Dave Henderson

It's like we're all holding our breath, awaiting the boss' decision regarding Wes and his continued service at the Highway.

Don't get me wrong, job security here is practically set in stone; we're in it for the long haul, for life, however short or long that ends up being. If we betray our training, either consciously or as a result of outside interference, we get demoted, spend time among the lower ranks of the drug runners, and hope to impress, hope to please, until we can rise up the ranks again. I remember Cam's relapse years ago, after Bryn left for the first time. I remember how absolutely livid the boss was when he felt something other than himself in Cam's system and how Cam spent weeks scrubbing toilets and delivering half-ounces and quads to the smallest of small-time dealers before he managed to work his way back up into the boss' good graces. I remember Wes' first... relapse, I suppose you could call it, I remember the boss cleaning up the body dealing with the aftermath and then sending Wes back down the ranks to watch over his high school connections. I remember my own betrayals, relapsing after that one horrible night when Marijuana was laying dead in the dirt, I remember speaking to those who would claim me, one a valued brother and one the boss' worst enemy, and the repercussions that followed. I remember daring to love outside the Highway circle and the continuous disdain I'm still receiving for that betrayal, and I remember all the punishments I received for those actions.

This is different, too different to be a matter of simple punishment.

Never before have I seen the boss' work and effort demolished like this. As a result of the efforts of a deity who shall remain nameless - and I really hope the boss doesn't start a fight over this - Wes is back to square one. Of course, Marijuana has an extensive power base and it wouldn't be difficult for him to retrain Wes, recalibrate his mind. But as powerful and as dedicated to his employees as he is, he is also, at his heart, the stoner. He's lazy. And from what I'm receiving of his thoughts today, I know he's weighing which would take more effort; retraining Wes and having him take his rightful place in the Highway crew once more... or cutting his losses, getting rid of Wes which means- and choosing a new bodyguard from the ranks.

And all of this in December, when the boss would rather stumble around drunk and singing 'Imagine' horribly off-key than actually think about anything overly important. I worry for him. For Wes, as well, but mostly for him.

Dave finally bothered to take the bachelor party pictures to get developed! Of course, Wes grabbed the ones that featured him and that random stripper hated that bitch and, ummmmm, Cam took a few to lock up in his room for reasons that I'm not supposed to tell Mischa, but the best ones were of me! I keep telling everyone that I should be allowed to wear that wedding dress we stole all the time but Mari- Marc took it away from me.

I, however, will always have the pictures! Don't I look like a princess? I think I do.

Whoops. I think I heard glass breaking, which means Marc's too drunk to keep himself from falling into the shelves. I'm gonna go see what's going on and then try to convince Dave to take me out for ice cream! He could use some ice cream. And Wes and I ran out of whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

Marc, I want my wedding dress back!

Being devoted to not one, but two Drug Gods - one in life, love, and service and one deep within my mind and bodily system - has taught me a considerable amount about possession and possessive love. They hold tight to what's theirs, even to the point of causing pain discomfort when a loved one threatens to leave. My boss, especially, has a tendency toward paranoia, toward extreme jealousy, when there is but a hint of another encroaching on... for lack of a better term here, his territory. He has a tendency to jump to conclusions, to assume the worst, to narrow his eyes and grit his teeth and dig in with all that he's worth. He has a tendency to overreact, to lash out against what he sees as a threat against the love he shares with what he views as his.

And me? After nine years of his power in my mind, after nine years of being so emotionally connected to him... in this matter, I am not so different from him. Like loving God, like devoted mortal.

Cam, I have a task that requires your particular skills.

