LUFKIN, TX —
Angela Bryant spent Monday afternoon doing some spring cleaning, washing her windows, sweeping the front porch, and throwing out a virtual mountain of illicit drugs and related dealing paraphernalia. Still, she couldn’t hide what was really on her mind, the insensitive question asked of her Son by Miami Dolphins GM Jeff Ireland.
“Yes I’m upset about it,” Bryant said, wheeling a scale and 100 kilos of uncut cocaine to the curbside trash can. “He has not called, but I think he should have.”
Questions about her son Dez’s background dogged him through much of the pre-Draft process, and may have led to his tumble towards the bottom of round one. Angela has been very unhappy with attempts to dig up dirt on her talented child. This frustration has been obvious in her several recent gunfights with other dealers.
As the questions surrounding Dez grew louder, so did the body count at the local morgue. “It’s almost like a scheme,” she said, bagging up a gas mask converted into a crack pipe before pulling her .44 Magnum and firing seven rounds at a passing Land Rover.
“They are talking about my charges of 12 years ago and running with it,” she complained, before quickly crumpling up a nearby police report from her April 2009 crack dealing arrest, pointing her gun at us, and explaining that we “didn’t see nothin'”.
“What is wrong with this world? Where have the manners gone?” Bryant asked moments later, stopping a passing bicyclist, putting her gun in his mouth, and demanding the $170 he owed her.
Angela remains wounded, but isn’t going to simply wait for the Dolphins’ GM to seek her out. She has asked a former supplier in the Keys to personally pass her number along to Ireland. “He’d better call me, or it’s curtains,” Bryant said, slowly running her finger along her neck, then boarding up her tunnel to Mexico.
“I’m just trying to move on from the past,” she explained, dumping piles of blood-splattered cash from a carved out mattress into a Glad bag, then tossing her firearm into a secret compartment in the back of her freezer. “Dez is taking me to look at houses. I’m thinking a home theatre. Maybe a koi pond full of piranha?”
“I’m not a perfect person, but me? A prostitute? That man has some nerve,” Bryant added before prying the body of a rival dealer out from under her floorboards and feeding it to her pet tiger, “Eight Ball”.