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WARNING This thread contains drug usage starting with the 1st post. Reader discretion is advised. |
Among other things, his encounter with the exotic Lolita had been quite constructive--he'd figured out enough to get his bearings straight, anyway. She'd confirmed that the overgrown rubble to the north was indeed Halifax, and that the landscape was less apocalyptic (or maybe more, depending on one's perspective) further south. As an added bonus, he was considerably closer to his final destination than anticipated--even with all of his things in tow, he could see Crimson Dreams' borders within a day... could being the operative word, of course.
Although his mother had been insistent on him "hauling his arse down to Savina as soon as possible" (her words), the young wolf couldn't see what another day would hurt. Besides, what Anselm had tasked him with seemed much more interesting, and the teen reasoned since he was already in Halifax anyway, it only made sense to check out the garage (and elaborate drug empire Anselm had established) first. It was either ironic or fitting that fixing up the place had been his mother's doing when she passed through so many months ago--though Anselm's contributions, he'd find, were far from trivial.
The sweet scent of marijuana and poppy plants had beckoned him like a moth to flame long before he'd caught sight of the modest structure matching Anselm's description. He found the greenhouse out back to be warm, humid, and full of thirsty plants. The spring rains had allowed the outdoor crop to flourish, but a good fortnight without Anselm's careful maintenance had left those indoors wilted. Barrett quickly located one of the dollies and jugs his grandfather had mentioned and went to fetch water. His work was slow and laborious, though at one point he was approached by two burly, yet amicable fellows who--of all things--offered him help.
One of them, clearly the ringleader, identified himself as Axle and explained that he recognised the bronze key around Barrett's neck. The young wolf was surprised that Anselm had failed to mention the duo, and, though his knee-jerk reaction was to insist that he could handle it on his own (and therefore keep the proceeds to himself), he recognised the advantage of having muscle on hand to guard the property, especially in his absence. And so, once all work was complete, they settled on a deal over a smoke, much in the way his grandfather had done before him.
By the time the dogs left to tend to business of their own, the sun had completed a good chunk of its daily hike across the Canadian sky. Barrett was left feeling both pleased and bewildered--surely the good things in life weren't supposed to come so simply, and yet here he was, a boy king on his crooked throne. Already he commanded the loyalty of two watchmen--and they'd explained that Anselm had a reasonably established clientèle base to boot.
He fished some rolling papers from his bag, rolled up a fat one (oh, to never worry about going dry again!), and found his way out front with his board. For a time, the pale smoke wafting on the gentle breeze and the clatter of failed ollies and kickflips were the only signs of life in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood.
