Aero
Iarrived at Monumental High North just after eleven a.m. and parked around back. I showed up before the usual lunch-time rush, when I knew the client traffic would be light, as I wanted to deal with this matter as quickly and quietly as possible. If I did expose the skimmer, things could get physical and the last thing I needed was for some chucklehead stoner to walk in on me putting the screws to some guy while looking for the bong aisle.
Truth be told, I also hated going to any of the club’s dispensaries. I had no problem with how the Howlers earned money but was in the solid minority of members who did not get high. Hell, it felt like the entire state of Colorado was puff, puff, passing, and I was happy to let them pass me right on by. I wasn’t a prude or anything, I just didn’t like weed. Maybe it’s because I’m a control freak, or because it tended to make me paranoid, but getting loaded just didn’t appeal to me. In fact, even more than the negative effects marijuana had on me, I hated the smell of it. I know some people love it, but to me pot smoke stinks like a skunk soaked in cat piss that’s been set on fire. Even though I drank, some of my club brothers had taken to calling me “Straight Aero” for my lack of love of the bud.
Once inside, the doorman checked my ID and I was immediately greeted by a friendly young budtender who introduced himself as Turnip.
“Let me know if I can hook you up with a specific strain or if you need any help at all, man,” he said, flashing me a glassy-eyed grin.
“Is Ken here?” I said, in an “all business” tone.
“Oh, yeah, bro. Kenny’s in the office. You want me to tell him you’re here?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll tell him,” I said and started toward the office.
“Um, oh, wow. Lemme just—” Turnip stammered as he made a half-hearted attempt to block my path.
“Look here,” I said, pointing to the patch on my cut. “You see that?”
Turnip nodded.
“The Howlers own this place, so think of this patch as an all-access pass. You understand?”
Turnip nodded faster.
“Good,” I said, pushing past him.
I opened the office door, without knocking, to find the shop’s manager sitting at his desk talking on his cell phone.
“Hey, lemme call you back,” he said before hanging up and quickly sliding the phone into his pocket. “Aero. Hey, man. What’s going on?” he asked, rising to feet. “I didn’t know you were coming by. You need something for the weekend? I just got some Blue Dream from my favorite grower. Eighty-three-percent THC.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I replied and shut the door. “Take a seat. We need to have a talk.”
“Sounds serious. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was in trouble,” he said nervously.
“Don’t worry. Sundance knows you’re a solid guy. You’ve been here since the beginning and he knows how much this job means to you and your family.”
Ken was a single father whose daughter, Mabel, was born with under-developed kidneys. As a result, she had been on dialysis her entire young life. What she really needed was a transplant, but the list is long, and the wheels of medicine seemed to move slowly for guys like Ken.
“How is Mabel?” I asked.
“Good days and bad days, ya know,” he replied. “She’s a tough kid, I’ll tell you that. A lot tougher than her old man.”
“She’s one lucky kid to have a great dad like you lookin’ out for her,” I said.
Ken nodded with a slight smile before asking, “So, what’s going on?”
“Someone from your shop is skimming,” I said.
“Come on, get the fuck outta here,” Ken said with a chuckle.
“I’m dead serious, Ken. Sundance sent me down here to straighten things out.”
“I’m telling you there’s no way, Aero,” Ken said, shaking his head. “I’d know about it. I go over the books with a fine-toothed comb every month. I definitely would have caught it.”
“That’s what Sundance thought at first. He thought he’d made a mistake because your numbers usually add up to the penny,” I said.
