"Yeah, Hip Daddy," George said to the small black man who approached the car, "what can I do for you?"
"Hey, George, I couldn't help but overhear what ya said, so how about dropping me off up near Ninth Street. You're going right past there, you know, if you're takin' Curt and Dan up to Hill Street."
"Yeah, man, I can dig what you're sayin', but if you heard what I said, you must not have heard the part I said about I ain't no fuckin' taxi, you dig? I'm doing Curtis a favor 'cause I want him to do somethin' for me, but I ain't got no time to drop you off on Ninth Street, Hip Daddy," George stated, then hit the button and ran his window back up before the man could say anything else.
George spoke to the two men inside the car. "I can't get over the nerve of some of these niggers. I mean, look at that shit Hip Daddy is wearing. Them pants he got on are filthy. Now, common sense should tell him that I don't want him in my ride with all that grease on his clothes. Shit, I'd never get it out of this white upholstery I got. But if I was to tell him the truth, his feelings would be hurt, while I'd be in trouble if I was stupid enough to let him in my ride."
Curtis had to agree with him. One look at the nasty overalls that Hip Daddy wore was enough to make George's point. The man looked as if he had been working on some cars in a garage somewhere. Dirt and oil were everywhere on the man's pants. But it hadn't stopped him from asking for a ride. In fact, Curtis reflected as he thought about it, he doubted if the thought had even entered Hip Daddy's mind.
"Now, what can I do for you guys?" George inquired as he drove away from the curb.
Curtis waited until he had turned a corner before asking. "You know what I asked you about last week, don't you, George?"
"Yeah, I just forget how much it was. I can handle it, you dig, that ain't no problem. Now, what was it you wanted? Was it raw stuff or mixed dope? Which one? It don't make no difference to me which one you want.
"We got a bill fifty," Dan said quickly, causing Curtis to flinch angrily.
George let out a short laugh. "Hey, amigo, don't worry about it. Old George ain't goin' give you no screwing. You ain't got to worry. Now, let's get down to facts. You guys are just gettin' started, right?"
He waited until Curtis had nodded his head in agreement, then continued. "Okay then, dig this. Curt, you ain't got no milk sugar yet, have you?" Again he waited for the head shake. "Okay, then, now listen while I pull your coat to something. If you ain't got the right bankroll, it's goin' set you back tryin' to buy milk sugar to cut your dope with." George hesitated briefly, letting his words sink in. "Now, I don't give a shit what you buy, Curt, but since you're just gettin' started, I can help you out."
"Okay, George, I know we don't know that much about this jive, but we ain't above listenin' to somebody who can pull our coats to the real deal."
George let out a short laugh. "Okay, good, we got a understandin', that's good. I like you, Curt, that ain't no bullshit. If I didn't, I wouldn't waste my time. Now, dig this. It would be better if you bought mixed dope from me this time. While you're selling it, you can use some of the money you make and purchase the milk sugar you'll be needin' when your money is right and you buy raw dope."
"How much is the mix goin' cost us?" Dan inquired seriously.
"Too much!" George replied quickly. "Unless you've got more than one fifty. If that's all the cash you've got, you're going to need it to get started. Or," he continued with a large smile, "you had better go and find another Fernandez brother and bust him."
"Well, I'll be damned," Dan cursed quietly. "It don't take long for shit to spread, does it?"
"Aw hell, Dan," Curt said, "don't you know Mexicans are tight as hell? Don't nothin' happen to one that the rest of them don't find out about."
Again George let out his phony laugh. "That's right, especially when one gets played on by one of you brothers, the message spreads quickly."
"Played on, hell; the bastard just lost his money, that's all," Dan alibied quickly.
"Yeah, man ," George replied, drawing the last word out, "I know just what you mean."
"Fuck that shit!" Curtis stated sharply. "It ain't no skin off your ass no way, is it, George?"
George shook his head quickly. "Naw," he answered, the lie revealed in every line in his face. "Why the shit should I care what some dumb-ass spic goes and does? As long as it wasn't my money, I could care less."
