Page 33 of The Fire We Crave

“So, you’re thinking about it then?”

“Fuck off, Catfish.”

He chuckles, and I flip him the bird. But the frustration is aimed at myself. I’m flip-flopping like a fish left on a dry dock. Asmart man would stick with the intellectual decision. Quinn and I don’t work.

But an emotional man?

Fuck. I’m not one of those.

We pull up behind the weed dispensary run by Big Daddy, a bail bondsman friend of Butcher. He mixes legally grown and accounted-for weed with some of our less legal product. Cuts the two together, makes more of a profit.

“Been a good growing season,” Big Daddy says as he steps out, pushing a cart, to meet us.

He’s the stereotypical bail bondsman, a cross between law enforcement, drill instructor, and Dog the Bounty Hunter. He wears a uniform that gives the impression of police authority but isn’t. He dabbles inmostlyaboveboard businesses: scrap metal, bounty hunting, and cannabis selling.

“Big Daddy,” I say, shaking his hand and nudging the cart back towards Catfish with my boot.

“Good to see you back in one piece, brother. Heard what happened. Sorry for the loss of your brothers.”

I nod. “Thanks, man.”

“You good, Catfish?”

“Pity all this shit needs to be transported in a truck. Would be so much better to be on our bikes on a day like today.” Catfish grins as he grabs the delivery out of the back of the truck and starts loading up the cart. There’s product that’s already been dried and some new plants for retail that would have been impossible to transport on our bikes.

Big Daddy hands me a brown envelope stuffed with cash. There should be ten grand in there. I don’t count it in front of him, but Catfish will make me count it when we get around the corner. Sometimes business is a show of faith in person and a moment of scrutiny behind the scenes.

But as our treasurer, Catfish trusts no-one when it comes to dollars and cents.

Carl, one of Big Daddy’s employees, takes the cart. “You brothers need anything from inside?” he asks.

Insidemeans everything he sells beneath the counter. Harder drugs, the kind of pain pills you can get only through pricy insurance, and drugs for the weekenders like coke and Molly.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say.

“Me too,” Catfish says. “How are the kids?”

Big Daddy grins. “Just dropped Amelia off at UCLA for her first semester. Proud of that kid.”

“Gotta give ‘em a better path than we had,” Catfish says.

“That’s the truth,” Big Daddy agrees. “Not so happy about this co-ed halls situation. Some kid across the hall looked at her one too many times for my liking.”

I laugh at that. “Did you sort him out?”

“Might have mentioned loudly that I have friends who can make people disappear. And you are them people, in case I’m not clear.”

“Happy to help a friend out,” I say. “But you’re gonna have to prove to us that he did more than wink in your daughter’s direction. That may be taking the whole patriarchy thing a step too far.”

“Good deal,” Big Daddy says. “Same time next week. You got about twenty more of those plants, I’ll take ‘em.”

Once in the truck, Catfish throws his arm over the back of my seat and expertly reverses it down the narrow laneway toward the road.

“Can’t imagine having a college-age kid, let alone a daughter,” Catfish says.

“Can’t imagine having kids, period.” It’s not something I ever want to worry about. Happy to be Uncle Smoke to Fen and theother young kids in the clubhouse. I’ll teach ‘em to dirt bike, and fix shit up for them when it breaks. But I don’t want any of my own.

“Fucker just blocked the laneway,” Catfish mumbles. “Get out of the way, dipshit.”

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