Brokenhearted in Bakersfield
19 - PLAN “B”
So what if I couldn’t unload
my goods on those punks? Let ‘em get
sores and drips and long slow death, I don’t care. I figured my next best bet was to take my
Bursting Prides back to where they come from in the first place, over to
PayMe’s Food & Drug where Edna first lifted ‘em.
Radiating extreme cool, I circled ‘round back at PayMe’s loading dock. Sitting out on the edge of the big warehouse
door I found another couple of goobers, only these kids was wearing smocks and
sharing a cigarette.
Cautiously I approached. “Hey, you dudes
need some rubbers?”
They both startled at the sound of my voice.
The taller skinny one scowled, “What the…? Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing
sneaking up on us like that? And just
where’d you get those?” He snatched at
my boxes.
“Come on, man,” I was trying to keep my cool.
“Twenty bucks for a case of two hundred?
Come on, man.”
The short, slicked-back one said, “Two bucks, tops.” He was undeniably getting brazen. “And maybe we don’t call the cops to ask
where you got ‘em.”
The taller one smacked the shorter one in the shoulder, “Duuuuuude!”
The short, slick-haired one flipped his hand, “Hey, for a buck apiece we sell
half to the losers at the club. And with
the other half, we screw the manager’s inventory for the next two weeks. Come on, two bucks, man. We get to watch him go rogue. Do it, man.”
The tall one’s lips curled. “Yeah, I
like it. Okay, here you go,” turning to
me he pressed some coins into my hand.
“There’s your two bucks. Now beat
it.”
“Before I go,” I released my grip on the Bursting Prides and dangled a
zip-locked bag of wonder before their eyes, “could I interest you in a future
in the hemp business?”
Their glowering eyes implied our business dealings was more or less concluded, so
I just shrugged and took my cash and went around to the front of PayMe’s. With my profits I could afford a frosty
six-pack.
Two bucks? Twenty bucks? Regret becomes a waste of time. And wasting time is something I got down to
an art form.