The Paint Can Shaker Death

                                    The Paint Can Shaker Death


  The paint can shaker death was a rough one. Real rough. Guess I better start from the beginning so you folks will know what the hell I'm talking about. It was 1978 at a place where God took a crap and called it Cleveland. I was sixteen years old and wild. It was a wonderful time to be alive. A time when girls still wore tube tops that exposed smooth flat bellies and caused many a wet dream for teenage boys. When they walked by, you and your friends would grow silent with a solemn worshiping gaze until someone said, damn, quietly under their breath, bringing everybody back to whatever you were initially talking about. It was probably girls.
 
  We were still wearing bell bottom jeans so wide you'd trip every once in awhile when walking, but damn it all if we didn't love them. Almost as much as the long haired girls in tube tops. A time when a boy could wear his hair long and it was considered cool. We always felt sorry for the short haired guys. We knew they didn't know the sensation of a pretty girl running her fingers through their long hair on a hot summer daydream evening in the park. Girls always seemed to like playing with the long hair. Disco was dying and we celebrated its much hoped for passing. Rock was becoming king again, but little did we know we should've taken the song, The Day the Music Died, as prophecy. Rock was hearing it's death knell because the 80's were coming with its synthesized generic beats posing as a piss poor excuse for rock. I, for one, am thankful we couldn't see the future.
 
  My "gang" was composed of Larry, Rick, David, Mike, and me, Billy. There was also Darlene. She was our pass-around, but she was so much more than that. She took care of us in other ways. She kept us alive and/or out of prison by being our voice of reason and common sense. Her percentage of success was high, but we'd make it past her once in awhile and do something stupid. The stupid things were always, well almost always, exciting and fun. A rush both for the mind and spirit. Made one feel so free and alive to the point where your life felt as sharp as newly broken glass. When you become an adult the feelings of youth become memories that will fade as one grows older. A time when your mind was still empty of the bad there is in life. In those places where our teenage feelings of pure freedom and invulnerability resided the harsh realities of life would eventually fill. Here again I am thankful we couldn't see the future because this was how we felt before real life entered ours.
 
  The rock band, KISS was coming to the Cleveland Stadium accompanied by Queen and Deep Purple. KISS was the draw because their music went very well with our teenage sense of rebellion and freedom. Besides, who didn't like to make themselves up to look like KISS members when going to their concerts? Queen was no lightweight band though. They were awesome too. Freddy Mercury would get the audience to clap above their heads. When you're stoned to the bone and see this sea of thousands of hands coming together at the same time, over and over, it feels like it's the most important moment that's ever happened in the history of the universe. You're caught up and carried away for that oh so brief moment. Deep Purple was to play last. This was good because we'd be so mellowed out high by the time they took the stage. Their music would go along with it just fine.
 
  We did have a minor problem. Not even near enough money to buy 6 tickets. Not even two and if we studied on it, probably not one ticket. We were broke a lot because of the marijuana. We were Stoners. Exactly like the image they now use for the stereotypical Stoners. We were popular. We were cool, but as with the case of most teenage Stoners, broke. You know you accomplished something when you could be broke and still popular. So we came up with the idea of playing the middle man game. Say somebody was looking for a dime bag. One of us would go get the customers bag from our friendly neighborhood pot dealer, take a pinch for ourselves and deliver the rest. Not one instance did any of our customers complain about a small bag. Can't say how many customers we had, but it was enough as to where we had to find eight more dealers. Yeah, we had the customers. With almost every single sale the customer could get what they want. We could get them Columbia Gold, Columbia Red, Panama Red, Skunk, Jamaican, Seedless Mexican Sativa and some other common strains. In amounts from nickel bags, to lids, all way up into pounds. You wanted it, we could get it. About every two months the Thai Stick and Hawaiian strains would come in. Our pinches added up, so we sold the excess. A lot of it was smoked. We smoked a lot. A whole lot.
 