Both the black men knew at once that the man was lying to them. Curtis asked the question that was on both of their minds. "I hope that shit don't cause us to fall out over the dope you sell me, George. I mean, I dig you and all that shit, but my money comes too damn hard for me to get some bunk for it."
"Hey, amigo, this is George you're talkin' to. Like I said, whatever some other cat goes and does don't mean shit to me, and if it did, I wouldn't let it come before me and my business, Curtis."
Curtis nodded his head in agreement. "I'm hoping you see it thataway, George, because if we work it right, there will be plenty of green stuff in it for both of us."
"Yeah, man," Dan said, speaking his little bit. "It ain't about nothin', that crap game, 'cause it was me that beat them dudes out of their bread anyway, not Curt."
It was obvious that George was irritated by Dan's words. "Listen, man ," he began, "me and Curt are going to do the business, you dig? I don't know nothing about you, so if you don't mind, you stay out of it. I know you were the one who rolled the dice, as well as I know that if Curtis hadn't been there, they would have took their money back."
The man's words stung. Dan winced under them, but before he could speak, Curtis spoke up because he knew that Dan's pride had been hurt.
"We should completely forget about the crap game, George. It was unavoidable, and I regret that it happened."
"Well, I don't," Dan yelled, continuing to keep the subject open. "If the studs were out of their league playin', that was their problem, not mine."
"Hey, man," George said softly, "the studs thought it was just a friendly game. They didn't know Curtis was in on the hustle. I mean, shootin' craps in Curtis' backyard has always been a thing we have gone in for. After today, who knows? But I can promise you this: you won't ever pick up any more easy money like that!"
"Shit!" Curtis cursed, "you guys just ain't going to let it drop, are you?" He took out his cigarettes and quickly lit one. "If you want me to, George, I'll make the guy's money right. I just want an end to it."
George shrugged his fat shoulders. "Forget it, man. It's over and done. Pedro needed a lesson. Now maybe he'll believe he ain't the smartest guy in the world."
"You can say that again," Dan stated, then laughed sardonically.
For some reason, Dan seemed to get on George's nerves. Every time he spoke, the fat man seemed to get aroused. "You know, Curt, it don't take all of us to take care of this business, so why don't we drop your friend off somewhere and you can pick him up when you get back over here."
"No bet, man. My money ain't going out of my sight," Dan said angrily.
"Hold it," Curtis said quickly. "You realize what you're sayin', Dan?" His temper rose. "George, stop at the corner and let Dan out. My mother stays about five blocks from here. If you want to, you can walk over there and wait until I get back with the stuff. If not, well, it's your decision."
Before Curtis was finished speaking, George had pulled to the curb and parked. Dan glared angrily at the fat man. "Hey, Curt, let me talk to you privately for a second, huh?"
"Hey, man, I ain't got all day. Either we take care of the business or pass it up to another fuckin' time," George stated.
Curtis shook his head. "It ain't necessary for all that shit, Dan. I know what's got to be done, so why go to all this bullshit." Curtis was trying to make his partner cool down.
"Fuck that shit, Curt," Dan said hotly. "This fat motherfucker think he's playin' games with us, but it ain't about nothin', Curt. We can cop some jive anyplace. We ain't got to deal with this chili-bean-eatin' motherfucker!"
"Hey, man,
I ain't got all them names," George said slowly, his fat cheeks turning red.
"You'll be all them names and any more I want to call you, fat-ass motherfucker," Dan yelled as he opened the car door.
"Dan, Dan," Curtis yelled at his friend, "cool down a minute, man. This shit ain't about nothing. It ain't no problem for you to wait until I get back from coppin', man"
"I ain't waitin' nowhere, Curt. We began together and we'll finish together, if we're going to be real partners."
The two men glared at each other. Then Curtis broke the short silence. "Well, it don't make sense coppin' nowhere else, Dan. George got the best jive in the city, so it ain't good business to go elsewhere."
