His mouth twitched, grudging respect cracking through the annoyance. “Yeah, this might just be the perfect job for you.”
I hunched my shoulders. “Maybe. But question. If they got the product, where’s the money? Shouldn’t they have paid something? Given me something? Don’t people usually exchange—”
Marcos raised a hand, cutting me off gently to clarify. “You and a few other mules handle the product, andanothercrew handles the money. Different lanes… different people.”
I blinked, struggling to comprehend. “Why not do it all at once?”
Marcos smirked, as if he’d anticipated the question. “Because that’s how people get robbed, killed, or set up. We never mix the two. You? You only touch the cargo. The money moves through a separate pickup team. Someone else picks up the payment, counts it, and transports it. It could be hours later… maybe the next day… maybe it already moved before you even left the warehouse. We keep everything compartmentalized. If something goes wrong in one lane, the other one stays clean.”
It actually made sense… perhaps too much sense for my comfort.
Marcos watched my face, amused. “Don’t worry. You’ll get paid for your runs, but not by them,alwaysby us.”
I let out a slow, measured breath and nodded. “Okay. Got it.”
“Good. Now you’re learning how we operate.”
Marcos reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a gold foil package; its dimensions reminiscent of a hardcover book, sealed tight with a band of tape.
“Your pay.”
I took it, feeling the solid weight resting in my palm, a physical reminder of my entanglement in this dangerous game. It wasn’t two hundred thousand, but it was proof that what Marcos promised was real.
“It’s all there. But open it when you get home.”
I slid the package into my tote, feeling a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
“Good work today, though. Smooth, no questions, no delays. That’s exactly how we like it.”
Marcos opened the door and stepped out as if he’d just caught a ride to the corner store.
“See you tomorrow.”
Once he shut the door, I started the engine and pulled out of the lot and headed to Lainey’s.
I parked outside her spot and stared at my phone for a full minute before texting her.
Me:I’m outside of your house. You up? I need to vent.
Lainey:Come on, friend.
When I stepped in, she was already in the kitchen, pouring wine into two mismatched glasses.
“You alright?” she asked.
I sat on the couch, body heavy. “I found out what I’ll be transporting.”
“Please say something normal like clothes or shoes.”
“Worse,” I muttered.
Lainey’s brows shot up. “Girl, don’t tell me you’re out here running organs or something.”
“It’s drugs,” I divulged.
She blinked… then blinked again. “Drugs? Like weed?”
I cocked my head. “Yeah, Lainey… because obviously people risk their lives for a couple of blunts,” I stated sarcastically.