People call me JD, but I was christened twenty five years back as Joseph Dilworth. I'm the first to admit that I'm not a nice person, or a good one come to that. Why would that be, you might ask? To answer that, I'll have to tell you a little bit about myself.
I left school the first day I was legally allowed to, for the classroom could teach me nothing that would benefit my future. I left home when I was sixteen; my stepfather's last beating with a leather belt was too much to take. As for my mother, she just sat and watched him do it. I think I saw tears in her eyes that day, but maybe I was just seeing things. Since that day, I've been an opportunist living off the streets, selling drugs and stealing cars, and committing burglary mostly. I've grown into a large man, tall and well built, fit and confident enough to stand my ground and fear no one. Most times I'm good natured, I like to be with people and enjoy their laughter and kinship, but I have a dark side too. Intimidation is a fine tool, but I will only resort to violence as a last resort. But when I do, someone usually suffers and it's not often me. My reputation is all important to me and I'm known on the streets a good person to be friends with, but not a good enemy to have.
While I sell drugs, I don't use them, for countless times I've seen the damage they do. My good health is the one good thing going for me, I don't smoke and I only drink sparingly. My main vice is sex, for I love women with a vengeance. There's nothing better in life than taking a woman to your bed for the first time, exploring her body and taking in the look on her face as you provide that ultimate pleasure. The downside is that most women don't hold my interest for long, and usually after a week or so they are discarded. Often they are offered to my associates, so long as the lady is agreeable. For providing their bodies, the ladies in question get to live in rent free and eat at no cost, which I guess is a fair arrangement.
My associates and I live in the office block of an old large satellite furniture warehouse; we get free rent for providing security and generally looking after the place. It used to get broken into and robbed on a regular basis, but all that's stopped since we moved in. The irony of the whole thing is that we were the ones that used to commit most of the burglaries. We however command enough street respect that the warehouse is a no go area for other would be opportunists. Rather a sweet little arrangement, don't you think?
There are about twenty of us that live in the warehouse, with the casual splattering of females that enjoy our type of company. We don't consider ourselves a gang as such; we don't wear gang patches or any other clothing that would associate us to each other. We're just a bunch of guys with the same primal instincts who cohabit in the same building. We all contribute equally to pay all the bills like power and food. Sure, we have a few rules, like no fighting or stealing amongst ourselves, and that none of us do anything that attracts the unwanted attention of any authorities. The use of hard drugs is strictly prohibited, and always results in the culprit's eviction, but holding for selling's okay.
Somehow I ended up as the unofficial mayor of the place, maybe because most people respect me and I'm sensible enough to be hard but fair. But probably it's more do with the fact that it was me that got us into the place, and I do all of the negotiations with the people that own the warehouse. For my executive duties, I have two large upstairs adjoining offices I call home, one I use as a bedroom, the other a lounge with all the electronic gizmos you can think of, all stolen of course. Other amenities such as cooking and washing are communal, not ideal but at least it's free. To make my life a little more comfortable, I have my own fridge and microwave oven. It's basic living, but it's warm and comfortable, and probably better than anything I could ever aspire to on my own.
It was a miserable rainy night when it all started. I like to run at night, mostly for fitness but also it's a time when I think best. It's my planning time, for I know that I control my own destiny. Nothing comes easy in this life, if you want something, then you've gotta make it happen yourself. I usually run for the best part of an hour, my route changes from night to night. I don't have many enemies, but I have no intention of making myself an easy target either.
I was running through a dark rundown side of town when the rain became too heavy to run through. The last thing I needed was to bust a leg tripping over a misplaced rubbish bin or an unseen kerb, for my health insurance is none existent. I decided to cut my run short and began taking a short cut through the back streets. I pulled the plastic hood of my jacket over my head as the rain pelted me, and eventually took shelter in a shop doorway. The sound of scurrying feet caught my attention, and I managed a few inquisitive steps back into the rain and peered into the alley beside the shop. It took a few seconds to ascertain that I was witnessing something illegal. Two dark figures were unloading boxes from a nondescript dark van and carrying them through a door at the far end of the alley. I could see clearly enough that the boxes were some kind of appliances, like DVD's or Playstations or such like. The van was nearly full of boxes, and I knew for sure that they were stolen, for no one does legitimate business in this area at night.
For some time I watched the frantic running backwards and forwards as the load in the van dwindled to nothing. It was when the front door of the van opened that I caught a glimpse of one of the men in the dim interior light. It was only when his ugly face turned towards me that I recognised Miller, or street name Millsey. It was simply the wide trademark moustache and long goatee that gave him away. I stepped back into the darkness of the shop front as the empty van discreetly exited the alley into the street, the soft purr of the V8 engine completely veiled by the pelting rain.
I considered the implications of Millsey's little heist as I continued my way home. It seemed the type of warehouse job that we would pull off, and therefore likely that the cops would throw my name into the hat when came down to suspects. The thought that it might bring a little unwanted attention our way crossed my cynical mind. I called a little gathering of the troops when I got home, the main thing was to get rid of anything illegal that might be found during a police search, this included drugs, weapons or any traceable stolen gear.
The next morning, we were indeed visited by New York's finest armed with a search warrant. My favourite Detective Hennessy smugly presented me with the warrant; then asked me to step back and let his men start their search. Now Detective Hennessy and I go back a long way, and he freely admits that one of his missions in life is to incarcerate me for a very long time. I on the other hand have no intention of spending one day behind bars and would prefer to go down fighting than do so. And because of this, I have no doubt that my life will not be a long one, but while I'm on this earth I plan to have a good time. The funny thing about all this; is that the good detective and I get on pretty good together. We both share a black sarcastic sense of humour, and in other circumstances might have been reasonable friends.
Detective Hennessy and his merry men had every intention of making a fine mess of our establishment, but I thwarted him by filming his men with video cameras. It was for insurance purposes I told him, for we were responsible to the building owners for any damage. The camera's rolled as the cops poked, prodded and searched the building, but nothing or real interest was found. On the way out, I advised the detective that we weren't responsible for the robbery. His eyes searched mine for any tell tale signs of a lie, but I held his stare. I think he believed me, but I guess I'll never know for sure. Hennessy had the last word insinuating that I was losing my touch allowing jobs happen in my patch. It was a good point, and one I was about to follow up on.
The next day I went looking for Millsey, he was at his usual haunt, a local smoky pool hall full of the usual low life. I didn't notice him at first, for he was partly hidden behind some broad leaning over a snooker table in the pretence of teaching her how to play. I gave the broad a quick but appreciative once over; then asked Millsey to step outside for a friendly chat. Millsey was surprised but had no reason to refuse my request. We knew each other, but weren't exactly friends if you get my drift. He was little unreliable and unpredictable for my liking, and he had a big mouth to boot. But he'd never done me any real harm, well that is until now. It was cold outside, and he wrapped his arms around himself and patted his back to ward off the biting wind.
"What's up JD?"
"Had the cops around my place yesterday looking for some stolen gear, DVD players or Hi Fi gear or something." I commented while looking down into his smug face.
"So, what's it got to do with me?"
"Everything, since you're the fucker who stole them."
"Nah, not me man, you got the wrong guy."
I grinned, "So if I go to that little place down the end of alley in Vincent Street, I'm not gonna find anything of interest?"
Millsey's demeanour changed instantly, for now he knew that I knew.
