30/30 – 13 | Rule

The Morgue Makers took over two blocks of Hellraiser territory and are finally seeing a profit in the couriers. It usually takes about two months to see steady profits in the trade, but we managed to pull it off in just over a month.  Little Frankie’s personal cut was over $300 and Frankie is the laziest of our runners. Britch, as Brian is called in the organization, raised an eyebrow when told of Frankie’s take. That meant over $3000 of product passed through kid’s hands that month. Brian shrugged it off as part of the business norm, but when he looked at me, I knew.


Frankie’s clients were middle school kids. It was fucked-up and we knew it, but that is the ugly part of the game.  Fuck, it’s how he and I both started out.  Who the hell would’ve guessed two snot-nosed MFers like Britch and I be running the damn show years later? But here we were doing just that and as long as our rules were followed every thing was copacetic.

All organization have their overall commandments. In addition, warlords will have commandments unique to their rule and Britch had his:  you do not deal to anyone 12 years of age and under. Twelve being the unofficial biblical age of accountability for our sins. But that’s Brian, pulling arcane shit like that in the midst of a business like ours.Eventually everything evened out to normal profit levels, but it was hardest on some of the younger runners who lost some serious profit in the beginning.  They learned to work around it, because we all knew anyone caught doing so was going to pay a a nasty price in warning for the first offense and worse for the second.  Anyone who doubted Britch’s rule on that just had to be reminded of one thing…

Mike Bennet.

Britch occasionally sets-up his own stings to keep his people in check. Mike was busted once, had his arm broken, lost a month of runs and warned not to ever do it again.  The asshole was busted again a week after getting his runs back. Britch called a liberty meeting in the back alley behind Kelsey’s restaurant.  Liberty meetings meant you were at liberty to miss the meeting at your own risk.  In other words don’t fucking miss it.

In front of the entire Morguer assembly, Britch called forth Mike and questioned him on his activities.  Of course, Mike denied doing it.  Britch brought forth a video camera and showed it to Mike. He still denied it.  Finally, Britch called in the kid he dealt to who turned out to be one of the Morgue Mama’s son.  After paying the shorty $100 bucks for his service, Britch had Eddie Long, who at thirteen was the most junior person in both groups, was allowed escort the kid home while his mama stayed for liberty.  Then Britch had Mike gagged and tied to a chair.

Britch explained once again to everyone present that no one is to ever, ever deal to anyone under twelve. If you were not sure of your client’s age, don’t fucking sell it to them.  Mike had sold crank to a ten year old, who looked younger.  It was a personal thing with Brian and he did not give a shit if anyone else didn’t like it.  He was Warlord, that was his law and it would be followed or else.  When he reached the word, “else” he was standing directly in front of Mike and held out his hand to me. I gave him the cellophane and watched along with everyone else as Britch simply held the straw and the powder to Mike’s nose.

Mike was gagged so that he could only breathe through his nose.  When he tried turning his head, Britch called Jacks to hold him still. Then he had Tagger hold a straight razor to Mike’s throat.  Every Warlord needs a stone cold killer and Tagger was ours.  He would kill on command for Britch and Mike knew it.

Mike was going to die, it was his choice how.

So he chose.

The disappointment in Tagger’s face was as clear as the fleeting pleasure on Mike’s face as the gag was removed. Before long, the pleasure of the drug was quickly replaced by the demands of that much pure product on the human body.  At least one Morgue Mama lost it as we watched Mike go into seizure, but none of us were crazy enough to leave. Britch stood behind the newly lifeless Mike and looked each Morguer in the face with one final order for the group: to not make him have to do that to anyone else for that reason.

What really made it hit home for the group was we all knew that Brian actually liked Bennet.  We had hung out a lot when we weren’t conducting Morgue Maker business, but a Warlord can allow no one to blatantly disrespect his rule.

No one.

That was the last time Britch had to do such personally to make his point.

It was enough.