The Black Cat

contains: drug abuse, and lots of violence

It was my first night outside, kicked out by my mom, an addict, to cope with the loss of my dad. This was… a long time ago, 23 years ago, I think. I didn’t remember much before the drugs. I’m writing this in jail, after 6 months of entering. This night was the hardest. I wanted to go back home, so badly, but I knew the pain my mom would put me through if I went back. I tried to sleep, cold, and wearing nothing but a thin beat-up jacket I found on the street. It’s really hard to lay down, especially so open, no room, no food, all alone in the urban streets. I got up, and I tried to find food and water. I found a 24-hour pharmacy, and drank some water at the fountain, and stole some food, a bag of chips and one of those pre-made sandwiches, probably the lamest crime I had ever done.  After that, right as I find another place to sleep, I find a black cat. This cat seemed to be prancing along, in one direction, then coming back towards me, as if it wanted me to follow it. Black cats bring bad luck, but I really couldn’t have any worse luck anyways, so I followed it down streets. It seemed to know exactly where it was going, crossing streets, going across blocks, until it finally stopped at a sewer grate. I was about to leave, angry and disappointed that I lost that pharmacy following a stupid black cat. The cat nudged me back to the grate. I stare at that crate carefully, wondering what it is that the cat wanted me to do, there was a thin sliver of light from the bottom of the sewer. I opened it, think that it was some kind of magical treasure, naive in my younger age, and I saw, a stairwell. 

The black cat sprinted down the stairs, and well, I followed. There was a big steel door, and I barely pushed it open. When I did, I saw a massive nightclub. This was different. Aside from the lighting, and the drinks, and the dancing, people seemed to be taking in powder as well, they were on drugs. In my mind, I thought, what kind of night club is this? Why would some cat take me here? Those are drugs. This isn’t legal. The cat then scratched me, and ran through the crowd. I barely managed to keep up with it as I ran through the people, running and high, dancing and enjoying as if there was no tomorrow. I pushed through them, barely making it to the other side of the night club, where the sickly sweet stench of alcohol was stronger. The cat then nudged through a door, and I followed. I then was immediately twisted onto the floor, a metal object smacked me and I went out cold. 

I would later learn that I was pistol whipped, the first of thousands of times that I would be around guns. I woke up in a cold room, tied up to a chair, it was so dark, I couldn’t even see my hands in front of my face. All of a sudden, a bright light shined on me, and there were these people. They were wearing black clothes, leather jackets, and they all had some kind of face covering, some wore masks, some wore sunglasses, and some wore hats. “What are you doing here?” someone said “Don’t ask questions'' another argued, “ let me just kill him.” “HEY, HEY. Why are you guys planning to kill me, what is this place, and who are you?” “This is the mafia underground base,” someone said “and because you entered, we have to kill you.” “Ok,” I said, “shoot me, i really have nothing to live for anyways.” I was right, I mean, I was living on the streets, I had no food, and I had no possessions. I guess they must’ve felt bad for me, because they took me in. Right before someone was going to shoot me, the guy in the back said, “I’m taking you in. Welcome to the mafia, I’m the leader, Greg”

Greg and co. took me to this big penthouse, and that was my new house for the time being. “We don’t live in the same place,” he said,”We always move around so no one finds us.”

He taught me everything, How to launder money, how to sell drugs, where to sell them, and he showed me how to use them. It was the best feeling. I felt like I was on top of the world for the first time in, well, forever. I was then given this old blackberry to contact them with. The modern day phones are easily trackable, and the blackberry was untraceable, which Greg wanted for “extra security measures' '. The hardest part was the gun. I was given a pistol, and taught how to shoot it. It kept on knocking back, and I kept on missing. Eventually, I was able to stand my ground and I became a really good shooter, headshots every time. I was ready.

