by Trevor Shand
Finally Julie finished up and said, “OK, well, I’ll let you get to it.” Julie stood and left the room. Devon watched, picked up the pen and started reading the top sheet.
The complicated writing stymied Devon, but he was a smart kid and started working through the W-4 form. Devon’s phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the display. The caller was blocked but Devon answered it anyway, “Hello?”
“Devon, cuz, how ya’ doin’?” came the familiar voice of his friend Dario.
Devon replied, “I’m fine, what’s up?”
“Not much, gotta new package, need a friend to help with the team. You interested?”
Devon looked at the stack of papers covered in obfuscated writing. He would much rather be outside, hanging with his friends earning more than minimum wage. His mouth moved to say yes, but before he could make any noise his mind shifted to Katie. She was a nice lady who he knew truly cared about him. He thought about his last conversation with her, how she had used her personal connections to get him this role. He then knew he could not simply leave, because he would not be walking out on Kidd Valley or Julie, but Katie. He knew he did not want to do that.
“Nah, dawg, I got things to do. I’ll catch ya’ later though.”
“Your loss man, we gonna make some ends.” With that Dario hung up. Devon stuffed his phone back in his pocket, looked at the papers and started reading again.
The next day, Russ answered the door and the FedEx driver handed him a package. He accepted it, closed the door and headed back to the recliner. Bryon and Jeff continued to play Halo: Spartan Assault. Russ tore the box open and pulled out a thickly wrapped package, a bundle of tape and plastic wrap. Peering through the wrap as best he could he saw a large block of off-white.
Jeff, who was sitting on the couch said, “Throw it here.” Russ tossed it to him. Sitting on the table in front of the couch was a digital scale, a plate, a razor blade a few sheets of blank paper, a Sharpie and a large collection of small baggies, about the size of a half dollar. “Yeah, that feels about like 1.1 pounds,” he grinned. Jeff set the half-kilo on the scale. The display shifted to show .55 kilograms. “With the wrapper, that’s about right.”
“What is that?” Bryon said, stopping his game.
“Half a kilo of coke,” Jeff said.
“A what?” Bryon shook his head as if trying to clear water from his ears.
“It’s a half a kilo of coke,” Russ offered, “We’re starting our own company, going around Jeff’s supplier.”
Bryon looked at the coke, looked at Jeff. Jeff stared back. Bryon then looked over to Russ who shrugged at him. “That’s it, I’m out of here.” Bryon stood up and dropped the controller on the couch.
“What?” Russ said.
“Dude, I could go to jail for three years just being in the same room as that much coke. When you two calm down and come to your senses, let me know, until then, I am staying far away,” Bryon stopped as he reached the door, “Though with that much coke in the house I’m not expecting you to calm down any time soon.”
With that he walked out, banging the door closed. For a moment Russ and Jeff just stared at the door.
“So now what?” Russ asked.
“Let him go,” Jeff said, “If he doesn’t want to be part of it we don’t want to try and force him.”
“Um, I guess. Still, I feel bad.”
“His loss,” Jeff picked up the package, “We are going to make a lot of money here.”
Nodding at the package, Russ switched gears, “So now what, with that?”
“Well, now we have to earn our money. This actually is the tedious part of being a dealer. We now need to break these down into ounces, eights, teeners and grams then scoop them into these baggies and mark them.”
“Eights and teeners?” Russ responded.
“Eights are eight balls, 3.5 grams, and teeners are half that size. Why don’t I measure and you bag and label.”
“Yeah that might be a good idea. I’m grabbing a beer, want one?” Russ headed toward the kitchen.
“No you’re not,” Jeff twisted in his seat to look at Russ who had stopped in his tracks.
Turning he asked, “What?”
“You are not getting a beer,” Jeff clarified in a stern voice.
“Wadda you mean?”
“We’re sitting here is a twelve thousand dollar brick of cocaine. Cocaine does not mix well with beer. One bud could cost us thousands if it spills. Second, we’re trying to cut the brick down into smaller amounts then place those small quantities into tiny plastic bags. That doesn’t mix with being drunk.”
