Ch.1) Unforeseen Circumstances
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Desperate times calls for desperate measures. You agree to sell drugs for your friend, not knowing that they were stolen from a ruthless drug baroness. And Valeria doesn't take kindly to thieves.
A/N- I'm BACKKKK! Since the trailer for MW4 came out my fyp on TikTok has been nothing but Cod and Valeria. I'm finally getting the energy to write for once. Also, it's SO HOT here, I'm starting to miss our -35 winters.... also, I applied to Mcdonald's for a third time and didn't get the job AGAIN! I'm gonna live in my parents' house like a chud 4ever
Tags/Warnings- Femslash, Descriptions of Violence and Gore, Indentured Servitude, Power Imbalance, Drug Dealing, Valeria is mean and physically violent but not forever, Valeria is her own warning, Slow burn, more to be added
The muffled buzzing of dental equipment leaks into the waiting room. Only a few people are there sitting in chairs waiting to be called for their appointments. The air conditioning hums behind you, but you've grown so used to the sound that you're practically deaf to it now. You type away at your computer, working on updating a few patient files. The work is boring, but it's easy and it pays the bills.
The phone rings and you pick it up.
"South End Dental, what can I do for you?" You ask politely. One of the dental assistants pokes her head into the waiting room and calls for someone.
"I'd like to book an appointment, please," a man asks. You switch out of your email and open Google calendar.
"Okay, and what's the name of the dentist you wish to see?" You ask.
"Dr. Reyes," he replies. You click on Dr. Reyes' name and look through this month's bookings. You ask him for his name and health card, then look for a suitable opening for him.
"Alright, I have next Wednesday at three pm available, and Sunday of next week and eleven am available, and all of the week after that,"
You successfully book the man in for Sunday next week.
The day progresses by a crawl. There aren't many appointments lately, and even less walk-ins. Ever since they opened a new dental clinic on the other side of town, business has been slow and dwindling. You've heard rumors of layoffs passing between the lips of the staff, but never anything concrete. You continue to type away when the doors to the clinic burst open, startling you out of focus. Two men stumble inside, helping a third, roughed up looking man. You turn away from your computer, alarmed at the sight of them.
The first man interrupts you. "He needs to see a dentist, he got the shit kicked out of him and some of his teeth are... not where they should be," he says. To prove his point, he reaches into his pocket and to your disgust, dumps four still-bloody teeth onto the counter. They land with a dull clatter, almost like dice. "You can put them back, right?" He asks.
You stare at him in stunned silence. You can't believe he just dumped teeth onto the counter and then asked if you could put them back in. How does he think that works? That the dentist can just put super glue into the empty gum and stick it in? Lara comes up beside you.
"Please remove the teeth from the counter sir," she says firmly. He quickly scoops the teeth back into his palm, pocketing them and having the sense to look faintly embarrassed.
"What happened?" You finally ask. The injured man's face is covered in blood, and you're confused as to why they brought him straight to the dentist instead of a hospital. By the looks of things, lost teeth aren't his only problem.
"He owed some people money," The second man explains to you, glancing at his barely conscious friend with worry. You can't help but think at least he wouldn't need much anesthetic.
"It's not possible for us to reattach teeth that have fallen out. We can certainly fix up any chipped or damaged teeth and make arrangements for dental implants, but we'll need to file paperwork and insurance first." She gives the injured man a once over and purses her lips. "But I suggest you take him to the hospital first," she tells them. The two uninjured men give each other a look, silently communicating.
"Okay. Thanks anyway," the first one says before helping the second drag the injured one out.
The commotion drew the attention of your boss, Gustavo, a stern man in his late forties. He appears from his office behind the receptionist desks to stand beside Lara with his arms crossed, watching the men disapprovingly.
"What was that about?" He asks gruffly.
Lara answers, "Said he owed someone some money. They wanted us to put them back into his mouth." She gestures to the small bloody spot where the man had dropped the teeth. He scowls and then looks down at you, and you try not to shrink away under his displeased gaze.
"Why haven't you cleaned that up yet?" He asks.
"Oh," you murmur, hurrying out of your chair and reaching into your drawer to grab a disinfectant wipe, quickly wiping away the small spot of blood on the counter and tossing it into the little garbage can under the desk.
