Bad Times, Bad Crimes, Bad Sammy
“Please don’t crime me I’m an urban statistic,” said John the liquor store owner. “You’ve known me all your life, Sammy!”
“I don’t care about you or your kids! I’m Bad Crimes Sammy Hagar so you need to give me your money for drugs that I can take with my face nose.”
“No, Sammy, you were a good boy who never bothered anybody.”
“I don’t care! Now I’m a bad crime boy.”
The liquor store owner handed over the few dollars in the cash register. He’d scrimped and saved all week so his daughter could have a nice dress for the big nice summer dance. All the penny pinching didn’t do him anything in the face of Bad Crimes Sammy Hagar. When Bad Crimes Sammy needed a fix of the stuff he had been known to stick up the other store owners. He remembered Sammy Hagar as a bright young boy. He’d always been studious in school and had always kept the Sabbath sacred. Of all the boys in the neighborhood John would have suspected Sammy Hagar to be the last to try bad drugs. Ever since his parent’s had split up he’d been acting like a real bad boy. He’d been staying out late, listening to the danger guitar music, and smoking cigarettes with his lungs.” “Alright, Sammy. Now that you’ve had your crime please leave me alone.”
“I can’t leave you alone, John. Now that I’m doing crimes I can’t have you telling people I took your money for face drugs. John you were like a dad to me but I need to kill you.”
“Please, Sammy, you don’t need to follow in your dad’s path of bad crimes!”
“I don’t need my dad to do bad crimes, John.” Sammy pulled the trigger of his bullet gun. The back of John’s head erupted like an overripe watermelon onto the small racks of pints and half pints behind him. He felt something unholy twinge in his underwear. Looking over the man he had once thought of as a father dad when his was behind bars Sammy didn’t want to think about how bad this was. If the police found out he’d be with his real dad. “I need to burn you now so that the CSI cops don’t get me. As the sweet, sickly smell of long pig filled his nose Sammy couldn’t the remember the last time he’d felt like a good boy. The kiss of the sun no longer felt soft on his skin. He’d been doing crime to fund his addiction drugs so long, too long to get out. It was all he knew. Still, he didn’t want to do bad crimes. “I’m sorry I did you bad, John.”
He took the money down to the expensive drugs man and bought the sweet, sweet crystal drugs his mean little heart desired. As the needle entered his vein, Sammy sobbed to himself. “I don’t want to do bad crimes any more.” He knew it was a lie but he wanted to believe for a minute that he, Sammy Hagar, could be a good boy again.
