Read Online I Want Candy by Susan Donovan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Donovan
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Stop your fucking smoking out here! How many times I gotta tell you this whole place and every one of us in it could blow up because of your fucking cigarettes!”
His daddy chuckled, then pulled out a handgun and pressed it into the cook’s temple. “Talk to me like that again and I’ll put a hole in your brain.”
Gerrall sighed. The cook looked like he was going to crap his pants. It was almost a done deal that this guy—who didn’t even have a name yet as far as he knew—would be gone in the morning and Gerrall would be looking for another college chemistry major dropout to run the shop. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, since everybody and their uncle was trying to get in on the meth business out here. Anyone with a working knowledge of chemistry was a hot commodity.
Gerrall smiled to himself. If he were really, really lucky, he’d come home one night to find the barn blown to all hell and his daddy’s body parts scattered all over the property like pieces of confetti on Main Street at the Fourth of July parade. His daddy deserved it. He was a worthless human being and too damn stupid to live. Nobody would miss him. That was for sure.
Gerrall looked around the room. “Hey, everybody.” He swung the duffel bag up to the work surface, unzipped it, and began unloading boxes of cold and flu medicine.
“Any trouble tonight?”
Gerrall shook his head at his daddy’s question. “Everything’s good. But the new guy from across the Tennessee line seems kinda slow in the head if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you.” Bobby Ray walked over to Gerrall and slapped him on his ear by way of greeting, then began to riffle through the boxes with his filthy fingers. “This is it? This is all you got?”
“Yeah. That’s everything they had tonight. Seven drop-offs.”
“What the fuck?” His daddy slammed his palms down on the wooden worktable. “This isn’t anywhere near enough!”
“I’m always looking for more smurfs, just like the Fat Man told me, but you know it’s getting harder and harder for them to make buys,” Gerrall said.
Bobby Ray threw a box of cold medicine against the barn wall. His face went purple with rage. “What I want you to do is bring back more shit than this! I don’t care if you have to go out yourself and get it! Do you fuckin’ understand? These people we’re workin’ for now don’t fuck around!”
The dozen or so men in the barn remained silent. It was like this a lot lately. Most of the losers who worked for his daddy figured if they didn’t speak and didn’t move then Bobby Ray Spivey would be less likely to notice them, so less likely to shoot them.
Gerrall turned toward their new delivery driver, a big, rough-looking Hispanic dude who called himself “Dan.” He’d been working for his daddy for two weeks now and had hardly said a word. Gerrall didn’t even know if he spoke English, but he always made the deliveries to the Florida state line and always came back on time with every dime accounted for. His daddy seemed to think he was some kind of good omen for their business, since they’d got their new big-time backing right after he came on board. Though the Fat Man took credit for that.
The Fat Man took credit for everything.
The driver ignored Gerrall.
“We’ll do better tomorrow night,” Gerrall said, heading for the door. He kept on walking, right past the trailer and into the woods. He used the light of his cell phone to locate the foot and handholds on the old sycamore tree, then began to climb in the dark. When he pulled aside the plastic covering to the tree house door, a flashlight nearly blinded him.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry! Sorry!” The little girl he’d seen hanging around the property dropped the flashlight and shot up out of the sleeping bag, her eyes as wide as Frisbees. She gathered up her backpack and some matted-looking stuffed animal and scurried right past him out the treehouse door. Gerrall shook his head and watched as
His daddy chuckled, then pulled out a handgun and pressed it into the cook’s temple. “Talk to me like that again and I’ll put a hole in your brain.”
Gerrall sighed. The cook looked like he was going to crap his pants. It was almost a done deal that this guy—who didn’t even have a name yet as far as he knew—would be gone in the morning and Gerrall would be looking for another college chemistry major dropout to run the shop. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, since everybody and their uncle was trying to get in on the meth business out here. Anyone with a working knowledge of chemistry was a hot commodity.
Gerrall smiled to himself. If he were really, really lucky, he’d come home one night to find the barn blown to all hell and his daddy’s body parts scattered all over the property like pieces of confetti on Main Street at the Fourth of July parade. His daddy deserved it. He was a worthless human being and too damn stupid to live. Nobody would miss him. That was for sure.
Gerrall looked around the room. “Hey, everybody.” He swung the duffel bag up to the work surface, unzipped it, and began unloading boxes of cold and flu medicine.
“Any trouble tonight?”
Gerrall shook his head at his daddy’s question. “Everything’s good. But the new guy from across the Tennessee line seems kinda slow in the head if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you.” Bobby Ray walked over to Gerrall and slapped him on his ear by way of greeting, then began to riffle through the boxes with his filthy fingers. “This is it? This is all you got?”
“Yeah. That’s everything they had tonight. Seven drop-offs.”
“What the fuck?” His daddy slammed his palms down on the wooden worktable. “This isn’t anywhere near enough!”
“I’m always looking for more smurfs, just like the Fat Man told me, but you know it’s getting harder and harder for them to make buys,” Gerrall said.
Bobby Ray threw a box of cold medicine against the barn wall. His face went purple with rage. “What I want you to do is bring back more shit than this! I don’t care if you have to go out yourself and get it! Do you fuckin’ understand? These people we’re workin’ for now don’t fuck around!”
The dozen or so men in the barn remained silent. It was like this a lot lately. Most of the losers who worked for his daddy figured if they didn’t speak and didn’t move then Bobby Ray Spivey would be less likely to notice them, so less likely to shoot them.
Gerrall turned toward their new delivery driver, a big, rough-looking Hispanic dude who called himself “Dan.” He’d been working for his daddy for two weeks now and had hardly said a word. Gerrall didn’t even know if he spoke English, but he always made the deliveries to the Florida state line and always came back on time with every dime accounted for. His daddy seemed to think he was some kind of good omen for their business, since they’d got their new big-time backing right after he came on board. Though the Fat Man took credit for that.
The Fat Man took credit for everything.
The driver ignored Gerrall.
“We’ll do better tomorrow night,” Gerrall said, heading for the door. He kept on walking, right past the trailer and into the woods. He used the light of his cell phone to locate the foot and handholds on the old sycamore tree, then began to climb in the dark. When he pulled aside the plastic covering to the tree house door, a flashlight nearly blinded him.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry! Sorry!” The little girl he’d seen hanging around the property dropped the flashlight and shot up out of the sleeping bag, her eyes as wide as Frisbees. She gathered up her backpack and some matted-looking stuffed animal and scurried right past him out the treehouse door. Gerrall shook his head and watched as
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