 I was given my first assignment, the subway next to J. Parker High school. This made me feel really ecstatic. My first job! It was finally happening. The next couple of weeks, I went to that subway all the time, distributing drugs. I became the manager of that subway as well. That's how it worked. If anyone wanted anything they would ask for the manager, and say the words “peanut butter, banana, and grape juice.” That is how I would know if they wanted any drugs. I then led them to a secret vault and gave them what they wanted. The first load was always free. That's how I got them addicted, then, I gave them more, but at a very high cost. It pays off both loads and works very well. I quickly got loads of money, and the commission was increased. The first few months were great. Then, the problems started. Greg became sick. No one knew what it was, but he started to cough, and had lots of chills. We were too scared to take him to a doctor, so he stayed in his room. A couple days later, Greg asked to see me. He told me that I was the greatest person he met, I was the right choice to have taken under his wing. He then tells me that he was poisoned. By who, he doesn't know, but that what he was going through was something unlike any natural death. He then gave me the leadership of the mafia. His last words were, “run that subway.” Losing him was one of the worst pains I had ever experienced. He was like my elder brother. He took me in, basically saved my life. I was also one of the only people at his funeral who really cared. Everyone else was only there for the sake of the mafia. 

As the new leader, I tried to lead the Mafia into a different route. We stopped selling crack once it started to become legal, and we got into very illegal drugs instead. I also spent the majority of my time trying to root out the bad people. I started to figure out what he was poisoned by. It turns out that he was poisoned by being fed some kind of food laced with fentanyl. I just needed to figure out where the fentanyl came from now. I looked through the logs and I found lots of shipments of fentanyl. The strange thing was we never sold it. I looked around and I found a major group of people who were selling it, mostly from the southern districts, and they were led by the person who tried to kill me before I joined. I now learned his name. His name was Joe. He lived in the southern part of New Orleans, and I have a feeling that he killed Greg. Along with this, there seemed to be a group of FBI agents that were zoning in on us. They were arresting more people than ever. In the last year alone, we had around 10 drug busts, which is the most that we’ve ever received. I started to zone in on him as well. FBI agent James Stone, I had no clue where he lived, or who his partners were. First, I decided to root out the mafia itself, cleanse it, and avenge Greg. I decided to go and meet Joe. 

I headed to the Creole place that Joe owned. He was like me, now a manager of many places, but he tended to work out of here. I walked in, gun in my pocket and asked to see the manager. I went to the back. Then I placed my gun on the manager’s head. “Where is Joe.” I asked in my most stern voice possible. I needed to talk to him. Possibly have a fight with him. A gun was placed on the back of my head. It was Joe. He said “Why are you here? You already took away leadership from me. What more could you want?” “Did you kill Greg?,” I asked.“You finally figured it out?” he said, a smile curling slowly from his lips, uplifting his mustache. I wanted him dead, and instead of giving me the rightful role as the boss, he gave it to you. He said. Disgust slowly creeped up on him. What Good have you ever done? Aren't the biggest rads going on right now, only since you took control. It’ll be better if you are gone. I heard him cock the trigger, and I turned around and tried to shoot him. I missed

This was my first gunfight. I hid behind huge shelves of frozen goods. The cold storage was chilling my breath, slowing my muscles, but with my slowing pace, Joe seemed to be getting faster, dodging bullets, and getting accurate shots that were hitting boxes right in front of my head. I looked around, There was no way I was going to win this fight without some strategy. At the top of one shelf, I saw it. I quickly climbed that shelf, ignoring the pain my hands were getting from the ice cold metal. I got to the top, and there it was, someone had left a nail gun up here, probably from some repairs. I then proceed to shoot the roof. The easily breakable tile of some sorts crumbling. After that, I climbed up onto the roof, carrying another tile with me, and nailed the roof shut. I then turned on my flashlight, illuminating the area in front of me. 