Russ thought about it for a moment then pivoted and headed back for the couch, “This my dear friend, is why you’re the business man.”
“Now, once we’re done, I say we sample some product and drink a lot of beer,” Jeff beamed. Leaning in with a razor blade in hand he sliced along the edge of the brick. Rather than white powder puffing out like Russ had always seen in movies, the brick was fairly solid. It reminded Russ of a large chunk of vanilla astronaut freeze dried ice cream he had when he was a kid.
Jeff cut off the first piece and placed it on the scale. It came up a hint over one gram. “You’re pretty good at this,” Russ encouraged.
Looking up he said, “I should be, I’ve been doing this for a while.” He tipped the scale and the small chunk slid off the scale and onto one of the pieces of paper. Jeff slid the paper toward Russ. Russ looked at the small white debris without moving. As Jeff positioned another piece of paper next to the scale, Russ realized what was going on. He quickly moved the paper directly in front of him, opened a bag, then picking up the paper and using it as a funnel, fed the cocaine into the baggie.
Jeff looked up from the scale and said, “It’s easier to label the baggie before you slide the coke in. Just a tip.” Russ, sharpie in hand, looked at his baggie and realized he would now have to write over the bump in the bag. He did so carefully and lightly.
“Yup, you’re right,” Russ replied. He set his first bag to the side, labeled a second bag and took the next piece of paper with another chunk on it. As the continued to work they got into a rhythm. Jeff cut a variety of sizes, usually in one chunk, occasionally two. He dropped them on the sheet and passed them to Russ. Russ scooped the chunk into a pre-labeled baggie and passed the sheet back. In the end, they had several hundred baggies tagged and filled with a variety of weights of cocaine.
"Done," announced Jeff. Russ looked over at the plastic wrap.
"There is more there."
"Oh I know, but no point in bagging that," Jeff winked at Russ, "That's for us for doing such a fine job."
Russ smiled back, "I do think we deserve a bit of something for our efforts. We'll also need a beer."
"Or a dozen," Jeff countered as Russ rose and headed for the kitchen again, "Get a plate while you're in there to cut up this blow."
"Will do," Russ replied. When he returned from the kitchen he handed Jeff the plate while he popped the caps of the dark brown beer bottles. "We should call Mario."
"Do it," Jeff said as he dumped the remaining cocaine from the plastic wrap onto the plate in a little pile. Then he cut out two large lines, fished a dollar bill out of his pocket and rolled it up. Holding the roll to his nose he smoothly inhaled the cocaine. "Wow, this is some good product."
Russ dialed Mario who answered on the third ring, "Mario, come on over, we're about to start partying."
Mario replied, "On my way." Then he hung up without another word.
Jeff handed Russ the dollar and slid the plate toward him. Russ snorted his line. "Oh wow, this is amazing. It makes that other stuff we were doing seem like baking powder. So what's next?"
Jeff answered, "Since we're ready to go, and waiting for Mario, let me start getting the word out that we got stuff and that it is good."
"Nah, it's great," Russ corrected. He leaned back into the couch and clicked the remote. The TV sprang to life. Jeff pulled out his phone
and started texting. Within minutes he phone buzzed replies. Twenty minutes later, as Mario arrived, they had a dozen deliveries to make.
Mario knocked once then entered the house. He looked over and saw the pile of baggies and said, "If you're going to have that lying around, you may want to lock the door."
Russ chuckled, "Yeah, how you doin'?"
"I'm good but not as good as it looks like you two are doin'."
"We are doing well," Jeff agreed, "Now come on over here and take one of these cables. Then we gotta head out and make some money." Jeff's phone buzzed again, he looked at it then answered, "Heck, if this keeps up, we'll be through our order in a day or two."
Adrian turned off the car and turned to Steve and said, “Well, it looks like we’ll be here a while. Do you want to go get the coffee or should I go?”
