The Cocaine Chronicles (Akashic Drug Chronicles)
Gary Phillips, Jervey Tervalon
Language: English
Pages: 250
ISBN: 1888451750
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Fiction. Nothing to snort at, this ambitious anthology of jaw-grinding criminal behavior is masterfully curated by acclaimed authors Phillips and Tervalon. The contributors to this anthology of cocaine-themed stories include Susan Straight, Ken Bruen, Donnell Alexander, Letrice Johnson and more. Gary Phillips is the author of several crime fiction novels, including Bangers. Jervey Tervalon is the author of several books, including the Los Angeles Times best seller Dead Above Ground.
smiled back as she saw my cock, and I knew she was mine. All mine, my lovely Nicole. Oh man, I loved her. I did … I wanted her. I needed her. I would fuck her until she screamed, begged for more, then screamed again, again, again … Or maybe, maybe this time it would be me doing the screaming and begging. I no longer cared. “Do you like it?” I said, looking down at my hard member. “Yes,” she said. “Oh yes, I do.” “Me too,” said a voice from behind me. “That’s a real winner, for sure.” I
him for something. Even when she was with me she didn’t seem like herself; her hair was stringy and dull, and she was starting to lose weight. She didn’t seem to sleep much, but she never got tired; I’d wake up and find her mumbling to herself. Then one day when I was changing the sheets, which I did every afternoon, I found a little plastic sandwich bag like the kind I used to take for lunch, with some clear, jagged pebbles inside. My mother grabbed it from my hands and started yelling at me,
their downtown offices on their lunch breaks. Two of them are lawyers, one works in a bank, another does something in movies. Sometimes they’re young, no bristle of beard against my cheek, but most of them are older than Chester. When I’m with them I try to listen to the sounds of the freeway, or to count, and not think about my mother, or what she would do if she knew what was happening. I look away when they take out their mirrors or their little glass pipes, and as soon as they leave, I run
staring at him with her pretty eyes. “Baby, I’m froze from my nose to my toes,” Fat Tommy told his boo. Bea blinked hard and looked up at her husband. “Your slip is showin’, baby,” she said, noting a half moon of white powder around the deep alar grooves of Fat Tommy’s right nostril. She pointed to his reflection in the mirror. Tommy pinched his nostrils closed, shut his eyes, and took a sharp snort. The lumps of powder were swept from the grooves in his face, shooting brilliantly past his
for a second as though I might be jerking his chain, then turned to go, but not before jotting down something in a small gray notebook. I’m sure some notation scheduling another background check. I didn’t mind. When you work for someone with great wealth you learn quickly that you really do serve them. You learn to be blind, deaf, and dumb, if that’s what they need. Monster needs all that. Sometimes I see things that don’t add up, that make me nervous. I wanted isolation, but not like this.