THE END OF THE ROAD

THE END OF THE ROAD

I’ve always been lucky I believe. Everyone talks about the great mystery of life trying to figure it out . I had come to the conclusion that the great mystery of life is when will it end. I am now able to say I know when that will be, to the minute, and that is not because I am suicidal. I will even have an audience. I see the end of the road . I don’t have to waste my time wondering when it will all be over and concocting ways I think will prevent my demise. Waste of time.

Wait, I hear the unlocking of a door and the shuffling of someones shoes on the concrete floor. Keys jangling. It obviously is the night guardsman , the person responsible for me these last few hours. I often wonder what kind of animal takes on a job like this.

He stands in front of the iron bars raking the keys against the metal, like I didn’t hear him coming. His military style hair stands straight up like he’s surprised to see me., idiot.

His belly makes the buttons on his shirt look like they are about ready to pop he is so fat. I guess too many McDonalds take outs followed by the obligatory Bud. It’s only a few more years till the old heart attack hits him. Funny I just spoke with a friend of mine who told me someone he knew had taken early retirement at forty-eight. He had worked as a probation officer and hated it. He was my connection to sell cocaine to the inmates. Anyway the guy retires and two years later boom cancer hits and he’s dead. So much for planning. You get an idea why I am feeling lucky tonight.

The officer I’ll call him John as I was never given his real name. They probably figured I’d have some of my boys give him a scare if he wasn’t nice to me, which I still might do.

John bangs the keys against the bars and grunts. “Hey asshole I’m taking dinner orders and since this is your last one I figured I’d start with you first. You can have your choice of anything you want as long as you keep it under forty bucks, the county is on austerity. By the way no booze.

I looked at him in disgust how do people like him exist, he is just so miserable. These guys put in their time, retire with great pensions and paid healthcare and it’s still not enough. Inevitably they end up retiring in the Villages in Florida playing pickleball. They’re usually on the second wife whose a boozer also and they spend the day drinking and complaining. Believe me I’ve seen plenty of these guys, and their wives who are always on the make.

Me, I never married, for what? I got all the sex I needed and I sure didn’t want kids. My lifestyle called for bright lights, champagne and hot mommas.

My life was good until well you know, it wasn’t.

Dealing drugs as the middle man paid well and I made money from both ends. The seller and the buyer. I was lucky I was on the street at an early age, learning the ropes from the best. Harlem in the 60’s was the best college. Everyone was afraid of me and my gang, except our mothers. Fathers were non-existent but you knew that already. My boys and I had access to all the drugs you could want. The adult gangster supplied us as they knew if we got caught we were juveniles and wouldn't do time. Maybe thrown into some bologna halfway house for a little while but if you were smart you escaped. One more kid on the street that Child Protective service wouldn't have to follow. It was the perfect relationship.

Time passed, I grew older and wiser. I never used anything stronger than weed and I guess I gained the respect of the old guys. They took me under their wings and I started to move up in the drug trade. I was a tough kid and was taken along on some deals as their hit man. I carried the gun. By the time I was thirty I was given my own territory and my first apartment. It felt good not sharing two rooms with ten others. My own boss sat in one of his several apartments on first avenue; by all accounts he looked pretty respectible.

Yes I had to constantly prove myself to him and I took a lot of risks I never would have taken in my younger years but hey I was young, aren't we invincible then ?

Yes I’ll admit it to you now I killed a few people but hey it was them or me. I won’t say it didn’t bother me but there really was no turning back for someone like me.

I eventually moved into one of my bosses penthouses, I had all the women I wanted and drank champagne like water. I had underlings who handled the dirty work.

But, without going into detail all good things come to an end. One deal too many going sour, one body too many being uncovered and one snitch wrapped it up. So here I sit.

The Feds were pissed and they were going to make an example out of me. Like the drug dealing would ever stop .

So here I sit waiting for midnight. I’m still waiting for John to deliver my last supper. Believe it or not I had a taste for a delicious Nathans hotdog and fries like I used to eat off the truck in Harlem on one hundred and thirteenth street when I was a teenager. I was pissed I couldn’t have liquor, a bottle of Dom Perignon would sit just right.

It’s ten p.m. and the bewitching hour is midnight. They’ve sent a priest in to discuss what? The afterlife? I’m not a believer. He wants to know if I want to confess my sins I said hell no that’s what got me in here. I confessed to the judge, thought he’d be lenient. Big mistake. I think the priest is looking to write a best seller and cash in on my stories. Sorry brother it ain’t happening. I told him I wouldn’t mind playing a game of rummy cube , always liked that game. He looked at me in disgust. Didn’t I want to know about heaven and hell? I told him I was an old dust to dust believer. Line my road with Nathans hotdogs.

I look at the guard sitting outside my cell staring at his watch.

“Hey asshole,” I say, “is it time yet?”.