"Damn idiots. Probably messing around with the cartel," he mutters before stalking off back to his office. During your time at the dental clinic, your boss has made his views on the cartel very clear, and you can't say you disagree. Las Almas used to be quiet and safe, but now it seems that the posterboards outside of shops are filled more by missing persons posters than by fresh deals and events.
You turn back to your computer, still feeling rattled but becoming engrossed in your work and you don't notice the woman standing in front of you until she knocks on the counter.
"Hello? Do I have to email you to get your attention?" She speaks.
You recognize the voice of your friend before you even look over.
"Hi, Julie," you say. "Here for your four o' clock?"
"Why else would I be here?" She replies. "Anyway, what's going on? I saw a guy leave here with blood all over his face. Did one of the dentists go rogue? Should I be worried?"
You shake your head. "No. He got beat up and his friends wanted to know if we could reattach his teeth."
Julie steps back from the counter and takes a seat, then pulls out her phone to entertain herself. Normally she'd stay and chat with you until she's called in, but Gustavo found out one time and reprimanded you for not working.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Lara," you say, shoving your water bottle into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
"Bye," Lara waves to you from her chair, not looking away from her monitor. You walk around the counter and exit the clinic. The sun hangs low in the sky and its beams cut in between the tall buildings across the street, blinding you as you step outside. You shield your eyes with your hand and find your car, climbing in and starting the engine and pulling out onto the road to go home. It's a short drive there and back and you get home in under fifteen minutes. You decide to sit out on your step for a few minutes to enjoy the end of the day.
People mill about in the streets, finishing up the last of their errands for the day. Off to the side, outside of a coffee shop you see a group of tweens hanging out at an outdoor table, backpacks on the ground beside them. You remember being that age yourself and doing the same with your own friends. However, when you were young, there wasn't a truck of men with large guns sitting out in the open a hundred feet away. You eye the truck warily and retreat inside.
The rest of your night is unremarkable. Like it is almost every night, spare the few times you go out with Julie to bars or clubs. Even though it's repetitive and uneventful, you like the routine of it. Coming home from a long, albeit easy, day of work to relax with a good book, or a movie, or a show, and then some dinner. Then a shower, and then bed. Your life is simple, just the way you like it.
It's another cool day. Curtesy of the chilly November weather that has you missing the warmth of summer. You're in the tiny back room that doesn't retain heat well at all, waiting for the old, outdated printer to finish spitting out a guy's post-appointment information. It stutters and whines, and you can do nothing more than sit on the cold plastic chair while you wait. Finally, it stops, and you grab the paper. You bring it back out to the man and set it down in front of him.
"Here you are," you say. "This is how many cavities Dr. Reyes did, and this is how many you still have. He'd like you to come back in three weeks for an hour to fill the rest of them in,"
"Okay." The man takes the paper and folds it in half.
"Let me just book you in and then we're all done here," you say, bending down to find an available day. "Okay..." You look through the dates and realize just how many open spots there are now. You list them off for him.
"Thursday at eleven works," The man says.
"Okay, I'll get you down for Thursday," you tell him.
There's not much work to be done today. Nobody calls to book an appointment and there are only a couple of emails for you to send out. With nothing to do you spend your time alternating between a book and your phone. You decide to take your lunch early and join Lara and one of the technicians in the breakroom.
"It was probably the worst I've ever seen a kid's teeth look," Sadie, the technician, tells you and Lara. "I asked Jay if we should file a report to CPS for the obvious neglect, but he told me not to bother. I just think he doesn't want to deal with the paperwork since he's leaving for that new clinic soon,"
"Jay's leaving?" You ask, surprised, and a little sad. Jay has been here for so long that he used to be your dentist when you were a child. "Why?"
Sadie shrugs. "Less and less people are coming here," she says. "We're so outdated, and with that new clinic opening with better technology, why would they? I don't think this place will be open for much longer."
"Oh, did you hear they're going to lay some people off today?" Lara chimes in. "I overheard Gus talking about it. He's going to let four people go today."
Your eyes widen. "Four?" You repeat. That's a lot of people for how little staff there is. Your stomach coils around itself with anxiety. Those rumors were true after all. You wonder if you'll be one of the four to lose their job.
