Dustin was ready to start listening to his set of cassettes as I made my way home. He had just finished his latest masturbation session and was sitting on the toilet taking in that fresh newly improved bathroom smell. He wiped his stomach and flushed the tissue.

    As he waited outside with the tape playing, he switched on the shower to allow it to heat up. Instead of using headphones, he stood there in his birthday suit holding the tape to his right ear. Painted on the tape was a portrait of a few fuchsia lipstick stained lips with a hookah each and smoke oozing out and making its way around the entire tape.

Dustin was about to learn about the star of this tape, Cole. Tape five.

One day, Cole came by their driveway wearing a solemn expression. DeeJay's father approached him because he didn't know what he wanted and politely requested that he leave his property knowing the dangers of him. Cole, though, gave him a menacing, evil expression as he took another puff from the joint that was tucked between his pinky and middle fingers.

What made Cole even scarier and more intimidating was the scars that were scattered all over his face and body. His lips were charcoal black to match his finger and toe nails. He wore skinny jeans that stayed below his behind, a graphic teeshirt with a Lacoste pouch clasped around his waist. Tied onto his forehead was a red headband and his skinny chocolate body was filled with tattoos. He spoke with a booming voice that made its way out of his mouth by stumbling over his yellow teeth.

Cole approached him and placed something at his stomach. He looked down to discover Cole was holding his very own gun to him but used a cloth so his fingerprints wouldn't transfer to the gun. His body tensed up and he began to tremble a bit. Cole was standing so close and so calculated that it seemed to a passerby that they were standing towards each other having a lovely conversation. After all, this man was a deadly criminal, drug dealer and murderer so he had some experience with stuff like this.

"Your lil' nigga just disappearing with my shit and coming back every couple of months for more, the fuck is up wit' dat?"

"W-w-what d-do you m-mean?"

"That lil' nigga just disappeared after I gave him an entire duffel of supply that he was supposed to use to sell and give me my money that he owed me back. I told that nigga Dallo to stop fucking playing with me and my daily bread! Not because we're friends don't mean I'm gon' put up with this bullshit!"

"Listen, Dallo is overseas. He's at school. But for the duration that he won't be here, I'll be more than wiling to work off his debt. P-Please?"

   For a brief moment, Cole merely stared down into his eyes. He took Dallo's hand and put the revolver
in it. He then shoved the cloth into his back pocket, threw his blunt onto the pavement and stepped on it. Then he walked away.

    Dallo stood there for a moment, perplexed and paralyzed with fear. His blood pressure was being negatively impacted by his beating heart. Rushing inside, he downed a large glass of water while clutching his chest to calm himself. Simply put, he was grateful that his wife and children weren't present. That situation is traumatizing for anyone and he didn't want to put any of them through that.

For the rest of the day he was uneasy. He constantly checked out the window and was jumpy to any little sound that came from outside. He didn't know what was going to happen next and that made him giddy. He was always in a panic of fearing the future and what it holds on his life and this just made it ten times worse. He wanted to blame Dallo because he was the one who put him in this frantic but he knew he was just a kid and he didn't know what his actions could cause.

    The next morning came and everything seemed fine. His family was all at the table with him to eat breakfast before he headed off to work, the area outside was free of threats and the sun gave a squeaky glow to the outdoors. He finally could breathe properly and once he was done getting ready he practically skipped to his car.

   But there was a surprise waiting for him there. A duffel bag containing various types of size packages wrapped in brown paper was in the rear of his vehicle. He began to worry again, and this is when everything started going wrong. He began selling the packages for Cole on a regular basis in order to pay off Dallo's debt, which was increasingly bothering him.

    He was selling to local people who didn't look quite right in the head, possibly being on some type of drug. Although he was like a god sent individual in their books who was available to bring them their supply at any time he didn't see himself in that light. He knew that selling this stuff to them only made their problems worse and the guilt was eating at him slowly. But it wasn't like he had a choice. He had to suck it up because he was doing this for his son and this was the only way he felt like he could make up  for shipping him off when he was younger growing up in an environment totally different than where he was.

    This is how he won the hearts of all the homeless
individuals. They even agreed to keep him safe at
all costs. He periodically gave them motivational lectures and even distributed food, rehabilitation fliers, and other items to them because he couldn't help but feel guilty. But even so, his conscience wasn't entirely at ease.

    But Dallo soon passed away as we know and left the debt unpaid.

   Unaware of all of this, DeeJay began looking for drugs from Cole and, shortly after, began smoking regularly on his sofa as a result of all that had happened with Daren. The only elude he appeared to have was with weed. It was easier to take than life at the moment.

