I make a certain amount of money, I’m done with this.”
Joaquin stood and walked over toward Penelope, who was still sitting looking pretty like a baby doll. He kissed her and took a sip of her water. “So what are your goals?” Joaquin asked, turning towards Alex. Alex seemed confused by the question. “What are you looking to make?” Joaquin asked, simplifying his question.
“Well, I guess a few million.”
“What’s a few million…six or seven?”
“That’s a nice number.”
“Heroin will help you make at least ten million dollars in the next six months.”
Alex thought about it. If he could make ten million dollars in the next six months he could retire from the game, find a wife to start a family with, and keep flipping houses. “Damn, so you really think I can make ten million dollars in the next six months?”
“I can guarantee it. So how much do you think you can handle?”
“What?” He knew what Joaquin was talking about but he was nervous. “How much what?”
“Product.” Alex looked over at Penelope; she was nursing her glass of water.
“She doesn’t speak English.”
“I don’t like women in my business.”
“That’s not true, you speak to my wife all the time.”
“True but you all were together when I met you.”
“¡Vaya al baño!” Joaquin said to Penelope.
She stood and headed to the restroom like Joaquin had asked. When Alex heard the door shut he felt comfortable enough to discuss numbers.
“I can handle maybe two kilos.”
“I want to send you five.”
“Why so much?”
“I want you to run this town.”
Alex couldn’t dispute that. The two men shook hands and then Joaquin shook a little harder before saying, “Death is about to surround us, but we can’t worry about that. It’s time to get rich. Very rich.”
* * *
“We have a motherfuckin’ problem,” Deion said to 2Glocks, as they sat at a corner table during lunchtime at the Pink Pony strip club.
“What type of problem? Shit been lookin’ real good from where I’m sittin’,” 2Glocks shot back, while eating French fries and sipping on a coke. Deion had water.
“I’m stuck with a shitload of counterfeit money.”
“What the fuck? How did that happen?”
“This clown nigga J.D. from Tennessee gave it to us.”
“Does it look real?”
“Not only does it look real, the shit feels real as fuck too. Like a bitch wit’ an excellent ass and tit job.”
“Word…so then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I took a loss and I think I gave some of it to your connect.”
“Really?” 2Glocks questioned, as if unconcerned. He dipped three French fries into a puddle of ketchup. “Ain’t nobody said shit to me about it.”
“That’s strange.”
“I’m serious. Nobody has said one word to me.” He stuffed the three fries in his mouth and continued, “Well, that’s not so strange. Those motherfuckers make so much money. They probably haven’t gotten around to counting yours yet. Gotta figure they making millions of dollars.”
Deion sipped his water, thinking about J.D. It was ripping Deion’s insides up that he had gotten over on them. It seemed like every minute of the day he was visualizing the different ways he was going to slice the motherfucker up when he got a hold of him. That fact was the only thing that was keeping Deion sane. “Eventually they’ll find out.”
“Maybe, maybe not. By the time they do, maybe they won’t be able to trace it back to you. As a matter of fact, he called me last night and asked if we were ready for more.”
“They have more?”
“Yep,” 2Glocks said, taking another sip of his Coke. “They have plenty.”
“Oh yeah?”
“They heavy in the game. This ain’t no hobby or part-time job, them motherfuckers full-time in this shit.”
Deion was about to ask 2Glocks a question when a skinny blond girl with no ass and no tits attempted to sit on Deion’s lap. He pushed her away. She smiled, revealing a meth mouth
Joaquin stood and walked over toward Penelope, who was still sitting looking pretty like a baby doll. He kissed her and took a sip of her water. “So what are your goals?” Joaquin asked, turning towards Alex. Alex seemed confused by the question. “What are you looking to make?” Joaquin asked, simplifying his question.
“Well, I guess a few million.”
“What’s a few million…six or seven?”
“That’s a nice number.”
“Heroin will help you make at least ten million dollars in the next six months.”
Alex thought about it. If he could make ten million dollars in the next six months he could retire from the game, find a wife to start a family with, and keep flipping houses. “Damn, so you really think I can make ten million dollars in the next six months?”
“I can guarantee it. So how much do you think you can handle?”
“What?” He knew what Joaquin was talking about but he was nervous. “How much what?”
“Product.” Alex looked over at Penelope; she was nursing her glass of water.
“She doesn’t speak English.”
“I don’t like women in my business.”
“That’s not true, you speak to my wife all the time.”
“True but you all were together when I met you.”
“¡Vaya al baño!” Joaquin said to Penelope.
She stood and headed to the restroom like Joaquin had asked. When Alex heard the door shut he felt comfortable enough to discuss numbers.
“I can handle maybe two kilos.”
“I want to send you five.”
“Why so much?”
“I want you to run this town.”
Alex couldn’t dispute that. The two men shook hands and then Joaquin shook a little harder before saying, “Death is about to surround us, but we can’t worry about that. It’s time to get rich. Very rich.”
* * *
“We have a motherfuckin’ problem,” Deion said to 2Glocks, as they sat at a corner table during lunchtime at the Pink Pony strip club.
“What type of problem? Shit been lookin’ real good from where I’m sittin’,” 2Glocks shot back, while eating French fries and sipping on a coke. Deion had water.
“I’m stuck with a shitload of counterfeit money.”
“What the fuck? How did that happen?”
“This clown nigga J.D. from Tennessee gave it to us.”
“Does it look real?”
“Not only does it look real, the shit feels real as fuck too. Like a bitch wit’ an excellent ass and tit job.”
“Word…so then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I took a loss and I think I gave some of it to your connect.”
“Really?” 2Glocks questioned, as if unconcerned. He dipped three French fries into a puddle of ketchup. “Ain’t nobody said shit to me about it.”
“That’s strange.”
“I’m serious. Nobody has said one word to me.” He stuffed the three fries in his mouth and continued, “Well, that’s not so strange. Those motherfuckers make so much money. They probably haven’t gotten around to counting yours yet. Gotta figure they making millions of dollars.”
Deion sipped his water, thinking about J.D. It was ripping Deion’s insides up that he had gotten over on them. It seemed like every minute of the day he was visualizing the different ways he was going to slice the motherfucker up when he got a hold of him. That fact was the only thing that was keeping Deion sane. “Eventually they’ll find out.”
“Maybe, maybe not. By the time they do, maybe they won’t be able to trace it back to you. As a matter of fact, he called me last night and asked if we were ready for more.”
“They have more?”
“Yep,” 2Glocks said, taking another sip of his Coke. “They have plenty.”
“Oh yeah?”
“They heavy in the game. This ain’t no hobby or part-time job, them motherfuckers full-time in this shit.”
Deion was about to ask 2Glocks a question when a skinny blond girl with no ass and no tits attempted to sit on Deion’s lap. He pushed her away. She smiled, revealing a meth mouth
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