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Ricky crossed his arms over his chest. “Nice try, but I ain’t buyin’ it.”
Henri glanced over his shoulder, playing the part of the wary city buyer before looking back to Ricky. “All right, you’re better dressed than most around here, okay? I took a stab at it. I used to buy from this kid a few blocks over, Scooter? Couldn’t find him today, so I kept on this way.”
Ricky chewed on his gum as he eyed Henri, clearly trying to decide whether to believe the story. Then his boy leaned in and said something, including Ricky’s name, and that was all Henri needed to settle in, double down, and get this shit over and done with.
“Yeah,” Ricky said as he straightened up again, his eyes ping-ponging around the buildings in a way that said he was used to watching his back, and was also paranoid out the ass. “Scooter skipped out a couple days back. Stupid shit fucked us all for this month.”
“No shit,” Henri said as he processed this new piece of information. Clearly, Scooter had packed up and gotten the hell out of Dodge right after their talk the other day at the diner. A move that gave Henri an even better opening. Thank you, Scooter.
“That’s too bad. He sold some good shit.” Henri rubbed a hand over his stubble as though in deep thought. “Actually, you know what? He and I? We were talking the last time we met. I’ve been known to have some connections…if you know what I mean. Maybe I could help you out instead.”
“And why the fuck would you do that? I thought you were here to buy, not sell.”
Henri nodded. “I was—am. But I’m also not stupid. You see my car over there?”
Ricky and his buddy peered around Henri’s shoulder and then looked back to him. “Hard to miss somethin’ like that round here.”
“Yeah. Well, it should also tell you, I’ve got money. I buy from you, sell it around, you like what I get you, maybe this becomes a thing. Maybe you tell your boss; maybe we all walk away a little fucking richer.”
Bleach Boy moved in and whispered something in Ricky’s ear. Ricky frowned and looked back to Henri. “How much you got?”
Henri pulled the wad of money out of his pocket so it was visible. “Five hundred.”
“Okay,” Ricky said, looking a little more interested than he had in the beginning. “So, you give me that and come back in twenty. I’ll have your stuff.”
Nice try, asshole. “You out of your mind? I’m not going to hand over my fucking money so you can walk away with it.”
“That’s the way it works. You pay, I go get the product.”
“Yeah, sure you fucking do. And I never see you, my money, or the drugs again.” Henri took a step forward, and that was when some of that earlier bravado Ricky had been so quick to display eked out as he realized a) just how fucking tall Henri was and b) that the guy standing in front of him suddenly didn’t seem as new to this as he’d first appeared. But not wanting to rattle him, Henri dialed it down a little and reminded himself that rAz was the end goal here. Not Ricky.
“Look,” Henri said. “I didn’t come out here for anything other than something to get me through the next month. But shit, this is too good to be true. What if I told you I could sell an ounce a week to my fancy-ass city neighbors? You think that would help you out? You think your boss would like that?”
Henri could practically see the dollar signs in Ricky’s eyes.
“I mean, what’s your going price here?”
“Four grams for three hundred.”
Henri whistled and shook his head. “I mean, if it’s the good stuff—”
“It’s the fuckin best. That’s all rAz sells.”
Ding. Ding. Ding. There’s that motherfucker’s name. “Well then, make it five for three and you could make up to two K in one week, easy. Doesn’t that sound better than the chump change you make around here?”
Ricky looked to his buddy, whose eyes were almost bugging out his head, the sound of cha-ching no doubt echoing around the empty chambers of his mind.
Henri pulled out a business card that had his burner cell’s number on it and nothing else. He handed it over to Ricky as his buddy unzipped his hoodie and pulled out several baggies.
“That’s how people reach me,” Henri explained. “Tell you what. As a show of good faith, I’ll pay for two weeks’ worth up front, you give me one, and I’ll be back with cash in hand. But I want a meeting with the boss. This rAz who only sells the good stuff.”
Ricky’s nostrils flared at the mention of rAz’s name, and Henri could tell he was feeling a little antsy about having let that slip. I mean, who wouldn’t? The guy wasn’t exactly subtle in how he shut you up if he found out you were talking about him to the wrong people.