"Yeah." Lara nods at you. "I don't know who though. I hope it's not me. I'm already behind on bills I can't afford to lose my job,"
"Me neither," Sadie says. "But I think I could get Jay to put in a good word for me at the new clinic if I got laid off."
You think about Sadie's words. You think about what you'll do if you get laid off. The idea of having to go out and find another job really, really doesn't appeal to you. But you could do it, if worst came to worst. Finding another job can't be that hard. You finish up your lunch and try not to worry too much about it.
"Sorry, we're not hiring at the moment," The manager you're speaking to gives you a pitying smile, which does nothing but make your temper flare. You've been in-person job hunting all day now. And all day yesterday. It's hot out, and so far, you've only managed to hand out a few resumes, which by now you're sure are already in a trash bin. You're covered in sweat, overheating, and for all your troubles, getting nowhere. Finding another job can't be that hard. If only you knew.
"Okay. Thanks anyway," you say, managing to keep yourself composed and offering a tight-lipped smile in return before turning around and doing the walk of shame out of the diner.
As soon as you step foot out the door your eyes start stinging. But you're in public, so you do your best to hold your frustrated tears back. You're not ready to break down in public just yet, but you're not sure what you're going to do. You've applied to nearly every place both online and in person and yet you've only had a couple call backs for interviews. Interviews, which went nowhere. Six months ago, your job laid you off. 'Budget cuts', they said. It wouldn't have mattered whether they kept you or not though, since the dental clinic shut down soon after. You tried applying to the new clinic but that was a fruitless endeavor, and you've been left running around all over Las Almas trying to get hired anywhere. At first, getting a job was more of a mild concern. You were fine at the moment but later on you knew you'd need one. You thought you had enough time to find work. You didn't think finding work would be such a challenge.
But later came, and you're still unemployed, and you're going to be evicted because you're four months late on rent. If you don't find a way to make some money fast, you're going to be homeless. And that's not a pit you think you could ever drag yourself back out of if you fell into it. It's a sick joke at this point. All it took to ruin your life was one bad thing not even in your control.
"Woah, who are you off to kill?"
You turn your head, spotting your friend Julie, smoke in hand, sat on a bench at a bus stop.
"Myself, if no one hires me," you reply grumpily, walking up and sitting down beside her. You wipe dampness away from your forehead as she hands you her cigarette, and you take a puff, grateful for the small distraction.
"Still no luck finding a job?" She asks sympathetically. As an act of solidarity to you, Julie never went back to the South End Dental Clinic after they fired you. She also hasn't been to the new clinic, stating that if they weren't going to hire you, then they weren't worth going to anyway. It was an act that flattered you for sure, but you're not sure her teeth appreciate it as much as you do.
"None." You roll your eyes. "I'm somehow the least employable person in all of Las Almas right now."
Julie takes back her cigarette.
"I mean... I have a few ideas, but you might need to get a little open minded,"
"Do your ideas include sleeping with strange men? Because I don't think I can pretend to enjoy sex with someone I'm not attracted to," you say, shuddering at the thought of a sweaty old guy on top of you.
"It's easy cash," Julie defends. "Besides, some of them are pretty cute,"
"Attractive people don't have to pay for sex."
"Some do," She pokes your arm. "But my other idea is a little less sexual, if you're open to it."
You're not sure any ideas coming from Julie will be very good, but you are getting desperate. And despite what you just said, even selling yourself isn't completely off the table. Though you think that might be a very last resort for you.
"Sure, what is it?" You humor her.
Julie takes a quick look around then leans closer, lowering her voice.
"I have this big duffel bag full of drugs at my house," she says.
"No listen," she insists, "There's got to be like, forty thousand dollars' worth of drugs in there." Whatever words of protest were about to come out of your mouth disappear at the mention of forty grand.
"Where'd you get a duffel bag full of drugs worth that much?" You ask her. Julie has always dabbled in the world of substances, but always on the user side. You don't know where she could have gotten forty thousand dollars' worth of drugs from. Unless, you realize with a sinking stomach, it was from the cartel.
