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He said he could figure it out, if he had the right supplies.
Music to my ears. I’d clapped him on the shoulder and said, Then you’re gonna be my own private Heisenberg.
I called him Einstein, though. Heisenberg was just too many fuckin’ syllables.
30
Iturned off the highway and rode down a dirt road half a mile through scrub brush and sand. As I got closer, the kid came out of the barn, which was a couple hundred feet away from the main house.
Einstein was the all-American boy next door with a touch of nerd – clean-shaven, short blond hair, rimless glasses. Well, underneath the gas mask and Hazmat suit he was wearing, anyway.
“Lou,” he greeted me, pulling off the mask.
“What the fuck?” I barked as soon as I cut the engine. “You just walk out of the barn anytime you hear a bike ride up?”
He looked flustered. “N-no – I put up surveillance cameras on the road. I saw you on my computer when you turned off the highway.”
“Huh,” I said, truly impressed. “Wish half my crew was that fuckin’ smart.”
He smiled in relief. He was a pussy, for sure – but he was a smart fuckin’ pussy, and he was going to make me millions over the next six months. Tens of millions over the next few years.
I’d funded the whole shebang by mortgaging my house for a couple hundred grand. We’d been hoarding all the meth he’d cooked until Rodrigo made his move, at which point I was going to unload what we had so far for a couple million. After that, it was gonna be nothin’ but expansion, expansion, expansion. I was gonna be the Starbucks of meth. Fuck, maybe even Walmart.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Really well. I fixed the titration problems I was having, and I upped the purity another two percent – ”
“It was more of a general ‘how’s it going.’ I don’t need to know about every little fuckin’ thing.”
“Oh. Then… it’s going well. Do you… need anything?”
“Yeah. I need a pound to take with me.”
Einstein looked panicked for a second. “Are we doing the delivery? I thought – ”
“Relax. I just need it for a side deal I’m doing, but I need it now.”
“Okay.” He turned back towards the barn –
“What’s the street value on a pound?” I asked.
“Well, if you sold it in bulk, it’d probably go for seven or eight thousand in LA or San Francisco. But if you divided it up into 8-balls it’d be…” His eyes looked up as he did a quick calculation. “…about twenty grand.”
“Jesus. Give me half a pound, then. Motherfucker doesn’t deserve that much generosity.”
Einstein disappeared into the barn. Two minutes later he came out with a half-gallon zip-loc freezer bag with some of the prettiest, clearest looking crystals you’ve ever seen, all tied up with a rubber band around the middle.
“I weighed it, it’s accurate down to the half-gram,” he said.
“Good. Give it here. You gonna have the rest of the shipment ready by next week?”
“Yeah.”
“Good man. Just don’t get high on your own supply.”
“No way. Anybody who touches crystal meth is an idiot. I mean, mine is top quality, but it’s a witch’s brew of…” He trailed off again and got that semi-panicked look he normally wore around me. “…uh… I mean, no judgment if you use it, Lou…”
I laughed. “I agree with you, kid. But idiots pay well, so don’t go telling them the truth. Adios, compadre.”
