Knuckles soon found himself glad he had trusted his instincts regarding Sir Charles rather than his instincts regarding the future price of Smokeless Green. He had waited, as Sir Charles had recommended, for the price of an ounce to reach $700, something he expected to happen, if ever, when he was old and gray.
In fact, he had been regretting the awkward conversation he expected to take place with Sir Charles. Sir Charles, no doubt, would regret having invested $100,000 plus a $10,000 bonus in having Knuckles’ hooligans go around and cause a little mayhem and would be embarrassed upon making such bold—and erroneous predictions—about the future of Smokeless Green.
Knuckles would seek a tactful way to pass it off as nothing. After all, Sir Charles had done a good job so far keeping police attention elsewhere. Nonetheless, it was a conversation Knuckles wasn’t looking forward to, as he felt sure the old man was going to be embarrassed beyond description.
Thus, when his underling Chris Culmeyer, better known as Sweet Tooth, came rushing into his office just a couple weeks later, telling him that he better go sell that stuff now because the word on the street was it had already gone slightly over $700 an ounce and that it was going up fast because other gangs were having a hard time getting access to the drug, Knuckles had been delighted.
He decided to accompany his toughs on this project, as he was not about to risk squandering the potential profits that were waiting to be made. He was expecting Sweet Tooth to perhaps bring him down some dirty alley to make the deals, but to Knuckles’ surprise he found himself being brought into a store that paid protection money, and waiting there were well-dressed businessmen.
He could tell by the looks on their faces they’d rather be anywhere else. He noticed slight twitches in their nostrils as if they were dogs smelling a tasty treat nearby. He had almost nodded off when Sir Charles had explained some of the fancy rules those crooks in the senate had made in their new law, but he seemed to recall something about rich people could still get high.
He wondered if these fellows were just a hair or two shy of what those senate rats called “rich,” or if it was just that they didn’t know where else to go. Suddenly, a newly learned instinct kicked in, one that he had internalized from his frequent contact with Sir Charles. You could be classy and still be powerful, and he his instinct told him he better learn how to do that with these men or otherwise he’d curse the day he didn’t.
“Mr. Mollens, get each of these men a cigar.”
Mr. Mollens, owner of this small grocery store, looked surprised, but quickly obliged. He had been one of those stubborn fellows that had only seen sense after the sound of rattlesnakes was buzzing away inside his store so loud it could be heard half a block away on a quiet evening.
The businessmen looked equally surprised, and he noticed they calmed a bit.
“My name is Mr. Hathers,” he said confidently but decided to omit that he was in charge of the Rattlers, as that somehow seemed incongruent to the impression he was trying to make.
“My goal is to make sure you are aware first and foremost that in all dealings with myself or any of my associates” (and as he said this he cast a look at his hooligan toadies that let them know they would woefully regret not paying careful attention to his instructions on this particular point) “you will be treated with the utmost respect and consideration. I assume you know the price of Smokeless Green has already inched its way past $700 per ounce, but to show you my commitment to our business relationship, I’m going to sell you these for a flat $700 each, and feel free to have a quick sample first.”
Each of the five gentlemen inside the store obliged, and their faces revealed great contentment. Within two minutes, Knuckles had sold all sixteen ounces and had $11,200 in his pocket.
He was practically sprinting back to his house. He had never gone to Sir Charles’ house without an invitation before, but he didn’t care. It was clear Sir Charles wanted him to move this product, and it was hard for him to conceive of Sir Charles being irritated by Knuckles’ letting him know that was precisely what he had done and that he was ready to start doing it in earnest.