Almost Perfect

Dylan Cooper was a twenty-three year old bank teller living in Salt Lake City, who still had ambitions to be the next big thing in the rock world. The people he saw on TV and YouTube made it all look so easy, but nothing easy about dealing with reality. His parents told him two things: 1. Work hard for what you want and 2. Always have a back up plan. If touring around the world was not in the cards, maybe helping people with personal financial goals would be. A single man with no kids, he enjoyed concerts and hiking, but also enjoyed smoking weed and oddly enough, his job. After Covid, it was hard to get back into the swing of things but at least the bank wasn't doing mandatory drug testing anymore. He would meet up with Ashley a few times a month to get the best green in the area. No impurities, no stems, no bullshit, just 100% all natural Mary Jane the way it was intended to be. He liked Ashley, a beautiful woman of few words who always had a smile and a baggie. He stopped to get a cup of coffee when he first heard it.

Ashley Tucker was the pot queen of Utah. Not the most alluring title, certainly not her goal in life, but it is what it is. Not a bad position for a recent high school graduate to have either. Her parents had a huge hydroponics operation on their excluded and rather expansive acreage. They supplied a lot of areas in Arizona, New Mexico, and Wyoming. Too much competition in Nevada and California so keep it local was the plan and it worked out well. Marijuana was the family business so when Ashley graduated, she already had a job lined up and a booming market with plenty of supply and demand. Her family brand was well known and respected, and for 25% "police donation" it was allowed to operate. Sometimes buyers would try to muscle in but it was the same problem with the same solution. That solution was Ashley's silent partners; Her brother Jacob and his Ka-Bar knife. Ashley ran a respected and protected business so people knew to come and see her, and not to fuck around. She had a room set up with a linoleum floor for people who did not follow the rules. Sure she got slapped around and that is when a hidden door in the wall would slide and and Jacob would bury that cold steel to the hilt. The room was wired and under surveillance, so if a simple deal became complicated, Ashley would position her prey with thier back to the wall and their crop would have the best source of nitrogen known to man.

Good GOD selling coffee to inconsiderate dickheads was fucking boring! What I wouldn't give to flip every single yuppie prick the bird and storm out of here! Someday, someday the wrong asshole is gonna start some shit and...

Yeah yeah I know you want your bullshit macchitto whatever ya fuckin jerk....

"Good morning Dylan, a mocha Frappuccino for you?"

Dylan wasn't sure he heard right, was...no it couldn't have been a gun cocking... that's ridiculous...

Jacob Tucker was a simple man with simple wants and needs. Protect the family business no matter the cost, fuck up anyone who interferes. A little paranoid but came with the job and product usage. The Ka-Bar was a handy dandy tool of his part of the Tucker Corporation, and the hunting knowledge he accumulated most of his life helped use that tool effectively. He was also a coffee junkie had could be one rude customer if the milk:espresso ratio was not just right.

Greg Morton was sick of The Daily Grind, what an orginal name for a wannabe Starbucks. A failed boxer with a broken hand that did not heal quite right all because the damn surgeon was high as a kite. He knew the Godamn Tuckers were behind this shit and his botched surgery. In fact he and his brother Caleb were gonna put that bitch in her place, but Caleb never came back out. Greg was wondering if his brother was getting cold feet, or if that cunt went and Rhonda Rousey'd his dumb ass. He got his unfortunate answer a few minutes later when Caleb's severed neck was bleeding out on the driveway. He was officially alone in this world after his Dad's heart attack and his mother's abandonment. He spent long hours with his shock and loss, and had a lot of Southern Comfort to aid in that. It does what it does and Greg cycled through the five stages of grief in and out of consciousness. He showed up The Daily Grind drunker than he realized and was lucky he was not fired for pouring milk instead of water into the coffee machine. If the manager was not in recovery himself, Greg would be in the unemployment office right now. As events went though, it would have been better in the long run.

The resentment Greg felt after getting sober was almost as bad as the hangover he suffered though. He knew he fucked up and was forgiven, maybe the manager was right. Maybe he needed an outlet for his emotional rage that was not in a bottle. So when Greg saw the Sig Sauer ACP, he thought it would be a good investment. He learned to shoot and loved the release target practice gave him. He agreed to do to AA meetings to keep his job, and even knew a great sponsor. He was able to pass all the necessary steps to purchase the gun he wanted and loved the feel of it. Of course he would leave it at home, what kind of a question is that?

Dylan saw the arm come over the counter and the smirk on Greg's face. What the fuck was happening right now?!

"Look you fucking twat, you are gonna get five across the eyes again if you..." that was as far as Caleb Morton got. The side panel opened silently, and Jacob stepped out knife in hand. The move was so well rehearsed that Ashley's eyes never left her attacker, no indication was given Caleb was seconds from death. Jacob punched him in the back of the head, then slashed diagonally to unzip the skin from the rest of Caleb's life. Only when the spray landed across Ashley's face did she show any sign of emotion, but the smile was ear to ear. Jacob launched into a double leg takedown, pressed the high carbon steel against the cut, and finished the job. He deepened the already lethal incision down to the bone. Ashley watched, unblinking, as the red pooled out on her floor. She moved her desk back a foot or two exposing the slope in the floor leading to a drain.

