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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Unwilling Exchanges"  Now Caleb's jaw really does drop. "What kind of sick, fucking fantasies do you think I've got going?" "Look, it's perfect," you say. "We need a place to put the cash and stash, someplace Matthias--Chen, I mean--won't think of looking. Gardinhire is made to order. I mean, he's already holding thousands in cash each month, so we just add our pile to his. And fuck, I'm sure he's got folding money to spare we can skim off, what with the tips that fucker makes at the country club." You spit on the floor. "And it's totes safe sticking him under your mask. He's already doing better than you in school, he can totally cover for you if we make him." Caleb can only gasp like a landed fish. And you-- Well, you were originally just going to use this idea as a bludgeon to force Caleb into holding the stuff in his car. But now that you've articulated this second idea, you realize you like it a lot more than the first. So when Caleb, rather shrilly, starts to protest, you push in close to him. "We're going to do this, man. It makes too much sense." "Are you going to make me?" His voice quivers. Ugh. He's starting to act like you're really Gary Chen and you're really threatening him. Of course, you also realize that he's not wrong to, because that's pretty much what you are doing. "No, I'm not going to make you do anything, but I want you to think about it, because it makes too much sense. You wanted to skim money off of Chen, right? So what's wrong with skimming money off of Gardinhire? He can afford to lose more, right? You been in his head, how much can he spare? Enough?" Caleb doesn't disagree, but he still argues. "Chen's making his money off drugs, man!" "So's Gardinhire, isn't he? I'm right about that, him and his friends aren't smokin' it all themselves? So how come he gets a pass and Chen doesn't? Because Gardinhire is fuckin'--" You break off before one of Chen's usual resentments bursts out. "But we didn't do this to Chen because we wanted his money, we did it so he wouldn't kill you!" "So that's how we got into it," you shrug. "Here's how we make it pay off better for us. We hijack Gardinhire, for as long as I'm playing Chen, and skim off all of his profits, maybe invest some of his fuck-around money in our projects too. How much is he making?" "He's making enough. But how long are you gonna be playing Chen? Because this is sounding more and more like--" "I play Chen until I don't gotta anymore, till we find something in the book that means we can let him and Black and Matthias loose. So there's an incentive to get to work. How much can we get from Gardinhire? What's his set up?" "You mean who's he--?" "Yeah yeah. Who's he sharing the shit with, who's he selling it to, how much is he making? You know, the fucking set up." "Don't get short with me, Will. Okay, about a third of it he's sharing with his friends. Mansfield, Kirk, Garner--" "Marc Garner? Eva and Jessica's brother? You're fuckin' with me, Garner's using?" "Once a week. Saturdays, they all get together, the AP crowd, and they have a reefer party--" "Oh, shit!" you howl. "They don't call it a 'reefer party', do they?" "What should they call it? But they get together at Kelsey's place, the bunch of them--" The horizon tilts. "They're doin' it at one of their houses?" you exclaim. The world is making less and less sense, and it's pissing you off more and more. "Kelsey's folks turn a blind eye. But it's pretty much the whole AP crowd, like I said." "And Gardinhire collects for them, right?" you ask. "So they don't have to soil themselves with Chen directly?" You spit again on the floor. "Will you stop that, it's freaking me out. But they don't even know where Gardinhire's getting it from, they only know he can get it, so they put in their shares and he buys for them." "But he buys for more than them, right?" This is what you really want to hear. "Yeah, you'll love this." He backs away. "Don't hurt me, man." "Why? What's he doing?" "He's selling nine ounces a month to Trantham." Now the floor does lurch beneath your feet. "Trantham, Chris Trantham, Chris Trantham the motherfucker who does dishes with me every fucking Monday and Friday at the country club?" "Yep. Gardinhire just puts the stuff in his club locker, and the next day Trantham gives him thirty-one-fifty for it." You run the sums in your head. "Thirty-one-fifty gross? That's twenty-seven dimes in profit! Just for holding it overnight at the fucking country club?" "And that's not all. He's been telling his AP posse he's paying