"I found it floating in the creek," she says proudly, dispelling your cartel theory, but not dispelling your anxiety. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I pulled it out and looked inside. I've never seen that much coke! And obviously, if it's in the river, nobody will be coming to claim it."
"Are you sure?" You frown at her. That's a lot of cocaine that somebody would be very unhappy about losing. You can't imagine anybody just shrugging their shoulders and accepting that kind of loss.
"Of course I am," she replies. "If someone cared that much, they wouldn't have lost it in the first place. Besides, finder's keepers."
You're not very confident about Julie's logic. But if you weren't so desperate to make some money, you'd probably challenge her more. Instead, you go against your gut and ask her to show you.
Julie brings you to her motel room and lets you in. It's small and basic, with some of her few personal belongings and clothes here and there. The bed is unmade and full of blankets. You have to admit to yourself that it does look a little cozy in here. Or maybe you're just trying to romanticize it because a motel room is where you're going to end up soon.
"It's in here somewhere," she says, rummaging through the closet. "Aha! Found it," Julie drags out a big black duffel bag, setting it on the floor in front of you. You lean down and watch her unzip it, revealing big white bricks of cocaine. She takes one out and hands it to you, it's wrapped up neatly in plastic, with a simplified scorpion symbol right in the middle. Inside the duffel bag you can see that all the other bricks have one too.
"Are you sure you found this in the creek?" You ask uneasily. Something about the scorpion looks familiar but you can't remember where you would have seen it.
"Yeah, what, you don't believe me?" Julie asks, frowning at you. A part of you doesn't believe her. For as nice as Julie is, she has a habit of lying sometimes. But you've never known her to be a thief, and you like to think that she'd be smart enough not to steal from someone able to get this much coke. It almost looks professional, nothing like the small baggies produced by broke street dealers.
"You promise is was from the creek?" You ask.
"I swear on my life," she answers seriously. You look down at the scorpion again, wondering who cared enough to put it there.
You set down the cocaine.
"So, if I'm selling, why do you get some of the profit?" You ask her.
"Because I'm the one who found it? Obviously?" Julie scoffs. "I'd sell it myself, but I get stopped by pigs too often. I'd probably end up giving more to the cops paying customers. But no cop is going to look at you and think 'yeah, that one has drugs,' it'll be easier for you to do it," she says confidently.
"Right," you nod at her. "And how do I sell drugs in the first place?" That's certainly not a question you ever thought you'd ask, but you also never thought you'd ever be homeless. And if you don't sell some drugs, you sure will be.
"Just go to a nightclub," Julie suggests. "Coke isn't called a party drug for nothing,"
"But they check bags how do I get it in there?"
"Put in your pocket or your bra, or something. They're actually not that strict on safety checks." she tells you.
You look down at the single brick of cocaine in your lap.
"... Am I supposed to sell the whole brick?" You ask uncertainly. Julie looks at you like you're stupid and you notice her lips tugging upward as she suppresses a smile.
"No, you break it up into grams,"
You go to put it in your crossbody bag, but you realize the brick is too big to fit. The edge of it sticks out quite a bit.
"Where do I put it?" You as Julie. You're definitely not going to walk out of here carrying a whole brick of cocaine right in your hands, or with it sticking out of your bag like a big spotlight telling the cops: come arrest me!
"Uh... here," Julie says, twisting around to grab something else from her closet. She pulls out a gray plastic shopping bag and hands it to you.
"Julie," you say, "This is see-through."
"It's fine," Julie says dismissively. "It's barely see-through, nobody will be able to tell that it's cocaine you're carrying." If this is how Julie goes about transporting all her drugs, then it's no wonder she's getting stopped by the police so often.
You inspect the flimsy plastic bag.
"You're sure you don't have anything more discreet?" You ask. You check the bag out and notice that one of the straps is starting to tear. The last thing you want is to be strolling down the street and have it snap on you, spilling all your illegal drugs onto the sidewalk in front of everyone.
"Probably, but does it really matter?" Julie sighs.
"I can't help you sell drugs if I'm behind bars, Julie," you reply flatly. She seems pretty reckless. You're wondering yet again if this is a terrible idea. Of course it's a terrible idea, who are you kidding? You're going to sell drugs. Drugs that might kill someone. Drugs that will fuel someone's addiction and ruin their life. Drugs that might ruin your own life even more if you're not careful.