Jacob and with dear old mom and dad, but that didn't stop him acting a damn fool. "What the hell is this watered down shit?! I thought you were sober Morton, you fucked this up worse than Ray Charles throwin darts!" This drew a few laughs, but when mom and dad bust a gut, the rest of the store followed suit. Dylan watched this go down, the only non-stoner in town it seemed to him, the only one unamused as well.

"You get the water outta the toilet after you pissed in it? I but you screw that up to don't ya, you fucking loser!" The manager came out at that time to try to de-escalate the situation, Jacob asked him why he would hire a guy who could fuck up a bowl of cereal.

All laugher rose, then exploded, maybe that was why no one else besides Dylan, saw Greg make his move and load the chamber.

Greg was having a shitty day, then saw the Goddamn Tuckers waltz in. He always knew that one day he would get his revenge. Going to the cops had no effect, they took his statement from the computer to the trash bin and never even set foot out the station to investigate. When Greg went to follow up, "What police report?" Was all it took to know he would take matters into his own hands one day. Well, today turned out to be that day. After a quick bathroom break, Greg left the toilet unflushed, grabbed a pot for the pot, and made the Tuckers a special blend. Too bad mommy and daddy never had a taste, oh well, he would give them a taste of something else unexpected.

Right after the cereal comment, Dylan saw the arm come around the counter top and a trained Greg Morton unload vengeance into Mr. And Mrs. Tucker. He aimed for them specifically, never hitting Jacob. The Tucker bitch got popped in the left eye, and twice through the chest. Dylan drooped his coffee, saw the gun swing over to...what the hell was his name?

Greg heard the insults and decided today was the day right then and there. The gun come out, he cocked it, and had a smirk of his own as he fired three shots into Queen Cunt and then turned to Captain Shitkicker and put one through his mouth, one through the Adams apple, and one center mass under the sternum. Then set his sites on Jacob.

Everyone screamed and ran for the door, no other shots were fired. Dylan was too stunned to speak and fear rooted him in place. He was going to watch this scene unfold whether he wanted to or not.

"Got four left motherfucker, stay there. Why did you and your whore sister do my brother?"

Jacob was crying and blubbering about his parents and then pissed himself. He tried to ask why Greg did what he did when, with a flick of the wrists, Greg put a round through the middle of Jacob's thigh. Crying and yelling, Jacob went down and Greg came from behind the counter, remaining in a shooter's stance, and in complete control. The manager tried to talk to him, but Gregtold him to leave or shut the fuck up. The manager left the scene, leaving Dylan the only witness.

"Dylan, stay or go but do NOT try to stop me or open your mouth. This is your first, last, and only warning." Greg did not ask if Dylan understood, they both reached the same conclusion in a non verbal way.

"Answer the question or round eight will be in the nuts."

"He...he hit Ashley...when that happens, I kill whoever tries to hurt the family or the business. Caleb got in the way and that's all."

"Fair enough." Greg noticed Jacob pressing on the wound so he fired once through the right bicep, and again through the left shoulder. "Big fuckin tough guy now ain't ya? I wonder if you will bleed out before the police get here? Let's find out."

Dylan saw the cops arrive, speak to the manager who confirmed The Daily Grind was clear except for one customer. No, he was not being held against his will. The police went in and secured Dylan. He saw how Greg made Jacob suffer until the last second before being grabbed and used the last round to shoot Jacob in the heart.

There was no trial, as Greg made a full confession and agreed with Dylan's account of the events that took place. Apparently being utterly terrified also provides you with a photographic memory. Greg was convicted of all three accounts of murder and was sentenced to death. Normally not done, but the judge and jury just lost out on the best grass they ever had.

Ashley Tucker, former pot queen and last surviving member of the Tucker family, was at home waiting for her Americano and blueberry muffin when the call came in. Not even a minute after she answered the phone, her entire world collapsed.

Being unable to run the farm and business on her own, the crop was lost and the police "contributions" stopped. There was no product, so there was no reason to protect her anymore. With the last of her influence, Ashley was allowed to be a witness at the execution of Greg Morton before becoming a permanent resident of Timpanogo Women's Facility.

When asked if he had any last words, Greg said he did. "This message is for Ashley Tucker; my brother died because of you, so your family died because of me. You and your worthless brother took away the only thing that gave my life meaning. If there are consequences beyond death for my actions, I will happily face them knowing I ended the lives of those you loved the most. I want you to know there is no more remorse now then there was when I fired my first bullet down to my last one. The killing of those three was my greatest achievement, and I made society better because of it. Your empire crumbled to ruin and you will rot away in a cell. I die today with pride knowing you will never get out of prison. But like that cocksucker Jacob said, your family got in my way. The only thing I wonder about now is 'what would happen if Caleb never put his hands on you?' Maybe we should have handled things different to help your operation, but he was always a hothead. You never hesitated with your decision to kill my brother so I never stopped myself from killing yours. So, yeah, maybe things could have gone down differently, but we will never know in this life. Maybe in another life."