I feel frustration bubbling inside of me. It’s not that I don’t understand where he’s coming from. I just have bigger fish to fry than this nineteen-year-old, want-to-be, drug dealer.
“Oh, perhaps,” Mr. Walker says, glancing between Crew and me. “We can assure you of full cooperation. However, for that, we will need to know how much you are lowering his sentence. From there, we can decide if it’s worth the risk of this young man’s life.” I notice that Mr. Walker is sitting straighter in his chair.
“I can drop the drug charges, leaving him with attempted assault of an officer. It is a much shorter sentence. I have enough evidence to nail him, as we did find drugs on him. So, either way, he will be arrested. Again, the length of his sentence will be greatly reduced if he is willing to work with me.” I look at the kid with some sympathy. “While you’re on the inside, Charles, which I guarantee you will be, you should use the time to reflect as well as take advantage of the education opportunity. If you apply yourself, you’ll come out of prison early. You may even leave with some college credit.”
It’s sad but it’s true. Taxpayer dollars fund the education of convicted felons while charging hundreds of thousands of dollars to hard-working American citizens chasing after the American dream with a college degree.
“You have six hours to think it over,” I tell him, looking between Mr. Walker and Charles Crew.
Rising slowly from the desk, I deliberately close the heavy folder, “I want to reiterate the severity of the situation, Charles. I am your only hope.”
“Okay,” he says snarkily, startling the portly Mr. Walker. “Fine! I’ll give you the information.”
“Charles, are you sure?” Mr. Walker squawks. I want to rap him on the back of the head for interfering.
“I haven’t seen nothing,” he says with a quick shrug. “All I know is what I hear.”
“What do you hear?” I ask, my face critical and untrusting.
“I haven’t seen nothing,” he says. He’s not looking at me. “All I know is what I hear. I hear the big man is back. I hear that he is running things from afar, keeping his distance, because he can’t get favor with the new mayor and have a second chance. I hear the boss is the brains of all brains. I ain’t seen him working. Truth is, no one has. I just know the drugs come and they shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting forward in the uncomfortable metal chair.
“What I mean is that we’ve all been getting shipments. The drugs come but no one delivers them. They just show up and then we make the money. We drop it off in the same spot and more comes. It ain’t supposed to be possible, but it’s being done so discreetly that no one sees a thing. We know he’s doing it. We know exactly who it is, and we are all too scared to talk. I’m only talking because I know I will be put away for a little while for our incident earlier. I want to be placed in a prison far from here where no one can reach me, okay? I don’t want to lose my neck for this.” He looks defeated.
“I can definitely arrange all those things,” I say, frowning. “I just have one last question.”
Chip looks from me to the lawyer and the lawyer slowly nods his head, watching me.
“You said that you don’t know where the drugs come from, they just show up. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Chip confirms.
“I want to know where you pick them up from and where you drop the money off.”
“You already know where. I took you there because I wanted it to be believable. As I said earlier, I want protection. The money from the deals is dropped off every Friday at midnight in that warehouse. “
“And where do you pick up the drugs?”
“Again, they are also in the warehouse. They just show up the next day there in the middle of the floor in packages of granola.”
“Granola?” I say, with some confusion.
“Yes, we find them in packages of granola and trail mix. They’re food packages on the outside but on the inside, there are packets of cocaine. It’s how we are able to distribute so easily.”
Hiding in food. I think that’s genius. Shit.
“Friday night,” I say glancing down on my watch. “It’s Friday, six pm. In six hours, there will be a drop off. So, who is in charge of dropping off the money? Is it you?”
“Yeah…it’s me.”
“And do you have any money for the drop off?”
“Yeah. Of course, I do,” he says in frustration. “I don’t pocket none of it. I am an honest worker.”
The irony.
“Where can I find the money?” I ask.