"Dave & Jim" Rough Draft (WIP)

David pulled up to the trailer, the sun bathing the cool blue car in heat.  He put the car in park, and looked down at his watch. The watch said 5:20. He thought, “How  could he just be waking up now?” He tried to push the thought from his mind. “Because he’s an addict ,“ he heard his inner monologue say, “because he is probably tweaked out of his country boy head.”
Everyone has their habits, he told himself. Hell, he smoked as much as a member of a 1970’s biker gang, and he considered himself to be doing better, compared to his college days. But this kid’s habit is….bad. Bad, that was the word. The kid snorted coke and painkillers all day, every day.  He didn’t need to control himself since the money he would have been making funded his addictions.  Lucky for him, his mother died relatively young, and he was an only child. Probably the biggest payday he’d ever seen had been on his mother’s death day.
Dave knocked on the door, with a tap-tap-tap. He waited, and imagined Jim snorting a line or two, rushing as not to keep the knock waiting. And then there he was, with his snorting tick, every few seconds from the liquid running from his nose. Usually it was snot or blood, this time it was both.  Jim’s face was paler than usual, and his eyes darted around and beyond Dave. “Looks like he’s been binging, he’s paranoid” Dave said in his head, “All day, every day.”
He lingered, looking into Jim’s eyes for a second more, then extended his left hand. “How are you this morning, buttercup?” Dave asked, trying to be as sarcastic as possible.
“I’ve been up for a while, and I mean a while Davey. So, if this is nothing urgent, just a sniff , a kinda sniff, shoot the shit kinda thing, I don’t got the time today,” he left Dave’s hand shaking in the wind.
“You’d better make time for me Jim,  or we might have a few problems.”
“What chu’ mean “problems” Davey?”, he followed with a snort. “We’re friends, right?”
“I mean, I’ve been told your about to have problems if you don’t pay Mr. Morrison, Jim.” he stared down Jim, who he could already see trembling with fear. This is the bad part of the job, Dave thought, but, it’s just business. Too bad Jim’s this bad, the dope’s got him. Bad. Bad is the word again.
“I told him man, I can’t pay till I move what I sniff, what I got left,” he started backing up, retreating into the doublewide he hid from the sun in.
“Jim, it sounds like you’ve been moving it right up your damned nose. And please don’t make my job any harder than it has to be. I’ll have to take something from you,” said Dave. He reached through the open door, catching Jim off guard. “to give Mr. Morrison some piece of mind,” he finished. Dave grabbed Jim by the neck, and held him up. He let go, and Jim crashed to the floor, shaking the whole cheap rented doublewide.
Dave walked in.  Jim laid on the floor and squirmed like a cockroach to light, and Dave took inventory of what was worth at least some money.  Scattered throughout the living room were clothes and trash, undoubtedly forgotten in the heat of drug use. “There’s the evidence, “ Dave thought, looking at the silky white looking residue left on a book on the coffee table in front of the television. The television was on, but displayed on it was not a show, just white noise. The static echoed down the hall, and Dave followed. He probably kept the valuables in his room he thought to himself, and his suspicion was confirmed when he heard Jim get up from the floor and run up behind him.
  Dave turned around and looked at Jim. He was crying, either out of rage or out of fear.
“Davey, do we really gotta go through this? I don’t got no money, but I may have something else for Morrison. It’s something one of my customers brought,” Jim said, running in front of Davey.
“Jim, what? If it’s not worth your debt to Morrison he isn’t going to like it”, Dave walked through Jim, entering the room. There was a twin mattress on the floor, with no sheets. Other than that, the room was bare, again clothes and trash scattered throughout. Except for a briefcase, hidden under one of the pillows on the naked mattress.
Jim darted onto the bed, and grabbed the suitcase. He placed it on his knees and opened it. Inside were small clear vials of a purple looking substance, capped with white screw on tops. The vials were placed into holes cut out of the Styrofoam that held them, keeping them safe and sound.
“So what is this stuff?” Dave asked, picking up a vial and inspecting the contents. There were crystals, translucent and purple, pointing outwards from a frosted violet tinted center inside them. He shook the vial, and the crystals bounced inside the acrylic of the container.
“It’s called Nirvana,” Jim answered, “it’s a new designer drug, and it’s gonna be huge”
“What makes you think that? You’re an addict Jim, not just to one, but to any drug. You think any drug is gonna be huge when you’re on the stuff,” said Dave, still inspecting the purple shards within one of the vial.
“Yea, fine ya got me there Davey gravy. Point taken. But this stuff w ill sell for Morrison, I promise ya.” Jim pleaded.