You do your best to push away the guilt before it can convince you to back out. Being a good, honest citizen isn't going to pay your rent or keep you off the streets. Right now, it's between you and your morals, and you have to put yourself first this time.
"Okay, let me look then, princess." Julie rolls her eyes and looks through her closet again. This time she pulls out an old dirty backpack. It looks exactly like the kind of backpack that would have drugs in it, but it's more discreet than the plastic bag. Beggers can't b choosers. "Here." She tosses it to you. You're pretty sure that when it lands in your lap you can see the dust and drug particles that were on it rising from the impact.
"Thanks." You hold it up with as few fingers as possible, checking it out. It will do the trick. You unzip the big zipper and dump the cocaine brick into it, then zip it back up.
You sling the bag over your back and readjust it so the weight balances better with your cross-body bag.
"So, I should go on Friday, and then come back here?" Your gut tightens at the thought of going out to sell drugs, but you ignore it.
"Yeah, that works." Julie nods, packing up the duffel bag and sliding it back into the closet.
You stand and wince at the strain in your legs. "Great, see you then."
"Bye!" Julie calls out to you. You start walking back home from the motel. A journey that will take you at least an hour and a half. Though in this heat, the walk will feel much, much longer. After only a few minutes, you're already craving an ice-cold glass of water and really missing your car. But you couldn't keep up with insurance, or gas.
Throughout the entire walk your body is full of tension. Convinced that every cop you pass knows you're carrying cocaine. When you finally reach home, you're lightheaded and drenched in sweat. You throw the backpack full of coke onto your rickety kitchen table, right beside the crumpled-up eviction notice you ripped off your door a few days prior. You slink off to the living room and plop down on your couch, splaying your arms out and closing your eyes. All you need to do is sell a few bricks of cocaine, just enough to pay the four grand you owe to your landlord, and maybe a little extra so he won't follow through with evicting you. The life of a drug dealer is unstable and dangerous, and you really don't want anything to do with it. But for the next little while, that's exactly what you'll be. Just for a little while.
You spend Thursday preparing everything. You didn't know how many grams were in just one brick, but it was a lot more than you thought. On the advice of Julie, you split it into grams of ten and threes, using a little scale generously provided by her. And you quickly realize that one brick on its own is a thousand grams. More than you need at the moment. And the next moment. And probably the moment after that. As of now, you have a thousand grams of cocaine right in your kitchen. You didn't fully split the first brick, mostly because you do not have enough baggies for that. Nor do you want a hundred little baggies of cocaine laying around. Ten will do for now. You're not confident you'll make any sales. When Julie told you how much to charge for each gram, you had protested, worried that nobody would ever pay such a high price for a little bit of cocaine. But she explained to you that because of how white the powder was, that meant it was really pure. And pure product is worth a pretty penny.
Friday comes quick, and night seems to come even quicker. Your heart races as you put on your best club outfit, almost as if you did a line yourself. Finding hiding spots outside of your bag for the coke is a little challenging. There's only so many places to put it. Some goes in your shoes, some goes in your bra. You even manage to pin a few baggies in the elastic of your underwear. Maybe you'll charge extra for those ones. That's probably someone's thing. With nothing but thirty dollars in your wallet you head out, hoping change that by the end of the night.
You're grateful for the coolness of the night. It's a gentle reprieve from the scorching heat of the day. Your old AC does its best to combat it, but sadly, it's a losing battle. Las Almas looks much different at night. The colourful architecture and decorations are washed out by the darkness and overwhelmed with orange hues by the streetlights. Even the people are different. During the day, the streets are filled with your average person, Children, shop vendors, people running errands. But once it gets dark those people are chased away and replaced by big men with guns strapped to their belts, and their women of choice who probably also have weapons of some kind on them too. Not that they don't exist during the day, but they seem to multiple in the dark.
Each time you have to pass a group of those men you tense up. Sometimes they catcall you, sometimes they just leer. But each time is as uncomfortable as the last. You can feel their eyes hungrily burning into you and it's almost like they're projecting their thoughts into your head about what they want to do to you, and carrying sixty-five grams of cocaine doesn't do anything to ease your nerves.