Steve didn’t answer, instead he looked past Adrian, at the store.
“Steve?” Adrian prompted, “Coffee?”
Distracted, Steve never moved his eyes from the wheel shop, “Yeah, no, I got it. Coffee. I’ll go.” His hands started scrapping the door, still never taking his eyes from the shop. After dragging his hand across the interior of the door several times he glanced down and grabbed the handle. His gaze immediately went back to the wheel shop and the door popped open.
"Steve?" Adrian said in a tone of a parent warning a child rather than asking, "What are you doing?"
"Going to get coffee," he said. Before Adrian could ask anything else he scurried from the car.
Adrian watched as Steve trotted off toward the coffee shop, which lay past the wheel shop. Steve walked down the sidewalk, almost looking like a guy who wanted to show he was acting casual. He glanced around, though too much around. He swung his arms with too much exuberance. He was a caricature of a relaxed walker.
"Oh no. This is not going to be good," Adrian thought to himself. He watched as Steve approached the entrance to the wheel shop. Steve moved along never breaking stride. "Well, maybe this won't be too bad, maybe he's just going to get coffee," Adrian reassured himself. Steve continued stepping out his path, nearly passing the entrance to the wheel shop, but at the last moment swerving and entering the shop.
"Oh no. This is not going to be good," Adrian repeated to himself.
Steve stepped from the dim street into the brightly lit, nearly antiseptic store. An electronic bing-bong sounded and a young Asian girl appeared from the door. "Can I help you?” she asked.
"Yeah, I'd like to see a manager," Steve asked.
"I am a manager, I can help you," she replied setting her shoulders.
Steve smiled a board smile, "I don't mean for your rims and wheels. I am talking about the other product, the product in the back."
The small girl wavered a bit then steeled herself again and replied, "I assure you, all of our products are viewable here in the showroom."
"Hmm, I don't think that's true, see I'm with the FBI, not the local police, and we don't usually make mistakes when it comes to things like this." The young lady stood stone-faced as if she had not even heard Steve. "See that Crown Vic across the street, that's not even a subtle stake out vehicle," Steve turned slightly so the girl could look past him and pointed toward Adrian in the car.
Steve heard the door to the back open and close. He turned back around a well dressed African-American man, about six feet tall, wearing slacks and an oxford, stood next to the girl. He had hair cut so short Steve could easily see his scalp. He wore a saccharin smile which showed perfect teeth that were artificially white. "Mara, I'll take over from here," he said, dismissing the girl who dropped her tough facade and scurried back through the door. "My name is Eric, may I help you," the man asked once Mara had left.
"Yes, hello, my name is Steve Lancaster. How are you?" Steve said with an artificial formality.
Taking the show in stride the man replied with a matching show of pomp, "I am doing very well, thank you for asking. Now, how may I be of service?"
"Well, I was wondering if we could talk about the product in the back."
"As Mara mentioned, everything we have is out front here."
"I am sure that is not the case,” dropping the fake formality, Steve leaned forward on the counter and said, “Listen, we’re not here for our health. We know what is going on and you know what is going on.”
“Maybe, but the question becomes, what can you prove?” Eric leaned forward as well.
“That’s true, that’s true,” Steve stood upright, “But understand we’ll be around and when you make a mistake, we’ll be ready.” Steve turned and headed for the front door. He watched Eric watching him in the reflection on the window. Eric did not move, nor did he say anything.
Once outside, Steve hustled down the street back to the car. Dropping into the passenger seat, Adrian was already freaking out, “What was that? What did you do? Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”
Steve smiled and casually looked over at Adrian, “Well that ought to shake them up.”
Adrian stopped, looked at Steve and continued, “Now they know we are here.”
Letting out a chortle, Steve explained, “We’re two white guys in a Crown Victoria, you’re in a suit. Yeah, I think they already knew we were cops. Well, they thought we were cops. I simply let them know we’re FBI.”
Now Adrian was interested, “Why?”
