High Five Interchange
Dallas, TX
October 26, 2018
Sound asleep in the driver seat of my little ’03 Mitsubishi Eclipse at the far side of the Gateway Hotel parking lot one cool autumn afternoon, I get that feeling… That sense of a new, unknown, unexpected and unwanted presence. Keeping my eyes closed for a few seconds to get my head right, I snap them open and look to the left at once and there he is – the reason my much needed nap has come to this abrupt and unpleasant end is standing right outside of my open window, amused and watching me with a stupid grin on his face. The smile seemed genuine enough to put me at ease, but the absurdity of this whole scene has me questioning his sanity.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Uh, It goes.” This is really fucking odd.
“Living in your car?” Eyes dancing with continued amusement. Smile firmly in place.
“Pretty much.”
“I have this property just across the highway. You oughta check it out.”
“Property?” I rubbed my eyes, pulled myself together, and somehow managed to exit the car without spilling half my shit into the parking lot.
#todo – detail on D’s appearance / gateway parking lot
“Yeah man. Just over there across that little bridge,” he points in the distance somewhere east of 75. “You should come check it out. A bunch of us stay there. I’m Demetrius. People just call me D.”
“Sully.”
“Nice to meet you, Sully. How long have you been sleeping in your car?”
“I don’t know. Week or so.”
I followed as he walked to the edge of the parking lot where the view of the bridge was clearest. He was staring in that direction when he started asking oddly phrased questions about my religious beliefs. Further questioning his sanity I tell him I don’t believe in religion – or deities.
“Well, Sully… When this is all over you will.”
Now let me just say; I have been around the block a few times. Then a few times more. I grew up in Brockton, MA – a ghetto city a few miles south of Boston – and as I got older and life truly began to suck I’d drunkenly visit the most feared projects in Boston where I’d smoke crack in some piss smelling hallway, intently discussing the worlds problems with the nearest addict or prostitute until daybreak. Gangsters and guns on every corner. Neighborhood danger was an ever present part of my childhood and I learned by grade school to pay attention to my surroundings and recognize threats.
Demetrius wasn’t triggering any alarms, but the ongoing religious tone of the conversation was enough to turn me off. As I see it, everyone is entitled to their beliefs; good or bad. If those beliefs enrich your life and the lives of others then more power to you. I am onboard. At least, until I feel mine aren’t getting the same respect. Then I’m outta there. He hadn’t gone that far yet, but I sensed it was coming and cut the conversation with the excuse that I had to be somewhere.
Not a total lie. I mean, I didn’t exactly have a fucking appointment but at this stage my main source of income (i.e. gas, food, and recreational pharmaceuticals) came from taxi’ing a few friends, mostly Bo and Robbie, who make their living from one criminal activity or another.
Robbie is a clean cut 50-ish guy who looked as respectable as a new grandpa, though he is actually a professional boost that makes his money all over the DFW landscape by walking into stores like Macy’s and leaving with $1,000 more worth of shit than he went in with. I’d run him from the east side of Dallas to the west side of Fort Worth during the day and in return he kept me fed, high, and the gas tank full. When the mall’s began to close we would meet up with his fence to trade goods for cash and he’d throw me a percentage bonus.
Bo is the Walmart of drug dealers. He sells everything. Pot, pills, ice, X, you name it. I met Bo when I was living at Studio 6 off 75 and Churchill Way. I spent four comfortable months in a suite there mostly accompanied by Samantha, love of my life, who for the past 3 years has been by my side through thick and thin.
Back to Bo. Dude has a different vibe than your typical Dallas drug dealer. First of all, most people that deal ice are shady as hell. They stay so high on their own product they cannot be relied on for even the simplest of tasks. Being remotely on time or having a shred of honesty for example. Not only was Bo always on time, he took serious pride in being an honest man even when it took money out of his pocket. The first time I laid eyes on him, I thought he looked a bit like Samuel L Jackson and while his demeanor made me easy, I got a sense that he was fully capable of turning into Pulp Fiction Samuel L if circumstances dictated. Regardless, we got along right from the start as he quickly realized I am not your typical drug user. Honesty is extremely important to me as well. I give it. I expect it. If you ask me for the $50 I owe you, but I know it’s actually $75, I’ll point out your mistake as I hand you $75. Also, my “Southie” upbringing meant that I truly understand discretion. We don’t call cops where I’m from. Ever. You can, but you’d better have your family packed and ready to get the fuck out of the neighborhood before you do. These characteristics are rare in a customer to those making a living in the drug trade – especially in Dallas where people routinely rip you off on your purchase then threaten to call the police if you show enough backbone to put the beating on them they deserve. Anyway, we became close and he’d rely on me for small tasks always for more than fair compensation. Tasks that usually consisted of my-non-license-having-ass chauffeuring him around the shadier corners of Dallas while he dropped off or picked up. Each time, before I dropped him off he would put more gas in my tank than we used, plus enough cash and drugs in my pocket to relax any legal concerns I might have. “Legal concerns.” As if…
I know these employment opportunities are a far cry from my previously held six figure a year career but this was now my life and to be honest I had more respect for these two guys than many of those who had once paid my salary. So I set off to take Bo on his rounds until early dawn while stopping along the way at every major 24hr chain store to shoplift a few personal necessities. I am not proud of that last bit, but life dictates necessity and survivors adapt.
[#todo – noon: woke to dead battery. cute stranded girl found me a jump. drove her to Mesquite for $12 and pack of smokes. basically illegal cab driver; no license or insurance, expired tags, stationed at gateway parking lot catering to those who care more about discretion and ability to remain cool than legal status]
Back at the Gateway I am awakened once again in my car by a smiling Demetrius; this time the conversation a little more casual, a lot less religious, and he repeats the offer to show me “his property.” I check my phone – almost 11pm. No word from Sam, and nothing from Bo about earning opportunities. It’s simply my nature to take life as it comes and the way he’s talking about this place has me curious enough to at least want to check it out.
“Fuck it. Gimme a sec to throw this shit in the back and we’ll drive over.”
We hit Churchill to cross and head north on 75. At the last possible second, D points frantically to the right he expects me to take onto a little bridge that cannot be seen from the main road so I slam on the brakes and skid into this pseudo-street with the closed gate at the end.
Laughing hysterically, D said, “Kill the lights, pull up close, and I’ll open the gate. You can park against the concrete barrier to the left.”
I maneuver the car to what seems to be least line of sight from the elevated freeway lanes and D brings me to his camp smack in the middle of the parking area and in plain sight of anyone who even approached that gate. Not just plain sight, but this… There must be more than ten grocery carts filled with clothes, some with shoes, appliances, tools. There are bike skeletons and other junk items strewn about. The actual shelter is a large multi-colored hodgepodge of tarps and tent remnants held up by I don’t know what.
D motions for me to sit down in one of the makeshift chairs and some guy he calls Moses strolls by to smoke a bowl with us. After some light conversation I walk to my car, shift the contents from back to front, and roll the windows down so I can stretch my legs out. Remember those little plastic sliding puzzle games? Bunch of squares that move around and only one slot empty? With all my belongings inside my car is that puzzle.
Finally; beyond exhaustion I climb into the backseat, gaze up at the sky through the sunroof and smiling at the thought of this new adventure fall into a dreamless sleep.
And so it began…