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In Search of the Blue Fox

In Search of the Blue Fox



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Published by Scott L. Anderson
A young drug dealer is heading to the penitentiary in the morning for the first time. Spend the evening with him.
A young drug dealer is heading to the penitentiary in the morning for the first time. Spend the evening with him.

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Published by: Scott L. Anderson on Feb 03, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Winter Issue 2008 | The Red Ink Journal
    S  c  o   t   t    A  n    d  e  r  s  o  n    |    1
 By Scott Anderson
There's about 454 grams in a pound of what you thought was cocaine. Take 454 grams andmultiply it by fifty (dollars). You come up with about twenty-two thousand and seven hundred bucks.Say you get busted selling that pound and get sentenced to a minimum of eight years. Eightyears times 365 comes up to 2920 days.Then you divide that 22,700 dollars you would have earned if you hadn't gotten popped by thecops by those 2920 days in the penitentiary and you come up with about seven dollars and seventy-seven cents.Seven fucking dollars and seventy-seven fucking cents! Jesus Christ! For what? How could yoube so goddamn stupid? You had never done anything before but smoke some pot. What the hell madeyou think you could deal drugs?That's the kind of weird shit goes through your head when it's five in the morning and youhaven't slept a wink. Johnny C. signed off five hours ago. The laugh of that fucking idiot Ed McMahonfor some reason haunted you tonight. Maybe because you thought you may never hear it again. Youdon't even know if they have television in prison.Other normal folks have been asleep for hours and areready to get up. Birds are starting to chirp. It's a beautiful summer morning. Minnesota winters are the
Winter Issue 2008 | The Red Ink Journal
    S  c  o   t   t    A  n    d  e  r  s  o  n    |    2
shits but you can't beat the summers. The newspaper hit the door with a thump. The neighbors areboth up next door, they both work at Hormel. Every goddamn morning the wife fries up SPAM forbreakfast. It stinks up the whole fucking neighborhood. How in the name of hell can they work in thathellhole and still eat that shit? You went on a Cub Scout trip through that plant one time when you wereabout nine. Kids in your troop were passing out and vomiting for shit's sake! The rumor around townwas that SPAM was made from the lips and assholes of pigs. White trash food the old man always said.Wouldn't allow it in the house even though the whole city existed because of it.Shit, you couldn't sleep if you wanted to but you are tired. So goddamn tired. Horriblethoughts are racing around in your brain. Bouncing around in your skull like a fucking pinball. Theworst one is the thought of the shower room. That's everyone's biggest worry about prison. You'rewhite, skinny, and all alone. When will it happen? Sooner or later, you know it will.Seventeen years old. Barely. Haven't even graduated from high school yet. Haven't gottenofficially laid yet. Two hand jobs, one on the outside of the pants and one on the inside along with acouple of frantic dry humpings and that was it. Do you think the other prisoners will be able to tell if you're a virgin or not? Jesus Christ, how can this be happening? You're a solid B student. Never been in trouble withthe police before. Nothing! How the hell can this nightmare be happening?Your mother went to bed around eleven but you know that she hasn't been sleeping either. Hersobs could be heard through the walls. Her first born in the grave and now you. You wish you couldchange places with your big brother. You wish it was you rotting in the cemetery a couple blocks away.You felt sorry for your mother, your own goddamn heart was breaking but you swore to God if shedidn't shut the fuck up you'd go in there and smother her with her own pillow. Please Mom! Just shutthe hell up!
Winter Issue 2008 | The Red Ink Journal
    S  c  o   t   t    A  n    d  e  r  s  o  n    |    3
In a couple of three hours you're going to climb in your father's car and he's going to drive youup to the state reformatory in St. Cloud where you're going to start your eight to ten stretch. Your ownfucking father is going to hand you over to state custody.You couldn't be too hard on the old man though. He was the reason you weren't waiting in thecounty jail rather than at home. Your Dad swung your bail. Put his insurance agency up as collateral foryour hundred thousand dollar bond. And that's saying a whole hell of a lot because dear old Dad is onecheap bastard. Let his own father, his lungs scarred from breathing in some kind of chemical when hewas in the army, shrivel up and die in a VA hospital in St. Paul even though he easily could haveafforded putting him up in a nice private hospital.Even at that exact second, sweet poppa was showing what a tight-ass he was. He rarely drank,and that was only if someone else was buying, but tonight he was hitting it hard. Drowning his sorrows.Hadn't said a word for hours. One son dead, the other one on his way to the big house, that was sure anoccasion to give up his amateur drinking status and hit the big time. And what did he pick to drink?Fucking Old Style! The cheapest and worse rotgut brewed in the upper mid-west. Might as well justdrink Hamm's. From the land of sky blue waters, your ass!For a split second you had a worry that he might be too tanked to drive you to the slammer butthen realized that getting killed in a car wreck on the way there might be better than what was waiting foryou once you got there.Then the guilt hit again. It was a car wreck that iced your brother and started this whole fuckingmess. That and the goddamn Viet Nam war and the goddamn supposedly infamous Blue Fox bar downin Tijuana, Mexico. Your brother had never been farther south than Des Moines and the only nakedMexican woman he ever saw was in the skin magazines that he hid up in the attic, so where in the helldid he ever hear about the Blue Fox you had asked him?

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