rewrite:blood-ch5

Chapter 5

Carletta was in front of me, and she had a man wearing a mask standing behind her, holding a shotgun. When I looked up, the man said “where’s my money.”

“What money? Who are you?”

“You owe me, because you were supposed to sell the coke. Give me the goddamn money.”

Okay, he had a gun, the room was small, and he wanted money. I knew his name. Gabriel Gonzales. He was my boss in albuquerque. I sold Coke for him. When I didn’t sell coke, he would kill someone. So, I sold the coke. But I didn’t this time. I was going to leave. I was going to tell him. He was distant, and high constantly. I didn’t. Big mistake.

“Fine.” he said, disappointed as he pressed the gun to the side of Carletta’s skull, and pulled the trigger, killing her.

“Dude, what the shit!”

“Give me that money, man.”

“Okay, shit.”

He kicked me out, and I ran back over to my house, where James and the white kid were waiting for me. “It’s going down.” I exclaimed as I walked in. they knew just what it meant, and they both stood up and grabbed all the guns we owned.

Which was four.

One 44 revolver, one Uzi, one Hunting rifle, one Glock. That’s all we needed. James was the gang banger. He got the Uzi. I was slow and careful. I got the revolver. The white kid was a sharp shooter. He got the Hunting rifle and the Glock if things got hairy too close by.

Together we were the three assholes who were going to kill other assholes because we owed them money.

The Hunting rifle was silenced. It wouldn’t make a sound. The other guns weren’t. So we needed to kill as many as we could and get out of there within 18 minutes. We timed it. That’s how long it takes the cops to get there.

We all got ready. Loaded clips. Punched each other in the stomach. The usual stuff. When we got there, the people inside were all getting ready to come over to our house for the money.

James took point, I was behind. The white kid was 500 yards away. It was fixing to be a great day.

James kicked open the door, allowing it to swing halfway open before he swept the room. One full clip and three people were hit hard enough they were down. Next was me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. everybody else was dead. Next room was more of the same. Bang bang, you’re dead. The white kid shot the boss as he shot me in the arm. When we got home, we picked at my wound and tried to fix it. We really didn’t.

“Well shit. Do you think we’ll get away with it?” asked James. He was scared, which makes sense. We had just killed a lot of people.

My wound starting hurting more and more as the adrenaline calmed down. “Yeah. according to this city, we have never done anything wrong. We’re model citizens.”

That night, I slept sweeter than usual. On the chair next to the door. Drunk off of whiskey, high off weed, I went to bed like a baby.