The 49th Hour

Day 91

Ricky looked up at the house from his car window. His warm breath fogging up the glass from the inside, the outside blurred with streaks of water, which slid their way downwards.
He appreciated today's weather, the setting sun hidden behind thick clouds, a modest rainfall that soaked the streets,
all color seem to be drained from the world. It was fitting conditions, the eerie gloom conjured up memories
of even gloomier days gone by.
His visits to this place had been some of the darkest times in his life, and days like this, with it's grey skies and misty rain, had for some reason made him feel less visible, as if he was being sheltered by the effect. The Christmas lights that adorned a few homes nearby added to his melancholy. How many Christmases had been ruined by his decade long drug addiction?
He felt hesitant to leave the comfort of his warm car, but knew he could not linger in front of this particular home. It's owner, Colin, was a well known drug dealer, and Ricky had learned early on not to do anything to bring attention from the neighbors, or passing cars, while parked in front of it.
He recalled a moment, perhaps three years past, when he was in Colin's living room, and noticing a car load of young women pull up and park in front. Their dome light had flicked on, and they could be seen by anyone who happened to be looking, actually counting money. One of them got out, talking loudly back at her friends, like she might be taking orders on her way into a fast food joint. The fact that she was about to purchase highly illegal drugs from someone at eleven thirty in the evening, didn't seem to concern her.
Colin had been furious when he allowed her in, but he was no dummy and always avoided offending or angering his customers. Not because he was a kind, considerate person, (there were Nazi prison guards who had more compassion for humanity than he possessed ) but because he knew better than to deny an addict their drugs, sending them away humiliated and empty handed. Such a person could very well develop a lasting resentment, and depending on the person, have no inhibitions to letting certain authorities know what was happening at 129 Fortsworth Avenue. Few people who came to this house could be relied upon to have discretion or loyalty.
And aside from losing a dependable supplier of their addictive substances, no one would shed a tear for Colin if the DEA raided this place in spectacular fashion.
So Colin asked her politely not to do that again, when he really just wanted to grab her by the hair, drag her down his steep driveway, and toss her into the car with her clueless friends.
"On my god, I'm so sorry!" She pleaded in her phony voice (the fear of being denied her drugs her only real concern) "Yeah, I can totally see, fuckin, how that was a totally dumbass fuckin thing to do!" She babbled out a string of mostly disingenuous excuses and apologies, but Colin wasn't listening. He just said "yeah, try not to be so obvious out there" Then, not wanting to hear her continue with her ramblings, quickly turned away from her and said "wait out here", as he walked from the entry hall, past the living room, and into his bedroom.
Three years, Ricky thought. That was three years ago. He remembered because he and Colin had been watching the Super Bowl earlier on that day. Even though they had never been close friends, nor huge football fans, Colin had this thing with certain people...habitual addicts...(or, as he surely thought of them, steady customers), where he would make you wait, sometimes for an hour or more, before he sold you the drugs you were after. People going in and out of his house was a dead giveaway of what was going on there, not that the entire town didn't know already.
Still, by instinct, Ricky was compelled out of his car by his own his own need to come across as innocent of any ulterior motives. Since he hadn't been here in almost eighteen months, he didn't want Colin to see him parked outside for too long, waiting unnecessarily and suspiciously. Disappearing from the drug world like this, then making a sudden reappearance, is what police informants did.
Ricky, with his newly acquired insight into human behavior and of the mind, wasn't himself being paranoid, but he knew who he was dealing with.
Dealing with drugs, at any capacity, had its own rules of behavior. There were roles one played....expectations, power plays, egotistical issues, hierarchies, all wrapped up in desperate needs and distorted by outrageous dishonesty coming from all sides. He knew the game, but was relieved to know that he didn't feel it anymore, and as he locked his car door and turned towards the house, he recalled those feelings, that role he had played in the bad old days when he came here. This was no longer his life. He wasn't desperate for drugs, or even in need of being accepted into that house. He had no lies in him that needed to be wielded to get what he wanted. No need for fumbling excuses, like when he did when it was his third visit in a single day. It wasn't two o'clock in the morning and he wasn't trading his possessions or using stolen or borrowed money.
No, now it was different, he knew ,intellectually, what needed to be said and done to get what he wanted, and he played the part accordingly.
There was no treachery on his part, he wasn't working for the police. But the humiliations he'd suffered at this house, self inflicted, yes, at the hands of a power hungry sociopath who hid his contempt for people well, were a part of his past he would never forget, or forgive.
Colin always had a large assortment of the best drugs you could find, he was welcoming and available at nearly all hours. His home was a nonstop party. How he'd never been busted was a mystery, but coming here, especially for those who were being controlled by a brutal addiction, could be a demoralizing experience.
The man was sadistic, no other way to put it. Watching others grovel and made low somehow empowered his own self worth. Had he been born in a different era, he may as well been a slave owner, or land baron riding a steed among peasants, cruelly taxing them as they worked his fields, cowering as he rode by.
Ricky smiled a bit as he made his way up the all too familiar and steep driveway. He was entering this lion's lair a wholly different person. The dread and melancholy he felt were emotions to be appreciated for what they were, the purpose they served in his life. Of course you should feel this way, coming to a place like this, after all the pain and demoralization you had put yourself through. But after ninety days of the most intense and cutting edge therapy, he had taken his first steps in detaching from them, observing them for what they were, the program offered you a way to do that. Like a doctor showing you an X-ray of your bent spine, and laying out a detailed plan for recovery.
This visit, this low level confrontation with a former oppressor, was his first test. He felt confident that he had what it took to emerge victorious. This was going to be fun, his training was working.
He was in control now...absolutely.