The Drop

Trina sat silently on the steps of her front porch, watching a stray dog. It was sitting in the middle of a rectangular patch of dirt, gnawing on an old work boot. The tiny lawn has been unattended for years and not even the slightest hint of grass remained. She can hear the dog growling softly as it chews. Its skin hung loosely from its body, showcasing the outline of its entire skeleton. The mutt turned to look at her. Trina could only stare at its sunken, lifeless face. She is taken aback by countless scratches, bruises, and missing patches of hair.

Across the street, the mailman delivers mail to the odd numbered buildings of the block. She shifted her body and the rickety porch creaked underneath her. She softly bit her lip and wrung her hands, impatiently waiting for the mailman to finally reach her apartment building. She noticed two people scurry out of the basement of one of the abandoned buildings on the other side. The building was officially condemned a year ago, but drug dealers removed the boarding from one of the basement windows and the building is now being used as a communal stash spot. She recognized the man as he climbed out of the window, but the girl was unfamiliar to her. He is Roc, one the block’s many dealers. The woman, although she has never seen her before, is obviously a crackhead. Her disheveled appearance and jittery mannerisms telegraph her addiction. Undoubtedly, an exchange of goods and services just took place inside the dark interior of the building. She shakes her head, sighs and steps carefully down the decaying steps.

Down the block, now on her side of the street, the ancient mailman slowly approaches. She glances up at the window of her third floor apartment and is relieved to see that no one is watching. She looks again at the mailman, now only four or five buildings away and shuffles her feet. She looks in the other direction, towards the alley. She notices a drunk peeing behind an overstuffed garbage dumpster. He’s mumbling incoherently, but somehow manages to maintain the grip on his can of beer, even while relieving himself. Trina sighs again and turns away. Man, this package better come today. I really need to get the fuck out of this place. 

Mercifully, the mailman has finally made it next door and is now only steps away from her. She glances up again at the window as butterfly cocoons explode inside of her. The window remains empty. 

“Hey there, young lady.” The mailman greets her. The weight of his mailbag burdens him and seems to pull him backwards.

“Hey, what’s up?” she says. Her eyes fixate on his bag, searching for the package that will allow her to escape this poverty stricken, crime ridden part of the city. 

“How are you doing today? Seems like a…”

“What’cha got for me?” Trina cuts him off. “You got my package?” 

“Umm, okay…uh let’s see here.” The mailman reaches inside his bag. The wrinkled hand shakes as he rearranges various envelopes.

Jesus, how the hell is this old ass dude still delivering mail? She lets out an audible gasp of air, urging the old man to hurry up. It doesn’t work. In fact, it appears that he is actually moving slower. Her patience dwindles quickly. A split second before she begins to scream at him, those decrepit fingers reveal what she has been waiting for. 

Behind her, a police cruiser turns into the alley. The car was four officers deep and the one on the passenger side watched as the mail carrier handed the suspect a large brown package. Trina hears the car behind her, but is too enthralled by the package to care who it is. The cruiser continues down the alley and backs into an abandoned garage.

Trina tosses the unwanted pieces of mail on the porch steps and scurries into the gangway. Her foot catches a crack and she stumbles over a jutting piece of concrete. She falls over, but refuses to let go of the package. She turns her body and her right shoulder absorbs most of the contact. Still holding the package close, she scrambles to her feet. She hurries around the side of her building and settles on the back stoop. The backyard is filled with overgrown grass, weeds and various foliage. It provides excellent cover for her as she sits on the small, fractured concrete block of a stoop. 

She tears the package open, oblivious to her surroundings. Beads of sweat begin to roll down her forehead as adrenaline pumps through her thin frame. She gasps as she takes in the most beautiful sight she has ever seen. She knew that the money was coming, but actually seeing it was shocking. In her lap were ten bundles of one hundred dollar bills. Her entire body trembles with anticipation and her mouth dries out instantly. She is happy and afraid all at once as her dream of leaving this wretched place is now attainable. 

The police cruiser pulls out of the dilapidated garage and silently inches forward. It stops in front of Trina’s backyard, right in line with the broken sidewalk that leads up to her stoop. The overgrown bush has yet to completely overtake the walkway and the officers are provided a somewhat clear view of the suspect. “That’s a lot of money for a young lady to have. You want to tell me where you got it?” 

Trina looks up and her heart drops as she watches the four police officers exit the vehicle and walk toward her, their hands reaching for their weapons.