ON OUR WAY TO HEAVEN

PROLOGUE

   Elsa

Getting ready for the delivery of the final package filled my heart with familiar dread. As I pushed the packets of cocaine into the gym bag I had purchased five packages ago, beads of sweat rolled down my thin face. I felt exhausted. The stress increased with each package. My eye shot to the single window of the box I call home as a police car drove past with its sirens on. Alertness, a very important virtue in this line of business I am involved in. I felt sad that while in the quest for a purpose of living, I lost my freedom. I miss my simple life of serving coffee and pastries and putting snobbish customers in their place. Then I had felt that something was missing and I wanted to do more with myself leading me right into the gnarly arms of Ricardo, a Mexican drug lord otherwise known as Ratty. The name was always funny till the day a guy laughed out at the mention of the name and Ricardo had two fingers on his left hand cut off. And I had only gotten to see Ricardo himself twice. I would give anything to be back in my former life. I ran my fingers through my messy hair letting out a deep groan. I put the last pack in, zipped up the bag and pushed it under the bed, my improvised safe. I could almost hear the half-finished bag of chips and pile of dirty laundry under there complaining that there wasn't any more space to fit in anything else. It wasn't my fault. Or maybe it was. I pretty much live in a cardboard box. The apartment was quite small. With one room serving as the living room, bedroom, kitchen and dining room. The restroom was a small enclosure at one side of the room, just a few steps away, which also doubled for the bathroom. Sadly, and at the same time, luckily, I don't have people over often. Or ever. I looked at the half-broken face of my antique wristwatch and the time read 8:45pm. I had to deliver the bag to a guy named Raven by 10:00pm tonight at the Disney theme park. Sounds easy, right? N to the hell O. The exchange was the trickiest part of the business because you hardly deliver to the same person twice making it impossible to keep track of names. You are not given a picture or any other information than just a name and location. All you have to do is arrive at the location a good 20minutes before the agreed time and look out for any strangely parked cars and pray damn well it isn't the police. Most time, the cops get intel on a proposed exchange and arrive undercover in a "strangely parked car" waiting for the unfortunate delivery guy. And this happens often. And a lot of carriers like myself have ended up in prison or worse, dead. When I had just joined the syndicate and given the role of carrier, I felt it was an honor. I felt really happy and important until I found out that carriers were the butt of the network. We were the ones they didn't mind disposing when necessary. We were in the most dangerous line of the work with absolutely no backup. "You have to be smart" Pablo, Ricardo's' second in command would often say. "The cops will always be out there hunting you like dogs, but the smartest will succeed". We were exposed to the police and most times gang cross fires. And if you get caught or killed, you get replaced pronto and your corpse would be thrown in the ocean or any dumpster close enough. And if you get caught, they leave you to rot in the cell and if they perceive you are a threat, they see that you get "taken care of". Of the twenty-five deliveries I have made, I got shot twice and ran from the cops five times. No accolades, garlands or plaques to hang on my termite infested walls. Unlike the coffee shop where I bagged employee of the month, surprisingly, every month. Henry, the manager had a huge crush on me and despite getting glares and offensive side remarks from the other "hard workers" who couldn't get the employee of the month badge, he kept hoping that one day he would get a chance with me. Only if he knew that I was as gay as the word. I wasn't going to tell him either. He was shocked when I dropped my resignation letter on his laps over his hard dick. "The store will miss you" He had said. Pretty much knew he meant himself when he said the store. Right now, all I wanted was to be back there again, watching him fall for me harder every single freaking day. I picked up my piece on the small dilapidated desk by my bed. It was a 2mm Kolibri, the only gift I got from Pablo. I kept it loaded always. We pissed off a lot of people daily. I stuck it into the back of my jeans. Wearing my big black only decent hoodie, covering the gun; Time for an early dinner. I made to leave the house, then I decided to handle everything I had to do tonight at the same time. Though it was risky to be carrying 30 pounds of crack around with the police everywhere. I rather take the risk. I  pulled out the gym bag from under the bed and slung it on my shoulder.