Being young and having made more money in 9 months than most men twice my age make in 5 years, you tend to go out and do stuff that you wouldn’t normally do, like gamble alot of it away. Not that I was a degenerate gambler, but I did find my way to Vegas. I didn’t work. I just spent money, stayed in fancy hotels, chased women and eventually found myself playing high stakes No Limit Texas Holdem with a rag band of misfits, thieves, smugglers, criminals, low lifes, cheats and con men. As long as you kept your eye on the cards the whole time, you could actually enjoy yourself and make a few bucks.
Every once in a while at our weekly game, one of the guys would be caught dealing from the bottom of the deck or doing a 2nd card deal and tempers would flare, voices would get raised, threats would be made, someone would be given a black eye and some bruised ribs but then everyone would settle down again and carry on playing sans the cheat who was always welcome back the following week anyway.
The aforementioned smugglers were a Columbian, Diego, and his American “partner” Jeff. Jeff was in fact just a lackey.
A glorified driver, deck hand and ship mate. His bad teeth told me what his vice was. He reminded me of Carlo the auction barker.
The two were from Florida and ran their little business around the keys. They worked a week, maybe 2 weeks a month then would come up to Vegas and blow the money they made on whores, booze and poker, then return to the keys to get involved in some other dodgy affair.
Diego owned a speed boat, apparently one hell of a fast mother fucker. They used the speed boat to make runs between the keys and down to Cuba, shipping all sorts of contraband.
When Diego wasn’t around there was nothing better that Jeff liked to do than to shoot his mouth off about what they were up to. This week it was contraband cigarettes, last week it was Scotch Whiskey, and next week it will be something else.
I enjoyed listening to Jeff flap his lips about their escapades, and I would often pour his whiskey just a little stiffer than everyone else’s. The stiffer the whiskey, the looser the lips.
Diego would often come, play a few rounds of the blinds and then leave Jeff in our care while he went to visit his local squeeze. The other guys would often just ignore Jeff when he went on about this deal and that run and all the rest of it.
But not me.
I was learning their game.
All I had to do was separate the bullshit from the truth and Jeff was a gold mine of information.
Every once in a while a man has to sift through the trash to find something of importance.
One week, they came in as usual, but Diego kept glaring at Jeff the entire evening. Jeff was obviously uncomfortable, he refused his drink and settled for a soda.
Something was up and I wanted to find out what was going on. I acted cool and as calm as usual and went about telling jokes and making the guys laugh. Eventually Diego left, but Jeff still looked as nervous as hell.
I tried offering him a whiskey or two to loosen him up, see what was up, but he was steadfast.
I had to resort to what I had thought about being plan B a long time ago.
At the end of the night, I walked out with Jeff and when we were out of ear shot of the other guys, I called him aside and said to him “Jeff, can you keep a secret ?”
Jeff shuffled uneasily while looking at the ground a bit and nodded “Yeah Dave, I can”
I took him to where my car was parked and asked him to climb in, we took a drive to the motel that I was staying at (I banked a fat portion of my money from the hydroponic weed gig so I could bankroll my next venture and kept a small chunk for spending which had started running low, so I resorted to cheaper digs)
When we arrived, I produced what I knew would bring a smile to his face, Crystal Meth.
Jeff looked confused.
I spoke softly, quickly and convincingly, telling him how I had scored a dealer who was apparently making the finest Meth ever and I was looking to make a fortune from it, however not having ever tried Meth, I had no idea of the quality, hence why I approached him. Jeff thought about it and asked me how I knew he liked Meth, I looked at him as though he were stupid and reminded him of some time one night a few months back when he told me that Meth was his weapon of choice.
“You said those EXACT words Jeff, ‘my weapon of choice’, I liked that saying thats why I remembered it.”
Truth is that he often used that saying, but just not in the context that I said.
I was so convincing I started wondering if he actually HAD in fact told me, but I remembered that it was the first thing I noticed about him, the teeth.
He grinned his yellow and black toothed grin, and happily dug out a glass pipe from his pocket and got stuck into the Meth.
I’m not entirely sure what the fuck happened next but I was instantly Jeff’s best friend.
Within an hour I knew all I had to know.
And it was I was hoping for.
Cocaine.
