car. Or a lawyer.” He shifted
around in his low rocking chair,
his foot tapping at a million miles
a minute, vibrating the whole
room.
“Because a judge is going to
award custody to a drug-dealer.”
“No one would ever have to
know. And big time drug lords
get custody all the time. It's just
about hiring the better lawyer.”
“And where would Stephanie
sleep? She needs a room of her
own.” Arty's apartment had only
one bedroom with a large living
room, a kitchen, dining room, and
bathroom. Not much space for a
four-year-old.
“The money will help me get a
new place, like I said.”
“What happens when Steph
finds out her dad is a drug
dealer?”
“We'll be a drug-dealing
family.
Like in Weeds,” he
replied. “Just without the killing
and sleeping with cops. Unless
the cop has a really nice ass.”
“Then the cop figures out
what you are, you get arrested,
and I have to bail you out with
your own drug money.” I took a
sip of my beer. Needed lime. “At
least you'd already have a good
lawyer!”
“Maybe.”
“You think she'd fall so in love
with you and Steph that she'd
overlook your little business and
you'd get married and live happily
ever after?”
“Maybe.” His foot was still
tapping incessantly. “Wouldn't
have to sell drugs if we got
married.
Cops earn huge
salaries.”
“OK, I can't argue with that.” I
laughed, then something sparked
in the speaker box and the fake
wood caught on fire. “Shit!
Extinguisher!”
Arty scrambled into the
kitchen, spilling his beer on the
carpet, and tossed aside a few
garbage bags looking for it.
“Go check in the bathroom!”
he yelled.
“Who keeps a fire extinguisher
in the bathroom?”
“Someone who hates spiders!”
It wasn't in the bathroom. I
ran into the bedroom, careful to
step over the condom wrappers
on the floor. The room was so
covered in dirty laundry that it
took me a minute to find the
extinguisher that was hidden in
the corner. By the time I got back
to the living room, most of the
speaker was on fire, but a few
quick sprays were enough to put
it out.
“Good thing you don't have
curtains,” I said, dropping the
empty canister on the floor. Arty
laughed a little. I couldn't help
but laugh too, relief sweeping
over me.
“Well, looks like that plan is
ruined,” he said.
“Take it as a sign from the
universe, Arty,” I said. “You're not
meant to be a marijuana farmer.”
“Maybe.” He went to the kitchen
and I heard the pop-hiss of a beer
bottle being opened. “I've heard
mushrooms are pretty easy to
grow.”