by Jon Mills
Charley Wilson, or Tex as most referred to him, was behind nearly all distribution of meth. While he never got involved in the actual distribution, he was the one that kept the business ticking over in these parts.
Below him were those that worked for him. For close to six years Billy had only ever met them to pick up new supplies, drop off money or alert them to anyone flying solo. Flying solo was a term that was used for anyone making meth themselves.
It was common. Like, it wasn’t hard to do. Every ingredient that was needed could be bought from the local drugstore. Things like brake fluid, rubbing alcohol, the lithium from batteries and the main ingredient pseudoephedrine were all easily accessible. Though with the law clamping down on how much pseudoephedrine could be purchased from drugstores, people had to get a little creative on how they obtained it. One person could now buy only nine grams per month legally. Most would work in crews of two or more to obtain more.
What had started out as a simple way to get more had turned into a full-time gig for Billy. He soon realized that he could pocket much more with his own team. It wasn’t long before word got back to Tex, but by that time Billy had been pulled in on possession and sentenced to one year. That year had flown by and there wasn’t a day inside that he hadn’t thought about what the repercussions would be. He’d already received a visit while in jail from Tex’s men who told him he owed a lot of money and they would be waiting for him when he got out.
Once he might have tried to run but he had her to think about now. He wasn’t going to lose Theresa over his own stupidity. In some ways he thought he could talk his way out of it. That had always been his strong point. The gift of the gab, was what Theresa called it. He’d used it to his advantage many times inside, now he was about to find out if it worked on Tex.
The car rumbled making several turns and stops before it arrived. As Billy was dragged from the back of the car, he glanced down and could see he was being led along a dock. Fear crept over him at the thought of being thrown to alligators. He had seen Tex’s men do it before to a guy who owed as little as ten thousand. He knew that his debt was far greater than that.
It was how Tex had managed to instill fear in those that worked for him. He didn’t kill behind closed doors. He would invite his main distributors to a location in the bayou and then have each of them kill someone. Everything was recorded. In the event they wanted to rat on him, the video of the killing would find its way to the police. He ruled in fear and intimidation, and it worked.
Billy wished he’d never met the man. But like anyone who was good at controlling others, Tex’s introduction to him was subtle. He was working for Tex long before he was told who his boss was. In the early days his uncle had been his source of meth ingredients and he worked for him distributing meth to locals. When his uncle was taken out of the picture a new supplier came into the game and he was the only one that could get his hands on large amounts of pseudoephedrine without the police breathing down his neck.
Whoever had access to large amounts of that was God around these parts.
Gradually the wood beneath Billy’s feet turned to soil as he was led through brush and then into a building with concrete floors. He could hear voices but was unable to distinguish what they were saying. A few seconds passed before he was thrown to his knees and the bag was torn from his head. He blinked and squinted as the world around him came into view.
He was in a warehouse. Large blue canisters lined the sides of the walls. It had to be a storage facility or one of the many meth labs.
“Billy Dixon,” a voice said.
Billy hadn’t seen Tex in over three years. The last time he had, it was when Tex fed someone to alligators. As he stepped into view, Billy swallowed hard. Tex was a large man. Bald and looked as if he had eaten one too many burgers. While everyone knew he had more money than he could ever need, he didn’t come across as someone who had wealth. There was a reason for that. Rumor had it that he gained the trust of people by looking like he was making the same amount of cash they were. He wore a jean shirt, cowboy boots and had dark hair that was swept back with some kind of hair product that looked like grease. The aroma of some cheap aftershave filled the air.
“Hey Tex.”
“How was it inside?”
“You know. It’s prison.”
He nodded without a grin on his face.
“How long were you working for me before you went in?”
Billy shook his head trying to remember. Fear had clouded out any clear thought.
“Six years?”
“Something like that.”
“Didn’t I pay you well?”
“Yeah. Yeah you did.”
“And, didn’t I make sure your family was looked after?”
Billy didn’t reply. His hesitation caused one of Tex’s men to slap the side of his face from behind to get a response out of him. He felt his skin sting.
“That’s right. You did.”
“So tell me. Whatever went through your mind to think that you could steal from me?”
“I wasn’t stealing. I was giving you exactly what you asked for.”
“Seventy-five percent.”
“Exactly.”
“But that’s not what I heard you were pulling in. Word has it you had your own little enterprise.”
Billy’s eyes darted around the room as a few more men came into view. One of them had a knuckle duster on and he was rubbing it against his open hand and licking his lips with anticipation. A cold shot of fear flooded his being as he saw another one holding the end of a chain that was dangling from a free hand.
“Please, Tex, I can make this right.”
“Twenty thousand dollars is what I figure you owe me. Give or take a few dollars here or there.”
“I can get it for you.”
He stepped forward and crouched down in front of Billy with his arms resting against his knees. “What? You have a bank account or stash of money that I don’t know about?”
