Tony D'Souza

From Mule

One day working with Darren, I finally asked him, “How much would a guy have to pay for a pound of Siskiyou weed?”

“If the guy was a friend he’d probably have to pay two and a half,” Darren said.

“Thousand?” I said.

“Yeah thousand.”

“And how much could a guy get in Florida for it?”

“A guy could drop it in Florida for five or six.”

“Thousand?”

“Yeah thousand.”

The idea of something became planted in me. I didn’t know exactly what the idea was or what I would do about it, just that something could be had here in the mountains for a price you couldn’t get it for anywhere else and that I could buy it for that price and take it somewhere else and sell it for more than I’d paid. When I thought about it, I saw money, money we needed. I put thoughts of risk and danger away. I was already living in so much fear: that my child would go without, that I’d drag my family through poverty. More than anything else, I felt like I’d failed Kate in how our lives were supposed to be.

I called Mason two nights later.