well, i'm a shock trooper in a stupor, yes i am. i'm a nazi shazi, y'know i fight for the fatherland. little german boy, bein' pushed around. little german boy, in a german town. today your love, tomorrow the world. today your love, tomorrow the world. "give us the fucking bags!" emily was shouting at the bloodied figure lying below her steady .45. his hands shook violently as he emptied his pockets to reveal a few joints of pre-rolled grass, a gold zippo, and the shining loot; four large bricks of snowy white powder. i saw him pull back as if to spit on her and delivered a finishing kick to his jaw, the phlegm changing its direction and landing upon the couch to his right. "good job, baby!" she cooed in a childlike voice, a shining smile spreading across her golden face, "i think he's still breathing, though. let's split!" we threw the stash into a knapsack and i wrapped my free arm around her, the other hand holding my sawed-off. i smelled the herbal smoke of the spliff and turned to see emily lighting it, saying from the side of her mouth, "shmuck or not, he had pretty decent pot. not a bad roll, either." she exhaled toward me and i pressed against her lips, recycling the smoke. we walked nonchalantly from the robbery with large smiles and full pockets. "how about chinese?" she suggested, hopping into the passenger seat of our Ford. "i honestly don't give a fuck. let's do a line." i replied. she nodded and pulled a mirror from the glove compartment (a convienent thing to keep around for the mobile drug user) and poured two large, white gaggers onto the surface. the smooth burn settled my nerves and numbed my face instantly. "mickey always had the best blow in town. this isn't bad, though." i said, choking a cough. mickey was our first true dealer. he was busted the spring before and skipped bail. no one'd seen him since. i heard he made it to mexico, lived on the beach for a while. i hope he did. i floored betty down the main strip of town as emily lit us both a Red. betty was our mustang- sleek, black- stolen the night emily and i'd met. she became our getaway car instantly. a bonnie and clyde-esque cataclysmic relationship, betty was the only other member of our gang, and we treated her as such. all monetary profit acquired with her assistance was split into thirds, betty's cut going to her upkeep and improvement. never any exterior upgrades, though (excluding the constant repainting and bullethole repair necessary in this line of work) so as to stay as low-key as possible. with no money thwarted on the flashiness of her exterior, betty's engine was that of auto-trader wet dreams. without her, emily and i's
relationship and freedom would have found themselves compromised long before they truly began. after ordering out, we finished around an eightball and took off for the night, shooting across the room as falling stars soaking every last drop of existence there was to be had before the inevitable snuffing out of our light. the doorbell rang as we danced, naked and happy, to the ramones- as we so often did on those long, coked out nights; drinking heavily and talking wildly. emily answered the door wearing her ray bans and a smile. "saaaam! we got a load in tonight, so a certain delivery boy shall find himself with quite the wonderful tip!" she shouted much too loud as sam- our regular delivery boy and around as trustworthy a friend as thieving drug fiends such as ourselves could have. "right on. just give me a line or two." sam muttered, darting his head in both directions before entering. i had exited the room and re-entered in a smoking jacket and ripped jeans. "how's marie?" i asked, tossing a large bag of blow onto the table. marie was sam's wife. we'd met them after several deliveries caused by our cottonmouth and sam's commenting on the wafting of herbal smoke from our apartment. we offered him a joint and the rest, i suppose, is history. sam and marie were a solid double-date. where other couples had rummy on wednesdays or caught a movie on fridays, we indulged in hallucinogenic mondays or barbituate thursdays. opium, molly, lucy, benny, barbies, uppers, downers: we had 'em all. they were never to accompany emily and i on the adventurous aquisition of the substances, however. we weren't exactly keen on others joining our ranks, friends or not. i'm not sure they would have gone along if we'd asked, anyway. robbery was me and emily's thing. half an hour and two grams of our finest later, sam had overstayed his 'few lines' and rushed back to work. "finally," emily said, closing the door behind him, "being naked is a bit of a hassle when a third party is present." i feel i should share that emily's philosophy has always been 'when there's powder, no one in the world minds if you're naked.' i stared, smiling, across the room at my majestic brunette. she lept onto the couch and began a sort of rendition of the twist as she shouted at the ceiling "TODAY YOUR LOOOVE, TOMORROW THE WORLD! TODAY YOUR LOVE, TOMORROW THE WOOORLD!" then lept into my arms, wrapping her smooth, bare legs around my waist. and so the night began.... hours passed- fast as a subway- as we slammed walls, ripped rugs, cleared tables, and explored our apartment from completely new angles; stopping only to kill more powder. i've never experienced nights of passion as the ones that i spent with emily. she was the living end. my only powderfacing, dealer-robbing, car-boosting, raucous love-making partner in crime. my ole lady.
