Chapter One: Introduction
The air was cold as he stood against the wall of the convenience store, his breath as visible as the smoke from his cigarette. It was winter, but he didn’t care. He still wore his t-shirt and jeans, no jacket. His name is Lyle. He has a last name, but he never uses it. Shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, tattoos. People tend not to trust him, they usually shoot him dirty looks, but he doesn’t care. As he smoked his cigarette, he thought to himself. Not about anything really, just basic things in life. How the economy is going down the shitter, how the price of gas was rising… how he was going to move his next pound of crystal meth without getting caught by the cops. Usual stuff. As he looked forward, he saw two kids staring at him, no older than 9. Just… staring. He dropped his cigarette on the ground and put it out with his foot, then looked at the kids. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he said harshly. They ran off, then he smirked. “Damn kids.”
He looked around, pretended to tie his shoe, then put a small bag of meth in the gutter. He stood up, then started to walk off. It was a dead drop, where his sellers pick it up and, well, sell it. This made it harder for him to be caught if any of his sellers get caught. No direct contact. As he walked, he stopped at an abandoned house, nobody’s been in it for years. He flipped open the mailbox, pulled out $5000, and slipped it in his jacket. It was the money one of his sellers made from selling the ice to junkies around the cities. Dead drops, all around the city, clean and precise. This is how Lyle works. He walked back to his house, a basic two-story house, nothing fancy. He unlocked the door and walked in, sat on the couch, and began to watch tv.
Tomorrow he’d stop by the business he owns, a car detailing joint. Now, why would he own a business if he already makes a ton of cash dealing meth? Money laundering. He mixes in the profits he makes from selling with the profits his business makes, pays taxes through it, and keeps the government off his back. No suspicion. He stood up then went to the fridge, scanning it for anything to eat. Nope, nothing. He wasn’t much of a cook, so he didn’t usually have leftovers. He ordered some pizza, then sat back down on the couch and kept watching tv, waiting for the pizza to arrive. As it arrived he stood up, paid for it, then started eating it. He then placed a call with his cell phone.
“Hello?” he said as the person he was calling picked up. “This is Lyle. No, it’s fine, I’m in my house. Nobody’s listening in on me. Listen, I need my meth by the end of this week. Can you do that?” The man on the other line said something and Lyle smirked. “You have it now? Very nice. I’ll be right over. Goodbye.” He hung up, grabbed his car keys then walked out to his car. It was a 2012 Dodge Challenger SRT8, black with red stripes. It made sense for him to own a nice car, given the fact that he runs a car detailing joint. He got in, started it up, and drove to a business office. Before he got out he opened up his glove box and pulled out a loaded Desert Eagle, then tucked it in his waistband. He went inside, then went in the elevator. He inserted a key and twisted it, and the elevator went down, down to the large meth lab hidden under the business. Completely hidden.
As he exited the elevator, he walked up to two men, the cook and his assistant. Next to them was a suitcase, containing 75 pounds of crystal meth. He weighed it, and anger showed on his face. “75… Our deal is 100 pounds a week, remember? Where’s the other 25?” The cook sweated slightly, obviously nervous. “W-well, my assistant accidentally messed up a batch...” Lyle turned and glared at the assistant. “Is this true?” “Y-yes” he said, looking down at the floor. “I messed up, we lost a whole batch.” The cook looked at Lyle. “B-but we can get you 125 pounds for next week, we promise!” The assistant looked up and nodded.
Lyle looked over at the cook. “You be quiet. It was your assistant’s fault, not yours. You’re fine. But you…” He looked back to the assistant. “You cost me $1,250,000. That’s a big portion, right? You’re going to have to pay for it.” He pulled out his gun and put a bullet through the assistant’s head, and the assistant fell to the ground lifeless. The cook screamed, terrified at what just happened. Lyle then picked up the suitcase. “Get a better assistant... I don’t want to see this happen again. If it happens again, both you and your new assistant will get a bullet in the skull.” He kicked the dead body. “And clean this mess up.” He went back to his car, drove home, and unpacked the suitcase in his basement, separating out all the large bags into smaller ones for the dead drops. Once he was finished with that, he went upstairs to his bedroom, turned out the lights, and went to sleep.