“They deal with the police every day, not a big deal. But the FBI, they are a different kettle of fish. I am hoping they try and change things, to be more careful.”
“You want them to be more careful?”
“Yeah, I do. They have a routine, a good routine, one that gives no probable cause for anyone to search anything or start anything. It is well oiled and smooth. If they decide to change things up, then things aren’t as smooth. That is when someone makes a mistake. They are doing something new or in a new order, forget something, miss something, and now we have our reason to step in.”
Adrian thought about it, then after a delay, “Fine but you could have told me what you were planning.”
“I could have, but I knew you’d object. This conversation, after there is nothing you could do about it, would be shorter and easier than it would have been before I went.”
“Beg forgiveness rather than seek permission.”
“I wouldn’t say I planned on begging but something like that,” Steve smiled. He reached for the door handle and started to exit the car again.
“Where are you going?” Adrian asked.
“I just realized, we still don’t have coffee.”
Russ returned home, struggling through the door with the boxes and bags he carried. No sooner had he set them down inside than he heard a knock at the door. He turned and opened it to see Mario. "What up?" he asked.
"Not much, bored," replied Mario as he entered the apartment. As he stepped over the boxes he commented, "Damn, son, what is this?"
"Not much," Russ answered as he surveyed the boxes, "Just a new laptop, a new stereo for my car, speakers and an Xbox One."
"Wow."
"Oh," Russ said reaching into his pocket, "And the new Galaxy S 5."
"Did you hit the lottery or something?"
"Nope, but Jeff swung by earlier and dropped off my share of the money from our, um, sales."
"Where's my cut?" Mario asked.
"Your cut? I had the connection for the drugs and Jeff had the cash and the clients. What did you do?" Russ scowled.
"I drove your dumb asses," Mario shot back.
Russ paused, "Hmm, I guess you're right. I'm not saying full share right, but something. Here's a hundred dollars for now." He retrieved a wad of bills from the pocket not holding the phone and peeled off five twenties.
Mario took the bills and jammed them into his pocket, "A bump might help too."
"Yeah, yeah. Help me set up the Xbox and laptop while I cut out a line or two. You went from a guy who'd never tried it to a guy who I think only comes over now because he wants some."
"That's not
true," Mario professed, "I'm just sayin' though that while I'm here I might as well have a snort."
"Yeah, yeah," Russ said and headed toward the kitchen. Mario scooped up the Xbox console and headed toward the TV. He started stringing the cables and hooking up the power. A few minutes later he was testing the power button. As if on cue, Russ reappeared with a plate holding several lines of white powder and a straw cut down to two inches.
In a voice designed to mock sommeliers, "Good sir, may I present, the cocaine, 2014. An excellent year." He set the plate down on the coffee table and Mario did his line. Russ followed as the Xbox sprang to life. "Excellent, I've been dying to play Titanfall, it's in one of the bags along with an extra controller."
Mario tossed Russ the controller that had come in the box with the console and scurried around the couch. As he looked through the bags, another knock came at the door. Mario looked at Russ, then hollered, "Who is it?"
"It's me," came Jeff's voice. Mario stood and opened the door.
Jeff walked in and said, "Mario, my man, glad you're here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills wrapped with a rubber band. "For you. Thanks for driving."
Mario tucked the money away without counting it while turning his head toward Russ and saying, "See? He appreciates me."
"Again, yeah, yeah. Now get the game," Russ quipped.
Mario went back to looking for the game as Jeff made his way into the room. Jeff observed, "Looks like you went on a bit of a shopping spree."
Russ answered, "Yeah, just a few things."
"Good for you," Jeff continued. Tossing another roll of money at Russ he said, "He's the rest but now we have a problem."
"What's that?" Russ asked.
"We're out."
"Out, what do you mean out?" Russ sat up.
"I mean, we have no more product. We got that first batch delivered the day we got it and within hours everyone realized how good it was, then everyone wanted it. I told you, less than two days and we're out."
"I guess that's a pretty good problem to have," Russ replied.