the following night came upon us quickly with very little planning. "the best part is that he's a fucking hippie, so he doesn't believe in guns!" sam had screamed, blown out of his mind, the evening before, "can you believe it!? a powderslinging hippie! what the fuck is this world coming to?" i kicked in the door of the address sam gave me. it was relieving to finally get through the entrance after waiting three hours in a vacant parking lot for the son of a bitch to come home and assure that he did, in fact, reside where sam said. i was taking no chance on breaking into an empty townhouse in the middle of new york city with emily at my side. the sea of tangled, filthy hair that greeted us on the couch opposite the doorway was overwhelming through the slits in my ski mask. emily pulled her mask up and gave me a sly smile. "junkies make it too fucking easy." she said, opening the closet directly to our left. we laughed and carried on loudly, grabbing everything we could from the two comatosed freaks lying on the couch, one with a needle still kissing a small puncture in his skin. "holy shit! tommy, you gotta look at this!" emily began, but my eye had already been caught. jaws ajar, we stared in awe at seventeen bricks of shining white alaska in the closet neatly stacked atop one another. "no. fucking. way!" she screamed, "help me get these to betty!" "i got it, baby. back her up to the door." she took the keys and skipped off gleefully, shouting something along the lines of "i'm never sleeping agaaaain!" in a sing-song fashion. i scanned the room for anything else of value, swiping a matching american flag bass guitar and roach clip set, three large bottles of champagne, a large boombox, around four ounces- give or take- of what looked to be panama red, two packs of cigarettes, a full sized poster of jerry garcia, and a beaten up cowboy hat. betty roared from outside and emily backed her to the front door in an impressively quick fashion, trunk already popped. my little getaway driver. "good God, i love champagne and cocaine! how fucking classy do you feel right now!?" i screamed at emily, my voice unintentionally rising from excitement, bliss, and, truthfully, a righteous powder high. we were back at our apartment within minutes; walls decked with posters and show flyers, floor scattered here and there with light powder. all of this was accented nicely, i thought, by my typewriter lying in the corner under a large portrait of hendrix and his flaming guitar, along with emily's across the room. hers sat atop a desk covered in pictures of bob dylan, cigarette butts and empty cups of coffee. the desk sat in front of a large window that looked out over new york. the city gave her such inspiration, such frantic fanatacism. emily strolled around
the living room donning a sleek, black dress trimmed with a silver lining that caressed her every curve. i had changed into an armani suit that matched her dress shade for shade. "what in the hell are we going to do with seventeen kilos? we haven't even finished the shit from last night!" emily said into my chest as she curled onto me while i lay outstretched on the balcony. "i'll tell you what we're gonna do. i'm going to pour us each a glass of scotch, light us both a cigar, and we're going to stare into our city and be happy. and that was that. we fell asleep on the balcony, empty bottle of scotch at our side, cigars butted out. this was not before a shining moment of satisfaction fell upon me: blowing smoke rings around the moon as i held a warm, beautiful brunette sleeping on my chest. that was the beginning of the end. the next morning, i awoke to find emily's face saddened. "s'rong, doll?" i asked, kissing her good morning. "i dunno. something feels.....different. i think we should stay in tonight." she stated ominously. "we got more powder than half the city combined, doll. we don't have much reason to leave the apartment." i assured her. "good." emily poured a mug of coffee for us as i poured two large, white mountains on the table; our morning ritual. my nose hardly numbed as i faced a line longer than the legally lethal dose. the next one hit me hard, though, and i screamed for emily to kiss me. with good blow, kissing was a bizarre encounter. eyes closed and face numb, it feels as though nothing is happening. yet, opening your eyes, you find yourself in an embrace with a woman that you don't truly deserve. it was an odd sensation indeed. sam and marie arrived