New apartment. New drug den. New drugs to sell. All free, courtesy of the late Nikki (dealer set on taking over the drug business after Si got killed).
No friggin' customers.
No Gemme, either. She left kinda sharpish and I wonder if I pissed her off somehow.
With a sigh, I flop back on the sofa, light up a cigarette and keep my mind blank, just staring at the ceiling.
Nikki's phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket, wondering who was trying to call him. The number's set to private. So I ignore it.
But they keep ringing. I flick my burning cigarette butt into the sink in the open-plan kitchen, guiding it without even looking as I answer the persistent caller.
"Hello?" I ask in a bored voice. I can't really be bothered. I was in my blank mind space, and this person is insisting on putting me in a bad mood.
"You better have that money, Nikki," a deep voice growls down the phone. Ooh, Nikki was in trouble. Guess I solved all his problems when I killed him, eh?
"What money?" I query, feeling a small smile tug at my lips.
"Don't play dumb, Nikki, it'll only get you in more trouble." The voice snaps. "You owe me a lot, so you better have gotten it by tonight."
"I'm not Nikki," I say when he's done ranting about how he's owed all this money. There's a silence, followed by the kind of heavy breathing that only a really annoyed fat dude can do.
"Who are you then? How'd you get Nikki's phone?" the guy yells, and I wonder briefly if I'm pissing off the very dealer I was going to buy from in the first place. Who cares? I consider my answer for a moment.
"You're not the only person Nikki pissed off," I say slowly and clearly making sure he hears every bloody syllable. Again there's a pause on his end and I can practically hear his brain trying to work this one out.
"Si?" he asks. I just laugh.
"No, Si got killed by some trigger happy loons. Guess again."
"Crap..." he mutters, thinking again. I roll my eyes. God, this guy is slow.
"Y'know what, I'm a busy guy, I can't wait around for you to guess my name. Call me back when you get it," I say, bored of the guessing game already.
"Cancer?" he asks as I go to hang up. I smile, but don't answer, hanging up anyways. That might have annoyed him. I might not care.
I might get high. Except it's kinda boring on your own. So instead I text everyone in the phonebook on Nikki's phone the same message: ‘Nikki is dead. Cancer is your new dealer.' And then I put the address of the apartment, ‘cause let's face it, junkies are stupid, for the most part, too high to remember their own name, or suffering from a comedown so bad that they're like... rabid zombies. The thought of rabid zombies entertains me for a while, until someone knocks at the door.
Getting up, I look through the peep hole and see this pretty average looking guy. He doesn't look like a regular user, but y'know, business is business. You sell to whoever pays. I open the door and ask him what he's after.
"You," he replies. His voice actually chills me to the bone. I don't have time to react, let alone get the door closed, and he brings something out of his back pocket. Not seeing what it is he's holding, it takes me by surprise when something hits my chest and sends me to the floor.
Want to know what it is?
It's a taser. Again.
My body convulses on the floor and through all of the noise I'm making, I hear footsteps on the floorboard and feel someone grabbing at me.
I sincerely hope they just throw me in a river somewhere and leave it at that.
Ugh. They better not be those people after me again, like those ones at school the other week.
"I got him Marcus!" is the last thing I hear before everything goes black and I pass out. Wonderful.