Marijuana and Risk

“I’ll lead you to it sir!” shouted the shabby looking man, outside an old factory, abandoned by an industrialist years ago and left to rot amid the ruins of a once promising, but now doomed town.

Malcolm Mathew looked at him in suspicion, he was exhausted with today’s soujourns, which had taken him 54 kilometers from home. He glanced at his watch, and was alarmed when it showed 7 pm. He’d spent 8 hours searching for a promising lead, scouting markets and men alike, in search of an organic grow of marijuana.

“Alright, go get it, but I’m not paying you anything before I see it with my own eyes.”

“Yes, sir!” The shabby man shouted, his eyes twinkling in the dark. “Wait here sir, I’ll be right back!” He sped off inside the ruin.

Malcolm prayed fervently, that he’d found his man. He wanted quality and quantity, a trait so rare in the city, that only a select few monopolized and ruled the distribution, and jacked up prices in the process.

His ears picked up sounds, so suddenly that he almost felt them standing in attention like an alert dog.

The shabby looking man, was leading a few equally shady looking men with him. Malcolm’s blood went cold.

“Screw this” Malcolm ran as fast as his feet took him to the bike, parked 100 metres away. He fumbled with the keys in panic, for a few seconds.

“Sir, wait! I have it!”

“Fuck you!”

Malcolm drove off, all his senses screaming with adrenaline. He felt alive for the first time, after days.