In most urban cities, the crime rate is higher than in suburban or rural cities. This is because there are more people, and more people with no security systems, and otherwise more easy targets to rob, murder, and kidnap for ransom. But one reason the drug dealers flock there is the children of the workers. And every drug dealer who was worth his salt knew that children are easier to hook than adults.
And Phil Blackvine was no exception. Phil lived in a large white house, a mansion even, and his parents were very rich. That was one reason he was hooked. Because his allowance could cover the costs of the drugs. And his parents were too self-absorbed to notice the symptoms.
          This story will begin with Phil using his drugs, as he dug  through his stash of heroin, trying to find some that was sufficient to his particular mood. He found one and lit it, and sucked on it, relief spreading across his face. He thought to himself This is true heaven. And for him it was. He rose quickly as to head to his favorite chair, and accidentally knocked over his display cabinet of baseball cards.
            He cursed silently and quickly stashed his cigar into his bed. His mother rushed into the room, ever the worrier about having to pay to replace Phil's things.
"What did you break?!",she yelled, red faced.
"N-nothing", Phil replied,scared, "I just knocked my baseball cards over!"
"Hm.",she said disbelieving "Well, anyway, your father and I have decided to cancel your allowance. We are spending too much money on it."
          Then she swept out of the room as if she were the best thing since the industrial revolution, unknowing that she had just doomed Phil. You see, Phil had needed his next allowance. He was in debt to Honda, his local drug dealer. All his clients referred to him as Honda to protect his identity and because he always drove a Honda car. And because kids that didn't pay their debt tended to disappear and show up a week later in the car he had last been driving, dead as roadkill.
           And if he didn't hurry up and find a way to pay his debt, he would be that kid in the car. And he would be very much the dead part. He grabbed his coat and ran outside, as quickly and quietly as possible, as not to disturb his parents. He really needed to make some money, and fast.
           He ran through his street knowing for a fact that since everyone on his street was rich, they just hired professionals to do their odd jobs. Phil also new that in the poor districts, no one could afford for someone else to do their jobs, so they did odd jobs themselves. Therefore, Phil knew that he would have to find a street of upper middle class. The problem was he had no idea where those streets were.
           A map would not work, nor would a GPS. He could not ask somebody, because they might want to know why he wanted to know where those streets are, and that might end up with a conversation on why he wanted the money. And that wouldn't end well. And he couldn't get an official job. He was to young for that.
           By that point, he was walking by a small cluster of successful businesses, and he glanced into the window of an electronics store, where there was a display of T.V.s. A news reporter blabbed about a large crime wave. Phil stopped and watched for a while. He wasn't sure why he stopped, but he just had the feeling that he should stop.
            Something clicked suddenly. He lived on a wealthy street, a large crime wave was going on, he needed money to give to a powerful drug dealer. Well, he decided of you can't beat the criminals, join them.

Phil’s target was a young woman with a large purse. Phil had been following her all day, and he was satisfied with the promise of her wealth. He was currently around 15 feet behind the target, as he had called her in his head all day. Phil was worried that if he called the target anything else, he would lose the courage to steal from her. Phil quickened his pace, closing the gap between them. He knew it was necessary not to weaken his resolve know, but his force of will was losing confidence. He started to run as the gap between him and the target became only 3 feet.
He focused on the purse. Come on. Don’t stop now., he thought to himself. He was 1 foot away... Phil reached out his arm, preparing for the grab. Then he was next to the target. Time seemed to slow down. Phil knew it was now or never. And then he knew he didn't have the courage to stop. Then time sped up again, as his hand made contact with the target's purse and he grabbed it. His grip was so tight, 27 professional wrestlers couldn't take it from him. And then he ran. At this point, Usain Bolt wasn't even in Phil's league.
"Hey you!", The Target shouted."Come back here!"
             But it was too late Phil was already a block away. A feeling of relief spread through Phil's chest. Until he saw the cop. The cop had a large handle bar mustache that had obviously been lovingly waxed. Too bad it looks terrible on him.thought Phil passingly. Cold terror spread through Phil. He was dead . But the cop didn't notice Phil, and he yet again felt relieved. Until The Target yelled something to him. Phil didn't know what The Target said, but he did know it was trouble.

