American War
A short story by Joanna Martodam

I’d never held a gun before; it was heavier than I’d expected. It felt cold in my hand, but not as cold as the sweat on my forehead.
“Are you ready?” He asked. I could tell he was pumped to be here, he had been waiting for this.
“No.” I replied with the little bit of voice I could muster. I was just supposed to drive the fucking car, remember? I thought. I didn’t have enough voice to say it out loud.
“I told you she was too pussy for this shit.” Preston laughed, that obnoxious smug little smirk on his face. “Lookit ‘er, she’s whiter than a ghost.”
“Screw you, Preston!” He was always giving me shit. “I can hold my own.”
“Just remember,” George lectured, “Keep it pointed to their head, but far enough from them that they can’t knock it out your hand. And no matter what happens, just be cool. Ready?”
I just told you, NO! “Yeah…”
“Let’s rock and roll!” I think Preston was as pumped as George was. For some reason they like this kind of shit.
“Hide that gun in the back of your jeans before you get out of the car.” George continued. “And stop fucking sweating!”
We walked up to the front door, and I tried to act normal. My hands were shaking so I tried shoving them in my pockets, but the gun pointed at my butt crack made the pockets too tight to fit in, so instead I’m just fumbling. Get your shit together! I tried to take a deep breath.
George knocked at the door and Tim answered. I was kind of sad. Tim was a pretty cool guy. He was a total hippie, a true hippie, with a long white braid and tats on his arm from when he was in Vietnam. Whenever I was out and needed a fix, he’d always help me out, even if it was just on front. And he never even tried to get anything out of me in return. I really didn’t want to do this to him, but I didn’t have a choice. I knew those guns tucked under George and Preston’s belts were pointed at me as much as they were about to be pointed at Tim. But I was a single white addicted female living on my own, and I needed a crew to protect me. It was either this or whoring, and I’m not a whore. Plus guys are less likely to bitch slap you when you’ve got a gun in your hand.
Hey dude, about time you showed up!” Tim seemed like he was almost giddy with excitement. “You’ve got to see this shit we just cooked. It’s bluer than the goddam Pacific Ocean.” I was looking around the room. It was a pretty big room, but the living space had been reduced to about the size of a large bathroom. The rest of the space was overflowing busted tools, computers and computer parts, old books, records, magazines, scrap parts, half digested bikes and partially consumed pizza. The smell from the cook was still strong. It smelled like a mixture of really nasty urine and oven cleaner that got sprayed into a hot oven. It was making my mouth water.
Sitting on a crate that was known to double as a chair was Tim’s wife, Sandy. She was a little younger that Tim, but just and gray and wrinkled and shriveled. She was busy cleaning her bong, I don’t think she even looked up. Across from her on the couch was Nate, another street tweeker, that’s about what I knew of him. He was probably a good 100 pounds bigger than me.
“Come on, sit down, I’ll load a bowl. Is that bong clean yet?” Tim asked his wife.
“Does it LOOK like it’s clean yet?” She snapped.
“Jesus Christ, you’ve only been cleanin’ it for four hours!” He chided as he walked into the other room. She grumbled something back under her breath but I couldn’t make it out. Tim walked back in with a loaded pipe. “Come on, sit down.” I sat next to Sandy on another crate-turned-chaise. “You got to try some before you buy it. This shit is KILLER!”
Halleluiah! I screamed in my head. The one thing that could help me right now. Some smokable courage, then I can do this.
“Ladies first,” Tim handed me the pipe. His wife seemed a little insulted. I lit the flame and held it under that beautiful bluish white pile of crystal happiness. I watched it melt, then blew off the cut. Then I took a crazy hit. The plume of smoke was so white and thick it enveloped me. It caught the back of my throat at the end and made me gag. But the hair started to stand up on the back of my head, then the goosebumps, then that warm-cold energy hit the back of my spine and sent shivers throughout me. I can feel my eyes are wider, and my mouth is watering like crazy. I take another ginormous hit. Smurf dope was always the best. Now I’m ready. Now I can do anything. I pass the pipe over to George, and it makes its way around the room. I could tell I wasn’t the only one impressed with the product. Tim hit it last.
“Damn,” He said, almost gagging at the same time.
“So how much of that shit you got?” Preston asked.
“Oh, probably a good three ounces, but it’s not all dry yet. How much you got money for?”
“All of it.”
Tim was obviously startled by this. Preston wasn’t the kind of guy to be walking around with $10,000 in his pocket. “You mean three grams?”
“Naw, you heard me, I want three ounces.”
“You know I don’t front.” Tim said.
Preston pulled out his gun and pointed it at Tim. “And you know I don’t bull shit.”
I saw Nate try and jump up, but George cut him off and pointed his gun at him. Game on. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at Sandy. I’d never seen a more surprised face.
“Now get the shit or she’ll blow your wife’s head off.” Just like Preston to put me on the spot like that. Tim hesitated for a minute. Preston pushed the barrel of the gun into Tim’s forehead. “Now.”
“Okay! Jesus.” Tim turned and walked back into the other room, the gun now pressed to the back of his head. I just stood there, my hand, and the gun, shaking like a leaf.
“After everything we’ve done for you,” Sandy said through squinted eyes. “You fucking bitch.”
“Shut up Sandy!” George yelled. I couldn’t say anything. I suddenly didn’t feel high anymore. I thought I was going to puke.
Then I heard the shot. It was so loud it made me flinch. Preston ran out of the room holding his gun and a fat sack of dope, yelling “Go! Go! Go! Go.”
I ran out of that house like it was on fire. We jumped in the car and I think I even had it moving before George got all the way in.
I was already starting to cry, “You killed him? You fucking killed him?!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you dude!” George screamed.
“He went for his gun, what was I supposed to do?” But his eyes were ablaze and he was obviously exhilarated. I think Preston had just found his niche. The tear in my eyes are making it hard to drive, but we make it back to the apartment.
We went inside and smoked out. I tried to get the drugs to make me stop thinking about Tim, but it wasn’t working. My eyes were still tearing up.
“Come on, get over it.” Preston sighed.
“Fuck you.” I said, my voice breaking more than I’d wanted. “He was a friend. He was nice to me. The man fought in Vietnam, for Christ’s sake, he fought a war, and for what, to have some punk kids cap him for trying to sell ‘em some shit? You said we were going to rob him, not kill him!”
“What, you don’t think we’re at war?” Preston asked, “Doesn’t this look like war to you? We fight every day to get what we need to make it, and we’ll do whatever it takes to get what we need to make it. Don’t kid yourself, girlie, you’re smack-dab right in the middle of a war.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, “And what side are we on?”
Preston took a hit, exhaled, then smiled, that same obnoxious, smug little smirk that always annoyed the crap out of me. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m on the winning side.”