  Though I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. We had the money for six tickets within two weeks after we started The Middleman Game. This was the whole purpose of playing, wasn't it? On the day we were going to take the bus (told you, stereotypical stoners we were) downtown to get our tickets, Rick asked what our customers were going to do while were at the concert. We smoked and pondered on this. None of us got to hear the complete discussion as to what we were going to do because every couple of minutes someone would drive or ride up and ask for a bag. We knew going to the concert for the six to seven hours would mean we would lose about $700. We ended up not going to the concert and I regret it to this day. It ended up we would've lost only $80. Most of our customers went to the KISS concert. We should've known this, but we were the perfect example of the song, I Got Stoned and I Missed It.
 
  By May of 79, going to that concert would've cost us 6 to $8,000 easily. We had gotten big and now ran the trade all throughout the Westside of Cleveland. Darlene was no longer our voice of reason and common sense for she got caught up in the money too. She became as sleazy as the rest of us. We were no longer middlemen. Only person we went to now was more of a supplier than any kind of dealer. You had to buy a minimum of 20 pounds. Only bought this much one time from him and afterward always bought double this amount. We were known as the Six Pack in the beginning, then it shortened to just, The Pack. We had a lot people working for us so we could cover our expanding sales territory. It was good to go until "the thing we couldn't avoid" came along and ruined our ride. We couldn't have avoided it because we didn't even see it coming. Throughout our lives we all step on peoples toes quite frequently. It seems sad in a way that more times than not these slights are not made intentionally and we're totally unaware we said/did one. Insults are different than slights because more times than not, they are made intentionally. It seemed we slighted some people. Very dangerous people.
 
  It was a sticky shirt humid July day. Me, Mike and Dave were hanging out at Rizzy's Arcade. Doing business and killing time. A Cadillac pulled up in its usual quiet way and stopped. Three men in dark suits sat in the car and stared menacingly at us. You ever perceive trouble coming in a situation where only you and maybe another person see it, but the others present are unaware? This was not one of those times! All three of us felt the danger and reacted by scooting our dumb asses into the arcade. In fact we scooted all the way to the back of Rizzy's right through the rear door and ran like hell to Mike's house. We knew those goons weren't the police, but well...goons. Mafia, or as we were thinking of them at this time, The You're in Frickin Trouble Now Mob. We got into those arguments people get into when one or more of them are very afraid. It became clear to us we shouldn't of run like sissies. We seriously disrespected those guys. I knew they were there to discuss our business and we ran.
 
  Six blocks from us was one of their clubs. With Boccie Ball lanes outside in the back and the little tables with fold up chairs out front. Looked pleasant enough, but you knew the real story. All six of us decided we needed a representative to go there and talk to them. Me and Larry decided to go. It was at this time we made our second mistake. Before deciding who was going to go, we talked about quitting selling marijuana. We had plenty of money saved, nice cars and everything else we wanted for them like really good 8 track stereos and loud glass packed Thrush mufflers. Walk away and it could've been over. Safe at third and resting easy. How does greed make a person go so stupid? We had everything, but wanted more. Larry and I drove over there wearing suits for some damn reason. Now we were just well dressed long hair Stoners. Felt really embarrassed over this. We got to the club with a trunk load of trepidation and a ass load of fear waiting to squirt out. We approached a big guy, both in girth and height, sitting at a table reading the newspaper. He glanced at us and kept reading while I stood there wondering if I should say excuse me again. So we stood in silence for what seemed like an hour, but was probably closer to three minutes. He put the paper down and asked us to take a seat.
 
  The specifics of the conversation are not important, but the final agreement is. We had to split 60/40 in their favor. It was our business yet they were going to take sixty cents from every dollar. The bastards knew we either took the deal or we walked away from what was starting to look less and less like the good life. This is the exact moment, down to the very second, I find myself thinking about every day of my life. Why didn't we walk away? Instead we took the deal. The first week we had what we called the M&M's following us around to see how much money we took in so they could get a weekly average. We called them M&M's because it was short for Mobster Monitors. After the first week it wasn't so bad. We lost money, but got to keep enough to insure we did our jobs and remained respectful.
 