"The fat motherfucker don't want to do no business with me, Curt, 'cause I trimmed them other bean- eatin' motherfuckin' spics, man. So I ain't about to kiss his ass to get along with him," Dan stated loudly.
"Ain't nobody asked you to do nothin', Dan. All you got to do is give me your bread and wait until I get back, that's all."
Dan shook his head stubbornly. "Like I said before, Curt, I ain't about to let my money get out of my sight. Now, if he wants to do business with us, he'll do it with both of us, like he started out to do. Other than that, he can kiss my black ass!"
Dan slammed the car door and glared back through the open window. "It ain't nothing about you, Curt; it's just that I don't like the way this fat motherfucker came down on us. Now, if you want to still go through with it yourself, that's up to you."
"Yeah, man," Curtis answered softly, "I ain't changed my mind. George still got the best dope in town, and I want some of it."
With slow deliberation, Dan spit on the hood of the car, then slowly extracted the bankroll from his pock et. His cold black eyes never left the face of the angry Mexican. He counted out the money, then pushed seventy-five dollars back through the window.
"Here's your share of the money for trimming them two trick-ass Mexicans, Curt. If you ever get some more dumb-ass wetbacks over your way, give me a ring and I'll be glad to come over and relieve them stupid motherfuckers from their bankroll!" As soon as he finished speaking, he again spit on top of the car's hood, making sure George saw him do it.
George pulled away from the curb quickly, his cheeks a flaming red. He couldn't hide his anger, nor could he hide the fear that had gripped him. For a brief minute, he hadn't known which way the angry Negro would go. Violence was one thing he wanted no part of, not when he might be on the receiving end of it.
"That crazy sonofabitch," George said as he drove swiftly through the traffic. "I'll fix his fuckin' ass one of these days, Curt, I promise you that!"
Both men fell silent, each thinking his own bitter thoughts. Curt realized that now his money wasn't anywhere near right. How could he cop with only half the price of a bag? He came right to the point.
"Well, ain't no reason for me to beat around the bush, George," he began. "You went and blew it for me. I needed Dan's share of the money to make my bankroll right. When you went out of your way to arouse him, you blew it for me!"
Fat George shrugged his shoulders, then lit a cigar. The smell of the brown cigar filled the car. "Don't worry about it, Curt. Like I said, I always have liked you, so we can make it up whenever you cop again." He waited for a second, then added, "How does that sound to you, huh?"
For the first time since Dan got out of the car, Curtis sat back and relaxed. Things might work out even better now. Without a partner there would be more money for him and less of a problem.
"Yeah, George," he replied, smiling briefly, "things just might work out all right after all"
3
FAT GEORGE TOOK the two-lane highway out of Clovis and drove into the desert night. After they had passed the small trucker's diner at the city limits, there was no sign of life anywhere. The smooth-riding car was engulfed in blackness and silence.
Curtis reached down and turned on the radio, letting the mellow sounds of Coltrane flow through the car. He slouched down in his seat, feeling better about his situation than he had for some time.
"You look mighty mellow, my man," George said after a while.
"Yeah, I dig the scene that's coming down. I've been trying to get it together for a long time, George."
George reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of fresh cigarettes. He offered one to Curtis, then took one for himself. After lighting both, he spoke. "I could see that, amigo. I been watching you myself..., you know, keeping the antennae out there for a dude like yourself who might be makin' his move"
Curtis looked at George and noticed the fat man smiling. His lips were pulled back, with the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "You dig this scene?" Curtis asked.
"Sometimes, my man, it's shit. And then, sometimes it's mellow. I like to keep it soft and cool, if you know what I mean. Then, when the bread comes, the woman has some nice threads and the junkies stay popped."
"Yeah," Curtis replied, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette, "I dig where you're coming from."
The two men, one black and one Mexican, drove through the desert night. Curtis did not ask where George was taking him. That wasn't the kind of question a dude like himself out on his first score asked a heavyweight like George. All Curtis knew, and cared to know for the moment, was that the fat man was leading him down the trail of white powder towards that score that would set him up.
