Quoted By:
Your name is Pablo Garcia and you haven’t left the motel room in three days, you’ve sat locked in this room drowning yourself in Hennessy and indulging in an unholy cocktail of drugs that should never have been mixed together. The 350ug of acid, little bit of Molly, and that line you snorted off of the Egg Chair’s edge have sent you into a paranoia fueled frenzy of either pacing in circles about the room drenched in sweat or laying on the floor in a catatonic state absorbed in your own panic. When you’re not completely out of your fucking mind you’ve been obsessively staring out the window of the motel and fidgeting with your pinky ring waiting for them to come across the Nevada desert and take you out. That’s the only thing you’ve been doing when lucid, a rigid cycle of looking out the window, eyeing your duffel bag and searching through it, and praying to god under your breath that their trucks don’t go out this far.
This is the worst your condition has ever been, you’re normally in a daze going day by day. Never going this hard, never fearing for your life and having to check every few hours that they didn’t blow Mrs.Rojas’ brains all over the wall at the reception desk outside your room.
This has been the daily routine since your arrival at the Heart Hotel, located several miles away from Vegas in the endless stretch of the desert, the perfect place for you to lie low. You keep looking at that fucking duffel bag sitting on the table while pacing about. You’ve burned through $700,000 dollars in about four months, the remainder of that money is sitting in that bag roughly $20,000 sitting along with the ungodly amount of narcotics the $700,000 paid for. Whatever drugs could even fit in the bag that is, the rest are sitting in the trunk of your car outside.
Hope it’s worth it, because the thing about that money is..
Four months ago you took out a loan of 700,000 from the Varela brothers, twin loan sharks from Vegas, and also known associates of the Mexican Cartel. You were supposed to pay them back the 700,000 plus interest about three days ago. You don’t have the whopping 1.8 million their asking for, they set you up to fail and you thought you could win skipping town, well here you are with 20k of 1.8 million,a car load of drugs, and your few personal possessions sitting next to you in a dingy motel in a bag.
Today’s dose of drugs have worn off and you feel numb. Sad and empty. You’re the lawyer, no introduction needed.
You stand off to the side of the window and light up a cigarette. Not laced, no pot, just standard tobacco. A familiar comfort from these three days, Last time you smoked tobacco was during the divorce trial. You close your eyes and savor it may as well enjoy it in what could be your last days. You close your eyes and start to nod off with your cigarette burning again. You slowly fade out of consciousness again.
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