Today's Reading
Two days later, Joe finished his last batch. He figured in his head that the amount of meth he'd made should net him about twenty grand. He broke it up into small rocks to fill individual packets: quarters, eight balls, and teeners.
The quarter was the smallest and cheapest, weighing in at a quarter ounce; the eight ball the biggest at 3.5 grams. He weighed each bit and packed everything into separate little baggies. Once finished, he filled his backpack with the product.
Stretching, looking around his favorite kitchen, he admitted it felt good to be done. He shuffled around the empty battery-acid container and ignored the putrid pile of residue that accumulated during the cooking process. He'd let it all pile up inside instead of packing some of it outside.
The trailer was toast when he finished today. It was all going to burn.
He ran his hand through his hair, trying to clear his thoughts. It was late afternoon; he'd been busy here all day inhaling noxious fumes. Cooking meth did nothing to help a man think straight. Stopping now would be a good thing. When his child was born, Joe wanted a clear head and a clean slate. He slung the backpack over his shoulders and stepped toward the door.
Movement outside the sliver of a window next to the front door caught his eye and he froze. Craning his neck, he peered through the slit.
There it was again.
Stiffening, his heart rate spiked and his pulse pounded. No one else should know about this place. Not even Blake and Sophia.
He never had trusted them with his cooking spot. Blake had a big mouth, and he hung out with untrustworthy dweebs. Joe tiptoed to the bigger window, peeled back a bit of the foil that blacked out the light, and eyeballed what he could of the outside terrain. On the far right, he saw a blue hood and car door. A Jeep. Only a four-by-four would get up here. Chase Buckley drove a blue Jeep.
Joe had been betrayed.
Somehow Blake and Sophia had found him. And they told Chase.
Sure enough, Chase came into view. He walked to the front of the Jeep and stood, staring at the trailer, hands on his hips. Buckley's presence threw Joe for a loop. The guy's family practically owned the whole county, cops included. What did he want here?
"I know Joe's in there." Blake stepped up to Chase's side. "Is he armed?"
It took a minute for the second voice to register. It wasn't Blake; it was geeky Marcus Marshall of all people. Joe caught Marshall flirting with Paula once and punched him out. A total loser, he hung out with Buckley purely for protection.
"Naw, Joe wouldn't be dumb enough to have a gun," Blake said.
Joe slapped his forehead. Marshall. Joe remembered seeing the geek at the 7-Eleven when he'd picked up some water. Marshall followed him.
That's what Joe got for not being more careful. All he was thinking was that he'd be done with this for good. They'd found him and they'd want a cut of what he'd just cooked. He couldn't go back to Paula and tell her he'd lost half of the money from this batch. Now what was he gonna do?
Muttering under his breath, Joe tried to figure a way out.
"We know you're in there, Joe," Chase called out. "Come on out. I've got a proposition for you. It could make us both a lot of money."
Joe looked around the trailer's kitchen, which had served him so well. He'd done a lot of stupid things in his life, but getting involved with Chase would be the stupidest. The guy was a loose cannon, a wild card, and Joe wanted no part of the spoiled, rich jerk.
"Joe, we found you. Other people will, too." Sophia spoke now.
"You've been holding out on your partners," Blake yelled. "You deserve to be spanked."
...
