Jeff sat in his car, feeling the cold and wondering if this whole plan was such a good idea after all. He needed money, sure, they both did, and with the amount of cash Mike told him the guy had they would be all set for a little while. At least in theory, if everything Mike said was true, which Jeff wasn't sure it was. Mike had told him many things in the past that had turned out to be entirely false for the sole purpose of advancing whatever his agenda was, this could be one of them. He looked at the house, white, set back from the road slightly, there was nothing about it that would draw any attention. Certainly nothing to indicate that there was several pounds of weed in it, possibly thousands of dollars of cash. All you gotta do is go in, Jeff thought to himself, show him the gun, and take it. He's a drug dealer for, fucks sake, it's not like hes going to the cops. At least that was how Mike had put it to him. Just pull out the gun, demand the money, the drugs, and walk out that much richer. He had asked Mike why if if was so easy he hadn't done it earlier and Mike had explained that he had already done business with the guy, and that if he did it it would look sketchy. So I'm basically the fall guy, the one who does the dirty work, Jeff thought, as he looked at the house.

A couple of lights were on on the lower floors but other than that it looked quiet. Apparently the guy kept odd hours so it was likely that he was still up, a simple knock on the door then a quick brandishing of the pistol and out the door. I'm thinking about this whole thing way too much Jeff thought to himself. He took out his bottle of pills from his pocket and popped an oxycodone. It would take a little while to kick in but when it did at least it would take the edge off. He had snorted a couple of line of adderal before heading over, Mike had said later was the best bet, and it was a little after 11, and now he felt on edge. I need to smoke a joint I think. Well there a whole house of pot right in front of me, might as well go in. He grabbed opened the glove compartment and grabbed the gun, it felt cold in his hands. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself as he got out of the car and headed toward the white house.

 Wade cracked open a beer as he flipped through the channels, not shit on, not much at all. Where the fuck is everyone, he thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer. Only 4 days ago everyone was talking about how if he could just front them and eigth they could square things up with him today. That they could paid on Friday and that's when they could get back to him. Now it was Friday and his phone was dead. No one had called, sent a text, facebook message, nothing. He had even sent out a few texts telling them he had something if they were still interested, but still no response. Not a single word, nothing. As if, in the span of those few days they had sworn off the drug entirely. He had even put out a couple buds for customers to sample if they wanted to try a little. But nothing, and now it was 11:30 and he was seriously considering going to bed and giving up on the whole endeavor. If someone was going to contact him, it would have happened by now. A good portion of his customers worked as cooks in restaurants and most them would be out by now.

Wade picked up his phone, nothing. Just the time and the date. What the fuck was going on? Sometimes it seemed like he sold it fast than he grew it, then sometimes it felt like he had more inventory then he could get rid of. Whenever he had a lot of product on hand, no one had money, and whenever he did everyone was broke. It felt like these two things were rarely in sync. It's payday for fucks sake, they should be banging down my door. It's not like the liquor store has this kind of problem. He contemplated calling some of them himself but decided that would look desperate. Pathetic. This is supposed to be some kind of recession proof business, like prostitution or something like that. The drugs would sell themselves, is what he had always heard. Still, it was harder then it looked. Anyone who had ever looked upon growing and selling bud as 'Easy money' clearly had never done it. Had never spent the time, or the vast amount of money necessary to bankroll such an operation. How a little bit of mold, or bugs or a myriad of other problems could stop something like this in it's tracks. Shut everything down. Not to mention all the people out to rob you outright..