Phil had been caught. He was dragged to prison, his parents notified(not that they actually showed up.), and had fallen asleep. He just had just woken up when a cop walked in.
"You’re wanted in the interrogation room."
Phil stood up groaning, and started to walk in the required direction, prodded by the cop.
After walking silently for around 2 minutes, Phil said, “You don’t have to poke me. I’m moving.”
“Shut up.”, the cop replied, as he started to poke even harder.
When they finally arrived, Phil stood back as the policeman opened the door.  Phil strutted in as if he owned the prison, and turned backwards to make a face at the officer that had poked him. Then he entered the room.
When he entered the room, he noticed that there were two chairs facing each other, with a matching metal table. The walls were unpainted and damp. There was a man sitting in one of the chairs. He had a goatee, with a waxed moustache, and he had head that was bald as an egg. There was a small scar under his eye, and he was in full police uniform, with his gun fully visible. He generally conveyed a sense of toughness.
  They sat silently for a few minutes. Phil started to feel bored. He started to fidget. Time seemed to have decided to stop and drag its feet, smelling every single rose it came across. The man in the chair stayed completely still.
Suddenly, he stood up and yelled, "Why did you steal the purse!!!?"
Phil was thoroughly shaken.
"Wh-what?", said Phil.
"You heard me. Why'd you do it? For drugs?"
"No. To pay off a debt."
“I know you are on drugs. Who’s your dealer? Mack? French?”
“None of the above.”
The man began to show signs of anger. He stood up quickly, knocking over his chair. But then he took a slow breath. He picked up his chair and sat down.
“Let’s start again. I’m police sergeant Smith. You can call me Bob.”, The Sergeant said, sticking out his hand to shake.
“Your initials are BS?”,  Phil snorted as he refused to shake hands.
"Sensitivity weren't my parents strong points."
Phil just laughed.
"Shut up.", the Sergeant said.
Phil just laughed.
"That's enough.", the Sergeant said.
" Ok, ok." Phil laughed.
"I mean it now."
"Ok.",said Phil, now in control of himself.
"Now let's get down to business. Who is your dealer?", said the Sergeant.
"He's called Honda.", said Phil.
"I haven't heard of him. Describe him."
"He's European, with dark brown dreadlocks, and a small beard."
"How tall and how fat?"
"About six feet tall, a little on the fat side, but not too much."
The Sergeant looked surprised.
"What?", Phil demanded.
"You do realize that you just perfectly described David Zinc, the guy who is suspected to have murdered the late senator, Boyette Boyd.
"No."
"Well you did, and now I'm going to need to know everything about your dealings."
"I'm not gonna rat."
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Yes I do, as stated in the fifth amendment.”
“The fifth amendment doesn’t apply to you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not a criminal.”
“Then why am I in here?”
“Because you committed a different crime than what Zinc committed."
"I'll take the fifth."
"Why don't we strike a deal?"
"Cause I need a lawyer."

The D.A. was a woman around the age of 50. She had short gray hair, and was wearing a low cut purple dress. She walked with a certain walk that only people with great power seem to be able to achieve, as her arms stayed stiffly to her sides. When she came to the cell where Phil was being held, she turned and nodded to the guard, who smiled at her and opened the door to the cell.
Phil sat silently as she walked in the room. She looked nice, but he couldn't be sure she was actually kind. She sat on the bunk opposite him, and waited for Phil to talk first.
Finally, she said,"I, as your lawyer, recommend that you tell everything you know with no incentive."
"If you act like a real lawyer, if I decide to talk, I'll insist you get a raise."
"Well then, I recommend that you ask for 100,000,000, a large house in the suburbs of San Francisco, and a contract allowing you to live with a hired guardian that will let you do whatever you want. And my raise of course."

Phil gave those terms. Three weeks later Phil boarded a huge commercial plane owned by Southwest airlines with a first class ticket. In the three weeks he remained in the city, he had tried to sue his parents for child negligence (The lawsuit was dismissed.) , tried to sue the Juvenile prison for abuse (The lawsuit was dismissed), and attempted to sue the DA for legal malpractice (Do I even need to say it!?). Now he was headed to Jamaica, where the laws were loose and so were the pockets of tourists.