“No.”
“Then how do you suppose you are going to repay me?”
“I have connections.”
He chuckled and patted the side of Billy’s face gently, looking at his men before he stood up. “He has connections. Billy Dixon has connections. Well, that concludes our conversation then. If you have connections I have nothing to worry about, right?”
“Right.”
“But that’s the thing, Billy. Everyone who owes me money, says the same thing. I’ll get it to you next month, next week, tomorrow. And the money never arrives.” He paused for effect. “Now, I’m a fair man. At least, I like to think so. Now before you started your little enterprise, I have to admit, you were making me a fair bit of coin.”
Billy started to feel a glimmer of hope.
“I don’t want to lose the additional money, especially since I have lost a lot since you were incarcerated. So here’s what I’m going to do. You have forty-eight hours to come up with forty thousand dollars.”
“But you said I owe you twenty?”
“You do. But you’ve been inside for a year and that has cost me even more, and then of course there is interest. I figure forty thousand is a nice round figure that should cover what you owe me.”
“I can’t come up with that kind of money in two days!”
Tex stopped pacing around him and came up real close, to the point that Billy could feel his warm breath against his face.
“Are you sure about that?”
He nodded.
“Is that your final answer?”
Billy frowned. Did he think this was a game? He’d heard the rumors about Tex. One minute he could act calm and nice, the next he would cut your throat.
“I just mean I need a bit more time. Like a week or two.”
“I’ve been waiting over a year and you want me to wait a week or two?”
“If I had the money I would give it to you now.”
Tex studied his face.
“You had the money, you
didn’t give it to me. Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”
Billy searched for words, anything to convince him that he was good for it. He stuttered a little and mumbled but his mind went blank. Tex rose to his feet and with just a simple nod to his men they charged him and began beating on him. The first punch with the knuckle duster knocked one of his teeth out. The chain to his body tore his shirt and cut into his flesh. The assault lasted for a few minutes before Tex called off his dogs.
Billy spat blood on the floor and pleaded with him. “Okay, okay, I can get the money.”
Tex let out a deep belly laugh. “Of course you can. Stand him up.”
His men brought Billy to his feet. The back of his legs and lower back burned with pain. Blood trickled down the side of his eye and lip. Tex brushed the dust off him as if he was dealing with a young child who had returned home muddy. He slapped the sides of his arms.
“There’s a price we all have to pay, Billy. Forty-eight hours.”
He nodded, relieved that Tex was at least giving him a chance. Even so, he knew it was useless. He couldn’t come up with that kind of money. Fresh out of prison, he no longer had his team to sell.
Tex gave a nod to his men and they covered his head with the bag and were about to lead him away when Tex spoke again.
“And Billy. If you are thinking of running. Don’t. My grace won’t be extended twice.”
With that he was led away and they returned him to where they had taken him. The door to the car opened and he was shoved out onto the hard concrete.
The squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber assaulted his senses.
Tex had waited until Billy was out of earshot before he called over his son Kalen.
“See to it that he gets a clear message.”
“You want him dead?”
“No.”
“His family?”
He nodded.
“Why not just kill him?”
“Kalen,” Tex wrapped his hand around his son’s head. “I know you might not understand this now but what I’m trying to build here will eventually be handed over to you. The hardest part about what we do is decide who lives and dies. I could have killed him but he’s more profitable to me alive.”
“But you’ve killed people for less.”
“They didn’t bring in the amount of money that Billy has. We don’t want to shoot ourselves in the foot. Everyone makes mistakes, you job is to decide if it’s ultimately going to affect your end game.”
“Which is?”
“To get out.”
Kalen frowned. “You’ve lost me.”
Tex breathed in deeply, placed his arm around his son and began walking around the building. “Look around you. This is all just a means to an end. Contrary to what some might think, I don’t enjoy doing this. It pays well. It gives me the lifestyle I want. But it comes with its own risk. Ten years ago this business was very different. With the law cracking down on the sale of pseudoephedrine, it’s only going to be a matter of time before all of the states require a prescription.”
“So? You’ll find another way to get it.”
“Of course. But if it means going to prison, no. I’m in this to get what I want out of it and then we move on.”
“I don’t understand you, Father. You’ve worked your whole life to build this business, to gain the respect of those around you and you want to just throw it away?”
Tex let out a laugh and smiled. “You’ll understand one day.”
It was hard to explain to his son that which only experience and time could teach him. He was first and foremost a businessman, not a drug lord, no matter how people looked at him. And like any good businessman he weighed the pros and cons. He considered carefully the risk factor. Creating methamphetamine had made him a wealthy man, but it had become addictive. The thrill of earning hundreds of thousands of dollars wasn’t easy to walk away from. At one time when he was younger, he would have never imagined getting out of the business. But business was different back then. Now it was a cutthroat operation. Anyone with access to a drugstore and household supplies could go into business for themselves. If anything, what Billy had taught him was that it was getting harder to control those around him. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie. It wouldn’t be long before the Mexican cartel would run the show, and well, from there it would all be downhill.
