you’re buying an ounce at a time, not a couple of grams. If you and me didn’t go back a ways, I wouldn’t sell to you at all.”
By that he meant that he didn’t trust Kadyrov, who might just rat him out to the police if Vinnie cut off his supply of clean meth. And as a two-time loser, if he got busted again, they might put him away for life.
“Cheap bastard,” Kadyrov complained as he pulled out his drug “kit,” containing a spoon, a small container of water, and a syringe, from the belly pocket of his sweatshirt. “Just give me my shit.”
Vinnie Cassino leaned forward, scooped up the money, and counted it. Pocketing the cash, he opened a wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out two small plastic bags of white powder. “You know I don’t like tweakers shooting up in my pad.”
“Well, unless you want me doing it in the hallway in front of your door, you’ll break your fucking rule,” Kadyrov replied as he continued with his preparations. “I’m not going to make it any farther than that.”
The dealer didn’t say anything more as Kadyrov tied the surgical tubing around his upper arm, mixed some of the white powder with water in the spoon, filled the syringe, and plungedit into a protruding vein. Ten seconds later, the younger man shook his head and smiled. “Now, that’s more like it.”
With his customer happy, Vinnie asked, “Who hit you?”
“No one.”
“Looks like you got in a fight and lost.” The dealer chuckled. “One of your ‘girlfriends’ fight back?”
“None of your business.”
Vinnie shrugged. “You’re right. And neither is this.” He tossed a section of newspaper that had been folded to display one article in particular on the table in front of Kadyrov. The headline jumped out in large bold type:
POLICE ARREST SUSPECT IN BRUTAL BRONX SLAYING
Kadyrov picked up the newspaper. He’d dropped out of school in the eighth grade and he’d never been much of a reader, so it took him a minute to get through the story. When he did, he laughed. Some loser named Felix Acevedo had been arrested for the murder of Dolores Atkins and the attack on the young woman in Mullayly Park. Apparently, he’d even confessed to the crimes. According to the story, the case was being reviewed by the Bronx DAO but charges were expected soon.
Looks like this might be my lucky day
, Kadyrov thought as he read further. Acevedo’s mother told the reporter that her son couldn’t have committed such terrible crimes.
Kadyrov shrugged and pushed the newspaper back at his host. Oddly, he was mildly irritated that this Felix Acevedo punk was taking the credit for his work. With meth cruisingthrough his brain, he was feeling all-powerful. Still, his paranoia cautioned him to be careful around Cassino. “So what’s this shit to me?” he sneered.
“I guess that lets you off the hook for the Bronx deal,” Vinnie said with a shrug. When Kadyrov didn’t reply, he added, “I guessed that might be you. Maybe he’ll confess to those two bitches in Manhattan, too, and you’ll really be in the clear.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kadyrov replied, though they both knew that he did.
Back in July, Kadyrov had gone to the Cassinos’ apartment looking to buy, and at that time he had plenty of money, too. The dealer even remembered what his customer was wearing, because instead of one of his usual short-sleeve button-down shirts, he had on a blue, long-sleeved silk shirt that wasn’t his style and was too big. “That’s a nice shirt,” he’d commented.
“Want it?” Kadyrov said, stripping down to his wife-beater undershirt.
Cassino figured that Kadyrov was changing his look more than being generous, but he liked the shirt and accepted the gift.
Kadyrov had also been wearing khaki pants, on which his wife noticed something. “What’s on your pants?” she’d asked.
Kadyrov frowned and looked down. “What are you talking about?”
“There around the bottom of
By that he meant that he didn’t trust Kadyrov, who might just rat him out to the police if Vinnie cut off his supply of clean meth. And as a two-time loser, if he got busted again, they might put him away for life.
“Cheap bastard,” Kadyrov complained as he pulled out his drug “kit,” containing a spoon, a small container of water, and a syringe, from the belly pocket of his sweatshirt. “Just give me my shit.”
Vinnie Cassino leaned forward, scooped up the money, and counted it. Pocketing the cash, he opened a wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out two small plastic bags of white powder. “You know I don’t like tweakers shooting up in my pad.”
“Well, unless you want me doing it in the hallway in front of your door, you’ll break your fucking rule,” Kadyrov replied as he continued with his preparations. “I’m not going to make it any farther than that.”
The dealer didn’t say anything more as Kadyrov tied the surgical tubing around his upper arm, mixed some of the white powder with water in the spoon, filled the syringe, and plungedit into a protruding vein. Ten seconds later, the younger man shook his head and smiled. “Now, that’s more like it.”
With his customer happy, Vinnie asked, “Who hit you?”
“No one.”
“Looks like you got in a fight and lost.” The dealer chuckled. “One of your ‘girlfriends’ fight back?”
“None of your business.”
Vinnie shrugged. “You’re right. And neither is this.” He tossed a section of newspaper that had been folded to display one article in particular on the table in front of Kadyrov. The headline jumped out in large bold type:
POLICE ARREST SUSPECT IN BRUTAL BRONX SLAYING
Kadyrov picked up the newspaper. He’d dropped out of school in the eighth grade and he’d never been much of a reader, so it took him a minute to get through the story. When he did, he laughed. Some loser named Felix Acevedo had been arrested for the murder of Dolores Atkins and the attack on the young woman in Mullayly Park. Apparently, he’d even confessed to the crimes. According to the story, the case was being reviewed by the Bronx DAO but charges were expected soon.
Looks like this might be my lucky day
, Kadyrov thought as he read further. Acevedo’s mother told the reporter that her son couldn’t have committed such terrible crimes.
Kadyrov shrugged and pushed the newspaper back at his host. Oddly, he was mildly irritated that this Felix Acevedo punk was taking the credit for his work. With meth cruisingthrough his brain, he was feeling all-powerful. Still, his paranoia cautioned him to be careful around Cassino. “So what’s this shit to me?” he sneered.
“I guess that lets you off the hook for the Bronx deal,” Vinnie said with a shrug. When Kadyrov didn’t reply, he added, “I guessed that might be you. Maybe he’ll confess to those two bitches in Manhattan, too, and you’ll really be in the clear.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kadyrov replied, though they both knew that he did.
Back in July, Kadyrov had gone to the Cassinos’ apartment looking to buy, and at that time he had plenty of money, too. The dealer even remembered what his customer was wearing, because instead of one of his usual short-sleeve button-down shirts, he had on a blue, long-sleeved silk shirt that wasn’t his style and was too big. “That’s a nice shirt,” he’d commented.
“Want it?” Kadyrov said, stripping down to his wife-beater undershirt.
Cassino figured that Kadyrov was changing his look more than being generous, but he liked the shirt and accepted the gift.
Kadyrov had also been wearing khaki pants, on which his wife noticed something. “What’s on your pants?” she’d asked.
Kadyrov frowned and looked down. “What are you talking about?”
“There around the bottom of
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