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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Puppy Kicker" data-source="post: 1649865" data-attributes="member: 20284">Introduction: Devin Cole<img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~abramdress/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/devincole.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" /> Introduction: Devin Cole 11:15 PM July 12th, 2004“It’s my liiiiiiiiife, it’s now or never.  I ain’t gonna…”You listen to FM 99 for hard rock.  What the hell is this Bon Jovi crap?  You flick off the radio in frustration and crank the windshield wipers up to high.  The rain has always gotten you down, some nights worse than others.  This is one of those nights.  It’s pouring here in Williamsburg and it’s a crappy night to be out driving.  In fact, it’s a crappy night to be out doing anything.  ---Thirty Minutes Ago:It was a crappy Monday to begin with, working for a crappy boss on a crappy construction site in the non-stop crappy rain.  You’d just settled down with a crappy light beer to some crappy sitcom when you got the crappy phone call.    Your little sister started looking worried about the time you said “Look, I can’t pay that right now,” and she was already looking up the phone number for a babysitter by the time you said “Sure, I’ll do it.  This’ll pay off the debt for this week, right?”  You hung up the phone and asked her to get a babysitter for a few hours while you went out to take care of some business.  She agreed of course.  What time will you be home?  Don’t know.  She nodded.  Good kid.  Makes the crappy days easier to deal with.  You stormed out into the rain and hopped into your truck.  It started, eventually.    Some thug you’d seen a couple times before met you four blocks away.  He handed you a locked metal briefcase and gave you the instructions you needed.  “Go to the McDonalds at the intersection of Route 17 and Victory Blvd in Yorktown.  It’s by the Wal-mart.  You’re looking for a big guy, scars, brown hair, a leather briefcase.  Make the trade.  Meet me back here at 0200.”  You took the briefcase and tossed it in the seat next to you.  Probably drugs or money.      ---The drive to Yorktown is wet and miserable and dangerous, but you survive.  You pull into the parking lot of the Wal-Mart and look over at the McDonalds.  Looks pretty empty.  Good, you don’t want too many people seeing these transactions.  You don’t know how your life ended up at this point, doing trades for Sammy in the middle of the night, but it’s better than being dead, or worse, losing custody of your little sister.---Five months ago:“Look man, I need the cash.”“Everybody needs cash, Mr. Cole.  If you understand the terms, agree to the terms, the money’s yours.  I don’t care what you do with it.  You're a big boy, I'm sure you'll use it wisely.”“I understand and I’m good for it.  Just got to get on my feet.”Sammy Nickels nodded and pulled a paper bag from behind the counter.  “It’s all here.  You are welcome to count it if you wish.”Of course you wanted to count it, but that’s not how you did business with Sammy.  “Naw, I trust you.”“Of course you do.”  Sammy grinned, flashing two gold-plated incisors.  “The first payment is due next month.  I'd appreciate it if you do not force me to be aggressive in the collection process.”“Of course not.  I’m good for it.”The money was gone by the end of the week – lawyers, doctors, mortgage.  When the next month came and you couldn’t pay, Sammy was very understanding.“All I ask is a small favor and I’ll let you off this time.”“Sure Sammy, whatever you need.  Thanks for being understanding.”The incisors flashed again.  “My pleasure, Mr. Cole.  Don’t fail me.”“Of course not, Sammy.  I wouldn’t dream of it.”---You sprint through the pouring rain and slam through the door into the McDonalds.  No big guys with briefcases that you can see.  A few college-age kids and an old guy sitting together, that’s all.  Could have been you sitting there, joking with your college friends and getting all warmed up to make something of your life.  Not in the cards for you, though. You order a Number 1 with a Dr. Pepper (can't really afford to supersize) and have a seat in a quiet corner.  The conversation at the student’s table is getting loud, but you ignore them as you munch your fries.  A few minutes later a big ugly guy stumbles through the door, carrying a duffle-bag and a little leather briefcase.  A little older than you, big and kinda mean looking.  He gets something to eat at the counter then approaches you. Guess it’s time for the deal.</blockquote>

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