Chapter Six
Before meeting with Judith Frasier, Jack decided to head over to the hotel Theresa was working at. While he didn’t expect their relationship to pick up where they had left off, he wanted to make sure she was financially doing okay. He couldn’t help feel responsible for some of the trouble and danger he’d placed her in years ago.
While he had dated a lot of women, few had been as supportive as Theresa had. Perhaps that was because they came from similar backgrounds. They had originally met through Gafino. She was dancing in one of his bars and barely scraping by with the tips she was getting from lap dances. Most of Gafino’s guys saw the dancers as nothing more than sluts. But they were hard-working; many had kids and were just doing whatever they could to get by. Theresa was one of them. A runaway. She had spent the first part of her teenage years on the street as a working girl until Gafino found her and put her to work in his club. It was tough to say whether that was a good thing or not. Certainly there was less chance of her getting beaten by a trick but she still had to service clients. If she wasn’t dancing or performing lap dances she was tending to the needs of his VIP clients.
Call it chance, or whatever, when Jack met her on the Fourth of July, he knew there was more to her than a great body. She was damaged inside, much like him. She carried her scars like souvenirs, each one a thorny memento on the stem of her rose-colored life. Each one a reminder of her strength. At least that’s what she said. Jack found it hard to find strength in what he had been through. The years of abuse at the hands of his father, the manipulation by a mob boss weren’t so much scars as they were deep wounds that had never healed.
It wasn’t long before he was spending more time with her than focusing on work. Gafino soon noticed and made clear in no uncertain terms that they would never be an item. She was just merchandise, another cog in the wheel of his empire that was fueled by greed.
As Jack threaded his way down the busy street heading for the hotel, he thought back to the first day out of jail and Gafino’s off-the-cuff remark about the woman he was banging looking a lot like Theresa. Knowing that Jack liked her, Gafino had made a point to have Theresa service him multiple times. He had taken Jack to the club, and asked for her right in front of him. At first Jack thought Gafino was arranging for him to have some alone time with her, that idea was squashed when he watched Gafino walk into the back room with her.
That night Jack got a lap dance from some girl whose name he couldn’t remember. Frustration overtook him and he walked in on them in the middle of Theresa taking care of business. It had been the only time that Jack had come close to killing his own boss.
If it weren’t for the fact that there was no one else who could have filled his shoes, he was pretty sure Gafino would have disposed of him. Instead, he respected the guts it took at a young age to challenge him. Gafino never touched Theresa again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have, he chose not to. That’s when the relationship developed. Jack got her out of the club and she stayed at his place until four years before he went into jail.
She would say the relationship was doomed from the start but he never saw it that way. She was the first one to plant a seed that his life could be different, that he didn’t have to work for the mob. While Dana watered that idea later, Theresa had been there from the beginning. She knew the risk involved of walking away from the mob. It was the reason why when he refused to leave, she gave him an ultimatum. Leave with her, or it was over.
She left, and Jack continued working for Gafino for another four years.
Upon his arrival at the French-style hotel, Mazarin on Bienvill
e Street, the five-story building loomed over him. Dark clapboard shutters were on either side of the windows. He’d considered staying there but after his first run-in with Theresa, he figured it might have been awkward. All the rooms on the second floor had iron balconies. Everything about the place was luxurious. The sound of jazz could be heard just half a block away on Royal Street. Inside, a crystal chandelier illuminated the lobby. A well-dressed clerk eyed him while speaking to one of the guests. Jack glanced down at his clothes. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a place like this. His appearance looked rugged with a leather jacket, jeans and boots. His face had five days of growth and no doubt the dark circles around his eyes made him look a little shifty.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes. I was hoping to speak to Theresa.”
“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not in today.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
The man looked uncomfortable. He stepped out back and looked around then reappeared.
“Look, I’m a friend of hers.”
He hesitated before he replied. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this. Someone phoned last night to say that she had been admitted into the hospital.”
“Hospital? Why?”
“I’m not sure but it didn’t sound good.”
“Which one?”
“East.”
Before the man could say any more, Jack was already out the door. His pulse was racing and his heart was pounding in his chest. The thought that his presence in New Orleans might have placed her in danger made him fraught with worry. He thumbed a taxi and hopped in.
“Where are we going?”
He gave the address, told him to hurry and the cabdriver gunned the engine. Inside he peered around at the many voodoo objects dangling from pins. The driver was black with long dreadlocks. He was the spitting image of Bob Marley.
“Name’s Jamaar.”
Jack didn’t reply.
“So how do you like the Crescent City?”
Jack barely registered what he had said.
“What?”
“Sorry, people have trouble with my accent. I’m not from around here.”