With a fresh buzz and a new motel room to do business, I made the usual calls. I always liked how people answered the phone so quickly for me. Usually one ring followed by an excited greeting. I never gave any specifics over the phone other than a location, business could be discussed in person.
A few of my regulars came and went, all of them looked suspiciously at my fresh wounds, probably because I still hadn't bothered to clean myself up yet, but it didn't interrupt their routine and they quickly went about their business. About an hour after my last runner left, there was a knock at my door. I felt some relief for the first time in a while. Seth had arrived.
I had known Seth for most of my life. We were best friends and accomplices in nearly every crime we had ever committed. He was an ally that I would need in the weeks to come.
I opened the door. His gaunt figure slouched in the doorway, his form a silhouette outlined by the red glow of a high-pressure sodium lamp in the parking lot. He had been through a lot in his own life, just like me. We had been selling and doing meth for over a decade, and our battle wounds were plentiful, his in particular.
A few years back I got a shipment of particularly strong, old-school biker crank. This shit could wake up a corpse and keep it moving for a week. Seth liked to take things apart and he was the first to get his hands on the stuff and he spent four straight days in the dead of winter disassembling and reassembling the engine of an old Chevy truck. Halfway through the second day, he had lost all feeling in his extremities and by the end of the process had lost all ten of his fingertips to frostbite. He never went to the hospital so the ends sort of just shriveled up and withered away. Even as his best friend I had trouble looking at his hands, ten purple nubs that hung off of the second knuckles. He always had his fists clenched when he walked or was around people he didn't know as to avoid attention, but I always saw them when we got high together; his mangled fingers carefully turning the pipe back and forth.
Seth had no fear of any person or thing, and I always knew that no matter what, he had my back. He looked up at my face and said, "What's his address?" I knew that if I had known the location of my assailants and given it to him, they would all have trouble walking, possibly for the rest of their lives. "It was your mom." We smiled at that and I let him in.
I could now see him in the light. His short blonde hair looked like it had been washed in oil a week ago. I asked, "Been taking motors apart again?" He raised his deformed middle finger in my direction, he knew that would shut me up. Seth made his living as a drug dealer as well. Unlike me, he had his own house in a small town south of Rochester. He never did business there because the locals would surely notice any irregular traffic or odd hours. "I haven't been home for a week. I've been out making you money." He pulled a mangled wad of bills from his front pants pocket and threw it on the bed. I looked at him, and I knew he would be instrumental at getting me out if this jam. I decided to tell him everything.
We spent two hours getting high and talking about what had happened so far that night. The first blue light of morning crept through the drawn shades as the birds began their morning songs, and something popped into my head.
"Holy fuck!" I shouted in disbelief. I rifled through my empty pockets and looked around for my phone. It hadn't been shut off during the ordeal, and that could be a huge mistake for Dumpy, Goggles, and Driver. I found my LG on top of the microwave and tapped the screen a few times. I waited patiently for the information I wanted to fill my display. And there it was.
"Seth, you aren't gonna believe this. I know where this guy lives." Google location history had finally served a purpose.
A few of my regulars came and went, all of them looked suspiciously at my fresh wounds, probably because I still hadn't bothered to clean myself up yet, but it didn't interrupt their routine and they quickly went about their business. About an hour after my last runner left, there was a knock at my door. I felt some relief for the first time in a while. Seth had arrived.
I had known Seth for most of my life. We were best friends and accomplices in nearly every crime we had ever committed. He was an ally that I would need in the weeks to come.
I opened the door. His gaunt figure slouched in the doorway, his form a silhouette outlined by the red glow of a high-pressure sodium lamp in the parking lot. He had been through a lot in his own life, just like me. We had been selling and doing meth for over a decade, and our battle wounds were plentiful, his in particular.
A few years back I got a shipment of particularly strong, old-school biker crank. This shit could wake up a corpse and keep it moving for a week. Seth liked to take things apart and he was the first to get his hands on the stuff and he spent four straight days in the dead of winter disassembling and reassembling the engine of an old Chevy truck. Halfway through the second day, he had lost all feeling in his extremities and by the end of the process had lost all ten of his fingertips to frostbite. He never went to the hospital so the ends sort of just shriveled up and withered away. Even as his best friend I had trouble looking at his hands, ten purple nubs that hung off of the second knuckles. He always had his fists clenched when he walked or was around people he didn't know as to avoid attention, but I always saw them when we got high together; his mangled fingers carefully turning the pipe back and forth.
Seth had no fear of any person or thing, and I always knew that no matter what, he had my back. He looked up at my face and said, "What's his address?" I knew that if I had known the location of my assailants and given it to him, they would all have trouble walking, possibly for the rest of their lives. "It was your mom." We smiled at that and I let him in.
I could now see him in the light. His short blonde hair looked like it had been washed in oil a week ago. I asked, "Been taking motors apart again?" He raised his deformed middle finger in my direction, he knew that would shut me up. Seth made his living as a drug dealer as well. Unlike me, he had his own house in a small town south of Rochester. He never did business there because the locals would surely notice any irregular traffic or odd hours. "I haven't been home for a week. I've been out making you money." He pulled a mangled wad of bills from his front pants pocket and threw it on the bed. I looked at him, and I knew he would be instrumental at getting me out if this jam. I decided to tell him everything.
This is how I remember Seth. He liked to play with his cigarette smoke, carefully twirling it out of his mouth while he was thinking.
We spent two hours getting high and talking about what had happened so far that night. The first blue light of morning crept through the drawn shades as the birds began their morning songs, and something popped into my head.
"Holy fuck!" I shouted in disbelief. I rifled through my empty pockets and looked around for my phone. It hadn't been shut off during the ordeal, and that could be a huge mistake for Dumpy, Goggles, and Driver. I found my LG on top of the microwave and tapped the screen a few times. I waited patiently for the information I wanted to fill my display. And there it was.
"Seth, you aren't gonna believe this. I know where this guy lives." Google location history had finally served a purpose.