( Dylan. )

( Dylan. )

Headed back to work a few days ago and not a moment too soon. It's that time of year again, the time of year when my boss drops everything and sinks down into a state of mourning; George Harrison on the twenty-ninth, then the sixth, then Lennon on the eighth. He used to spend the ten days between Harrison and Lennon tripping continuously but I'm pretty sure that's not an option anymore. Still, I know he'll find some way to be too intoxicated to work which means I get to rework the schedules and attempt to make sure that either Cam or myself are present for runs worth more than fifty grand. At least I don't have to watch over him this year. He's got a husband for that now. There was this one time, I found him on the roof and he was in the garden, spinning himself around and around in the dirt. When I asked him later on what he thought was going on? Stuck in a blue and black whirlpool. Acid, man, no good for anyone.

I'm so tired. I've got a run at midnight, but I don't think anyone would care if I put my head down on the counter and took a little nap, right? I've got Matty with me, I'll tell him to elbow me if a customer comes in.

A guilt-ridden Drug God is an interesting - and profitable - thing. I have a new set of calligraphy pens, a bottle of deep green ink, and parchment so thick and beautiful that I almost feel guilty about marring the white with green. Or does the white infect the beautiful green? Outshining it, outstripping it, wrapping itself around messily scrawled words and choking out the meaning?

I'm speaking in metaphors I don't understand, that aren't my place to understand... or do they have any meaning at all? Deep thought isn't my strength at the moment; the boss brought a huge dinner down to me at the counter and ordered me to eat all of it. The first brownie didn't help, the second enabled me to have a few bites but to finish everything, I had to smoke the crystal that collected at the bottom of the garbage bag that held our last twenty pounds of weed until the truck comes tomorrow morning. As a result, I'm stoned out of my mind but at least I cleared my plate.

After the early evening runs, I have the rest of the night off. I can go to bed early, rest up for a lazy Sunday, to be spent giving Cam further training. He'll be ready in time. He has to be ready in time. And since I have the night off, I might call upstairs and see if I can guilt a bit of the boss' private Columbian stash out of him. It'll be a good night, although the boss mentioned something that has me worried. Marijuana chatting with my boyfriend? Well, that can never be good.

( Private. )

Anyone have any suggestions when it comes to talking a Drug God out of buying marshmallow blasters for his entire crew and waging a marshmallow war in a head shop filled with expensive and breakable glass bongs?

Boss, as fun as I think it would be, we've got a deal worth a hundred and fifty grand going down tonight. I think we all need to have our heads in the game.

( Private; tentatively viewable by Heroin due to shared... interest in the subject matter. )

Marijuana's been back since last night. Damn, does his tan look hot. He was obviously able to tell that I took the Lambo out for a spin but since I did feed their pets for more than a week, I think I was entitled to one little drive in that beautiful car. Besides, he's been running himself ragged since they got home; right now he has his head buried in the accounting books and is trying to figure out just how I increased profits by four percent while he was gone. Two words, boss-my-man, Red Bull. And, well, over-scheduling the lower drug runners and working them into the ground helped as well.

Oh, right, he wants me to tell everyone that honeymoon souvenirs will be delivered this weekend and thank you notes for wedding gifts will follow shortly. And since he's forgetful and, well, running around the shop like crazy to get all caught up, if he told anyone he'd visit them or if you want to stop by the shop, let me know, yeah? I'm already drafting the schedule for the next week and it'd be useful to know in advance.

Highway crew, listen up! Today the boss and I realized that I'm the only one who's been through a staff reorganization back when Jake, uh, retired and we haven't been over the protocol thoroughly. So, even though there won't be a reorganization for months weeks years, we're starting a new training cycle on Sunday to deal with that oversight. Cam, you'll be training with me. Wes, you'll be training with Cam. Don't know how I feel about that; Wes taking Cam's place when Cam takes mine. I don't think he can- Matt and Bryn, don't feel left out. You'll be getting extra weapons training with the boss on Sunday. I've taken out the section on reorganization out of the protocol binder and made copies; you'll each get one over breakfast tomorrow.

However, all of that can wait until the weekend; tomorrow, it's Dylan's birthday and tonight? I'm baking a cake!

