Collections Agent / Paying Off Debts
Everything below is true and is what happens to abused children who get no help. We do not disappear from life after our stints in street gangs. We grow up to be young men and women and we become part of the street life food chain. The stronger in mind and body and spirit prey on the weaker and do not care who you are , or where you come from. Crying and tears no longer touch us we have been stripped of all of the feelings that make a person care, all we know now is how to survive and stay alive for one more day. The minnow is eaten by a bigger fish and that fish in turn by a tuna and the tuna by a shark, or a human being and the struggle for life on the street goes on and on, never stopping for a second, but those fish are not fish at all they are your children and loved ones. I was one such a kid and here is part of my story.
Once out of the bank I needed a job, a woman and a place to stay. I was gambling and losing. My mother was tired of me hanging about the house mooching, drinking and just being a bum and I needed to get laid. I was drunk most of the time and like I said out of work and way over my head in debt in all ways and to just about everyone. My mother was nagging me for a monthly contribution to the household needs. The local gangsters were looking to be paid the money and interest past due on the loans advanced to me to gamble and MasterCard was threatening to take me to court.
It was at this point that I took out a bottle of Whiskey from my mother’s bar, took my loaded gun out of my drawer sat down on my bed and began to drink. With the gun on the dresser in front of me I drank and talked to myself in the mirror and looked at the gun. I was lost, ashamed of myself and feeling like I had no way out of this hole I had dug for myself. I knew if something did not change in my life the gangsters were going to kill, or cripple me. I drank and started to play with the gun. At first I checked to see that it was indeed loaded and clean and ready to use should I decide to end it. I drank some more and practiced putting it to my head, all the while thinking how little impact my death would have on my little world. People would chatter for a while and my family and so-called friends would pretend to be sad for a while and in a short while everything would be back to normal.
To society I was already dead. I had died when I did not finish school and started my downward spiral into the life of the street. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time, putting the gun to my head and cocked the hammer. I was sweating now and all I could think about was my daughter, money and hell. I closed my eyes, smiled to myself thinking of the gangsters I would be screwing over with my untimely demise. It was at this time I smelled my mother’s perfume and opened my eyes. Gun still at my head and cocked I looked into the mirror and saw her standing there behind me in the doorway. My mother had an amused look on her face. Have you gone completely out of your head fool she said? Put the damn gun down and start acting like a man.
How many times have I got to tell you that I do not want to see any God damn guns in this house? As I was letting the gun down tears were falling from my eyes. I started to say I wanted to die, but my mother cut me off. You did not want to go to school, you drink, you gamble and whore all night; you do nothing to help out around this house and now you want to take the coward’s way out. Get up take your gun and your raggedy ass out of my house and go kill yourself somewhere else. Wake up boy! Wake up and take some responsibility for your life. Everything you do, or don’t do in this life has a price tag and sooner, or later we all have to pay. I was standing now, the time for crying over, my gun in my pocket loaded, but the was hammer down.
I was walking by her when I felt her touch my arm and heard her say in a soft voice, “son are you all right now”. I leaned down kissed her on the forehead and said, “I will be fine now ma and thank you”. My mother was still weeping when I left and so was I, but no one could see my tears and I promised myself there and then, that I would never feel sorry for myself like that again and if the price of a happy life was death, then let the death be some one else’s.
That night I was taken into a back room in my favourite watering hole and asked if I had the money I owed. I said I didn’t and had no idea when I could get it. I was told because my mother was well liked I would be given the opportunity to work my debt off and make some money at the same time. I was told that I would be assisting in the collection of monies.
The 1st time I was sent with a veteran collector. This guy told me to keep my gun in my pocket unless he said otherwise. When I asked him why? The goon said, “When you pull a gun you should be prepared to use it. We are here to collect the money and dead men do not pay. Break a guy’s arm, he will pay: threaten a guy’s family he will pay; kill the guy, he don’t pay.” The 1st time I broke some one’s arm for money it did not go smoothly. He was middle-aged in a nice suit. The man wore nice jewellery and was visibly shaken. Do you have the money you owe? No but if you give me until tomorrow I will pay, I promise. Lay down and put your arm over the curb said the goon or I will knock you down. Tears were running down the guys face now and he was begging for 24 hours, but the goon was unmoved and said,” If this piece of shit does not lie down right now, take out your gun and blow his brains out. There would be no need to shoot this guy. Shaking he got down on the ground and laid his arm on the curb. The goon adjusted it so that the angle was just right and then said, this is where you earn your money kid. I was told to break the guy’s arm. I did not jump on the guy’s arm in the right spot and all I did was hurt him. The goon showed me where to jump all the while this guy was just laying there moaning.