The club is located in the heart of downtown Las Almas. There are no windows and the entrance is located down an alley. A bright neon purple and pink sign proudly displaying the club's name; 'Night Market', stains the ground with colour. The bricks making up the exterior walls are grimy and covered in graffiti of varying artistic quality. Muffled music from inside quietly thumps in the air outside. You arrive at a time where the line is nonexistent, and the only people outside now are a small group of women standing together sharing a smoke and looking at one girl's phone. And of course, the bouncer standing guard by the door. Nervously, you approach him.
"Hi," you greet him politely, starting to sweat despite the fresh breeze.
"Hey." He nods at you. "I.D, please,"
Oh, right. You hastily scramble through your bag and wallet for your I.D and take it out, handing to him. He checks it out for a few moments before handing it back to you.
"I need to check your bag, then it's a fifteen-dollar entry fee," he says.
"Okay." You take off your purse and hand it to him, silently fretting that one of the cocaine baggies somehow magically found its way into it. He hands it back to you without incident and you take out fifteen dollars. He steps aside and lets you in.
The music becomes much louder, nearly deafening. You can feel the bass thumping in your bones and making your eyeballs vibrate. You pass through a dark hallway towards where it opens up into a bigger room. You follow the multicolored strobe lights like a moth, brushing against couples making out voraciously in the perceived privacy of the darkness. Neither you, nor them acknowledge it.
The club is packed tonight. Filled with bouncing, writhing, grinding bodies of all sizes and shapes. You hug the wall, observing the crowd and trying to discern who could be a client. It's been a while since you've gone out like this. On account of you being broke, most of your 'out' days are just going job hunting now. You're feeling very out of place here, and very overwhelmed. Your brain screams at you that you can't do this, you're uncomfortable, you want to go home. You walked in at the club's peak and that's too intimidating to you. You tell it to shut up and let you make some money. Just power through, you'll be back home before you know it.
Something brushes against your arm and you look, locking eyes with a man. He's around your height and looks around your age, and he's smiling at you. He says something that gets drowned out by the music.
"Huh?" You shout, leaning closer to hear.
"I said; you look lonely over here," he repeats. "Did you come here with anyone?
"No," you yell. Then regret it. Should you have lied? It's too late now.
"I came with friends," he yells back. "But I lost them. Can I buy you a drink?" You hesitate, one drink wouldn't hurt, would it? You could probably use a shot for some courage.
"Sure," you say, letting him lead you to the bar.
"What do you want?" He asks.
"Good choice," he replies. He leans over the counter and shouts for two shots of tequila at the bartender, sliding over the cash.
She returns shortly with two small shot glasses and he hands one to you, offering a cheers. You raise your glass at him then tip back your head and shoot back the clear shot. Your mouth burns and tingles and you struggle not to cough. It's not the best tequila you've had, but it will do.
"You're welcome. What's your name?" He asks, setting down his empty shot glass. You give him your name and he tells you his.
"I'm Ryan, I'm here on vacation," he says. You think Las Almas is a weird place to vacation. There's nothing touristy here, and the high cartel presence makes it dangerous.
"Cool, I live here," you reply stupidly. Of course you live here. You mentally facepalm yourself for your dumbass response.
"Yeah? What's that like? I hear a cartel controls the town, is that true? I saw some pretty sketchy looking guys with guns around," he asks.
You frown at Ryan. "Be careful asking questions around here," you warn him. The cartel doesn't like when people start asking questions about them.
"Sorry," he replies. Then he immediately asks another question. "Are you a part of the cartel?"
You widen your eyes at him, almost impressed by his stupidity. "No," you say. "And don't ask anyone else that, or you'll become a permanent tourist."
Just for a brief moment Ryan looks disconcerted but then he smiles again.
"Noted, thanks for the warning. So... Do you have a boyfriend?" He looks at you hopefully. You try not to roll your eyes. He's interested in trying out some local tail. But he'll have to find someone else, you're here on business, not pleasure.
"Yeah," you say, your eyes swiftly scan the crowd, and you point to the biggest dude you can see. "That's him," He follows your finger and his face drops with disappointment and perhaps a little nervousness.
"I thought you said you came alone?" He replies.