The better part of an hour had drifted by when Curtis saw the lights of a small town in the distance. He read the sign as they passed. The town of Las Vegas was ten miles ahead-Las Vegas, New Mexico, where men gambled their souls and not their money.
"What's this shit, George?" Curtis yelled after real izing what their destination was.
"What's what shit, Curtis?"
"Las Vegas, man! Shit, the fuckin' town's never seen nothin' but the brown powder from Mexico. I'm tryin' to cop the white shit and you take me to the home of the brown stuff. Shit, man!!!"
George laughed at Curtis. His body shook, the fat rolling around his neck and cheeks like small waves. "Hey, man, let me pull your coat to something..., if you just control yourself long enough to listen."
Curtis fumed. For the moment, anyway, he had thought that George was setting him up. Not that the man wasn't going to score him some smack but that he was going to score him the brown stuff. It was a bad scene for a dealer to get stuck with too much of that Mexican stuff because any junkie in his right mind could make the hour's drive into Las Vegas and settle his own accounts, without using the dealer as a middle man.
It was, always had been, and always will be the white stuff that brings the dudes crawling-no matter where a man might decide to go into business.
"You listening, baby? Or you goin' to think that maybe I'm some kind of funky dude who's out for a half-set?"
"Okay, George. You better lay it on me like it is...." Curtis stared straight ahead, not wanting to meet George's glance from the other end of the seat.
"All right, my man. That's better. Now, you know I run the stuff in Clovis, right?"
"Right," Curtis said, now anxious for George to get to the point.
"But Clovis don't have its mainline, does it? I mean, someone trucks the stuff in there all the time. So a man like myself who wants to keep his people happy and mellow twenty-fours a day has to get his stuff from somewhere. Las Vegas is the place, man. It's the mainline for this whole fuckin' part of the country."
Curtis knew that George was right. But what George had told him so far was not news. Everyone living in the southwestern desert who had a habit, or desired to make a little extra income off other losers' habits, knew about Las Vegas. It was one of those towns that somehow came into its own by passing illegal contraband between Mexico and the United States.
First, it was grass, then a little mescaline, some cocaine, and finally the heavy stuff. The police knew about it, but they didn't seem to take their jobs too seriously because the town flourished as more and more junk came through.
"But it's
all brown shit, man!" Curtis said.
"Everyone else's is brown, my man, except for your man's here. For some reason the law doesn't mess with the brown shit..., but the white stuff gets to them. I got my main man stationed right here, mixed in with the brown passers. It's a beautiful little happening, Curtis."
George was pleased with himself. A smile of great satisfaction etched its way across his face.
Curtis held his breath as they drove onto the main street of the small college town. The road was lined with little chicken joints and hamburger stands. Black, brown, and white dudes slouched easily against the buildings, watching the big Cadillac cruise by. It occurred to Curtis at that moment that possibly George was fixing to set him up with his main man here in Las Vegas. Possibly George wanted him in the business, right now and without further delay.
As much as the idea would have pleased Curtis, though, he knew the odds were stacked against that ever happening. A man doesn't deal smack because he wants to donate his coin to charity. A man deals because he discovers it's easier to live off of people's weaknesses than to work for a living. But the road isn't easy, and a man like George wasn't about to hand over his gains to some nigger beginner like Curtis. No, Curtis thought, the man simply wants to show me why I should keep dealing with him. Nothing more, nothing less.
"You see, my man," George said as he turned into the parking lot of a Denny's restaurant, "it's tough to get the good stuff. Ain't no way a man can pull white powder out of brown."
George looked across the seat at Curtis and winked. Curtis knew his guess was right. The man was making a point, showing him that his connection was solid-solid enough so that he could even take Curtis this far.
"Okay, George," Curtis began, opening the door. "I dig where you're coming from. I'll cop from you as long as the stuff remains solid."