I can't stand it. The dull blasts of audio vomit that these animals call music seeps through the walls. A triviality that only services to swell my anger and disgust even further. The deafening bass barrages my ear drums while sending gentle vibrations coursing through the floor and dry wall. The entire apartment complex can probably hear them, but they're not saying anything. Why would they? The cops have abandoned them and speaking out without support just leaves you battered as a response. Today will be different.
I've been standing at this door for ten minutes now, my heart thundering with every beat as my brain tries to reason with me. Tell me how stupid this is. It's not stupid. It's absolutely necessary. It's because of them I've lost everything. It's because of them Jackie died with a needle in his arm. And it's because of them that Ashley doesn't talk anymore.
No more waiting. My glock stirs nervously in my coat pocket, concealed and fully loaded. At most there are six punks in there, at least four of them are chasing.the dragon, which leaves the dealer and his muscle who have their wits about them,. James Roy, but everyone calls him Turk. A violent sociopathic drug dealing neo-nazi with ties to the Hell Raisers biker gang. He deals in crack, meth, and heroine. He garners a reputation of hard cruelty and reckless brutality.
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