040 3rd Pers Covek gets drugs 1271

Covek turns a corner quickly and comes onto the same street that he and Susan were parked on less than ten minutes earlier. The same street where they watched the drug dealers plying their trade.

He slows as he approaches the two teens Susan spoke with about getting a G-pack of Heroin. He takes his gun from his jacket pocket and slips it out of sight, down beside his seat. He's careful to make sure it's easy to grab and that it doesn't slide under the seat, out of reach.

He comes to a stop, winds down his window and looks at the two teens sitting on the crumbling concrete wall. They regard the smashed up state of the car Covek drives then share a look that reads: what the fuck? Susan's car is in a truly terrible state. The front fender has been smashed off completely. All the panels along the driver's side of the car are severely dented not to mention the amount of paintwork that has been scraped off, while the front and rear windscreens have bullet holes in them.

Covek beckons the teens. They seem reluctant to approach him. He fishes in his wallet, pulls out all the cash he's got which amounts to twenty dollars and holds it up so the teens can see. 

The taller of the two draws on the last of his cigarette, flicks the butt, then approaches the car. He leans close, eyeing Covek suspiciously. 

'The fuck happened to your whip?' The teen asks.

'Forget the car.' Covek scowls. 'Gimme a twenty of H.' 

The teen steps back a little, wary. It's as though his instincts are telling him that something is wrong here.

'What? Just 'cause my car's fucked up, my money's no good?' Covek challenges.

The teen turns back to his friend who remains sitting on the crumbling concrete wall. With a look he asks him what to do. The youth takes a moment as though considering the ramifications of dealing with someone who drives such a beat-up car. But after a moment he simply shrugs as if to say: Fuck it, money's money.

The taller teen turns back to Covek and says, 'Twenty'll get you two soldiers.'   

Covek nods then holds the cash out to the youth who snatches it warily from him. He signals to the third teen who sits on the stoop on the other side of the intersection. 

'Collect from my boy over there.' He says, then returns to his perch on the wall. 

Covek drives across the road and pulls up next to the third teen. As he stops he slides his hand down beside his seat and secures a tight grip on his gun. The teen approaches the driver's window clutching two vials. He offers them to Covek who reaches for them slowly, but instead of taking them from the proffered hand, he grabs him by his thin wrist and pulls the kid close. Simultaneously he lifts his gun and presses the silenced muzzle into the flesh on the underside of his jaw. The kid tries to twist his arm free but Covek's vice like grip is far too strong.

'You're gonna reach into your pocket slowly and throw everything you've got on my passenger seat. If you fuck up, you and your crew are gonna be on the wrong end of a triple homicide, you feel me?' Covek says cold and dry.

The kid nods then reaches into his pocket. Covek's not worried that the youth might be armed. He knows the setup only too well. The ones who carry the actual drugs never conceal a weapon. Being busted with narcotics is something that most first timers can walk away from without jail time. A concealed weapon, however, is frowned upon far more and when combined with class A's you're looking at a minimum sentence of three years if you're popping your cherry, far more than that if you've got a colorful rap sheet. Covek watches the two teens on the concrete wall. They're looking this way. The angle of his car obscures their view, they can't directly see Covek's gun pressed into their friend's face. But the simple fact that the hand-off is taking much longer than usual raises suspicion by the second. 

The shorter of the two teens gets off the wall, walks quickly to a gutter nearby, reaches in and pulls out a handgun. Covek returns his attention to the teen he has by the wrist. The kid throws a handful of soldiers - vials filled with rocks of heroin - as instructed, onto the passenger seat. There's only about five or six. Not enough for what Covek needs them for. For his plan to work, he'll need at least double that. 

'What'd I say about fucking with me? You really wanna get shot?' Covek spits at the teen. 'Give me every last one you got. And hurry up about it.' As he reaches for the rest Covek aims his gun across the street at the approaching teen with the handgun. He fires two warning shots, making a point of aiming wide of the kid, he doesn't want to kill him, just scare him enough to prevent his advance.

The shots have the desired effect. Despite the gun being muted by a silencer, the sound of the bullets passing through the passenger side window and hitting the concrete wall behind him make enough sound to startle both teens. 

The kid with the handgun reverses his approach. He runs back to the wall and dives behind it for cover along with his friend. Covek returns his attention to the teen with the vials. The kid throws another fist full of soldiers onto the passenger seat. 

'That's it man, that's all I've got.' He says with a fear fragmented voice.

This time there's about eight, plus the last handful gives him about fourteen vials. That should be enough. Covek doesn't want to hang around, there's every chance the teen behind the wall will start shooting if he stays much longer. 

He releases the youth's wrist and pounds the gas, driving away as fast as the aged engine of Susan's car will carry him. After a few seconds of driving he hears a gun shot from behind him. What remains of his rear window explodes into cubes of glass as a bullet shatters it. Covek ducks low as he flees. That shot came far too close to hitting him. Any other day he'd turn around and go back to show these kids what happens when you fire at a cop. But right now he knows he needs to get to the airport as soon as possible.

Another two shots ring out, but by now Covek is far away enough that neither bullets hit the car. He turns at the first street he can so he's out of line of sight of the shooter. He sits up, dusting the shattered glass off his neck and collar. That was close. That was too close. 

Covek slows a little, catching sight of a street sign he passes. Dalkeith Avenue. He knows Dalkeith well. If he stays on it heading south it'll take him to the airport with only a handful of turns. Easy driving. Despite being in a hurry, Covek eases up on the accelerator. The last thing he wants is to be pulled over by a traffic cop for speeding. Although he's sure he could talk his way out of it, the last thing he wants is to be detained unnecessarily and waste precious time.