So where were we? Ah yes, guys who might be interested in weight, strange how i never had any female customers who were into the business side of it, probably because women have more sense than men an understood this game was for suckers and fools, akin to a pyramid scheme where most of the time people failed, ended up in debt, in jail, or in the rare instance worse. You never really hear about the success stories because those types of tales don't really turn up in the financial pages. The only place one ever reads about this line of work is in the police blotter. You won't see headlines like "Enterprising Grad School Drop-Out Pays Off Student Loans Selling Weed." Tucked away in my new apartment in the swankier section of town with just enough student-y types to use as cover things were exploding. Enter the Billy Goat.
Having now spent the better part of 4 plus years being the King of the Nickel-Dimers i had a rather extensive list of clientele. As per my mentors i always had the system in place, much like gangster movies you had to vouch for the newbie. That newbie fucked up and most likely you were off the list as well and since i made this quite clear and was quite good at what i did most people were careful who they decided to trot in the door. Besides my aforementioned policy of encouraging people to "run" for their friends, i had no problem weighing multiple sacks and making sure the runner got a bonus which kept me with a good amount of "runners". Sure sometimes people would give up that gig but stoners are stoners and stoners like nothing better than extra "free" weed in their bag. With the new supply line seeming to be a bottomless pit and my business partner always clamoring to expand i was quietly putting the word out that weight was available to be had. Since the new gear was good it wasn't long before i was starting to assemble my own stable of dealers under me, that pyramid scheme come to life and luckily for me i was sitting squarely at the top.
I have a vague recollection of the guy who introduced me to the Billy Goat, a friend of my old roommate who i didn't see often but when hearing about the new weed available and having shown it to the Billy Goat the wheels were put in motion. The Billy Goat was another nickel-dimer like myself. He had graduated from that Catholic university in Indiana known for football, the son of a lawyer, who now spent his time slumming it near our local university and living the hippie dream of selling weed and doing nothing. He was a short and a bit round with a big beard back before big beards became some sort of fashion statement. He was usually garbed in a tie-dye t-shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals (even in the winter) that revealed some of the most disgusting toes one would ever have the unfortunate opportunity to lay eyes on. His brown hair was long and matted and usually seemed unwashed. He wore wire rimmed glasses with a penchant for bucket hats.
The first meeting was the usual feeling out process. The Billy Goat talked about how quality the gear was and inquired about the availability, the amount he could get, the price. There is always a power dynamic, my being the supplier made me the boss so to speak, which was interesting because with Stiv it was a bit more equal, in fact Stiv and his inability to move the product needed me more than i needed him. I was starting to learn there was always a connection out there somewhere but the trick was to find one that was reliable and not a complete nutter (see Cocaine Mike, Hippie Jack). And so the Billy Goat and i sat and burned one and talked shop. There was always a bit of ego in this game and one liked to see who was the better at slinging, granted sometimes that involved luck. Lucking into a good connection, being able to move into a position to be the distributor more than the guy on the street but now i had the hook up and had been honing the skills, i had been working on mastering my craft.
And so the Billy Goat and i sat and hashed out the rules. One of his main questions was my feeling on credit. I told him i had no problem fronting shit as soon as some trust was built and i saw how he operated. Granted, i told him, there would be limits but those limits could be increased if he moved a lot of gear and was reliable with his payments. The Billy Goat was just the latest in a budding cache of the Weight Crew. The guys who showed up looking to get a quarter pound or half pound or elbow. Where moving five pounds in two weeks was once the goal now it was becoming no problem. Between the the nickel and dime stuff i was still doing and the weight i was beginning to move my profits were starting to take off, where once i would be ecstatic about making an extra 350 a week, now i was easily doubling it. I was also doubling my payments to the student loan company every month. It was all systems go.