four hundred an ounce for their stuff—I mean, that's the rate Chen charges when selling eighths individually, so if they ask around that's what they'll hear. But since he's been buying in bulk from you at three-twenty an ounce, he's been collecting another four hundred in profit off his friends." The pressure inside your head is so great your ears close up. Fucking Gardinhire is making six hundred and seventy a month, almost as much as you make after loan payments, just for picking up and moving a couple of plastic baggies between lockers. You dance up and down in a fury, punching the air. "Fucker! Oh, we are so fucking him over! You're gonna put his fucking mask on, Johansson, and you're gonna--! Nine months I been dealing with that goat-sucking bastard! I want seven thousand outta his trust fund, cover my loss on his carrying trade, plus a penalty! Then--!" "It's not your loss, Will," Caleb shouts, and now he looks deeply alarmed. "It's Chen's. You're not turning into Chen, are you?" "No! But the fucker's been cheating Chen! He could have paid off that fucking loan already if--!" You catch your breath, close your eyes, get a grip. "You're right, this isn't our business. But at the end, when we sort it all out--" The tremble you've been suppressing explodes in a violent shudder. "We'll figure out a way to make it all come out fair!" * * * * * The bell rang while you were arguing with Caleb, so you're a few minutes late for English. You slouch through class and concentrate on figuring out Gardinhire's various angles. You'll have him under your thumb soon enough, but you still seethe to think of the way he took advantage of-- But, God damn it, Caleb is right, he didn't take advantage of you, he took advantage of Gary Chen, a guy you've hated and feared for years. You ought to be on Gardinhire's side. But you aren't. You ought to be thinking about how to get your own supply sold. But you're not. You're thinking about Trantham. He goes to Eastman, the other high school in town, and he must be dealing there. Chen never thought him the sharpest tool in the kit, more like the kind of guy who uses his own product, and he must be making some pretty thin margins if he's buying from a middleman who's buying from you. Of course, there's no reason to help him out by selling to him at a lower price than Gardinhire was giving him, if you forced the latter out as a middleman. But maybe it would be worth more to find a partner at Eastman, someone to replace both Gardinhire and Trantham, that way all of their profits would flow to you and this new partner, who'd be better able than Trantham to grow the business over there. But who at Eastman to use? A brain-band on Trantham might give you a lead. * * * * * With that line of thought rounded off for the moment, you return to planning some more local sales. There's no point trying to sell any to Garner--though you have to laugh privately when you see him second period, playing the straight-arrow boss of the soccer team--and you don't want to fuck up the team by dealing to anybody else. You hear that the Molester sometimes uses, but you don't want to be in business with him. You have some business with Roth after third period: he passes you a book, and inside it you find five twenties. You like the implication that Small is covering at least part of the cost, and you invite yourself along, to hang out behind the music wing with Roth and Small, sharing gossip about the orchestra and other bullshit; and it doesn't take much pressure or teasing from you to get Small to agree to buy two eighths for the upcoming weekend: you'll make the trade when you see him in Physics. But you're only twenty minutes with them; on a subsequent circuit of the grounds you place an eighth with Cody Wooten and get a promise he'll buy three more tomorrow for himself and some friends. Fifth period is the blowoff Foundations of Marketing class, which is filled with dipshit freshmen and sophomores, and a couple of seniors (like yourself) looking for an easy grade. Late last year, Evans claimed to have sold a joint to Darrell Parson, who sits in the back. So you slide into the desk in front of him. During class you pass him a note: a drawing of a marijuana leaf, followed by a question mark. At the end of class, you turn to cock an eyebrow at him. He shakes his head while avoiding your eye. "Sure?" you softly ask. He shakes his head again, but weakly. You shrug. It's okay, you know where to find him later. Then comes math. But first you need to stop at Mr. Leavey's room. Next: "The Power of Compound Interest" |
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