after a call from emily while i finished my coffee and found more scotch. seventeen fucking kilos!? are you shitting me!?" sam screamed, "that's gotta be your biggest pull yet, right?" i smiled and shook my head in reply. marie and emily talked fervently across the room- as is common for women and those high on cocaine, of which they were both. sam and i talked quite a bit ourselves. nothing much of true importance, and nothing at all of even the slightest rememberance, but a good talk nonetheless. the day turned to night and drifted into early morning. sam left with marie at dawn after a blizzardous evening of powder, the sunrise catching our attention, reminding us of time. "bed?" emily breathed onto my neck when they left. "bed." i whispered, then carried her to our room. i could see from the light outside that it was well into the afternoon when i finally peeled open my eyes the following day. emily's place in bed was empty, and i arose to find her, stark naked, playing long, sorrowful hank
senior records. the look in her eye was irrevocably detrimental to my morale. "i'm tired of powder." emily stated simply, "i want something else. something more satisfying. every fucking line of this shit, you want more. none of it even fucking feels good. none of it!" "i thought for a moment, agreeing internally, then replied, "ecstasy?" she slipped on a flannel and shorts and i grabbed my backpack, concealing my sawed-off, then out we went to cleanse a city of its sleeze. "what kind of rolls would you like, love?" i asked as i revved betty in the parking garage, "blue dolphins, green clovers, yellow wildcats, red dogbones or white lightning bolts?" "dolphins, of course. you know how i love dolphins." she said, attempting to talk over the beach boys as they blasted from the radio. i couldn't help but smile as i watched her make waves with her hand outside the window, knowing we were breaking the monotonous string of powder that we'd found ourselves indulged in for so long. it was a moment that climaxed with that smile. the powder appeared in my head again shortly after, and i was pulled back into an irritability that could only be solved by the high i received as a youth, my first encounters with the glistening white powder. i wanted that back. looking at her again, i felt remorse. not for myself- contempt was what i mainly felt for myself- but for getting her so far into such a devilish snare. however, we were in it together. and there are much, much worse things to be than caught in a bad spot with the girl you love at your side. we called a dealer we'd become acquainted with a few weeks prior and arranged to meet at a shitty, rundown apartment located on the sixth floor of a shitty, rundown apartment complex. the stench of urine, thinly veiled by stale cigarette smoke built up over the years, overwhelmed me immediately as we stepped into the elevator. "we absolutely must get a place her, thomas." emily droned in a snobbish drawl, "i hear it is simply lovely in the fall." "oh, of course, darling. imagine the ecclectic mix of junkies, winos and prostitutes we'll be rubbing elbows with. i'll be sure to ask our drug-slinging acquaintance the cost of rent." i was cut off by an unsettling lurch and buzz from the elevator signaling our arrival on the sixth floor. emily knocked politely under a room number that hung shakily from a crooked nail and the door instantly jerked to the end of the chain lock's reach on the other side, slammed, then reopened with a slightly larger gap. a scrawny, balding figure greeted us with a puff of cheap smoke into our faces, sunken eyes and cracked lips truly accenting the vibe of it all. perhaps it was my imagination
running away with me, but i could have sworn the character was drooling. a bum like this made me feel decent about my job. "get on the fucking ground, bitch!" i bellowed, sliding my shotgun from the backpack and cocking it in a smooth, swift motion. i really felt like a professional at times like these. "MOTHERFU-" he was cut off by emily's cool .45 jamming into his mouth with devastating force that appeared to break at least one of the creep's rotted teeth. "alrighty, we can knock you out, clean out your supply, take your cash, and come back again for much, much morereally, we can." she spat, always the smooth talker, in such an angelically cool voice that i truly forced my mind from arousal, "however, we don't need the cash and we don't care much at all for the bullshit you