You mentally kick yourself, you forgot you said that. But you manage to come up with an excuse quick enough.
"I did, but we're fighting right now so I came alone. I wanted to keep an eye on him, you know, make sure he's behaving!" You tell him. Ryan nods.
"... Yeah. Well, I'll see you around I guess." He backs off and pauses in the crowd, spotting a different lonely girl and immediately going towards her. Maybe he'll have better luck with her.
You circle the crowd like a vulture, having no luck finding someone to sell to. On top of that, your bladder feels like it's about to pop and shower piss down your legs. You bee-line to the bathroom, relieved that there's no line. The lighting inside isn't any brighter, in fact it's so dim and green that it hurts your eyes a little. You weave around girls until you find a free stall and squeeze inside. You sit down on the toilet and try not to think about how many germs must be on it.
"You got anything?" Someone asks from the next stall over.
"No, my dealer got busted, I couldn't get any this time," a girl answers. Your attention gets piqued and even after you finish your pee, you remain seated, listening.
"Damn." The first girl responds.
Nervously, you speak up. "What are you looking for?" The voices go quiet and you worry that you just scared off the only potential clients you've seen all night.
"Nothing," she finally responds, sounding a lot less friendly.
You clench your jaw nervously. "Really? Cause I have something you might be interested in,"
Again there's silence from them. Until something lightly smacks against the stall wall. A second later a blonde head is peaking over at you.
"Hey!" You exclaim, rushing to pull your underwear back up.
"Like what?" She asks, watching you unreadably. Her eyes lock onto the two baggies that fell onto the floor in your rush to pull your underwear up, and her expression brightens. "Wait, let me come in," She scrambles down and before you can even reply she's shimmying under wall into your stall. You stand up and try to back up but your side hits the wall. It's too crowded in here for two people, and you're glad she didn't invite her friend in too.
You awkwardly hold up a baggie.
"Uhh.. cocaine," you whisper-shout. "It's a hundred-sixty-five for an eight ball," Her eyes light up.
"Alright," she says, reaching into her bra and pulling out a little, compact wallet. She takes out some cash and counts it, handing you three fifties, one ten, and a five. You hand over the cocaine. You just made your first sale. "Thanks, oh, and I like the outfit by the way," she says before climbing back under the stall.
You realize that your best bet for making sales is to linger in the washroom. And it works. You find a few girls looking for a high and you successfully sell most of your three-gram baggies. And even a ten-gram baggie. You call it a night with one thousand forty-five dollars in your pocket. Though Julie insisted that because she's the one who found the coke and coached you on what to do that she should get twenty-five percent of your earnings. But still, seven hundred and eighty-four dollars for a night is pretty good.
You exit the club and try to reorient yourself to the stillness after being overpowered by the pounding music for the last four hours. Walking all the way to the motel this time of night doesn't much appeal to you. You're tempted to call a cab, now that you have money. But the last six months that you've had to spent strictly budgeting has stuck with you. And the idea of spending money on something you don't need doesn't sit well with you. So, you walk.
You stop outside of Julie's door and lean a palm against it, trying to rest. You're tired, and your legs hurt, and you still have to walk home after. You knock and wait for her to come to the door, impatiently shifting foot to foot. There's muffled noise behind the door and then a lock clicks and the door opens.
"How'd it go? Did you sell anything?" Julie asks and invites you in.
"I did," you say happily, taking a seat on her springy bed. "I made us a grand!" You reach into your purse to pull out her share. "And as promised..." you hand her some of the money.
Julie grins and takes it, counting it eagerly. "Wow, that's a lot for one night. Your first night, too. Maybe the reason you can't get a job is because this is your true calling," she teases you.
"Yeah, well, this is just a temporary gig," you smile back. "I just need some quick cash and then I'm back to doing things the legal way." As the last words leave your mouth it dawns on you that you really did just sell people cocaine tonight. You broke the law, and not just in a minor, 'stealing lip gloss from a store' kind of way. Intent to sell is an offense that can earn you years behind bars.
"... Hey, you okay?' Julie asks, sitting down beside you.
"Yeah, I just... can't believe I did that." You say, staring at the wall. "Am I a bad person now?"
