Life Can Be Sweet
The jerk was late. Again. Ben sighed, sucked down another lungful of sweet, sapid smoke and blew what was left back out into the ocean air. Thank the good Lord for tobacco; only He knew why the weed wasn’t banned yet. Everything else was.
Swept along by the zeitgeist, he’d carried the occasional package for friends. Nothing harmful; nothing that hadn’t been illegal before those morons in the Senate forgot what Prohibition started last time. Easy. Right up to the moment a trigger-happy Coast Guard used his wheelhouse for target practice. He’d spent a sleepless night lying low in what turned out to be a perfect smuggler’s cove. Serendipity. Except he’d been seen.
Had Ben’s mantic powers been better he might have thrown himself at the first cop he saw and spared himself six months of the bozo, but Jerry could talk, was full of ideas and said he knew all the right people. They’d be Butch and Sundance, out for a good time and giving the law the finger. Mighty fine. That was before he realised Jerry was a jerk.
Thirty minutes. Two more cigarettes. Coffee at the all-night diner two miles along the highway was looking good when he heard the rasp of the pimped-up Mustang and saw the flicker of lights. So much for keeping it cool. He waited, fists clenched, as Jerry strutted down the boardwalk. The man in black. Smuggler chic. He’d likely spent hours finding the right look, the right aftershave, prissing and primping more than the air-head dolls who helped blow his cash. Ben, as usual, had managed no more than a lick and a promise before leaving for the rendezvous. And there were no dolls. Someone had to do the real work.
“Hell, man, where you been?”
“Cool it, Ben. They’re gonna be late.”
“And you didn’t think to clue me in? Jeez!”
Jerry’s praxis was to love secrets almost as much as himself. Six months had dragged like six years in the pen. No more.
“OK, man, that’s it. Finito. I ain’t bein’ no mug no more.” He glared at the jerk. “This ain’t man’s work anyhow.”
“Whaddya mean? You wanna be back scrapin’ a livin’ with that junkyard boat? Or on welfare? Or join the saps tossing schoolkids’ lockers? We’re beatin’ the Feds and makin’ a few bucks too. You got respect. Coupla years you gotta decent boat.”
“Jeez, Jerry! Respect? We ain’t heart surgeons or charity workers. We ain’t even rum-runners or bank robbers. We peddle candy for Chrissake!”
Candy! Ben hadn’t seen it coming. Who had? Too many burgers, OK. Struggling healthcare, sure. But a new Prohibition? Ronald McDonald and the gang became Public Enemy No1 and overnight sugar fetched more than dope. Supply and demand. Now black market cacao beans from South America and Caribbean sugar cane were being cooked up by the good ol’ moonshine boys. Triads and Mafia both pushed bootleg candy from the old country. And on the edge were the sad wannabes who thought a few contraband crumbs could make them major players.
Dark patches showed at the armpits of Jerry’s designer jacket; his hair had lost its oiled perfection. The cool dude with the semilunar scar who imagined he was a pirate was just a little man in big trouble.
“Hell, Ben, you can’t quit now. We’ve half a ton of Turkish halva comin’ tonight. I can’t do it alone. I got customers, overheads. You wanna bigger cut? One more night, I’m beggin’ here.”
Ben sighed. “Respect? Hear yourself, man. This is no way to live. It’s a crazy life.”
“So where you gonna go?”
Good question. Live in fear of the calorie cops; join the lard-ass exiles in Cancun and Cuba (now there was irony); sign up with the resistance crazies arming themselves in Canada, convinced GI Joe was ready to riot now Hershey bars and Snickers had been swept from the PX shelves. But anything would be better than this.
“Anywhere, man. Anywhere.”
Ataraxia swept through him. The decision was made.
“Got my boat, got some dough saved. Guess I’ll look for the sun and the wind. I hear girls are real cute in Jamaica; maybe take a look there. I’ve wasted enough time.”
He waved to his stricken ex-partner, walked away, then stopped and turned.
“Lighten up, man. There’s a whole world waitin’ out there.” Ben grinned and winked. “Life can be sweet without candy.”
The End
December 2007
Life Can Be Sweet was written for the Answers.com Creative Writing Challenge