Poison Hemlocks

Ch. 07 - Mary Jane

It's highly illegal here. If discovered, you could get a minimum of a death sentence by hanging, or whatever sick game they decide to play on you now that you're a wasted portion of human life.

But humans are prone to breaking the rules by nature. String believes everyone has done it in some way, be it staying up late even after your parents threaten to take your phone away, just a small pinch of littering, or getting into a big, bloody fight by the school gates.

Rules, the law, the disciplinary system, it's flawed. String got to see that notion be unraveled in several ways.

Hell, he's seeing it right now; plastic packets upon plastic packets of Cannabis stacked on top of one other. It's a solid batch. To think all they had to do to make their supply sustain and kept under the radar is plant a few flowers.

"Boss!" Walks in their main supplier, Kif, who - as expected from a marijuana dealer - is seemingly always high. Eyes in a permanent resting position, back slouched from all the time spent in the garden, greying clothes too big on him, and a fat roll held in between his teeth.

String smiles at Kif. Normally, he can't really stand the guy, not because of some personal grudge, only because he reeks of unknown chemicals and has a habit of blowing clouds into people's faces without warning. He tolerates the guy though, because despite his lack of awareness, he's useful, a particular asset to Hemlock.

Usefulness goes a long way in this business. It doesn't matter if you've got deep-seated issues or a great many scars from trauma or a kindhearted lad. If you're not useful, you're out.

Paper would agree, String knows. Because, well, he taught him that.

Without warning (though expected), a cloud of smoke is blown into String's face. He coughs, smile dropping, waving away the cloud. The smell is strong, that alone made him a little drowsy.

He shoots a glare at Kif, who replies with an awkward smile.

"Sorry, boss. Old habit," He says like it'd save his skin, then picked the blunt from his mouth and offered it to him. "Maybe you oughta give it a go."

String scoffs. "I've tried it before."

"And did you like it?" Kif takes a drag.

"Dunno," String shrugs. "Think I've tried better."

Kif laughs. "Well, you're gonna love the latest batch then." He takes one of the plastic ziplocks from the stacked bunch, and holds it out to String. "I made sure to put extra tender lovin' care into this one. Whaddya say?"

Sold. String was already planning to sneak a taste anyway. "I better not have to pay for this."

"Nah, you're the boss!" Kif exclaims, puffs of smoke from his mouth with every word. "Consider this a nice little thank you gift."

"Well then, you're utmost welcome."

See, this is nice; being seen as the big boss though he wasn't, a character he liked to play, that benefited him and everyone involved.

"Keep 'em comin', Kif." He pats him on the shoulder before turning to leave. Kif shouts at the others to prepare and get the batch into the shipment process. Their current client so happens to be loaded, just another gold mine for them.

String takes out his phone, navigating through it to send a text to Paper and update him on progress.

His finger lingers over the send button. Honestly, he figures now isn't the best time to talk to him. The man is always unavailable, as seen from the numerous texts he'd either only leave on read or reply with one word. It's obnoxious, putting effort into something and not having the same amount of effort returned.

Same thing could be said about last week, with that gaudy private masquerade.

So he tucked his phone back into his pocket, offed it. He won't be needing it for a while.