The Drugs, Crackheads, And Cops Story...

About two years back, I was an unwilling participant in a demonstration on just how neck deep in shit having drugs around can get you.

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My step brother Sean and I were visiting his Uncle Jerry late one night at the Down Towner motel where he had been living for a couple of weeks. The place itself was nice enough- especially if you were somehow able to forget about the fact it was (and still is) the most ghetto, seedy run down crack shack in the entire County. To put this in perspective, if the City Council passed a resolution to immediately fence up the complex without letting anyone out, the crime, drug and prostitution rate in our area would immediately drop by at least seventy percent drop overnight. But it was cheap, and apparently the only thing Jerry could afford at the time.

We’d been hanging out for a couple of hours, just talking, and listening to the radio. Jerry per usual had more alcohol in his system than most convenience stores have stocked on shelves. Needless to say, he was (again, still is) an alcoholic, and therefore would drink any liquid (rubbing alcohol, shoe polish if he couldn’t get beer or liquor) that might have the slightest odds at throwing his motor skills into a total nose diving tailspin. Anyway, he was wrecked, and while he continued to break world drinking records Sean and I smoked a blunt of some 420 I had on me. A few minutes after we’d put it out, there was a knock on the door. Jerry, being a habitual idiot with no love lost between his arch nemesis common sense, instantaneously and haphazardly began his stumble toward the door, while I rushed to stuff my stash into my pockets and sweep the seeds into the ashtray.

Not surprisingly, the guy outside turned out to be one of Jerry’s friendly, neighborhood bass head residents. Small talk ensued, as Jerry at this point would’ve attempted to strike up a conversation with a starving Siberian Tiger. Within a minute came the question.

Crackhead: So hey…any of you guys got something to party with? I’m looking for anything.

Jerry: YEEAHH man….oh Yeah….Brent here’s got some really good weed. It’ll fuck you up, HAHA…….

Crackhead: Really? You got some you could sale me?

Me: Uh, well, I don’t have that much. I could probably sell you a dime though? (Note: for future reference, don’t be a dumbass like myself and not only admit to having something but also offer to sale it to someone you’ve just met, I don’t care who it is.)

Crackhead: Hell yeah. Well look, my girlfriends down at our car. We’re fixing to go to the store and she’s got the money. Will you come down and let her see it?

Me: ….I guess….lets go down there Sean.

We both get up, but Crackhead stops us.

Crackhead: Um, she doesn’t like to meet lots of people.

*looks at me*

Crackhead: Can you just go man?

After thinking for a second, I uncharacteristically lower my intelligence level about one hundred points and agree.

We walk down to the car, where a dirty blonde headed chick who looks like she hadn’t had anything in her stomach in over a month but maybe some spunk from a couple of equally desperate guys who might have helped her get a ten spot closer to that next fix. The guy hops in the passenger seat.

Crackhead: This is my girl. She’s got the money, can we see it real quick?

I lean in the car, and drop the cigarette cellophane I’ve got it in on the guys lap.

Crackhead: Yeah, that’s cool man….hey back up…

*To this day I still don’t know why I did, but I did. Weed makes you stupid.*

As soon as I took a couple of steps back, the girl fired up the engine and before I could even process what was happening, threw it in reverse.

Me: Hey, what the fu….

They peel out. Not knowing what to do, I look up and see Sean looking down from the balcony.

Me: DUDE, THEY TOOK OFF WITH MY SHIT!

By the time I get half the sentence out of my mouth, Sean’s running to the car, yelling “lets go, lets go!”

We jump in my car, and even though they are already out of the parking lot and we have no idea which direction they went, we floor it out as well and get onto the main road to do a chase for ten dollars of pot, a little past midnight in the downtown area. As we get on the road, we think we see them turning past the post office up on the left. I gas it even harder, fly into the left lane and then into the turning lane, before cutting it onto the next road. To our left is a little road that goes down through a huge line of houses. To the right is more of downtown. I make a rapid fire decision that they probably didn’t go further into downtown and go left again, and continue my maniac like driving. I barely notice the stop sign ahead at the four way stop we’re cruising through. I ignore it so much that as I’m about there, I also fail to see the Dalton Police Ford Explorer to my left at the adjacent stop sign, also coming through. I stomp the brakes, they stomp there’s and as my heart attempts to thump its way out of my chest I go about twenty feet further. They get behind me, and hit the lights.

As I put it into park and cut off the car, I am momentarily comforted by the fact that I no longer have anything on me since it just got stolen. I say momentarily because Sean says the last thing I want to hear.

Sean: Oh shit…Brent man, I got my pipe in my pocket man!

Brent: You what?! FUCK, are you kidding? Dude. Get rid of it, get rid of it!

Sean: I ca…

I don’t hear the rest of his sentence, because the police get on their speaker.

Officer: Driver, passenger. Raise your hands so I can see them.


To Be Continued….