The Feds is Watching

Marcus Manuel was holding the pack of ice to his head and laying on his bed. Worse than any hangover he could remember, his head was pounding and felt like it was never going to stop. He was still wondering how they got away from the Feds. From off-roading to going over medians to nearly flipping over twice, the whole night was still pretty much a blur to him. He really questioned whether or not Oscar's unconscious ass would remember any of it, including Manuel and Machelli having to drag his fat ass back to the store and lay him in his bed. What a night. His head hurt too bad to realize that it was a bit suspicious that three felons could simply outrun the Feds and be able to just go back to their homes. It had all subsided quickly. Too quickly. It had gone too smoothly, and something was definitely up. But Manuel was just glad they had survived.

Manuel finally stepped out of his apartment and saw Sloan Waters getting into a taxi. "Where are you going?" Manuel asked, just wanting to hear some semblance of getting away. "Manhattan. I have a lunch date at 12:30." Manuel checked his watch. It was 12 noon. He looked back over to the lady getting into the taxi and she had some strange maniacal grin on her face as she ducked her head into the taxi. "Fucking psycho," he muttered to himself. "Getting to Manhattan in 30 minutes. In a taxi. Stupid bitch thinks she can actually escape this place."

Apparently she had forgotten that this was Baltimore. Washington Heights. Nobody ever escaped. Manuel turned back into the building amidst the sound of thunder.

Manuel woke up from his slumber just in time to hear the rain start back up, round four o'clock in the afternoon. Ice cream truck was pulling up and selling to the kids on the block. Kids standing out there, in that cold rain. Looked like they were having fun though. Better they enjoy their childhood while it lasts, Manuel thought. He knew more than anybody how hard it was to be a grown-up.

The Great Escape

Marcus Manuel knew it was time to wrap up the party when the bullet nicked his earlobe and drew a bead of blood. Shit was going crazy. The unmarked black van actually busted through the garage door and four FBI agents jumped out of the still moving van, guns firing. Manuel, Machelli, and Alcazar ducked under the table and started running to the door, crouched, with bullets whizzing and whirring around them. Of course Manuel had came strapped with a 9 under his belt buckle, but putting it there that morning he knew that it would be virtually useless if there was a situation. Well this was a hell of a situation. Manuel didn't even have time to think about how the agents found out about this. Manuel looked back to see Alcazar trip on the steps leading up to his shop from the garage, and his head hit the floor hard. Manuel, true to his cowardice nature continued to run until he felt a large force pulling him back. "HE DIES YOU DIE." Machelli's voice roared into his ear. Manuel couldn't believe what he was proposing. They had to go back to get Alcazar? Now? But Manuel knew better than to test Machelli. Machelli and Manuel ran back and picked up the morbidly obese individual up and dipped to the door. It was a big loading deck and garage but the agents were gaining fast. The two men and the unconscious man they were carrying ran into the doorway and slammed it behind them. "START THE CAR." Machelli's voice still boomed even among the chaos. Manuel, scared shitless, sprinted to the Escalade and jumbled and fumbled at his keys. Finally, mercifully, Manuel found the key he was looking for, opened the car, and started it. He screeched over to the front of the store, and saw an image that would stay with him for the rest of his life. In fact, it would be the last thing he would see in his mind as the executioner strapped him to Maryland's electric chair and put the black bag over his head four years later. Machelli was miraculously holding up Alcazar in his arms and effortlessly, he jumped in, Alcazar and all. Police sirens were screaming everywhere, but the men had Mother Nature to thank. Hail was raining down, making it impossible for any sort of police helicopter to track them. It was turning dark, but Manuel didn't even bother to turn on the headlights. The car screeched off. They narrowly missed hitting some kid coming out of a Chinese restaurant, but Manuel could have cared less who they hit.

"Man I need a girl in my life. I don't know how much longer I can take this crazy shit."

The Boss

The time had come. The shipment of flour was in and it was time to get down to business. Marcus had pretty much come to grips with the fact that it was do or die time... and he wasn't scared anymore. The back loading room of Oscar's butcher shop seemed even sketchier than ever and he knew today it could end up being the site of a massacre. The sound of the strong wind whipping at the side of the building made an eerie sound that just put Marcus in an uncomfortable position. He didn't know how he could get caught but he did know that the Bandanistas had a peculiar knack of just knowing stuff. The big cheerful lady on the side of the delivery van posed as an odd juxtaposition of sorts: this jolly, wholesome lady delivering what was to become anything but. And Machelli just standing there with that baseball bat and those sunglasses. Looked like something out of some cheezy gangster movie. Marcus thought to himself that he would have laughed out loud were the situation at hand not so dire.

Carlos had delivered 20 kilos in packages labeled "From Mom." "So what exactly are we gonna be doing?" Oscar asked, clearly skeptical of the plan. "Easy," Marcus replied knowing that that response was completely untrue, "We gotta just lace all the coke with flour. I'm thinking 20% of every ounce we'll lace with the flour, giving us a 20% increase in total profits. At this rate, in a month we'll have made 20,000 extra dollars that won't have to be taxed by the Bandanistas." "This is risky man," Oscar replied. "I dunno if I'm down." They began to ration out the coke.

A door opened on the other side of the garage and the two men looked to where the sound had come from.

"Dios Mio! RUN!"

Shots rang out.

Shawty Wanna Thug

It was about time the rain subsided. It had been raining non-stop for what had felt like an eternity, but now only a slight mist remained. Being cooped up inside watching TV for four days had been no fun. The day job runs slow when the junkies don't want to come out from under the overpass to get wet... both literally and in the way Marcus liked. He knew his get-rich-quick scheme was a long shot... but hey, high risk meant even higher gain. Lacing his coke with flour was hella risky. He wasn't too concerned about the customers getting mad, hell, they would probably never find out. It was his superiors from back home who he would hear the heat from. It was strange how the Bandanistas operated. Marcus always thought their code of honor was bizarre. It didn't really make sense how you could kill a man with a wife and kids, but you were executed if you were found messing with the product. "Respect for the streets my ass," Manuel muttered under his breath as he placed an order for 500 pounds of flour to be delivered at Oscar's. The plan was to have Oscar take the fall... but now that Marcus knew of his connections with Dominic Roberto Machelli, that was gonna be a lot harder. Machelli's standing in the Colombian community was high... much higher than his own.

All Oscar would have to do is keep his mouth shut and they would be alright. Marcus wanted to get out of the apartment and think about how this would, could, ever possibly happen. He went to the ninth floor to collect "insurance" and saw a guy he knew only as Kevin leaving apartment 981 looking over his shoulder. Something was up... but had way too much on his plate to be concerning himself with such trivial pursuits. Plus he had no problem with Kevin... and his Colombian upbringing had taught him to stay out of other people's shit, unless you wanted it as your own. Some chick was crying... seemed like bad news.

Marcus Manuel need to take a drive. He entered the car and slammed the steering wheel in disgust. His usually calm demeanor was interrupted with a flash of fear. If he didn't get the job done, Oscar would have his head... and if he did and his cartel found out... Oscar would be like a sunny day in the park compared to that. He turned on the car and the subs boomed.

The rain began to pick up again. "Fan-fucking-tastic," Marcus muttered to himself as he turned on the windshield wipers and pulled out of the parking lot. This much was clear: the Cadillac Escalade was driving into what was quite the ambiguous future.