Page 2 of Honey Sugar
“What’s up, Shadow?” We slapped hands and I shut the front door behind him.
“What’s up, man? You got my money?” I still had on the black latex gloves. I wore them on purpose. If I had to shoot Mario, I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints.
“Damn, it’s all about money with you. Here,” He pulled out a wad of green money secured with a pink rubber band. I took it from him and counted it quickly on the coffee table before handing over the bag of weed.
“Shit, how many pounds is this, Shadow?” Mario grabbed the bag of weed after I counted all the money and gave him a couple hundred for his troubles.
“Two pounds. I already told Don that’s how much to expect so don’t try anything funny.” I eyed him incredulously and he grinned. It didn’t matter who you thought to be your friend. They’d still stab you in the fucking back if they got the chance.
“You know I’m not going to do anything funny. I don’t understand how you get your shit to grow so dense. How many plants do you harvest to get yields like this?” He held the bag in his hand like he was a human scale.
“You know damn well I’m not telling you my secrets, Mario.”
“I’m trying to be like you. Nobody brings in a bigger harvest than you do.”
“I’ve been doing this shit since I was thirteen.” I shrugged my shoulders and folded the wad of money then put it in my pocket. Mario handed the bag to the brown skin girl beside him and her arm immediately fell like bricks at her side.
“Fuck, this is heavy.”
“It’s only two pounds,” I laughed.
“But it’s heavy for weed. Jesus,” she said.
“Bitch, you’re not here to comment. Take it to the car and wait for me,” Mario snapped at her. His eyebrows pulled together and his nostrils flared. I shook my head at the display and glanced at her apologetically.
“Yo, you don’t have to talk to her like that. Chill,” I frowned.
“Thank you, Shadow. See? He’d never call me a bitch.” She rolled her eyes and walked out of the house with an attitude.
“You can’t keep women if you call them bitches, Mario. You gotta do better.”
“Fuck her. Anyway, man. Why did you let your mom take your car?”
“She needed it to get to work. She’s been late five days this week. Her car is shit. I’m going to get her a new one but I gotta save up. I don’t think she has much time before her car won’t start at all.”
“You need fast money?” Mario asked, rubbing his chin. My ears pricked at his words.
“Yeah. I do. What you have in mind?” I asked him.
“You know it’s Mardi Gras weekend. There are hundreds of tourists crawling around the streets. They have money and they want to party.”
“I don’t have enough weed to sell to tourists, man.” I shook my head immediately. I only grew weed in two closets in the house. Every harvest usually yielded a pound each.
“That’s why you’re not going to sell weed. You’re going to sell bumpers. These tourists won’t know the difference.” Bumpers were fake drugs. Instead of selling coke, you’d sell baking soda cut with aspirin or cornstarch. Instead of selling Molly, you’d sell sugar pills. The list went on and on for miles. There were a million ways to create fake drugs.
There was no way in hell anyone could get away with selling that shit to experienced users though. So selling to naïve tourists was the best bet. Mardi Gras was prime selling time for anyone who dealt with bumpers.
“Nah, that shit will get you killed.” I wanted money but I also wanted to keep my life. I knew the guy who ran the French Quarter and he’d kill to keep his blocks secured.
“The tourists don’t know. By the time they realized they have bumpers, you’ll be long gone. I did it last year and sold out in a couple of hours. Walked away with eight grand in my pocket.” Mario leaned against the wall and looked at me, waiting for my answer.
My shoulders sagged with a sigh as I ran a palm down my face. I could sell bumpers for a weekend if it meant I’d make enough money to get Mama a car and pay for it with cash. She didn’t need a car note on top of everything else she was trying to juggle.
After I chewed on it in my mind for a while, I told Mario I’d do it. A grin spread across his face and we slapped hands, solidifying the deal. “Cool, I’ll be here at six and we’ll bag up then head to the festivities.”
“I’ll be ready,” I told him with a nod. When Mario left, I watched out the front door as he got in his car and yelled at the girl in the front seat. I shook my head and frowned. I hated men like him. Men who thought women were weaker and used that thought to show how strong they were in turn. It was bullshit. I watched my mother take care of me all by herself my whole life without asking for a dime from my father. I watched her hustle and do whatever she needed to make sure we had food. Some nights I knew she didn’t eat so I could.
Women weren’t weak.
