inb4 much uneeded hate
The moment I entered the room and flicked the lights on, I knew I had made a mistake. Blood splatters upon the wall resembled an abstract monochromatic painting. The corpse lay motionless and broken on the floor as I leaned over and touched her ghostly pale face, cold and empty. I glanced up, and that’s when I heard the sirens, the deep wails and blue lights a hundred yards away and coming closer. That’s when it hit me. I had been framed. I came to rob her but someone had gotten to her first. I knew staying here and desperately pleading with the feds to believe my story was useless. The most I’d receive would be a pair of cuffs and my Miranda Rights read to me. No, I wouldn’t let that happen. My choice was simple, my reaction was quick, and within moments I was out the door, running as fast as my legs could carry me.Perhaps I should take a second and introduce myself, my name is Sam, Sam Caferelli. I live in Coalmont British Colombia, and I’m what the American folk might call a drug runner- I know it seems bad but I’m no junkie, I don’t use. However, there is one thing that both me and my clients have in common: we’re both in search of a high.
This started five years ago, but the real beginning was the day I could stand, wobbling, on my miniature baby feet. I was looking for a rush, whether it was playing in the mud, jumping out of my crib, anything. My parents would have to keep a constant eye on me to ensure I wasn’t going to hurt myself. They always told me, “The only two things that never changed about you were your prominent shoulders and your love for ‘the rush’.” That’s what they called it. Over the years people around town were quick to classify me as a nut case and an idiot. They didn’t understand that I didn’t do things for attention or out of stupidity. I did it because I craved “the rush.” Every day it was something new: from exploring the roofs of Coalmont to cliff jumping on the rare Sunday trip in British Colombia. By the time I was in high school I had broken more bones then I could count. After about sophomore year I found myself incredibly bored, I just couldn’t reach that high anymore, simply because I had run out of things to do.
One day I was riding my bike home from school and got a call from my buddy Bone, notorious thief and kleptomaniac. He stole things left and right, and even as a friend it’s safe to say I’m not even comfortable leaving my money around him. Anyway, I picked up the phone and answered with a bored:
“Bro, what’s up how’ve you been?”
I knew something was up because Bone never calls for small talk, it’s always a favor.
“What do you want Bone?” My tone was harsh.
“Wow man, no need to be so snappy,” I heard a shuffle in the background.
“Bone, put down whatever you just took…” I heard a sigh from across the phone line.
“Bro, I need you to come to my house, I know you busy but this is serious.” His tone had become solemn, but I still didn’t buy it.
“On a scale of one to important, how important is it?” I asked .
“A+.” That’s when I heard the click of the phone being hung up.
I knew this was urgent so I hurried there as fast as I could. When I got there I didn’t even bother knocking, I twisted the handle and the door popped open. I walked in and turned into his living room, and I saw Bone sitting on the coach with another guy. He had dark hair and a scruffy goatee, he wore a ratty sweatshirt, and his aroma was something that I often smelled when I walked through the upper part of the park at night- marijuana. As soon as Bone saw me he stood up nervously.
“Sam…” he said sounding rather relieved,“I’m so glad you came dude, this is my friend Joe…” His voice trailed off.
The guy stood up quickly and grabbed my hand.
“Joe Schuster,” he said. His voice was surprisingly higher then I predicted.
“I trust Theodore here has told you why I wanted to see you…”
No one ever called Bone Theodore unless he knew them really well because he often got mad when I brought it up. In this instance he just shifted from foot to foot looking around the room nervously.
“No, he just told me he needed me and hung up.”
Joe looked at Bone angrily, and said.
“You see Theodore here is in debt to me, a few weeks ago he took my car out on ‘delivery’ and smashed it up real bad. Real nice Cadillac, and since I know Theodore here has next to nothing to pay me with I told him he could make it up to me, by finding me a new runner.”
“A new what? Look, I don’t know what’s going on here Bone just sounded urgent so I showed up, I’m not looking for a job or whatever…” As I said that I turned and headed towards the door. But Bone grabbed my arm.
“Please Sam.” there was desperation in his eyes.
“It may even help you achieve a new…” He didn’t even have to finish his sentence. My eyes lit up, like a little kid on Christmas.
“Well maybe I could consider it.” I said, and Joe looked at me with a smile.
In short, my job was to transport marijuana to the riskiest of customers, the ones on parole or the ones over the border. The pay was good, I was making at least 2-3 grand a week, which was good money for a 19 year old. The rush I got from delivering those packages was indescribable. After about a year and a half of doing my job as a runner, I messed up, big time. I was supposed to transport about $86,000 worth of marijuana over the border, but things got sticky and I had to burn it. I owed Joe huge, but he told me not to worry because he had another job to make up for it. It was to rob a woman named Mrs. O’Leary, a well known stock broker from Montreal who took her vacation in Coalmont. Joe told me that if I could get her credit cards everything would be okay, but when he told me this there was an edge in his voice, the one where he has something planned.
Back to reality. I did my best to escape after I saw the body, but as soon as I was outside of the house I was quickly detained. There was no way in hell I could have gotten out of there without being shot down. I’m writing to you from my cell. This is goodbye. There is no rush in prison. It’s been one year since all of it happened and I have a whole lifetime ahead of me to see nothing but gray walls. No parole. Why prolong the inevitable end? I have fashioned a noose to release the pain and the CO’s are about to come around for lock up.
I am Sam Cafarelli and this is my story…