Business Secrets Of Drug Dealing: An Almost True Story by Matt Taibbi & Reggie Harris

Author:Matt Taibbi & Reggie Harris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bisac Code 1: FIC000000
ISBN: 9781682193426
Publisher: OR Books
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

*

The next morning. I’m packing to fly out of Oakland when I decide to call her, just to see if we can patch things up. No answer. I send a text: Good morning!

No answer. I shrug. Oh, well, I think, these are the breaks of the game.

An hour or so later, a text comes in:

H—You are disrespectful and dishonest and I can’t have people like you in my life.

I look at the text, shrug again, and turn off my phone. So that’s that, I think.

As I’m getting into the car, Brutus sees me and drags himself over from across the street.

“What’s up, blood?”

“Brutus. What’s good man?”

He starts talking about his case, but sees my travel bags and quickly gets to the part where he hits me up for weed. I toss him whatever I have in my armrest.

“Huey, blood, you don’t understand, you’re only one who cares. I’m serious, blood, no one else even gives a fuck about Brutus.”

I reach out my fist to give him a dap (fist bump). Then I frown and ask:

“Brutus, has a woman ever asked you a benign question?”

“What the fuck does benign mean?”

I shake my head. “You know what, don’t worry about it. Peace man.”

“Later, blood.”

Hours later. I’m at the airport, ready to go through security, when I get another text:

We need to talk.

It’s from her. She’s at the airport, came all the way to meet me. These are the downfalls of having attachments. In terms of business, this is a liability. I need to be focused on these missing packs. Instead, I’m dealing with this.

I sigh. I might be missing my flight now, but what to do? I go to meet her in the only place you can meet pre-security, a little bar called Heinold’s First and Last Chance.

I don’t even want to think about the symbolism of the restaurant or its name.

She sits down, stares at me from across the table, and takes my hand.

“Huey,” she says, “I’m sorry about the text I sent this morning. I love you.”

I sigh. “I love you, too, Courtney,” I say. “And I’m sorry too. About the whole thing.”

We embrace. I’m late and she knows it, though she doesn’t know what’s on my mind about Maryland. We part and I go through security, feeling better about how things are between us.

On the flight, though, I go over our conversations, and I realize she only apologized for the text, but somehow got me to apologize for everything.

Lawyers, I think, shaking my head. By the time the plane lands, I’m mad again.

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