Vanilla Thrilla Pt. 16
CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)
WEST SUMATRA
INTERIOR - CAR/MOVING - DAY
GUNTER: Is this possible?
PRAMANA: How much do you have in personal accounts?
GUNTER: We need it now? What for?
PRAMANA: To make a buy. What d’you think?
GUNTER: All of it?
PRAMANA: Maybe…I’m kicking in too, so…whatever. Depends on what the street says. You’ll get it back.
GUNTER: I don’t know. I kinda have plans.
PRAMANA: In two days we’re done. You can do whatever you want.
GUNTER: I was thinking of Thailand.
PRAMANA: Cause it’s sooo different from where we are. Gunter, this is the way to get John. Why do you think you puked in a fern? Because seeing him pissed you off. You want this guy as much as I do.
GUNTER: It’d be nice.
PRAMANA: F**k’n yeah. We need cash for product, product for a shipment-
GUNTER: Casey’s close.
PRAMANA: His stuff’s crap. You could water down a dead horse and get better coffee.
GUNTER: Who’re you thinking of? Jatna?
PRAMANA: Yeah.
GUNTER: He’s under the eye you know.
PRAMANA: I know. 200,000 kms of coastline and he starts shipping into the port central. His stuff’s pure enough though, and he knows me.
GUNTER: Why not go after him?
PRAMANA: The guy’s a mouse.
GUNTER: Yeah, but he’s a sure catch.
PRAMANA: Getting John’ll do real damage. He’s importing H for a lot of midget dealers like Jatna, but he’s producing too. Guy’s opening ice factories every other week….just can’t find any of them.
GUNTER: Why would you be looking?
PRAMANA: (in thought) Not even going to answer that. Are you “in this” or are you “in this”? How can a man separate himself from his business when he’s so thick up to his neck in it? You’re here to do a series of mock-up training exercises for DEC….fine, but look around you! This is “the” hotbed of illicit Asia, and you’re holding your hands back like Ward Cleaver at a Hell’s Angels rally, “Now look fellas, I don’t want any trouble.” What the f*** do you expect?
PRAMANA: (aloud) Besides, I like Jatna…for a guy so supposedly ambitious, it’s freakin incredible he won’t rat us out.
GUNTER: S’cause we’re customers.
PRAMANA: Exactly.
Gunter rolls down the window enough to arc his finger tips around the car roof. Business in this business tended to sober one up quickly. He tipped the bottled water back on his lips and opened his throat wide. This would help. Not too much though. The events of the last hours
GUNTER: We’ll be back on farm by the weekend.
PRAMANA: That’s why we have to do this now. It has to be good enough and big enough to reign in Interpol. They take him, we shine like precious jewels and the world’s a better place. Sip a Miller.
GUNTER: How’re we gonna shine and not give away our part in a frame job?
PRAMANA: From a distance.
GUNTER: Which means we won’t get our money back.
PRAMANA: (slaps the steering wheel) Why don’t you just sell car parts? Tell me that.
GUNTER: I’m here aren’t I? Linden Bank then. I’d at least like to avoid the withdrawal fees.
PRAMANA: Unbelievable. If you hand me $12.95 after all this, I’m gonna tie you to the bumper.
INTERIOR - WAREHOUSE ATTIC - EVENING
Jatna was a skeleton. His smile gave him the edge that he lacked in actual power in the drug trade. It was hollow and close to as wide as his face. It gave his 6′4″ pipe-cleaner body the creepiness of bad zombie flicks. Gunter’s instinct was to attack. Like finding a stickly spider on the shower nozzle, he felt compelled to squash ugliness when he saw it. Anything that strange belonged under a foot.
PRAMANA: Sorry to wake you.
He implied the apology to the pair behind Jatna as well. His guards, gophers, comrades in arms. In this operation, they couldn’t help but be all three. Until Jatna could scrape enough connections together to move more than handfuls of product at a time, his men would have to multitask. They sat on a desk in the shadows, pretending to whisper, flipping through a deck of cards.
JATNA: You can’t wake me Pram. Sleepin right now.
PRAMANA: I forgot. Two pairs of eyes.
JATNA: Yea, yea…gotta have em. Where’s your lady tonight?
PRAMANA: Working. (in thought) Don’t make me hate you yet. We’re twenty words into the conversation and you make me pretend I’m still with her.
JATNA: You too. How’re you Gunta?
GUNTER: I’m fine.
JATNA: I know. You got the Britney tape yet?
GUNTER: Give me til Christmas.
JATNA: Ah, no. I need the tape Gunta. We all waiting for the baby one more time, the fresh Britney with the belly by the pool-side, you know?
GUNTER: I see your problem.
JATNA: You do, I know. The girl’s gettin older, and we here like the father’s from a distance that’re missin her prime. We’ve never even seen the baby. Is Kevin really the father?
GUNTER: I guess so. Try the net.
JATNA: You can’t love a loved one on computer discs man. You need videotape.
GUNTER: I’ll try.
JATNA: Thank you.
PRAMANA: (in thought) Every time, you kill me Jatna. Be fifteen in the privacy of a locked room.
JATNA: So…how much?
PRAMANA: Three pounds.
JATNA: Baaad man. Not exactly for personal la la.
PRAMANA: Not exactly.
JATNA: Yea. Must say I’m glad. Nice way to meet you for sure.
He throws an anonymous look behind him. His boys catch it. They don’t react.
JATNA: Should I ask?
PRAMANA: Not a problem. Same interested parties back home. Just looking for more.
JATNA: I see yea. Maybe they’re filling stockings. Meth-a-Claus.
PRAMANA: Something like that.
JATNA: 23 thousand.
Two images flash through Gunter’s mind: a stomach wrapping itself into a pretzel, and Britney Spears smashing a baby carriage over Jatna’s skull.
PRAMANA: 17.
JATNA: This is the part I love. 23 Pram. Three on the street’ll get you 30 thousand, yea. The street’s the street.
PRAMANA: These guys aren’t L.A. power list. They want deals.
JATNA: But this is no Dexedrine cocktail friend. It’s pure. And you know that, cause that why we’re here having good times together.
PRAMANA: I trust you. 19.
JATNA: Of course. 22. And I want Britney.
PRAMANA: 20. With the tape in a month.
JATNA: Boy, you do know a hard man’s soft side. Give me a hug.
(To be continued….)
