Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Of course.”
“Another thing they can nab online, though. How about I slide in a little bit of crystal and H?” he asks with a wink.
“Fuck you, Jesse. You know how I feel about that.”
“Dude, the money on this kid shit might get you by, but you do a few runs for me with some of the heavier stuff, and you can be making more than enough to deal with those hospital bills.”
“Not interested.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Market’s tougher than ever. Kids can get some e-pharmacy to get them these scripts. Can find someone else for weed or coke. They’re like the Advil of drugs. Makes our job that much harder. The drugs I’m talking about are the most lucrative right now. Things that aren’t getting tapped out in the market. You know that’s why Roy moved to California.”
Roy was the guy who got me into the business. Left two years ago, and he was smart to do it because that’s when things started going south with our usual circuit. Not to say there aren’t guys who’ll still pay for what I got. It’s just not the same.
“I’ll let you know when I need the money that bad, okay?”
“Fair enough, bud. I think you got a pretty good bit for now. Should last you through the night.” His eyes sparkle as he offers an amused expression. In this market, it’ll last me the week, and he knows it. I’m not big-time. Always done what I need so I can pay the bills, but even now, it’s a struggle. Not horrible, but I’m used to a higher demand with my small niche of clientele.
“I’m just trying to get you in on a good game,” he says. “You know, David got arrested over in Buckhead for a DUI, so I have an opening for someone to run if you’re interested. Need someone I trust. And come on, don’t act like you couldn’t use a little break from those Emory asshats.”
“I can live with them. They’re manageable.”
I know for a fact some of these big guns Jesse works with are into some serious shit—gangs and prostitution—shit I’d rather keep out of.
“I’m not dying over here,” I say.
“I’ll bet,” he says with a smirk.
I head out to start working my beat. The usual frat houses. I don’t take on a lot of new customers. Work off referrals who are real desperate. I’m not interested in noobs who could end up ratting me out. If someone wants to get some for a friend, that’s on them, but I play it safe. I’ve heard too many stories, and I’m not interested in waking up in a jail cell, waiting to get five to life. I’ve learned from the other guys I’ve worked with over the years that it’s when you start getting greedy that you get careless and wind up having the ATF knock your door in.
After I finish up with the frats, I move on to some of my other stops—a couple of kids with way too much money and their own network of interested parties.
The door to Brody Winters’s house opens. A girl beams at me with vibrant blue eyes.
“Well, hello there.”
“Hi.”
I couldn’t sound more disinterested if I tried, but I can tell by the look in her eyes she’s not discouraged.
With long dark hair, her caramel-tanned flesh exposed in the tank top she wears, she looks like the usual sort Brody invites over to surround himself by—girls he can potentially fuck.
“Brody here?” I ask.
She tilts her head back. An invitation.
I follow her into the house.
“Oh, Brody,” she sings. “You have a guest.”
She leads me into the kitchen.
Brody’s thick biceps flex in the green thermal he wears, and he’s gotten a buzzed haircut since I saw him last week.
He retrieves a pan of brownies from the oven and sets it on top of the stove. He turns, his smile matching the girls’. It’s the look I get from most of my regulars. Even in their most doped-out state, they typically seem enthusiastic to see the person who can hook them up with new realms of excitement.
“Hey, Tim. How’s it going?” he asks.
He removes the oven mittens he wears and sets them on the counter as the girl grabs a red Solo cup off the counter next to him.
Since there are a few other people in the kitchen, he pulls me into the bedroom for our usual transaction.
“You wanna stick around for a drink?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on. Just stick around for a bit.”
I’ve heard this most of the night. Everyone wants to be chummy with me since they know I’m their hookup. And I don’t discourage it. I’ll hang out. Chill. Even offer some samples if I’m having a good time. It’s good customer relations, which I need right now considering I’m losing clients, or at least the usual big orders, left and right.