   Furthermore, Cole was not at all judgmental. With the kind of work he does, it's not like he could be. He was really laid back and pleasant to be around. He only became angry or toughened up when he had a job to accomplish or clients to deal with.

  And being exposed to Cole's work allowed DeeJay to learn about everyone in town's dark secrets. People he thought were the most innocent, even wonderful, old ladies who handed out sweet treats to small schoolchildren in the morning were desperate for their daily parcels. Even the school's wealthy students and teachers came to collect and place orders with Cole. And those who recognized him hung their heads in shame.

   Being in such an environment piqued his interest. The secrecy and excitement it provided felt amazing and got his blood pumping through his veins. He also liked it since it made him feel like one of those trustworthy minions of gangsters that sat around all intimidating, watching the action unfold in a movie or something.

    Cole was like little red riding wood with her basket of treats taking it to her sick grandma. But the treats were more heavy and needed to be handled carefully.

    But one day, everything changed.
  
DeeJay had just finished gotten a haircut and was making his way to Cole's. He walked into the tiny enclosed space and the murky scent hit his nose and he began to sniffle. He saw dishes filled in the sink and flies making rounds around it. But he didn't care, this was what the usual scene was like going there.

Cole was seated on the pullout sofa with his most trusted friend next to him rolling up weed. There was empty KFC boxes in-front of them and since Cole didn't like the biscuits his was still in the box next to the bones. DeeJay waited a while for them to finish their conversation then handed Cole some money for a few parcels of weed. Cole shook his head at him and DeeJay began to leave knowing he would come back tomorrow for it. But he was stopped by the friend, Jigsaw.

"Ain't you that nigga who died kid?" He said as smoke blew out from his nose.

"Um, yes!" DeeJay responded before beginning to reach for the doorknob once again.

"Fucking with profits will always get you killed! Learn from him!" Jigsaw shouted while laughing and hitting Cole's shoulder.

DeeJay stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around swiftly for some reason, intrigued and scared.

"What do you mean by that?"

"That nigga was trying to make those motherfuckers turn their lives around and was decreasing our market so Cole sent me in to do some damage control. Sorry lil' bro!" he said laughing once more and making gun fingers and taunting sounds of gunshots towards DeeJay.

But Cole didn't find it funny. That information was sensitive and was supposed to be withheld. With swiftness, Cole pulled his gun from being tucked in his waist and hit Jigsaw to the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

"I don't like niggas who talk"

Cole stood up and and pointed his gun to Jigsaw's head.

"What was he talking about?!" DeeJay said with tears beginning to roll down his face. There was a gun near him but he didn't care, he wanted to know the truth.

    Cole who saw the sadness on his face grew a soft spot. He didn't normally explain himself to people but this was a kid. He saw himself in DeeJay and that made him vulnerable. So he told him what transpired.

"Listen, your father was fucking with my bosses' sales that's why he didn't clear out the money sooner. Your lil fuck brother owned me money and drugs and your daddy was paying off his debt. Guess he felt guilty or some shit so he was trying to make the customers turn their life around. It was actually working and in a few months we had lost over half of our market and now had more product than ever which is bad for business. So, I made my boys cut his breaks and paid off a cop to forge the report. Your father didn't die because he collied with that motorcycle. He died because he couldn't stop the car"

    Deejay drooled and cried himself to his knees, clutching his aching chest.

"Now get out" Cole said a bit heartbroken and guilty.

But DeeJay was still crying and couldn't manage to get himself up.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!" Cole roared, and the authority and wrath in his voice caused DeeJay to immediately stand up and start stumbling to open the door. Deejay walked out with trembling hands.

"And yo DeeJay!" DeeJay turned around and looked Cole in his eyes. "If you ever tell anyone about what I'm 'boutta do or even try to get revenge for your father, I'll put a bullet in the back of your skull with your father's own gun. Don't play with your life or do anything stupid!"

And just that horrified DeeJay to the bone. His
eyes were streaming, his heart was thumping, his thoughts was racing, and his throat was burning as he closed the door. But a shot rang out in the house before he had even crossed the street sending the neighborhood kids scattering in shrieks and the birds flying off of the electrical wires.

"TURN THE MOTHERFUCKING WATER OFF!"
Candice exclaimed, jolting Dustin out of the hypnosis the tape had put him in. He hadn't even known he'd been in there for ten minutes. He
hurriedly turned off the water and walked over to
the sink. It was made of granite, and a lovely mirror with artificial leaves sat over it. He looked in the mirror, convinced that what he had just heard had altered the course of his life. What could the others hold if this one was already so intense?