Page 42 of Money Shot

“I want thirty-nine hundred, and not a cent more. Mr. Weed wants thirteen grand. I really don’t give a fuck if you pay me, or if he pays me. I’m just telling you a way to keep him, or me, from coming back. So what’ll it be?” I asked.

“Take it all now,” dip shit number one said. “The thirteen and the three grand.”

I shook my head. “Thirty-nine hundred.”

“Yeah, whatever. Take it. And you’re just gonna go? Like that’s it?” he asked.

I stood from my seat and shoved my gun in the holster. “Yep. That’s it.”

“And you’re leaving the dope and the rest of the money?” he asked.

I glared at him as if he was even more of an idiot than he actually was. “It ain’t mine, why the fuck would I take it?”

He shrugged his shoulders and widened his eyes. “Because you have the gun?”

“You dumb fuck. Having a gun doesn’t give a person the right to steal. A gun is a deterrent to crime and a means of protection, not a license to be a god damned thief. I fucking swear, that’s what’s wrong with society. No one keeps a promise, and people are too god damned quick to take what’s not rightfully theirs,” I said as I shoved the piles of money in my two front pockets.

“Good luck in your endeavors, Fellas,” I said as I unlocked the door.

I stepped onto the porch, pulled the door closed behind me, and started to walk away. After pausing for a long second, I pushed it open and peered inside. The two dipshits were still sitting on the kitchen floor scratching their faces.

“You two fuckers can get up now,” I said.

They both stood up and stared in my direction. I considered giving further instructions, but opted to simply pull the door closed and leave.

It bothered me that the criminal activities in the city were carried out by idiots like the two men I had just left behind. There is no honor among thieves was a saying I had always believed to be true. At least in my mind, a thief was the worst type of criminal to ever exist. A drug dealer, however, was nothing short of a businessman, choosing an illicit or illegal substance as his means of obtaining income.

Drug dealers weren’t inherently bad people, nor did I assume they were irresponsible simply based on their chosen profession. Furthermore, I didn’t believe all drugs were bad, or that they should all be illegal, yet I refused to enter in the debates regarding their legality. I did, however, believe that a man should always honor his word when he gave it, regardless of his means of obtaining income.

A promise was no different than a contract, and when a man gave his word, he needed to honor it at any or all costs. If he didn’t or wouldn’t, he was as worthless as the promise he had broken.

If my father taught me one thing before he died, it was to be honorable.

I walked to my truck a member of a motorcycle club, a one percenter, a criminal, and without a doubt a man who could be placed in prison for his actions and choices.

But everything I did, I did with honor.

And I never made a promise I wasn’t able to keep.