Ain't No Moral Story by Jeff Lacy

He parked across the street, surveyed the cars in the parking lot through binoculars, saw his buyer’s car, a black late model Seville. What he thought he saw were four undercover narcotic cars surrounding the Seville.

He called the dude on his cell. I want you to drive across the street to the grocery store and park in the middle of the parking lot.

What’s wrong?

Just do what I tell you.

He watched the Seville move. A few minutes later, two cars followed and parked on both sides of the Seville. No one got out of the cars. Five more minutes passed and the other undercover cars parked a lane over facing the buyer’s car.

He waited for a time and then drove away with five pounds of marijuana in his trunk.

What happened?

The dude had me set up. I drove away.

The pot in the trunk still?


Put it in my car. I can sell it.

When you get back we got to take care of him.

The buyer called. Where did you go?

What do you mean?

I went to the parking lot like you told me, but you didn’t show.

I fucked up.

What’s that mean?

I fucked up, that’s what that means. We need to meet. Ten minutes.

I can’t in no ten minutes.

Hell yeah motherfucker you can.

Man, what’s wrong with you?

What’s wrong with you? Be outside your apartment complex in ten minutes. I’ll pick you up.

Or what?

He didn’t say.

How will I know it’s you?

I’ll be the only nigger pulling off the side of the road to pick your motherfucking ass up that’s how.

Besides two Latino women waiting for the bus, he was the only nigger standing on the side of the road at the end of the apartment complex driveway.

He opened the door. Get in.

You him?

Nigger, get your ass in the car.

He bent in the car, closed the door. Where we going?

He pulled into the road. You got any place special? Wanna go to the club? Want to go see your girl?

Naw, man.

There’s an associate of mine that wants to meet you.


We’re going to meet up with him right down here.

A mile down the road, they parked in a strip mall parking lot, got out of the car and got into the other car.

Here, man, you sit in the back seat.

This here is my associate.

Yeah, all right, what’s up?

What’s up?

Nice car. I like Mercedes.

You want to see how it rides?

Why not? He sat back.

Yeah. Relax then.

They left town, into the palmetto groves, where tall, scrawny pines were dipped in Spanish moss.

We going any place special?

I was just giving you a relaxing ride in my Mercedes.

They turned at a railroad crossing, took the dirt road along the railway until it ended. Illumined by the car’s headlights.

What’s here?

Our stash.

Your stash?

Yeah nigger, where we keep what we make. You want in on our business, ain’t that what you said? So a nigger’s got to know where the stash is, right?

Nobody said nothing to me . . . I didn’t know that was y’all’s plan.

I thought you had told the motherfucker.

No. Not yet. I thought I’d let you surprise him.

Where do y’all keep your stash?

He pointed. Over by that tree. We keep our shit in plastic containers.

Yeah, I guess you got to.

Come on, the hole’s right over here.

He walked ahead of them. Is that it? Yeah, I see it. Y’all got things set up good back here. I don’t guess not many niggers got any idea to come back here.


I don’t see nothing in this motherfucking hole.

The one that drove the Mercedes raised the muzzle to the back of his head. The other picked up a shovel. This is for you trying to double cross me, motherfucker. Then he cracked the dude’s skull with it.

He put four bullets in the dude: two in the heart, one in the forehead and one through the dude’s mouth. The dirt was soft which made it easy to cover him. They threw limbs on top of the hole. The clouds were boiling up from the Atlantic. Soon rain would have their tracks covered.

He deserved everything he got.

Yeah, thinking he was going to get his self a better deal by helping the cops. Ain’t gone happen.

I was born and raised in Georgia, and since 1991 have practiced law in the Atlanta metropolitan area and the Georgia coast, specializing in criminal defense, working for most of my career as a public defender. In 2007, I received an MFA from the University of Nebraska. My stories have appeared in Timber Creek Review, Conte, The Wrong Tree Review, The Legendary, Review Americana – A Literary Journal, Green Silk Journal, Full of Crow, Writer’s Bloc (Rutgers), and most recently in the October 2009 issue of Sex and Murder Magazine (an online magazine; story entitled, “Kylle”; compare with Lehane’s “Until Gwen,”). Additional stories are forthcoming in Bring the Ink, Storyglossia, Darkness Before Dawn, and Mary Magazine


Anonymous said...

I was trying different things with this story. Besides omitting quotations marks, I omitted character names. What I really tried to do was boil the story down to stronger more vivid verbs and nouns only to create a more visceral story, and let the action and dialogue move the story forward and let the behavior of the characters show their emotion (John Gardner). Jeff Lacy

Rob said...

I for one enjoyed it quite a bit!

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