"You're not a bad person," Julie reassures you. "Sure, cocaine isn't legal, but guess what? Being gay wasn't legal either, and do you think your attraction towards women makes you a bad person?" she asks. Your lips twist upwards. You're not sure being gay and selling hard drugs is really comparable but you appreciate her support.
"No. But my attraction towards women won't kill anyone, unlike cocaine, which might." You sigh.
"Hey, look at me," Julie says, grabbing your face gently. "No one is forcing them to do coke. And you're not selling it to them with the intent to kill them. You're selling because you just want to survive. You're just doing what you have to do."
You're touched by her words, but you wonder if intent over action is really enough to cleanse you of your guilt.
"Thanks, Julie. I better be getting home now." You stand, but Julie reaches out and stops you.
"You can stay the night if you want, I don't mind. I don't really want you walking home this late," she says.
"I've already done plenty of walking tonight already," you reply tiredly. "One more hour won't kill me, probably."
"Probably. But do you want to walk another hour? No offense but you look like you're about to fall over." She looks you up and down pointedly. And she's right; you don't want to walk for another hour in the dark.
"No, I don't. Thanks Julie." You slump over with relief and start taking off your shoes, tossing them by the door and laying back on the bed.
"No problem," Julie chirps. While your eyes are closed, she tosses a soft blanket over you and you adjust it over your body, snuggling up under it and drifting off soon after.
Something smacks you square in the face, hard, jolting you from your sleep. Your eyes fly open and you jerk away, turning to see Julie's outstretched arm and hand where your face just was. She's softly snoring and sprawled out in the bed with a thin line of drool down the side of her mouth, completely unaware that she hit you. You irritably grumble at having been woken up and sit up, kicking off the blanket. Last night it was soft and comfortable, but now it feels too warm and suffocating.
You yawn and hop off the bed. The carpet where a beam of sunlight hits is extra warm on your feet. You walk over to your purse and root through it for your phone, you pull it out and check the time. It's one in the afternoon. You should probably be getting home so you can shower, freshen up, and then resume your newest hobby of job hunting. You approach the bed again and gently shake Julie awake.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,"
Julie groans and doesn't wake until after a few more seconds of shaking.
"Ugh. What?" She says, peeling open her eyes and looking at you blearily.
"I'm heading home now," you say. "Do you want me to sell more tonight or should I wait?" Julie sighs and sits up, pushing her thick hair out of her face.
"Oh, yeah you can try to sell some more tonight," she says. "Actually, I want you to take the whole duffel bag home this time," she continues, getting out of the bed and stumbling towards the closet.
You weren't expecting her to give you the whole bag. You don't want the whole bag. Having just the thousand grams at your house makes you anxious enough, but a whole duffel bag full?
"Why?" You ask. Julie leans down and hauls the duffel bag from the closet and you frown at it.
"Because I've already used some of it," she admits, casting you a guilty little smile over her shoulder. "The temptation is getting too strong, but you're a goody little two shoes so I know it's safe in your hands," She picks it up and holds it out to you. Reluctantly, you take it, surprised by its weight.
"How much coke is in here? It's heavy..." You ask.
"Like, fifty bricks, I think."
You stop and look at her. "Fifty?" You repeat. You think about how she said she found it. You don't understand how that much cocaine just ends up in the creek. You quickly do the mental calculations and feel nauseous.
"Julie... if we're charging fifty-five dollars per gram, that's not forty grand for the bag, that's about two million dollars," You inform her, heart speeding up. Julie, unlike you, seems much less spooked by the amount of money it's worth. Two million is nothing to sniff at, and you're feeling even less sure that two million dollars' worth of cocaine somehow ended up in the creek, and that nobody will be looking for it.
Julie claps her hands excitedly.
"Holy shit, really?" she grins. "We're going to millionaires! We can split it, a million for you, a million for me!"
"... Maybe," you say quietly. You say goodbye to Julie and leave the motel. Today's going to be a busy day, with job hunting and then returning to the club to sell. Julie eagerly waves at you through the window, and you wave back. You don't share her enthusiasm. You're not sure she's comprehending the weight of the situation. You'd love to have that much money. But you know things like that are too good to be true. There's always a catch, and you're waiting for the catch to smack you right in the face.
