We started selling. I worked in the Chemistry lab less and less, until I stopped going altogether; I decided that I should commit myself fully to synthesizing and selling. It started out slowly, as expected, but people were slowly hearing about us. Eventually, we weren’t doing too badly for ourselves, but we could always be doing better. Demand never diminished, so there was nowhere to go but up. I was hoping to find one person or group to buy a lot of our product in one fell swoop one day, but we didn’t have to worry about that yet; better off staying grounded in the present, not to get ahead of ourselves.
We didn’t run into many snags at this point. Well, I had to yell at Sammy a few times for doing stupid things. One day, he came in with about two-dozen boxes of Sudafed, all of which he got from the same Shoppers Drug Mart. It took us a long time to explain that this wasn’t a good idea, because he had it in his mind that he was being smart since they were on sale at the time. Eventually, though, we convinced him that people look out for possible Meth dealers at pharmacies, and he hasn’t done anything like that since.
Today, Bill and I are sparring a bit at his place. I figured I healed enough since last time, when he threw me through a wall in the basement, so I should be good to go. Ever since some potential clients gave us some trouble a while back, we decided we should know how to fight, and we started sparring every chance we got. We didn’t really feel like hitting Caroline, so she didn’t come along; plus, I tried to make sure she wasn’t out on the streets if I wasn’t around anyway. Sammy didn’t come along basically because he was a bit of a wuss, and very opposed to anything involving physical pain. We tried to get him involved, because you never knew when it would come in handy, but he wouldn’t have it.
Bill and I also started going to the gym regularly. The workout was gruelling, with both intense cardio and strength training, but the results really paid off. Now, I was able to run for quite a long time without really having to rest, and I’m sure I could really pack a wallop if I hit someone else. Well, I knew Bill’s punches really hurt, anyway. Plus, I looked good, so I didn’t mind keeping it up.
We chose Bill’s basement for sparring mainly because it was spacious. We take off our shirts and shoes, Fight Club style, and start circling around. “Ready to get owned again?” he asks me, laughing.
I come at him, with a large haymaker to start things off. He’s ready for me, and he steps to the side, delivering a punch to my stomach in the process. He goes for another swing, but I step back. He comes a bit closer, but I deliver a nasty kick to his thigh, so he backs up slightly.
“You’d better be ready this time, Bill,” I tell him. “This is gonna hurt.”
I come straight at him again, faking another punch. He tucks his chin in, ready to move with it, but I jump up and deliver a knee, aimed at his face. I don’t jump high enough, and get him in the chest instead, but he still falls back. I keep coming, delivering several hooks. He blocks a few and gets a few good ones in the face. I grab him, ready for some dirty boxing, even though Bill’s much better at dirty boxing than I am. Suddenly, my cell phone rings.
I look at him, and he looks back at me. It rings again. We disengage, both breathing heavily. I turn as though I’m going to get the phone, then I hit him once in the arm, and run to my phone. “Ow. Jerk,” he says, rubbing his arm.
I pick up my phone. “How strange, I don’t recognize the number,” I tell him. “Must be Sammy calling from a payphone.”
I answer it, “Hello?”
“Hey Max, it’s Sammy.”
Bill looks at me, and I give him the thumbs up. “Hey there, Sammy,” I reply, “what can I do for you?”
“Uh...Where are you right now?”
I pause, “I’m at Bill’s. Is something wrong?”
Bill looks concerned at this point. Sammy continues, “I need to talk to you. I’m outside your place right now. Do you think you can come on over?”
“Yeah, for sure. I’ll be right there.”
Bill and I grab our stuff and rush over to my place. We come around the corner and see Sammy sitting there. “Sammy!” I yell.
Sammy gets up and I’m not prepared for what I see. He’s bleeding from his nose, which looks broken, he has a cut on his forehead, and his left eye is purple and swollen shut. He says, “We definitely need to talk.”