Three Degrees of Separation

This winter will never end.  That was the first thought that came to Nicholas as he stood on the wooden deck of the New London Ferry administration building.  From his vantage point, he could see out over the vacant pier where the ferry from Long Island would soon dock.  Past the pier he could see to the mouth of the Thames River, past the New London Ledge lighthouse, and out into the Long Island Sound.  The lighthouse was a strange sight; a square, red building standing alone at the mouth of the river, hovering above the water.  Beyond that, the cold grey February sky met with the blue-grey waters of the Long Island Sound, making the horizon difficult to distinguish.  A cold breeze whipped off the water and slammed into Nicholas’s face, making him tuck his chin into his coat.  He turned his back to the water and the wind, reached into his coat and fished out a pack of cigarettes.  He flipped the top open and pulled out a red lighter and a single cigarette.  Slowly, as if timing the flame between the blasts of wind, he lit the cigarette and placed it between his lips.  Inhaling deeply, Nicholas watched as the red tip burned down an eighth of an inch, took the heavy smoke into his lungs, then exhaled.

He hated smoking.  He hated the taste, hated the sick feeling that developed in the pit of his stomach after smoking an entire cigarette, and hated the after taste that seemed to last with him all day.  He could not bring himself to exhale through his nose, terrified that the smell would make him physically ill.  The only reason he smoked was because he needed something to do during times like these.  Nicholas was a man that had to be doing something all of the time, he could never just stand still.  He had been that way since he was a teenager in high school.  Smoking gave his hands something to do when there was nothing for him to do but wait.  He turned back to the Long Island Sound, searching for the ferry.  Nicholas was half an hour early, and during the winter, the ferry was usually a half an hour late.  However, this was his first big deal, and he was not going to let anything get in the way.

The deal, he thought to himself.  Nicholas spent his life alone.  It was the only way he worked.  It wasn’t that Nicholas was a loner; he had friends, a lot in fact.  Nicholas was just the type of man who could not let anyone get close to him.  He never felt as though he belonged anywhere.  This mentality had made it very difficult for him to maintain relationships, which turned out for the better in his line of work.  Nicholas was a drug trafficker, a man who made contacts everywhere he went, his job was to help the drug manufacturers get the product to the dealers, and help the dealers get the product out on the street with little police interference.  Since his early twenties, while living in Norwich, Connecticut, Nicholas started with friends who were selling marijuana locally, then as their clientele grew in numbers, Nicholas helped them find people who were growing large quantities of marijuana to fill their clients orders.  With every person Nicholas met, he ended up with five more contacts.  Soon, he was working with cocaine and ecstasy dealers.  His age was perfect in finding dealers in nightclubs and introducing them to manufacturers.  In less than two years, Nicholas had a network in Connecticut, Rhode Island, Southeastern Massachusetts, and New York City.  Nicholas was making tons of money, more than he knew what to do with, and since he never had to carry any drugs on him, he did not have to worry about run-ins in with the police.  Nicholas’s rolodex went from two-bit thug dealers on the streets, to influential businessmen and politicians.  He considered himself a business man, and a very good one.