I bring my Ford to a stop. I check the flip phone. There’s a message from, “Spindly - S/P,” confirming the deal. I see two men standing on the curb—one spindly, one quite substantial. He brought a plus one. I step out of my truck. I shuffle over the cracked pavement.
“Got ‘em all?” The spindly guy asks.
“No doubt. For sure, man. They’re right here,” I say. I wipe my left hand along the seam of my too-large sweatpants and then dig into my pocket. I slowly pull a tightly crumpled brown paper sack out of it. The substantial guy raises his meaty hand expectantly and I place the sack in his palm. He pulls his face into a grin and it’s incredibly artificial. This guy is not a grinner. Is he patronizing me? He passes it to his spindly friend who looks inside, paper crinkling, and nods.
“Always a pleasure, even if you’re a little shorter,” the substantial guy says.
“Sure. No doubt,” I reply. This whole deal seems rehearsed and I feel like an understudy who never even showed up to run lines. I don’t know how any of this works and I’m not supposed to be here. They’re just staring at me and I realize that the transaction must be done. I head back to my truck and they mosey off to wherever. Man, I don’t have the stones for this. I really should’ve gone on a couple of runs with Randy before he left for Cornell. I wonder how those Ivy League pricks would feel if they found out he was financing his business degree with drug money. I lock the truck’s doors and check my real phone, immediately finding what I was looking for.
“Done with meeting <3,” reads the message from Sidney. She doesn’t even know my brother left. How would she feel if she found out I took over his hustle? I never wanna find out.
. “Good, I hope? The spot?” I reply. I drive, not waiting for a reply. At the end of the street, I feel my phone buzz again, but I don’t need to look to know the answer. I turn right and start heading toward Cliff Park. The flip phone chirps at me. Shit– I better silence that before I see Sid. I pull into the parking space beside the willow tree, and the gravel crunches beneath my wheels as I come to a stop. I check the flip phone.
“1G of S at Grawl’s @ 11?” The number is saved as “Tiny - S/C/P.” I haven’t seen this contact since I took over for Randy. Most of them are his frequent buyers or, if they’re not, he gave me the details about them. There are a couple of messages from about four months ago though. All good, just another buyer. It’s 10:30 now, and I have the product in my back seat. Sid and I won’t spend too long here. I can make it happen. Randy is counting on this bank.
“Ok,” I reply and silence it. Sid pulls up next to me in her mom’s tiny Kia. She waves and kills the lights. I unlock the doors. She gets in and I lock them again. I lean over, grab her face, and kiss her gently.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say. She always seems ethereal to me. I feel spoiled being able to kiss her. Ethereal because angelic isn’t quite the word for her, but I mean that with love.
“Look what they gave me today,” she says as she pulls out a little red medallion that has ‘90 days’ on it in raised writing.
“Wow, babe,” I say, unsure what tone to take, “progress.” I’m proud of her but I don’t want to seem surprised, and I also don’t want to seem unexcited. I don’t know. I’m not great at expressing emotion. She knows that though.
“Thanks,” she says, already clambering over to my seat. We do our thing. Many newly created dealers would take advantage of their in-recovery girlfriends to get where we are now but I don’t have to. It’s great, but Sid knows I’m not in the moment. She’s not either. We are both preoccupied. I’m just filling in the time until this next deal. I’m constantly thinking about the next deal. I’m gonna run into trouble. I’m not like Randy. Should I be carrying a gun?
“Hogan,” Sid says. From the look she’s giving me, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed, it must not be the first time she said my name. “Babe, I have to go.”
“Ok,” I say. She opens the driver's side and gracefully slips from my lap to the ground. I realize I haven’t asked where she has to go. The door shuts. Too late. I can tell she’s not angry though. Her mind is just somewhere else. I check the time: 10:45– damn, I gotta get going. I look over to Sid’s car. She’s gone. I’m no good at this double life. I pull out, and head to Grawl’s.
It’s not a long drive. With everything on my mind, the ten-minute trip feels even shorter. I pull up by the building, its blue fluorescent lights declaring, “Grawl’s Bar & Grill.” Randy used to take me here when he first started selling pot to his buddies. I’ve got a message on the flip: the buyer is here. I see a tiny figure leaning against the dark side of the building. This is like a textbook drug deal. How do pigs not catch on to this stuff?
I kill the engine. I step out. I get closer to the figure. I make out more of their details– her details. Details I know so well that they might as well be mine. Her eyes widen as the light falls onto me. I’m trying to find words to say. I ball my fists. I open my mouth, but there are no words.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say.