I needed to go 20 tiles forward, which seemed easy to do, but at this point Joe was shooting wildly, one bullet grazed the side of my face, and another hit my shoulder. Pain fired up from my shoulder, and I wasn't able to move, or make a sound, because that would give me away. I then, as slowly as possible, crawled to the shelf. The shelf had now toppled, along with the rest of the shelves. I had to find another way out. I then remembered seeing some netting on one part of the roof. That could be my way out. The only issue was getting there. I found a vent, and saw that the netting was on the other side, so I started to head over there. I broke through the tile, only hoping that the net was really there, and it was. I fell, holding on to the netting and started to swing. I shot wildly, and hit Joe. I then kicked him as hard as possible, sending him crashing down to the floor. I tumbled on the hard cement floor, the cold now going into my wound, I barely got up, the world flashing, and I checked Joe’s pulse. There was none. Just for good measure, I shot him in the neck, leaving a massive pool of blood in my wake as I stumbled outside. I then walked through the rundown streets, until I got to my car, and drove away. 

After killing Joe, I proceeded to ban fentanyl, and any food that I ate was first checked by someone, to ensure there were no drugs. I also only ate food from my trusted assistant. With Joe gone, only opium and other drugs were bought, which insured that the corruption was properly taken care of. Next was the issue of taking care of the FBI agent. He was getting rid of all of our supply, which was in return, making us lose money. I hired some people to find out everything about him, and started to formulate a plan. I paced around a table for hours, writing down ideas on a white board in front of me. I didn’t want to do much hands-on work because of my shoulder. It was now always throbbing. It was like a pain that cripples you whenever you try to do anything, but I had to deal with it. I made a map of everywhere that they had raided, and figured out a pattern. They were mainly hitting the ones in the garden district, one of the richer parts of New orleans. We then armed one of the drug spots, a rich, French restaurant that we created in the Garden district, Now all we had to do was wait for them to fall in our trap. And sure enough, they did. 5 people, including Stone, were all there, ready to raid. They came with huge guns, and were ready to fire. What they didn’t know is that they fell right into my trap. Right as they brought the manager there to his knees, and handcuffed him, my ambush party attacked. They quickly swept through, knocking 4 of them out. They were quickly tied to a pole, and we waited till they woke up. Stone and his people were awoken by force after 10 minutes, strapped to this contraption, hanging upside down. At the bottom was a pool of water. They were tied to poles, and they had nothing to save themselves. As the poles were lowering, they looked on with horror. I watched as they drowned, not even able to move as they struggled for air. Afterwards I heard a noise, but I dismissed it as being the restaurant itself. 

After getting rid of stone as well, the mafia went on great for many years, until 2007, when hurricane Katrina swept through. With most of the drug warehouses being vulnerable, we lost about 50% of all of our goods. Lots of our men were killed, and I made sure to go to all of their funerals. After the hurricane, the mafia would never reach its peak again. Drug busts became more common again, this time by the cops as well as the FBI. Eventually, the mafia dissolved, with stress from COVID-19 taking the mafia down, especially after half of the mafia was infected by it. The FBI arrested all of the mafia leaders, except me. I was always on the run, leaving one house every week. I was losing money fast, not able to drop all of my rich spending habits. I was again homeless, and on the streets. I lived on them for many months, barely getting enough food to live by. I started to deal with drug withdrawal as my last supply finally emptied. I now realized that I was screwed. One day, I was on my own, in some back alley, and I saw a black cat. The cat seemed to be urging me to follow. Last time, it brought me a new life, a new sense of meaning, so I followed it. It took me past many blocks, and a couple neighborhoods, until I reached another back alley. This time, there was an FBI agent. I tried to run, but he quickly pinned me down on the floor. He was one of the cops from the raid. He had been waiting to kill me for years now, and he managed to catch me. I was arrested and sent to a horrible jail. It was impossible to break out from, everything was dirty, and the inmates there were all there for horrible things, like murder. I was sentenced to death row, which is where I am now. There is a cop right now waiting for me to follow him, to go on the electric chair. I had my last meal. I asked for shrimp gumbo, to remind myself of my old life. My last words to the world are, sometimes, follow the back cat, take a risk, because it can be good or it can be bad.