2019-10-09 - Fairy Dust Friend

It's the first time Bennie's been out of the house on 13 Elm for what seems like an eon. After a text conversation with Baylee, she has to brave a trip to the Trailer park to stop by her bosses house to pick up the rather hefty advance that was left for her. Sure, the majority of the money is to see her through her extended time off of work and make sure she keeps the heat off by still paying her debts on time, but she's fingered off a small section of bills and set them aside for more nefarious purposes.

Dressed in a dark grey sweater dress with a turtleneck collar and paired with knee high black boots and an overly large pair of sunglasses, she looks like something straight out of crime caper movie as she gives Greg's door a hasty knock. "G-man, you in?" Not Greg, no. Calling him by his actual name doesn't seem to fit the theme.

One of the first things Bennie would have to notice on the way up to Greg's trailer is the trailer itself. Gone is the shitty, ratty single-wide from before. In its place stands a nice, modern double-wide, all shiny new and in good repair. As a result it's a much more homely door that Bennie knocks on, and no fluttering plastic insulation as Greg eases the door open. That 'new carpet' smell rolls out of the place as the door swings open to reveal a Greg.

He grins to Bennie, unpretentious in his knit sweater and baggy, holey jeans. "I was wondering when you'd be stopping in," he greets brightly. "You get my present? That ought to hold you for a few, anyway."

Bennie's reaching out a hand square for the middle of his chest to push Greg back into his shiny new digs so she can close the door behind them. "First of all, six thousand pharmaceutical grade pills at over thirty thousand dollars in street value," Yes, she did the math. "Isn't just a present. It's a goddamn burden especially with the DNA decorated wrapping paper it came in." Gone is the cheery furtive Blonde he's met before. Here is a woman on a mission. "Second, I don't live in the trailer anymore, you're lucky I'm the one that found it. Third-" It's like she just noticed. "Nice place! Congrats!" Okay, so there is a shimmer of her chipperness. "Fourth...wait, third. I forget. Look, you're probably in trouble now because it got confiscated from me." Or she gave it to Alexander, details details. "Also, I need some cocaine."

Greg's grin wavers as jet-powered Bennie comes with the all-business attitude, and he backs into the trailer cooperatively enough to let her get in and close the door. His head tilts to the side, ratcheting over bit by bit with each statement, his eyebrows climbing his scalp at a similar rate. When she's finally done, he puffs out his cheeks, slowly blowing out a breath.

"...alright," he says calmly, and he walks over to the bar between the kitchen and living room and starts rolling up a joint. "So... one. Your valuation's a little high. My price has my boss's nut all up in it and I have to step on it to make a dime." He holds up a hand for a weighing gesture. "Probably a couple thousand, maybe three, realistically. I always value in at the lowest rate and sell out at the highest." Drug math! "And the blood was mine. I, uh... got cut shaving that day." Well, half of that is true, at least!

He grins as he twists up his joint. "For number two, I guess if you'd give me your number, I wouldn't have to be so indirect next time I'm in a mood to do a favor. I think I'll skip right to the last couple points here." He lights his joint, puffing on it to encourage a healthy cherry, and considers Bennie. "I found that particular box with some other boxes I was picking up, and I thought of you." He gives a casual shrug. "Most people here would rather do coke, and I'd rather not have to sit on speed long enough to make anything on it. So yeah, I can hook you up." He leans against the bar, shooting an ineffable look towards Bennie. "So. Who's got it? Where's the hit going to be coming from? Whenever I picked up those boxes, it wasn't... what was expected. I think they belonged to someone worse than me, maybe worse than my Boss even. People I wouldn't really want finding me because some dipshit detective starts asking dumb questions out of turn, family."

Bennie makes an irritated wave of her hand, "Yeah, obviously you can have my number." Though in her current haste, she's not exactly remembering to give out the digits at the moment. "I took it to a friend to hide it. But with the blood, and the amount...I don't know what he's going to do with it. Hopefully just hide it like I asked, but maybe he'll burn it? I dunno. Look, here's two grand. Hopefully that'll at least help cover your losses." She flops the stack of hundreds down on the counter near him, loathe to give up so much of her pay advance, but also doesn't want to leave the dude in a bad place for his good intentions. "Don't worry, I kept some back. And I just need one tiny amount. Enough for one high for one person, that's it. Fairy dust, nose candy, whatever the cool kids are calling it these days."

