Chapter 3: Bad’s strange house

"I trust you Mr. Bendez."

"Thank you. Oh! Here they are Loud."

The male staff returned with a medium-sized filled carton. He removed the contents of the carton and placed them on the counter. This time, I was no longer interested in analyzing him. He stood behind his boss like he was waiting for approval to leave; which he never got. Mr. Bendez picked up a transparent bottle.

"Here my friend, Beluga vodka. Made from pure grain; down from Russia. It has a very high alcoholic content of about 40%."

He dropped the bottle and picked up another transparent bottle, although, the content was not as clear as the previous one.

"And this one is called American Honey. Made with wild turkey Kentucky bourbon and pure honey. It is a 35% alcohol liqueur blended with honey and real wild turkey bourbon whisky. And of course, from the United States of America."

He makes his way to another bottle. So, I interrupted.

"I am sorry Mr. Bendez, but I don't think we can do that today. I got people waiting for me at home. So, I am gon have to take the lessons next time."

"Alright my friend, if you say so."

"Yeah. I will be taking one of each and two bottles of soft drinks as I mentioned earlier."

"Alright. Pack them up."

He instructed the male staff in his sonorous voice.

"And, here is an extra bottle of American Honey to congratulate you on your recent success and to, however, wish you a happy birthday my friend."

"Thank you Mr. Bendez; I appreciate it. So how much is all that?"

"15000 Dila. How do you wish to pay?"

"Card."

He gave me a signal, directing me to the cashier's post. The payment was quick; and my goods were handed over to me, well packaged in a cubed plain carton, inside customized tick nylon.

"Garcia's Loud."

"Alright. Bye, Mr. Bendez."

"Bye my friend."

It was drizzling slightly. So, I dashed to a parked taxi. It was a black Toyota Corolla, 2007 model. The glasses were all raised; perhaps to prevent penetration of water. I knocked softly at the back window to alert the driver who was seated in the driver's seat. He gave a smoke signal to come in.

"Where?"

"5th avenue."

"Alright. Welcome aboard Mr?"

"Sam."

I completed it quickly. He was an old-aged man, probably in his 60s. He had a touch of grey on his hair and his little neatly carved mustache, without the beard. He wore an oversized black suit jacket; a replica of the ones worn in the Netherland during winter.

Honestly, I hated to be driven by old men. They drive very slowly and talk quite whimsically.

"So, welcome aboard once more Mr. Sam. You can call me Mr. Denver."

He said. He was probably waiting for my response, which he never got.

"What is my business with your name? Mind your driving old dude."

I muttered under my voice.

He drove for some minutes without talking, and I was so grateful. Then he broke the silence.

"So, where are you from Mr. Sam?"

"Heaven's Gate Estate."

"Oh! That is such a wonderful place to come from."

I was a bit startled by his response. I could not tell if it meant positivity or otherwise. So, I had to put on ice the conversation.

"Mr. Denver, do you have some music?"

"Of course I do."

He switched on the music player and a familiar rhythm were coming from it. It was Bob Marley's Don't Worry, Be Happy. This song was meant to make people happy, but this time, it grieved me.

"Mr. Denver, don't you have Skepta or Youngthug, Travis Scott or"

"I do not have any of that son! Those are for gangsters, or are you a gangster, Mr. Sam?"

"Nah, Mr. Denver. I think I will like this one."

"You will love it. Trust me, son."

I promised myself never to respond to him. He was so much like an amateur sleuth. The most infuriating part of him was that he was such an inquisitor; which made me unfold the sleeves of my shirt.

"Here we are; 5th avenue."

"Yeah, I will drop right there. At the restaurant."

"Alright. Here you go. That will be a hundred and fifty Dila."

"Here it is Mr. Denver."

I handed him 150 Dila and stepped out of his insalubrious car; with my goods;  stood, waiting for him to drive off. He put down the front door glass.

"Have a nice meal Mr. Sam."

He screamed. I did not respond; I promised myself not to do that.

5th avenue was the last street of the city. It was the street where the middle-class citizens of Capital city lived. However, this category of citizens was deemed wealthy, but not as wealthy as the occupants of the rest of the city.

I walked past a railway which was however the boundary between Capital city and Little Land. Then through a narrow road that led to Bad's house.

Welcome to Little Land. A city whose name describes it best. It was a little sloppy city with exiguous development and an enormous population. The city stood between the capital city and the cave city. History had it that the indigenous people of Little Land were the putative owners of the Capital city. I guess that is a story for another day?

Furthermore, Little Land was a very exhilarating place to be in the day; but turned into a crime city in the late nights. Thus, it was a very risky place to move at night, except for the members of the different gang groups that existed in the city. The gang groups in Little Land were known to operate only at night; moreover, the city had a poor security system.

In few minutes, I was at Bad's house. Bad's house had a big rectangular fence with one small gate at the back, two small black gates by the sides, and a bigger green gate at the front which was the main entrance.

The back gate had a big banner like a design covering the interior and exterior part of it; with a write up ("And when someone wicked turns away from the wickedness that he has committed and begins to do what is just and righteous, he will preserve his own life") on it. The gate was his family secret and unknown to many because it was an arranged escape route.

The two small black gates were used by Bad to run his weed and drug dealings. You knocked slightly on any of the gates if you wanted to just make purchases; and you will get attended to, through a concave hole on the gate. You knocked slightly four times at the gate by your left from the back of the fence; if you wished to go in.

I knocked four times on the gate and a tenor voice responded from inside.

"Who is that? What you want?"

"Tell Bad loud makes it louder."

"Alright! wait there."

'Loud makes it louder' was a coded statement Bad and I used it back in high school whenever I had to send someone to him to purchase weed. The person always returned with loud (weed) packaged secretly and sent to me. Most importantly, the statement meant that I wanted a type of weed made from 'loud dream strains'.

HEY GUYS!

DID YOU KNOW THAT AS OF 2020, TIJUANA-MEXICO REMAINS THE CITY WITH THE MOST CRIMES IN THE WORLD?