The knock on the door was loud, three knocks, at first Wade had thought it was the cops. It was almost midnight so it seemed the most logical conclusion. It's alright, he thought. Just keep cool, they can't come in without probable cause. Maybe, but that wouldn't stop a cop hell bent on making some kind of bust. At least he didn't have to much on him at the moment, just a couple of ounces and 100 in cash. I could just ignore it, pretend I'm sleeping. The knock came again, louder this time. Almost desperate. Anticipating his answering the door with a kind of religious fervor. 'Who is it? He asked. The knocker didn't respond. 'Who the fuck is it?' He asked again feeling irritated. 'Hey man, I'm looking for something.' A voice finally responded. He got up from his chair and walked over to the door, first glancing in the peephole. A skinny man in cargo shorts stood in the doorway, who looked as if he was coming down from a meth binge. Against his better instincts he opened the deadbolt and opened the door. 'And who are you exactly?' 'I'm a friend of Alex. He told me you had the goodshit.' The man shifted as he spoke. Something about this was entirely off. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.' He began to close the door, but the man had other ideas. He heard the click of the pistol before he saw it. 'The weed, all of it.' The man said pointing it at his face. 'I don't know what you're talking about..' the man brandished the pistol again. 'I am not fucking around here.' 'Ok.' Wade said finally and headed back into his house. The man followed the pistol still at eye level. 'Where is the fucking weed?' The man asked again. 'Alright, don't worry I got you, I'm just going to get it.' The gun worried him, but the main thing that terrified him was the desperation in the mans eyes. Clearly this guy had taken quite a few wrong turns over the course of his life. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed his stash. His put it in a plastic bag and handed it to the man. 'That's it?' He asked. 'Yeah.' The man looked puzzled. 'Empty your fucking pockets.' Wade gave him his wallet, which had a hundred, as well as his cell phone. 'Don't spend it all in one place.' He said to him as he walked out.


Wade looked as his pastrami sandwich, pondering another bite. It certainly looked appetizing enough, grilled and with melted cheese, still he couldn't seem to manage to consume any more of it. 'So you didn't try to fight back or anything? You just let him take it?' Alex asked. As if that was the most logical response. He had already finished most of his coffee and all of his breakfast and was gesturing to the waitress for another cup. 'Well, like I said he had a gun.' Wade replied. 'So you let him just walk off will our stash?' 'Yeah that's how it happened.' Yeah I'm lying to you asshole. And since when was it our stash? The last time he checked he grew it, and spent most of the money for it. 'The guy said he knew you.' 'Oh so now it's all on me? Why the fuck didn't you think something was wrong when someone is knocking on your door that late?' 'I know.' Wade said meekly. Alex took another sip of coffee. 'Well this isn't the end of it, we have to hit back. Hard.' 'What the hell do you mean?' 'What I mean is I know a gut who can help us. A hitter, someone with connections.' Alex was always boasting about his 'connections.' How he 'knew people,' who could break legs, help him 'take care of things.' Even if Wade believed him, he didn't want any part of it. Selling weed was supposed to be fun, when you introduced guns and hired goons into the mix that is exactly what the whole thing ceased to be. Anyhow, it was Alex who, in his estimation had brought them to this scenario in the first place. He had brought Alex in to help with his distribution, which he had done little to actually help. Then Alex had started dealing with more and more dubious characters and Wade had a strong feeling one of them had discerned his address. 'Look, really it's not that big of a deal. I'll have the next batch done in a week then we can just got back to the way it was.' He could tell from the look on Alex's face that that wouldn't be enough. 'And everyone on the street know we just let ourselves get ripped off and didn't do anything about it?'

What the fuck are you talking about? Wade thought. What street? Who? But it was no use asking him something like that. Alex had seen so many mob movies and Tarantino flicks that he felt like he was in one. He was always talking about 'product,' and how they were perceived on the street. Sure getting ripped off was bad but he wasn't terribly enthusiastic about someone getting hurt or killed because of it. 'Look I just make one call, arrange a meeting. You tell him what happened, he gets us our product back. Or at least maybe the money from it.' 'And what would this person want in return for this service?' 'Not much, maybe some product, then were square. Nobody fucks with us again.' Wade nodded. 'And who is this guy again exactly?' 'Not sure what his real name is, but they call him 'Nails. He's in with Lucifer's disciples, biker gang.'
Oh yeah, this can't go wrong, Wade thought and took a bite of his sandwich.