  The school year was approaching and we told them we'd only sell on the weekends because we had to attend. As Rick, David and I got smacked around and punched a few times, we knew we had said the wrong thing. They told us we would quit school. You can imagine what problems this caused with our families. Two of us got sent away to relatives. I wasn't one of them. The rest of us dropped out of school and now had so much more work to do. Had to make up for the money the two that left would've made. Larry and Mike were gone, but now safe.
 
  We weren't. We worked like frickin dogs from about 7am until 3 in the morning. No days off unless someone got genuinely sick. You would still have to make up for your sick day's average intake. Rick caught a two day flu and didn't make up this money in the time they thought he should. The M&M's broke two of his fingers on each hand and still made him make sales. It was pitiful seeing him trying to handle money with his bandaged hands while doing business. After this, no one even toyed with the idea of taking a sick day. We were prisoners and slaves. In the spring of 1980 the cut went up to 70/30 in their favor as they had us start selling smack. None of us four ever used this garbage ourselves, but here we were hurting others by selling it. We were quick to use the lame excuse, well if we weren't selling it to them somebody else would be. No matter how many times we said this to ourselves the guilt was still crushing our souls. We were the masters of destruction and saw proof of it with many of our customers.
 
  In 1981 cocaine started getting popular, so the M&M's decided this was going to be our new product. The idiots couldn't snort enough of it. Bouncing around with their runny noses thinking they were so smooth and cool. From the poor sods living in rundown houses to the rich guys driving their flashy cars, we had them all. We owned them and this feeling of power was going to our heads. The M&M's started noticing our new found cockiness and kept a closer eye on us. Waiting like hungry spiders for their flies to step out of line.
 
  David started doing the cocaine bounce and we cornered him one day about it. Like every other junkie he denied it. For a good week we kept on his ass relentlessly. It was the threat of telling the M&M's on him that broke him down. He was spending the money he had saved and he was his best customer. An easy 8 ball a day. He promised he'd quit, but the runny nose never went away. Then he got popped by the police at a house of ill repute on W85th street. Was on my way to check on him when it happened. Sat in my car and watched as the police led the line of broken prostitutes and David to the paddy wagon. Looked like he had peed himself. I would've peed too because I was looking at a dead man. They found him hanging by the neck in his cell. Said it was suicide, but I knew better. He had been beaten severely with bruises all over his body. The M&M's took care of a possible rat, a narc, a potential problem.
 
  Darlene disappeared a week later. Never knew what happened to her and still don't after twenty five years. A body was never found, so I'm sure she made her escape, changed her name and lives a normal life somewhere. Please God, let this be so. Now let's get to the paint can shaker death I mentioned at the beginning. Rick was robbed two times in a three week period. The M&M's were pissed and thought he was stealing the money. They found his body in a garage of some building. His head had been placed in a paint can shaker and turned on. Police couldn't tell how long he was in it, but it was long enough because the damage was extensive. I attended his funeral. All the while trying to find the answer to his mother's pleading whys as she beat on my chest.
 
  That night I left Cleveland on a Greyhound. Went to different cities for the next three weeks to make it harder for them to find me. Finally settled here in Pittsburgh. I live on the third floor of a very run down tenement where my only friends are the roaches who seem to love it here. Even though it's been 25 years I know the M&M's are still looking for me. They search because I did bad and they will be my sin equalizers. My moment of redemption, my priests who I shall confess to before they kill me for my sins. I get awakened from one of my many nightmares when a car drives by slowly. Run to window and peek out for an hour until I know it was just a car and no one is coming out of it for a visit. Same thing when I hear a car door close. I don't have a television or radio because I wouldn't hear them coming if either was turned on. The alcohol calms me and I need calming all the time. A broke drunk is all I am now.
 
  From wanting to go to a KISS concert to this hell. How did it happen? Greed, stupidity and the terrible excitement is how. If we would've stuck with only smoking pot and not selling it, things would've been so much different. Things like that have a real tendency to go out of control no matter what we do. Hold on, someone's knocking at the door. No ones ever knocked at this door..................................................................