"Coke Deals" by Kenneth Larot Yamat
8:00PM
I go over the plan one more time. I’ll buy a kilo of coke from the dealer for about ten grand, I’ll cut the coke in half with a kilo of baking soda, and then I’ll sell off his shit one gram at a time for eighty bucks per gram. I plan on selling my entire stash of coke over the weekend, after which I should have about one hundred and sixty thousand dollars. Easy money. Easier than filling up vending machines with nuts and bolts and industrial supplies, easier than counting and bagging screws and nails for ten hours a day. Getting paid for four years of work over the course of weekend. It really is easy money. I have my baggies and his triple beam balance ready. I meet the dealer in about an hour.
6:00AM
I get ready for work. My outfits are already pre-made: a blue polo shirt and a pair of Docker khakis. I get into the shower, lathering up the soap against my body. The sweat and grime of the previous day washed away, washed down the drain. The week is over, it's Friday, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I won't be working. I have been thinking about moonlighting as a coke dealer during the weekends. I have an appointment later tonight with a coke dealer who will sell me a kilo of shit for ten grand. I think that it's a killer deal. I bought coke retail once at a night club and paid one hundred bucks for a gram. I’m paying ten dollars per gram by buying a kilo at a time. I could really fucking kill it by selling the whole kilo one gram at a time.
9:30PM
The drug deal went smooth and without a hitch. I paid the drug dealer ten grand, I’ve been pulling out two grand per day from his bank account for the past five days, and received my kilo of cocaine. I crack open the package of coke, and a box of baking soda, I pull out two playing cards, and proceed to cut the coke. I measure out one gram doses and puts them into small two inch by two inch baggies. I measure out two thousand bags of shit and put them into my satchel and head out for a night on the town. If I gets caught with this much shit I’ll be in the slammer for decades. Fuck it. Life is all or nothing. I want to get rich.
4:00PM
My phone beeps. A text message from my bank alerting me of a recent transaction: A direct deposit for sixteen hundred dollars. That would be my paycheck. I put my phone away and continue counting screws. I pour out ten pounds of drywall screws and box them up for a construction company that uses thousands of pounds of these screws per month. Hyacinth construction. Right now their biggest job is a new office building on Marshall Street and Jackson Avenue. Once the thing is finished one hundred fifty thousand square feet of office space will house ten thousand corporate drones in a massive corporate hive. All potential customers for my coke outfit. Random drug screenings are bullshit. No one gets tested for drugs, maybe except for onboarding, but that's about it.
8:50PM
Ten minutes until my meeting with the drug dealer. The exchange is to take place at the Starbucks on McKee and Alum Rock. I brought a revolver just in case things get ugly. Starbucks is a public place, so there really isn't a chance that things will go wrong. But you never know. Something sketchy like a cocaine deal comes with its own set of unique possibilities. I might get robbed of my ten grand and not get any shit. That would be really fucked.
5:00PM
The Bank of America on Merrill Boulevard and Fragonard Street is open until 6:00PM, so I still have time to pick up some cash. I need two grand more for a total of ten grand for the kilo of coke. I get to the bank and the line is ten people deep and there are only two tellers on the line. It's my turn and I ask the teller for two grand in hundreds. The teller asks me what I’m going to do with my money. Nosey Cunt. I tell the teller that I’m buying a used car. The teller asks what kind. I say a 1997 Toyota Camry. The teller wishes me good luck with the car purchase.
9:10PM
The dealer is ten minutes late and I’m getting nervous. What the fuck is going on. Why the fuck is he late. The dealer said he'd be wearing a leather motorcycle jacks with safety pins and spikes and studs. I walk up to the barista and order another coffee, when in comes a guy wearing a motorcycle jacket with safety pins and spikes and studs. The dealer apologizes for being late. I get my coffee and the drug dealer and I head to a corner of the coffee shop. The dealer offers me a bump of the shit before I buy the whole kilo. I take a hit and realizes that what I’m buying is in fact good shit.
10:00PM
The coke is flying out of Damien's satchel, the shit is really moving. Some people are buying ten grams at a time. It's amazing how many people keep eight-hundred bucks in their wallet, as though they were waiting at the club for a cocaine dealer to sell them shit. This is how easy money comes, but it's getting a little dangerous, I’m attracting the attention of the bouncer, and this is a potential problem. If, however, one of the bouncers makes an issue out of me selling coke I’ll just pay them off. I couple hundred should do it. I still have my revolver on me just in case anyone tries to get cute. The bouncers didn't frisk me before I got into the club. They just checked my ID under a black light and that was it.
3:00PM
This new epoxy by Henkel Loctite is really flying out of the warehouse. I just closed an invoice for sixty thousand from a solar panel installation company. They buy a lot of just about everything, but these purchases for epoxy are really making the sales month a real killer. The margins might not be all that great, Henkel Loctite sets the prices for the epoxy at about twenty percent over the wholesale price, but the volume makes up for what's lacking as far as margin goes. The solar companies, the construction companies, the manufacturing companies, and the aircraft companies are all buying a lot of the epoxy. It's easy money, it's almost like selling cocaine.
3:00AM
I have been to six clubs and three bars and have nearly sold out of my entire stock of cocaine. I’m carrying around several fat wads of cash: hundreds and twenties. Two thousand grams of coke in five hours, this is a really good business. I could put my brothers and sisters through college, I can buy a house, and I can pay my rent in cash. One hundred and sixty grand is nothing to sneeze at, I wonder how I’m going to get this cash into my bank account, maybe by depositing two grand at a time for eighty days, that’s going to look funny if anyone takes a peek at my account, nobody has eighty days straight of positive cash flow into an account. Usually payday is when the balance is highest, and it gets lower from there. One-hundred and sixty grand is a lot of money; too much in fact, I have no idea what I’m going to do with it all, and more importantly, how I’m going to get it all into my bank account.
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