June 8…

Shiv’s car was an older model Cadillac. It was painted shiny black with silver rims. We rolled through the streets listening to the sexual rhythms of hip-hop. We talked about nothing important, just life, love, and the street. After I had met him that one night in the ghetto-mart we had become friends. Together, we cruised the street, down the dirty alleys that sprang from High Street. He understood that violence was part of life. I was just beginning to realize the reality that he lived in.

As we rolled, I took note of the scenes that passes outside the window. College students were running off to class or back home, completely self absorbed. Me and Shiv went past them, laughing at their idiocy. I can’t explain what made Shiv different, as words won’t do the subject justice. All I can say is that his world was separate from the mainstream. He was a drug dealer, a part time pimp, and a gun for higher. His overly muscled body reminded me of the violence he was capable of.

A group of students were playing a drunken form of baseball by batting empty beer cans. Each thwack of the Louisville sent a projectile off in a random direction. It was dumb luck that one of the cans hit Shiv’s caddy. Shiv showed no emotion, he just brought the car to a slow stop. He slowly walked up to the students without saying a word. He stared down the one with the bat, and then with an explosion of movement grabbed the bat. He beat the kid bloody. He did it quickly and efficiently without ever betraying any emotion. When he was done, he calmly got back into the car and resumed our conversation.

The strangeness of that event stayed in my mind all day. Even after Shiv and I finally ceased our cruising later that afternoon, I could not forget it. Life was on the razor’s edge that day. Everything felt dirty and cheap. It was like I had a knife to my throat for the past 22 years and just now realized it. With one flick of an unseen wrist and the sick sad dream I called life would have been over. There was liberation in those moments. Tomorrow wasn’t going to happen; today was all there was. Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness didn’t mean shit.

It was with that mindset that I agreed to the job. Shiv had never talked about work before, much less offered me anything to do. However, he shot one out to left field that day and I caught it. Shiv laid the plan out nice and simple. I would pick up a backpack off him later that day filled with god knows what. Then I would walk down to Joe’s Dinner and leave the pack with a man called Smiley. Who would in turn give me another, identical backpack filled with once again god knows what and I’d then return to Shiv. For my trouble I’d make a quick two hundred. I like easy money.

The plan went off without a hitch. Smiley was where he said he would be and the backpacks were identical. By 7pm I was counting my money. One hour of skullduggery had paid more than most jobs paid in a week. Shiv shook my hand and thanked me for “doin’ it right”. What do I know about right and wrong? I just do what I do.

For the past few days I’ve been doing these ‘pack runs’. I don’t ask no questions and I make a cool two hundred. I bet I’m carrying around drugs, but I don’t know. I haven’t worked up the courage to look. The backpacks don’t feel too heavy so I’m not sure. The funny thing is that each time the pack that Shiv gives me seems to be lighter. While Smiley seems to be giving me heavier loads each run. I’m going to look into it tomorrow.