Greg looks at the money, then looks at Bennie. Then at the money. And then at Bennie again. He looks more than a little poleaxed, honestly, chewing on his lip and growing red under the collar. "I got shot for that shit," he eventually complains quietly, and his free hand rubs at a spot on his left arm. Slowly, he starts to laugh. Quiet chuckles at first, leading up to out of control laughter of the red-faced and breathless variety. He drops his joint on the floor, where it burns a little brown mark into the hardwood flooring, and grabs his knees to recover himself.

"Whew!" he finally gasps, shaking his head. He reaches up to push the hair out of his eyes, and it falls directly back like a spring. "It's just too much," he says with a grin. He steps briskly over to the counter, picking up the money, and holds it for a long moment with a sense of regret before counting one little solitary hundred dollar bill back onto the counter. He turns to rifle around in a backpack sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, eventually coming up with a little baggie of white stuff. Clumpy, almost rock-like white stuff with a faintly waxy yellowish hue that someone, somewhere down the line is really going to appreciate.

He thrusts the tiny baggie and the majority of the money towards Bennie. "You can't buy those addies from me. I don't even have 'em anymore. Anyway they were mine, not my bosses. When I give a gift I don't take it back." He looks towards the hundred dollar bill on the counter. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm fucking you on the coke."

"Wait, what! You got SHOT!" Bennie squeaks, her whole 'tough guy' routine immediately gone as she flaps her hands and makes a gimme motion for him. "I told you to get a hold of me if you got injured, not shrug it off and leave blood-drugs on my step. C'mere, c'mere. Do I need you patch you up? Oh my GAWD, Greg. Are you okay? Jesus, you poor baby." The money, the coke, the getting screwed on the coke, all that takes a backseat for a moment as she frets.

Greg stands there brandishing drugs and money, and looks down at his arm. He shrugs lightly. "It got better. I think. It wasn't really that bad." He purses his lips. "It sort of aches sometimes. Those motherfuckers hurt!" He pushes the money and drugs towards Bennie insistently.

"In retrospect, that was probably the dumbest possible way for me to be nice. I has the dumb." He shrugs like this is all just part of life. "It wasn't really a big deal, fam. Just kinda like... hey, I know someone that could use that, right?" He flashes a grin. "I still got the rest of whatever I ALLEGEDLY got, anyhow. I ain't mad." His knuckles are a little white as he clutches the money, but he's passing this test as he once again shoves it at her.

Bennie's bottom lip gets gnawed on as he assures her he's basically alright, though she still looks tempted to do something even if this isn't the best time for such a thing. She's on a time line afterall. She looks down to the wad of money and after another brief moment of hesitation, she scoops it up and the little packet of drugs with both hands and shoves the whole lot into her purse. Normally she'd kiss him square on the mouth for his decency, but as it stands - and her current disposition against touching anyone unless utmost necessary - she just gives his cheek a little air kiss. "You're a peach. Thanks Greg, for the pills. And for the screwing me on the coke. I owe you, big time."

Greg gives Bennie a Look with a grumpy little frown. "So... you gave those away," he says flatly. "Does that mean you don't have any fucking medicine?" He stares at her so hard. Scowl. "I don't have it on hand... I thought you were fixed up. Give me a couple days." He casts about briefly, hunting for his joint, so he can reclaim and relight it. "Or you can try to get that box back from your friend. I doubt it's particularly hot; I don't think the original owners were the sort of upstanding citizens who can rely on law enforcement. If they do come after me they ain't going to miss one fuckin' box, or get out of me where it went."

He shrugs, puffing on his joint. "Just something to think about. I'm dead sure we didn't leave anything there to track us back with. It's just too bad to have good medicine rot in a hole, or an evidence locker."

Bennie starts backing away towards the door, already feeling awkward about having the little baggie of cocaine in her purse. The sooner she gets this over and done with the better. Just one more stop with Sutton and she can take care of her little 'issue'. "No, I kept some back, I promise. I'm all set. Your good deed did not go wasted. Honest. Thanks again! I'll see you soon, uh. Don't be a stranger!"

Greg looks genuinely a lot happier as he nods easily. "Okay Bennie. Take care of yourself, homie," he tells her with a grin. "Oh, and just so you know, you look fuckin' four times more suspicious when you hold your bag like that. It's like telling me you've got something in there you don't want me to find."

He gives a small wave that ends in an ironic mock salute. "Take it easy, chica."