed robber, to gunman, to even drug slinging. The latter of which, I found myself doing more often than anything else. It was dangerous, it was a real test on your inner morals, but the thrill of it was sure as fuck worth it. I started hanging around with these guys when I was younger, and slowly got myself into the criminal world few even realize exists.

There used to be a time, when I was younger, that I wanted out of it, but those days are long gone. All there is now, is my burning passion for the business. But, back to the matters at hand. Tonight, I was there to unload some product to a couple distributors in town, and was seeming to be going to plan.

At around ten twenty five, we all went outside and started unloading our car into the street dealer’s back seat. “You've got three weeks to bring us the money, Stan. You know how the boss is about payments and fees, don’t want to piss him off again or finding a new job will be the least of your worries,” I said, trying to intimidate him. His face went red, which was barely noticeable, given the lighting and the bandanna he was using to conceal his face.

That’s how you make sure they don’t dick around with the product, though. You tell em whose boss right from the start, fear just so happens to be an excellent motivator. I gave a sharp laugh, probably drawing the attention of some of the drunks leaving the club, but I didn’t care. I’ve gotten to that point in my career where everyone happens to be fully aware of what I do, but’s too afraid of me to do anything about it. Be it the cops, or anyone else.

Reaching into my jacket, I grabbed a cigar, put it into my mouth, and carefully lit it. It’s a real stress reliever, and makes me feel better than you could possibly imagine. To make matters even better, it happened to be Cuban, making for a wonderful cigar. Stan obviously wasn't a fan of smoking, he scrunched his face up, leaving his face in a huge disgusted expression. I laughed a little, finding how naive he was to be rather humorous.

It got quiet, really quiet, which made me uncomfortable. “Hey, Stan, mind hurrying this up?” I asked, trying not to give away my nervousness. He seemed to get even more unnerved by the question and slowed down even more. I imagine it was just to piss me off, too. Guy wasn't my type of person, and he made it very, very obvious I wasn't his, either. 

The club was still going crazy around the time he had finished, and some guys, who I imagined were going to some kind of Halloween party walked to their car, which looked about as shitty as their costumes looked over used. They were all dressed in black, one of them wearing one that resembled Ghost Face from scream, one of them wearing some kind of mask you’d expect from a metal band, and the last one wearing some kind of gas mask. I laughed at them, pretty hard, actually. They just seemed so… out of place from everyone else, and who wears costumes like that to a dance club, anyways?

They obviously had noticed me, and the one with the ghost mask turned his hand and tilted it. He was clearly trying to intimidate me, and get me to leave them alone. Fearing my natural good looks, I suppose. “Can I help you?” I asked, with a stern voice. He just stared at me, and when it was obvious he wasn't going to respond, Stan got out of the car and stopped stuffing the cocaine in the floorboard of his car.

I felt threatened, which was really odd for my I don’t give a shit attitude, but I did. I ended up walking over there, raising my arms in anger, and began to yell at him, telling him how stupid he looked, and that he was dead weight compared to my importance... and he just… stood there.

He sighed, and with a deep, calm voice, told me to: “Load all of the cocaine into their vehicle. It caught me totally off guard, and my jaw kind of dropped. I started to reach for my gun, when I realized, his friends, had already encircled Stan and I. We were pretty screwed and had no other choice to comply, unless we wanted to live, of course.

It was a lot faster when the two of us worked together, Stan and I probably stuffed the five pounds of coke into their car in about 15 minutes. I was pissed, though, and looked for any opportunity, even the tiniest one, to turn the situation around, but there wasn’t one. The guys just sat and watched, one of them holding an assault rifle of some sort, which I imagine he got out of the car, and another with some kind of automatic pistol. As for the guy in the ghost mask, he hadn’t even moved. The guy was still there, just staring at me.

After we finished, he pulled out a small pistol, and pointed to the inside of the car. “Get in,” he said, and we listened. I knew it was dangerous, and I told you all of that before, but I’d never been in this kind of situation before. What was I supposed to do, get up and fight them? I knew they were going to kill us, it’d only be a matter of time.

Only, it didn't. They pulled the car to a stop in front of the bridge, and gave both of us two choices. They’d shoot us, and let us jump in the river for a chance to live, or we could sling coke for them. Stan being the nervous prick he was, immediately agreed, but me, I wasn't so sure. They all stared at me, and I could feel the beads of sweat dripping down my forehead.

They made me feel afraid, afraid of myself, afraid of them, afraid of death. Fear is a great motivator, as I had said before, and I could feel it in my chest, which got heavier and heavier every damn moment. I wanted the money, the fame, and a chance at owning the city… and I sure as hell didn’t want to die, so what else could I do? I said yes. What would you have done?