Chapter XX
Chapter XX
In the midst of this drama, came one of life’s pivotal moments. A few months into living at the loft with similar or exceedingly wild stories that I will spare you the details of, I realized I was tired of being dead broke. Since I declined the internship at McLaren, I had taken up three part-time jobs. One as a cashier/busboy/waiter/janitor at a walk-in fast food restaurant called Wahoo’s. I was paid minimum wage, and whatever tips were made were to be put into a collective jar for the week and dispersed equally to all the staff, which I hated because I was a charming little devil and the tips I made in a week would have been worth my while. I hated that job. I had greatness in me, don’t you know, and I felt too good to be waiting on people hand and foot and cleaning dirty bathrooms. The second part-time job I got was much better (for the time being) and more lucrative, I was an employee in fashion retail at Lacoste. I had a great group of co-workers and was paid a whole $11/hour. Big cash ting, you know? But that was like a supernova, burn bright die young, as management closed that location within ten weeks of me joining the team, because of poor sales performance from the year before (and by poor performance I mean a 2% drop instead of a 25% increase, the impossible mark they had been shooting for, while the city of Philadelphia had the façade of the store under construction for the last fourteen months). They had given us all one week’s notice. Yay. Back to serving up bowls of “Are your taste buds satisfied with the $8 quality food you are eating, or would you like me to take it back to the kitchen a fifth time?” I was getting really frustrated. I was looking for jobs, getting an interview here and there but getting nothing. Some said I was overqualified and that they were only looking to give the position to those with no prior work experience and/or
no college education. I had also been working on building a business, which just so happened to fall into the energy industry, and research and development is quite expensive if I am putting it lightly.
Enter in the opportunity for extreme fortune. After myriad conversations in our bedrooms about needing money and the weightiness of being broke, Eric walks into my room one day as I am working on my computer.
“Yo. You said you wanted to make some money, I might have a crazy deal for us, but you gotta let me know if you’re in before I go through with it.” He said with a smile, though his tone was serious.
“Bet! What’s the deal, though? How are we making money?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to hear the answer about to proceed from his vocal cords.
“We’d be selling coke. My cousin is looking to expand his market to Philadelphia, and I told him we needed to make some money, and we already have the resources and connections here for parties and whatnot.” He said soundly.
“Ah, that’s sus21, but if we did it right, it would be easy money. We already know all the biggest frat houses and parties around the city. How much are we talking?” I asked, leaning in. He had whet my appetite.
“Yeah, exactly, that’s what I’m saying bro. And he said if we sold a brick and gave him the profits, he would front us our first brick and let us keep the profits off of that. It’s a one-time deal. He doesn’t want me getting in on the business. He said it’s too dangerous and risky. He just wants exposure to Philadelphia, and if it goes well, he’ll start supplying up here. If we sold by the line or by the bump here at parties, we could probably profit like fifty or sixty K off of one brick bro. Like that’s stacks. That covers us at least for the next year.” He said convincingly.
“Plus, none of these Drexel kids ever had real, pure cocaine like this. We can upcharge since we have the good stuff,” he added.
“Yeah, you’re right. The coke here is trash. Only good stuff I’ve ever had was the first time I did it out in Colorado.” I said.
“60k though, bro?! That’s more than enough. We’d be set. And you said once we sell them both, it’s like a one and done? We don’t have to do it again?” I asked to reassure myself of the poor decision I was about to make.
“Yeah, 60k, one and done. He’s in the military, so when he picks it up from the plug, in the south, he puts it in his hummer and has a convoy with him, usually depending on how much they pick up. Which keeps it lowkey. The cops never pull him over or expect anything from it.” He said.
“That seems dumb sketchy, but I mean, I guess if it works…” I trailed off.