The 2nd time I jumped there was a loud popping sound as the elbow dislocated. The guy howled and the goon kicked him in the stomach and told him to shut up. I am going to ask you one more time said the goon do you have the money you owe, or do I have to break your leg? My partner and I have all night. No please let me make a phone call. The call was made and the money gotten.
The goon looked at me and said, “you did good a couple of more jobs with me and you will be clear of your debt and a good collector should you choose to stay” I asked him why the guy did not just give the money up before we had to break his arm? He answered, Pricks like that screw people for a living and they think that they can get away with anything. Fancy jobs, cars and women they think that they are smarter than us and if they bullshit us we will not follow through. It is not until they feel the bone snap, or the joint pops that the truth sets in, that we will follow through.
I did the jobs required to clear my debt and as promised by the goon I learned all the arts of collecting. I broke bones, cut off fingers and threatened men’s families. I set cars on fire with people in them and out, but I always remembered the rule, dead men don’t pay. I was back making of money and out on my own and I worked alone. No one to rat me out and I had my gun as back up.
One job I remember more than the others was a guy who owed lots of money to my boss, but was so connected with the government that everyone was scared to take the job. Well I needed the money and decided to take it on. He liked strip bars and was so cocky he was not even trying to hide. On the night in question I drove up to the strip bar and went inside. I had quite a reputation at this point and although I was only 128 pounds soaking wet no one messed with me. I walked right up to the idiot and put my gun up to his temple and said, “Please get up and come with me, we need to talk about the money you owe”. He got to his feet and said, “Get that gun out of my face. Do you know who the hell I am and what I can have done to you, you dumb shit?” I reached out and grabbed him by his testicles with my left hand and squeezed, while still holding the gun in my right. He yelped tried to fall down but the pressure held him up. He screamed for help pleading for someone to call the police, but, everyone that counted (the owner of the bar, the bouncers), knew who I was working for and they just watched from a safe distance and kept their customers calm and safe. I leaned close to him, still holding his testicles and applying pressure, although not as much as at 1st and the gun pointed at his chest now, I said, “Sir, are you ready to start acting like a gentleman and come with me? We really need to talk about your debt and how and when you are going to pay it off.” He nodded yes; I released him and put my gun in my pocket. We and everyone in the club knew that the gun was still cocked and ready to use, but there was to be no more trouble out of him and our exit went quietly and uneventful.
Once outside I told him to get into my car and put on the handcuffs that were on his seat. He did as he was told and we drove off toward the Indian reservation. It was dark when we got to the wooded area I had picked out earlier in the day; we got out walked into the woods where I tied him to a tree with barbed wire. I showed him the honey I had in my bag of tricks and asked him if he had the money he owed. He said he could get it but would not. I asked him if he knew how much bears liked honey and he laughed and said there were no bears around these parts anymore. As I poured the honey on his head I told him that he could be right, but if the bears did not get him the ants and other insects surely would. About the insects I was right they would have followed that honey trail right to him. When I shook the branches and made noises like a bear approaching, it was all he could take. The man started the begging and pleading of a beaten man. This guy was convinced that the ants were all over him and he was ready to pay. He stripped down to his underwear and we walked back to the car the clothing still on the ground. We got back in the car and went to his office building to get the money he owed from his safe. He had a suit of cloths in his office and I allowed him to get dressed. I had no desire to shame him further. He had paid, my job was done, it was not personal and nothing for me ever was anymore. He asked me to drop him back at the club and I did.
I had some drinks at the club, told my boss the story and laughed. I became one of the best collectors my boss had and only those who did not pay ever knew what I was up to and who I was. I was known as, the little black guy with the big nuts.
This is one of the stories of my life as a young man after the street gangs. It has al of the characters of oliver Twist,Bill Sykes and his whore who were friends since childhood, The Artful Dodger teaching all of the children what to do for the crusty old villain Fagen, but in this story the pain is real and there is no long-lost uncle that is going to come in and save the day fo Oliver your child. This is no movie this is real and thew only person that can stop it is you!
No education, unable to speak French in Quebec, unemployable, angry and desperate. Is this the kind of life you want for your child? If nI have become a hunter and the prey all at once and all I want to do is make it through the night and live until morning. I want to die, but the will to live will not let me kill myself and so I go in search of prey of which there is an abundant supply.ot you had better find them and make them feel loved and find away to help them, because in the street there is not all that much difference between predator and prey. We need to do something to prevent children from ending up and suffering and then causing others to suffer and trust me bigger jails is not the answer.