pusheverything but the x, that is. thirty hits, and you'll never see us again. anything less and your morning's ending very roughly." "honestly, buddy, i don't care either way. you look like a fucking tweaker. she and i don't much like tweakers at all, hate 'em, really. my girl, here, she's a nice kid, just wants to rob you. myself? i'd like to see just how much your landlord cares for this wallpaper. enough to scrub for hours to get the stain from your scattered fucking membrane to fade? personally, i think he'd burn it off, maybe burn the whole place. can't imagine anybody'd want to rent an apartment that smelled like meth with blood stains on the wall and your piss stain on the floor- yeah, we noticed." at this, i saw emily glance down and stifle a laugh as she saw the pool of urine gathering at his left foot. apparently she had not noticed, "so what's it gonna be, bitch?" emily pulled the hammer of her pistol with her thumb to imply the end of our speech, and it worked nicely enough, it seemed. i removed his belt and strapped his arms around the radiator across the room before leaving with forty-four hits of triple stack blue dolphins, slamming the door behind us. emily and i chose the stairs for departure, taking them four at a time, rushing toward betty in a state of euphoria. "fuck, man! we've never done that shit in broad daylight before! did you see that little tweakers face whe-FUCK!" emily screamed as a pig flashed his lights and floored behind us. "don't sweat it, babydoll. there is no way in the world a drug dealer would call the pigs, he'd be fucked himself." i said, hoping to God i was right. as it turned out, i was not. a "routine stop" quickly proceeded to, "could you please step out of the car, sir?" at this, i slid the gun from the backpack that lay between emily's legs and jammed it into his face, squeezing the trigger before his hand and holstered touched. watching what was left of him fall to
the ground beside betty, we surged forward in escape. another car, however, was on us instantly. "sunnavabitch! sunnavafuckingbitch!" was a frequent shout flying from both emily's and my own mouth over the din of the ramones- now blasting- betty's engine- now roaringand emily's pistol- now glistening red as she fired repeatedly. three pigs lined the chase behind us, gaining with every second that passed. we screeched around corners at speeds unthinkable in stock engines, flying through traffic, turning and twisting in as many random directions as physically possible; nothing shook the pigs for longer than a few moments. shots roared from both sides, bringing the intensity to immense proportions. "got another one!" emily screamed, and i watched as a cruiser swirved onto the curb and slammed, headfirst, into a building in our rearview. "holy shit, that was cool! tommy, did you see that guy!?" i smiled and nodded, thinking of our getaway so near at hand. "nice shootin', tex!" an image of emily on the beach in mexico was torn from my mind by a piercing scream. blood dripped from a source on emily's chest that was covered by her hand. her eyes widened in despair and another shot rang through the vehicle. a rush of fire raced down my spine as the bullet tore through my back and into the dashboard. my hands slipped from the wheel, and betty swirved dangerously into the adjacent lane. a resounding crash erupted in my ear, echoing repeatedly. as if our final moments were being closely directed by a cynical director, time slowed to a near stop. i watched myself and emily rolling through the air before slamming into opposite ends of betty's interior, then bursting through in a gushing flood of deep red. and there we lay, paralyzed in the streets, lights flashing from every direction, deafening sirens blaring. over all of it, though, perhaps completely in my mind, i distinctly heard the ramones playing. i closed my eyes before the ambulance arrived to pronounce the death that epitomized the final, climactic moments of our love affairjoey ramone crooning in the distance all the while. and we were gone. well, i'm a shock trooper in a stupor, yes i am. i'm a nazi shazi, y'know i fight for the fatherland. little german boy, bein' pushed around. little german boy, in a german town. today your love, tomorrow the world. today your love, tomorrow the world.
Published on Jun 4, 2013
a romance fueled by cocaine and a deliberate disdain for the authoratative pusher/customer relationship. numbed lips pressed together as bul...