The Highway feels somewhat empty with its immortal residents off on their honeymoon. They left this morning in a flurry of suitcases and happy goodbyes and, in Marijuana's case, rules. Too many rules, from the hard drug allotments for those of us who are shared between gods to detailed instructions on feeding their pets and tending their plants to... 'Davey-boy, I'm only giving you the extra set of Lambo keys so you can move it if there's a fire, don't you dare take it out of the parking lot for anything less than a disaster'.

Like I'd disobey him!

( Dylan. )

It's an odd feeling, when he's gone. I miss him, of course, but it's a chance to run the shop by myself and show him that I am truly a benefit to his training. Plus, he actually has a throne now. When I feed the pets, I need to try it out. Cam, my second-in-command, we need to go over the schedule for the next week. We're getting a shipment tomorrow, a huge one, and I want it all out on the streets and trickling its way down through the minor dealers by Friday.

I'm almost finished my book. I guess... another three weeks to decide on how to frame the ending - I know how it ends, it's just figuring out what light to portray it in - and then another two or three weeks for a final edit and it should be finished. Knowing I'll be done soon, well, it isn't necessarily a good thing, but it's a load off my mind. And I did get a self-publishing contract for my birthday but I'm still flip-flopping between using it to publish a poetry collection or using it for the novel. Publishing a very thinly veiled autobiography... well, perhaps the book is best kept for trusted eyes.

I went back and did a brief edit of the beginning and it reminded me; our my anniversary is coming up. On November twenty-eighth, I will have been serving Marijuana for nine years. Of course, I'm trusting the bossman's word on the exact date, I don't really remember the first week or so. Still, I mentioned it to him and he promised to spend the whole day with me.

... damnit, I have to go attempt to convince the bossman that, no, he does not need to go cop hunting somehow get his hands on an authentic badge for his NYPD costume. I really don't feel like having to call the legal team in any time soon.

Huh. Anyone seen my boss?

Cam, he left his cell phone on the counter. He's a dealer, he never- Means we'll have to get creative. Do your thing, man.

( Private. )

( To-do list. )

( Left for Dylan. )

I've been sleeping better for a few weeks. The occasional nightmares I used to get have disappeared... or maybe I'm just not remembering them. Either way, it makes for better and longer sleeps. No more sex dreams, though. Not with anyone but Marijuana, that is. With Dylan, I have the real thing so I don't need those dreams but Heroin- And the extra rest is beneficial, seeing as Cam is getting rather worn out with all the wedding planning, and the bossman just decided we're starting a fund for wrongfully imprisoned users and we've got the bachelor party on Friday and... well, things are hectic.

He's not really getting married... right? Nah. He'll back out a few days before and everything will go back to normal.

( Dylan. )

( Phone call to Allegra. )

It was a really good birthday. Cam got me a shoulder holster and various various funny office supplies, Matt got me a trippy stuffed dragon, Wes said his birthday present was the breakfast he made for me and the guys (and Bryn) Friday morning and Bryn... well. I should count myself lucky that she stopped at getting me edible body paint and stayed away from handcuffs and the like.

There were other presents too, good ones. But... back to the grind. The boss decided to take another vacation, this time to Seattle. He said something about the Hendrix memorial, being in the same city as Emery when they transport him on the twenty-eighth and a shitty grunge concert that Heroin- a Pearl Jam concert. Why he's going to that, I'll never know, but it means things are even more hectic for a few days.

Still, I'm twenty-six and still alive working. That's a plus.

( Dylan. )

Twenty-six in four days. I asked the boss today if there's ever been a second that old and he said he couldn't remember. But he gave me access to the records which consist of a shoebox filled with birth certificates and licenses and even though they're not the most organized, I figured it out. On Friday, I beat Jane out for the record. She was the first and last female second, she was killed by- died when- retired when she was twenty-five. So... three cheers for beating a Highway record?

Apparently, I'm supposed to punish Bryn for being a heinous bitch. Why I get this little honour, I'll never know.

