Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
This is not a joke.
Apparently, a pigs sense of smell is better than that of a dogs and they’re smarter too, but since they aren’t as convenient as a dog they’d been passed over for that position and instead used for other things.
Like bacon.
“So you bought Mirna a pig?” I asked. We’d spent the morning in the grow-room and Preppy was showing me the ropes. And by ropes, I mean hoses. There were a million yards of different hose that needed to be installed in each of the rooms. The ventilation aspect of the operation was of Preppy’s own design and very impressive. It was disguised as a window air conditioning unit and it kept the smell of the plants not only from the inside of the house so the Granny’s wouldn’t be bothered by it, but it also kept passers by from smelling what was going on inside the house. He showed me how to install a basic system, while explaining to me how the recruitment process worked.
“I did buy her a pig,” he said, laughing like the notion was ridiculous even to him. “I read an article online about service dogs for people suffering from dementia but those motherfuckers are expensive and the waiting list is years long. So I looked up alternatives to service dogs and BOOM. Now Mirna has Oscar.”
“What exactly does he do?” I said, and as if he knew we were talking about him, the cow-colored pig came traipsing into the room as if he was supervising and checking on our progress.
Preppy patted him on the head. “In a nutshell, he’ll alert us when the shit’s about to hit the fan.” He unraveled yet another plastic hose and opened a small tool box.
“Where did you learn all this?” I asked.
“From a fucking ten-year-old on Youtube,” Preppy said, unloading equipment from a box marked as dog food.
“Shut the fuck up!” I said, covering my mouth. “There’s no way.”
“It’s the truth. We’ve been having issues with our source, guys a real douche. When King was sentenced I wanted to come up with a plan B, so I set this in motion. I first thought about buying a house and setting up our operation in there, but growhouses are kind of obvious. Usually, a guy that looks like a thug coming and going is kind of a tip off. The smell is harder to handle on a mass scale, as well. So I wound up on Youtube, watching videos of how these young kids were growing it in their closets and using these intricate filtration systems they set up with tubing from hamster cages and science projects. Figured we could do the same thing. Smaller scale of growing scattered around the town.”
“Ahhhhh, so that’s when it all started.”
“Yes, it is. So we look for older women. Someone who lives alone. Not a lot of family to ask too many questions. Someone needing to supplement their social security check. It was actually a lot easier than I thought to get people to agree.”
“Why women? Why not an older man?” I asked, dropping the drill I was holding when Oscar ran into me like a bull from behind, taking out my knees and knocking me to the floor. “Thanks, buddy,” I mumbled.
Preppy helped me off the floor, and I rubbed the spot on my tailbone I’d landed on. “Want me to get that for you?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“I think I can handle it.”
“Report back if that situation changes.” Preppy went back to his tools, and I drilled another hook into the wall.
“There are a few types of people my charm and wit doesn’t work on. Old men being one of those kinds of people. Besides, old ladies make the best cookies. We have four now, but in order to stop getting supply from the asshole we get it from now we’re gonna need more. A lot more. That’s where you come in.”
“So not only am I forging documents for you, but you’ve somehow roped me into co-conspirator of your drug ring?”
“Yep.”
“Sneaky bastard,” I said, pointing the drill at him and pushing the trigger, giving it a few spins. I looked around at the progress we’d made. “This is actually kind of a genius idea.”
“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said with a cocky smile. “It doesn’t raise suspicion and the Granny’s are compensated well. It’s win win all around.”
“So you make your pitch and they hand you the keys to their house?”
“Something like that. Some prefer not to know what I’m doing in their guest bedroom. For those who want to know, I try and make them see that I’m not dragging them into a torrid drug trade.”
“How do you prefer them to see it?” I asked.
He grinned from ear to ear. “Subletting.”
Preppy passed me one end of a tube and we each climbed one of the ladders set up on opposite ends of the room.