Chapter Six
“No, really, I don’t dance,” Chris told the leering older man for the second time.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Let’s give them something to talk about. I’ll even keep my hands to myself,” Harold promised in booze-saturated words. His eyes, however, never left Chris’ falsies. And if the spittle in the corners of Harold’s mouth meant anything, Chris could be sure he would make a grab.
Tall and distinguished, Harold did have attractiveness going for him. And a head-full of thick, white hair. Chris casually searched the room for Vin. He almost smiled when he found him in conversation with a couple, his gaze locked on Chris.
“In that case, yes,” Chris said, sending Harold a forced smile.
He took Chris’ glass and put it on the table. Harold pulled him close. “You know, dancing is like sex with your clothes on.”
Great.
“Christy,” Doreen said, waving to him.
“Hi, Doreen. Oh, I’m so sorry. Well have to finish this later, Harold.” Chris slithered out of Harold’s hold.
“I’ll be waiting,” Harold promised. Threatened.
Chris steered Doreen in the opposite direction. “Thank God you interrupted that. I owe you.”
“Lucky you, there’s a chance right now.” She laughed at her own cryptic joke. “Don’t worry about Harold. He likes women, especially bigger ones.”
Should Chris be affronted? “Bigger, huh?”
“I don’t mean anything by it, darling. He just doesn’t appreciate scrawny girls in size twos.”
“And you let him grope? What about his wife?” Chris asked.
“Every wife is Harold’s wife, to hear him tell it. Hush, now, don’t say any more.”
Doreen redirected their path and led Chris away from the party. Carla waited for them and ushered them in to another room.
Nina smiled as they all came together. She handed them each a filled champagne glass. A fifth glass bubbled serenely on the coffee table. Whose?
“Welcome to the neighborhood, Christy.” Nina raised her glass.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” the other two murmured.
A fifth person hadn’t materialized, yet Chris kept the question to himself. He followed their lead, raised his glass and accepted the toast. The air hung heavy with meaning.
Had Vin seen him leave?
Chris continued to sip, wondering what happened next and hoping to hell his wire worked. There hadn’t been confirmation from the sector office after punching in the keypad sequence to notify them of possible activity tonight. He could only assume a tech guy listened to everything on the other end and got it on tape if necessary.
“That’s what I like to see. All my women in one place.”
Harold’s voice slid like cold oil down Chris’ spine. He reached Chris’ side and draped an arm over Chris’ shoulder.
Nina giggled at Chris’ eyeroll. She handed Harold the fifth glass.
Doreen winked at Chris.
You’ve got to be shitting me.
Harold dropped his arm and slapped Chris’ ass. Chris kept his irritation in check. This time. If the shit tried it again, he’d break his fucking wrist. His ass had a fucking reserved sign on it even if Vin didn’t collect on the invitation.
“The Garden Club has a new member,” Harold quipped. “We’re a dedicated group with connections, Christy. Our clientele grows stronger daily.” He snorted drunkenly. “Grows. Get it? The clientele grows, like weed?”
“Harold,” Doreen snapped.
“Hush up, woman. We’re all associates here. All friends. Isn’t that right, Christy?” he teetered against Chris, planting a wet sloppy kiss on his face.
“We meet on Wednesdays at the children’s library,” Carla said. “Second conference room. Great cover, don’t you agree?”
“Brilliant,” Chris agreed. Who’d suspect a meeting of drug dealers in the affluent suburban children’s library?
Harold leaned heavily on Chris’ shoulder, breathing flammable gases onto his neck.
“And the seedlings I need? I’ll require three different varieties of your best stock for the hybrid we need to boost production,” Chris said.
“That’s the beauty of it,” Doreen said. “It’s all right here. Beneath us, actually. Using solar conservers, our power usage is off the grid and excess stored, or would be if we were a simple family using average power.”
“But we aren’t. The amount of power we get and store, and buy from the power company takes care of the grow house consumption.” Carla added, excitedly.
“It’s here? In the basement?” Chris asked.
Nina giggled. “All our basements and soon yours.”
“Racks and racks of beautiful green weed,” Carla agreed. Her eyes glittered.
Chris thought of the infrared satellite images Vin had showed him. None of the houses showed up as hot-spots. “How do you hide the heat signatures?”
“That’s Harold’s doing. He’s not just our supplier, he’s the brilliant mind behind the high-tech, sensor laden insulation panels,” Doreen explained.
Carla downed the last of her champagne. “It actually absorbs the energy output we use and the plants put off, then converts it and insulates it into cool cells where the rest of our solar energy goes.”
“That kind of financial investment is huge,” Chris said. The idea showed incredible ingenuity and creativity. But how did it convert? How did Harold the drunk know to do it?
“My money. My company. My resources. My free pot.” Harold dragged his hand up and down Chris’ back, far more interested in sniffing than listening to the conversation. “Can’t make money without spending money.”
The implications loomed large. The sales would sky rocket in only a matter of time. With minimal direction and fewer shares to fewer growers-larger numbers would be unnecessary overhead with the income doubling, tripling with the new system for every grower-Harold and his ladies would corner the market.
They’d control drug flow and prices. With premium product and low costs, they’d choke out the other growers until they had the majority. From there the possibilities were endless. Withhold the premium stuff until users got desperate.
And there were users everywhere. Every school, every business, every branch of government.
Unchecked, they’d hold the power. No wonder they wanted what they thought Christy could offer. Organization, networking, resources to reach into several communities-hell yeah, they’d want Christy around. She provided them a shortcut to the top.
“Harold is a genius,” Nina murmured.
“And if Harold wants something. Harold gets it,” Doreen said.
“Ladies, why don’t you clear out and give me and Christy a chance to get to know each other better,” Harold suggested. His arm cinched Chris’ waist.
“Fuck, no.” Chris stiff-armed him.
Doreen’s face twisted, her drawn face and sneering lips classic signs of a reprimand in formation. All interrupted by the door swinging open and DEA agents waving guns.
“It’s about fucking time,” Chris said.
He ripped the wig off his head and tore open the top of his button down dress. His huge, practical white bra jutted out. Trailing beneath it from cleavage to navel, a black wire told the Garden Club all they needed to know.
“She’s a boy,” Harold exclaimed, falling on his ass in his effort to get away. “She’s a he!”
“Busted, so to speak.” Chris said with a wry grin.
Chris wadded up a dress and shoved it in the suitcase. “Go back and pack up your gear, Tarp. The cleaning crew will take care of the rest,” he repeated out loud. “Good, job, Tarp. Nice tits,” he said, repeating someone else. “You gonna celebrate? Get laid?”
All things guaranteed to grate on his nerves. He’d showered, scrubbing Christy into oblivion and donned Vin’s sweats. Then because he was pissy, he went to Vin’s room and took one of his shirts too. He fucking swam in that thing.