( Marijuana. )

( Heroin and Marijuana. )

Cam's getting twitchy, keeps asking me why he can't go back out on the runs. I keep telling him that he shoots with his right hand and his right arm is broken and it'd be even more dangerous for him to be on the runs than it usually is, but he's being difficult. Still, he's got the final touches on the ramps to supervise and I think if the cabin fever continues, I'll bring up the concept of bossman's bachelor party. Planning that should distract him.

One man down, bossman gone... I think it's time to call for reinforcements.

What with how busy we've been, I almost forgot about something rather important. Well, to me, at least. In a few weeks, I turn twenty-six. Never really thought I'd make it to this one. It's odd, I remember the huge parties the bossman used to throw, I remember the presents. The calligraphy set, the huge TV on my twenty-second, the dirt bike, the Porsche he bought me only to 'borrow' it and trash it in a drag race. The countless books, the pipes... but I want a quiet birthday this year. It'll be my last so I need to do it right.

So I asked the bossman and the guys if they'll have breakfast for me, I think I'm having lunch with the bossman and his fiance Lunch! With Heroin! I might visit Mother in the afternoon. Maybe she'll be able to convince me to go to the cemetary to visit Step-Father. Spit on his grave one last time. It'll be a good day.

( Dylan. )

Wide from the world, a stolen hour
We claim, and none may know
How love blooms like a tardy flower
Here in the day's after-glow.

And even should the world break in
With jealous threat and guile,
The world, at last, must bow and win
Our pity and a smile.

Bossman may be the world to me, to everyone at the Highway, but- Dylan- love. I think I'm only going to be writing happy poems from now on. Now that there are walls for them.

( Bossman. )

The bossman is on vacation for the next few days. Nothing serious, just taking some time off from work so he can focus on planning the wedding. All business affairs can be directed toward Cam and I. Any immortal issues and family business/emergencies can be directed toward me and I'll handle them to the best of my mortal ability, hopefully with the assistance of the bossman's fiance, of course.

Knowing he'll be okay doesn't make these occurrences any easier. It doesn't happen often, he was due... but carrying him home- God, I actually prayed.

( Drug Gods; excluding GHB and Rohypnol. )

It's going to be a very busy week. I can already feel his influence in my mind weakening. On top of everything else, I need to keep a close eye on the guys. Especially Wes.

I got a call from an old friend in Brooklyn who happens to be rather connected to the basic crime network of NYC. Most of the rackets, really, from cock fights to drugs to prostitution. Useful contact to have although Cam probably shouldn't know that I get semi-regular updates from Bryn, especially when I get enlightened about a potential issue. It's really not hard to deal in this city without pissing off the bossman. Manhattan is his and if you want to deal big-time there, you develop your own clientel without taking his... and you pay tribute. He's making inroads into the other boroughs, especially in the Bronx and Brooklyn, mainly by undercutting those who control the area and dealing with the consequences as they appear.

But I've been noticing the odd customer drop off our roster. Nothing huge, a weekly ten pounder of the bossman here, a weekly grand worth of heroin there. A TA at one of the arts faculties should be stocking up on shrooms and acid for the school year but we haven't heard from him. I would have sent Wes out to figure out what's going on, but there hasn't been much of a pattern. No one's talking, at least not to me (and that is strange in and of itself; not talking to Marc's second is tantamount to hiding shit from Marc himself) so when I was informed that a new group of dealers are selling relatively large amounts in Manhattan without paying the tribute and told their identity, well. Bossman, when do you want me to schedule in a friendly meeting with them? I'm in the middle of preliminary talks with one of their lackeys at the moment.

Aside from that... Wes seems to be adjusting rather well, although I think he's questioning just how important his job is seeing as the bossman can't really die. I've currently got a rubber ducky, complete with a camera and full squeak capabilities staring at me from on top of the cash register and I can't help but wonder just how Cam manages to work these miracles. And he gave a tentative completion date for the small vert ramp, complete with a bowl at one end and a death gap at the other. Should be finished within a week!

I should do some writing tonight, after the midnight run.