The Job

'That dried up old man over there is Tom.  He thinks he has some story to tell that will crack this case, but on the contrary, I know this man to be a complete liar.  Pathologically so, and I have the facts, the complete truth, and I am willing to tell you, sir, for the right price.'1

Sean said this with a sense of glee; it was not his first snitch job, but it would be his last.  Sean was a powerfully built man, but hyperactive and shaky due to his habit.  To ensure he got his regular thousand dollar pay, Sean was willing to spill some of the facts.  'Ok, here is a little taste of what I know...We were walking behind the movie theater when we saw a son of a bitch selling paper at Screwballs corner.'  Screwball was Sean's dealer and best friend.2

'Who's 'we'?' The officer's name was McDowell, Ronald McDowell, but everyone called him Don.  Don was thirty five years old, but looked older with pale skin and an odd strain of psoriasis that powdered his face red and white depending on how much he scratched.  'Who is we?'  The question rang again, this time there was a long pause for an answer.  It did not come.  'Who's we!'  Sean was about to cry.  He had fucked up.  This would lower the price.  Now there would be two snitches.3

'Tom and I, that's who.'  Damn, that was unfair.  Now Tom and Sean would have to share the K.  'But Tom's a Liar, like I said.'--4

'Don't try that, you get three.'  Don's words came as little surprise to Sean.  Whenever you split a tattle tale fee the cop skims off the top, or at least, that's how the rhyme goes.5

'That'll do, three hundred works.  Can I have the money?'  Don handed the money over.6

'Now tell me, who shot the teacher, and why.'  7

'Who is easy, but why is complicated.'  Don slipped Sean another hundred.  'It all started last summer, when Tom was still hookin''', remember?'  Don nodded.  'Well, one of his clients was Mr. Forster.'  Sean looks around the ceiling and cracked his knuckles.  Up to this time Don had been captivated by Sean's story, but now he smelled ripe bull shit.  8

'So, does this story lead anywhere, or do you want to feed me another load of crap.  Either spill the beans, no long story, or get the fuck out!'  Sean smiled.9

'I shot him, I shot Forster.'  This was not what Don wanted to hear.  You see, one does not send his snitch down for something large, because you do things with a snitch, things that could get one demoted, or fired.  Don had the cash on hand to give to Sean, and that was not going through proper channels.  In the past, Don had been a little dirty, skimming from all sorts of busts.  No, this was not the collar that Don wanted.  Sean obviously hadn't shot the damn pedagogue, but admitting to the crime would erase the problem for anyone else who might have done it.  There was plenty that Sean could do and say to put Don in instead of himself.10

Don took out his gun and pistol whipped Sean several times until he was sure Sean was knocked out.  He drove Sean to hobo alley, where he lived, and dropped Sean off with his crack whore friends.11