Selling drugs in many ways is just like a regular business. You have a product people want or need, so they come to get it. Ironic how the first time I made a run, I was scared shitless. Then it becomes more normal. I can’t count how many times I’ve sat at a stop light and had a cop pull up next to me. I smile and nod – look natural – thinking to myself, ‘Wouldn’t you just love to know I have 20 pounds of hydroponic weed in an igloo cooler not five feet away from you?’ Yes, I got pretty cocky.
…And the crazy ass shit that would happen to me.
I told you I had a day job. My day job was land-clearing and site development work – you know all those big machines? I used to run those. Well, my cousin starts dating this guy who works in real estate. They begin buying small wooded lots and having me clear them as an investment. One of these jobs was a large wooded lot close to a swamp. I end up using a track-hoe; a very large machine mounted on tank-tracks. A huge arm reaches out and grabs brush, trees, whatever. Well, here I sit in this machine clearing brush. I reach out and begin to gather large clumps of underbrush. I see a flash of blue.
Huh? What is this? I jump out of the machine and investigate. What I find is a 50-gallon plastic container full of weed.
First I look around. Is this a setup? You know, I’ve heard of the back door popping open on the armored car, everyone scrambling to pick up the cash… what to do?
I know what I would do.
This basically just happened to me.
I sell dope. Now I’m finding it in the woods in Tupperware containers. Is this a dream? I immediately eliminate my cousin – she’s very opposed to illegal substances. Since my cousin wears the pants, I know her husband isn’t moving this kind of weed. Hmm? Or maybe he hides it out here in the woods so she doesn’t find it? Ha! Let’s be real – she would kill him!
It gets better. That day I walked around and found two more of those containers. The final tally was 120 pounds of marijuana. Let’s just say that particular job paid very well.
Dope dealers do weird stuff. Some guy may have had the cops snooping around and had to stash his stuff. Perhaps an angry ex-girlfriend was threatening to turn him in. Whatever the case, that was my come-up. Sorry about your luck dude!
Karma? Me and that son of a gun have been going around and around for years. During my illegal sale of drugs, I also sold used cars. Instead of having the drugs I sold sitting in my house, many times a package was kept in a car that I had for sale. …And many times a package was lost in a car I had for sale. Not usually large quantities. Well, not to me. That opinion may differ from say, you, and perhaps the cops.
Usually what would happen is the dope gets stashed, some shit comes up, and you forget. …Like one time I loaned a buddy some tools so he could fix his car. He calls me a couple hours later to tell me to come get my tools. Seems there was about 4 ounces of coke in that tool-box. Imagine that! At least I got that back. I hid weed in the spare tire compartment of a Ford Explorer. I sold the truck and only remembered that I left a brick in there a week later. That’s when, as a dealer, you freak out and stash your shit in the woods, thinking the cops are gonna come kick your door in. Then the little Ford Mustang. I loved that car. Very fast, very fun to drive. I sold it with 6 ounces of coke tucked in the shifter boot. This is the problem when you sell and use drugs. Pot makes you forget important stuff. …Like where your dope is.
During my early days of dealing, there was a lot of silly shit that happened. There were a lot of stoned people around. We moved a lot of bud and I met a lot of dealers. Like in other businesses, networking is a big part of drug dealing. Before long I knew guys who sold coke or heroin as their hustle. One guy worked with stolen vehicles and insurance jobs and yet another sold guns. I’ve even met guys who still make moonshine.
Around the age of 18 or 19 I used coke for the first time. Until then I had only smoked. I did that line and it was like, ‘Gentlemen start your engines! Houston, we have liftoff!’ This was a new high for me.
I won’t lie: I did my fair share of coke, and then some. That was short-lived though. I met a woman that I began to date. She hated drugs and I was forced to curb my enthusiasm for cocaine. I went back to weed.
After selling the weed for some time, I began to peddle small amounts of coke. This closely resembled my high school dealing days, except that an ounce of coke and an ounce of weed are much different. …In many ways. The size, the price, and the legal consequences. I’ve been pulled over and had a cop search my vehicle, come up with an ounce, and tell me to take off – and he keeps my ounce. …Of pot.
That’s not happening with coke. Your car is confiscated and they’re on their way to search your home, and will try to confiscate that too. Unless you’ve got a kickass lawyer, you are screwed.
Slowly I began the transition of getting customers who used coke. This brought around a whole new breed of people. Weed people buy a week’s worth of pot on payday. They know what will get them through the week and they go ahead and get what they need. They aren’t going to decide to stay up all night and smoke all their pot in one sitting. That’s not how stoners work. They won’t call you at three in the morning because they ran out and need more. They are sound asleep at 3 a.m. …But not coke-heads.
Coke heads think they got enough, or maybe they only planned to do ‘this much.’ Their plans change as soon as they start snorting. I don’t know how many times I’ve told someone, “You better get more than that – you’ll be calling me back in an hour.” Never fails – they always call. Coke is addicting. Once I put together my list of regulars, my switch was complete. I still moved weed occasionally, but coke was the money. I was on to new and better stuff. …Or so I thought.
During the time I sold weed, I never had my house broken into, I could leave my phone on all night, and I never had people follow me. We had parties. Lots of people around. Tons of food and beer. It was a good crew of people. Some of the guys had boats. We would fish together on weekends. I still went back to my roots. Sure I liked feeling like a gangster, but I still took a 4X4 and played in the mud.
I had a little extra cash. We had a mud-truck, four-wheelers – we had fun.
I began collecting guns, just for fun. We lived in the city. On week-ends we would head for the hills, a big parcel of hunting land out of town. I dragged a trailer that carried the mud-truck and four-wheelers and we would meet our friends and be crazy rednecks, shooting at targets, tearing up mud-holes, drinking beer, eating grilled food. That was the time of my life. Sure I was selling weed, but it was like a job. I was still on top.
Many of my friends were bikers. We rode all the time. If I wasn’t on a 4X4 in a mud-hole, I was headed to some bike-week. I fell in love with Harleys. To me, my life was fairly normal. I spent time with family. We went to the beach. Selling weed back then was a way to make money. Even at the level I took it, it was still casual.
Perhaps I wasn’t looking for casual. Always one to push the bill, I kept pressing on. I think I saw buddies of mine that had more. Greed is a motherfucker.
I began to see opportunities to make even more money.
The more I thought about it, I decided, ‘Why not? Why settle for good when maybe you can be better?’
So I made the switch. Just one decision, but one that forever changed my life. Goodbye to the little life I knew. Goodbye to the decent man I could have been. Goodbye to the good in my life.
Hello cocaine.
1 comment:
Hmm I wonder what 4x4 you had in those mud holes?
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