Four Days On a Trail of Tears
Day 3 -- Dealer

M. Stanley Bubien

The Mexican sat bolt upright when my housemate walked in.

"Hey," I greeted John. Lifting my face from the mirror, I waved the rolled-up fifty at the Mexican and continued our conversation. "You like it, so let's talk money." I unveiled my stash.

The Mexican remained silent, scowling in John's direction.

"Him?" I asked, pointing the fifty at John. "He's harmless. Doesn't even touch the stuff."

The Mexican grunted, "No deal. No. He no aqui."

"C'mon," I said. "He knows he doesn't get a cut. No profit. No coke. Just a break in the rent."

"I don't care what you guys do," John confirmed. "I only live here."

The Mexican addressed him with the same scowl, "Jew know. He go down, you go down. Even'f jew no done no thin'."

"Look," John told him. "Just do what you're here to do and leave me out of it."

Hand in jacket, the Mexican replied in perfect English, "I can't do that." With those words, he pulled a gun and yelled, "You're both under arrest." Our door exploded and in an instant we were surrounded by cops and guns.

They'd hauled John away before the Mexican spoke to me again. "I tried to warn your friend," he said. "If he'd left, the courts'd be more lenient. Now I'm gonna have to tell them he was aiding and abetting a felon."

He scowled hard and shook his head. "A pretty high price he's paying for you."

All I could do was stare at his back as he walked away.

Based on a true story.
Read Day 4

Copyright ©1996 M. Stanley Bubien. All Rights Reserved.

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September, 1996 Issue #6

Four Days

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