The Fifth Vital by Mike Majlak & Riley J. Ford

Author:Mike Majlak & Riley J. Ford [Majlak, Mike & Ford, Riley J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Non-Fiction, Memoir
Publisher: Mike Majlak with Riley J. Ford
Published: 2020-04-23T22:00:00+00:00

nineteen

As 2008 marched on in a drug-fueled madness, I again found myself on the streets. A new friend, Ramon, took me in and let me crash at his house. My latest home was now in an infamously rotten part of New Haven called “The Hill.”

Ramon was a short Puerto Rican kid from a rough part of town. I’d met him through friends on the scene and eventually developed a close friendship with him. He hadn’t had the easiest life, and we saw eye-to-eye on a lot of things. We definitely understood each other’s pain.

While living in New Haven, I began getting my supplies from new connects, since Nicky’s house had been shut down by the feds. Unfortunately, the area was even hotter with police presence than Bridgeport had been, as clamps tightened on the narcotics rings running in southern Connecticut.

One night I drove my Infiniti to a small New Haven housing project to pick up a “finger” of heroin. A finger was ten grams of rock heroin that I would blend to powder in a coffee grinder.

After picking up the product, I sat at a table alone in a hotel room I’d rented for this sole purpose. Like a twisted scientist, I spread out all my tools on the small wooden table: a digital scale, hundreds of wax paper bags, and a trimmed straw to move the powder.

For two straight hours, I methodically ground up the dope and bagged three hundred and fifty $10 bags of the drug. I then stacked and rubber-banded those bags together into packs of ten called “bundles.”

While I bagged up, I treated my nose to heaping piles of the product. Although I’d always used more than everyone else, by now the quantities were atrocious. I’d sniff through a normal addict’s entire week of heroin in one sitting. I’d fade in and out of consciousness as I put rubber bands around the final bundles.

When I was finished with the bagging, I piled the thirty-five bundles of heroin into a Ziploc bag, put the bag in my cargo pocket, and walked out the door.

This was substantially more product than I usually carried on me at one time. In combination with the five-year suspended sentence I already faced if I was charged with any crime, this could easily put me in jail for twenty years if I got caught.

I climbed into my car, threw it into third gear, and started mashing the gas as I flew toward the highway. At that point, I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t care about my life, the law, anything.

I wondered if I’d ever truly cared.

Sirens blared behind me. I pulled over.

My heart raced.

I can’t breathe. Stay calm. Roll the window down. Don’t panic.

…How can I not panic?

“Good evening, Mike,” the cop said. “Where you headed tonight?”

How does he know my name?

“Evening, officer,” I said, as calmly as I could. “I’m just headed back to my mom’s house.”

“Oh, really, back to your mom’s? Do you have your license and registration handy?”

I wasn’t going to pull any argumentative bullshit.

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