Chapter Seven:  Their Big Sale, and The Pricks With The Big Green Trucks

     About a week later, Nick and Natch, down near the water, scouring the area for new stores being opened, or the trash containers of the pricks with the big green trucks.  The sun was strong, bouncing off the windows of the tall buildings, a blinding flash of reflected light, the skies blue, one cloud, puffy, skidded across the far horizon.

     Natch watched the cloud disappear, fade into the big nothing of the blue sky and lost himself in thought.  I need a haircut, the fuckin' sideburns too long and I gotta' get laid.  Since we took this job, Nick and I, we ain't been really bustin' loose with the womens and I think I gotta' nail some pussy pretty fuckin' soon.  He also had another thought:

     "You know, Nick, we could sell alotta' weed walkin' around down here.  Looka' all the dirt bags hangin' over by the pier."

     "You think so?"  He might be right.

     "Yeah, I think we hook up with that crazy assed Mexican dude, the one we buy from and tell him we're done bein' on the wholesale side of things."

     "And if the Paco prick thinks, well, fuck those guys?"

     "That's an interesting question.  I think we hang Paco out a tenth story window by his fuckin' feet until he decides, geez, maybe these two fuckers got a point there."

     "Why don't we drop in on Paco this afternoon?"

     "Now you're talkin' my language."  Natch smiled, he loved hangin' with Nick, and he loved this gig they scored and now he loved it even more since they figured they could score some heavy quantity of weed out here.  Now, all I gotta' do today to make it perfect is get my balls waxed by some hot little tomato.



     And at that very minute, a hot little tomato was waxing a set of balls in Miami.



     As they walked, enjoying the sunshine, thinking, hey, it's getting on towards fuckin' lunch, they came across a spot, which at one time last week was empty, and now somebody is hammerin' away, puttin' up a small building.  Looks like it might be a deli, or coffee shop or some kinda' thing like that, Nick thought.

     They stopped, watched a middle aged fella, a cigar in his mouth, bent over a saw horse, cutting a pretty big hunk of fuckin' wood in half.  Natch watched a bit more then walked up to the guy.




      At the same time, the Vice President of Sales, for the pricks with the big green trucks, sored up big time, jumped in his car and decided, crap, lemme' go downtown and see for myself why we're loosin' stops and why we no longer have a sales team down there.



     "Hey buddy, whattaya' doin' here, makin' a store or something?"  Natch spoke, the guy with the cigar kept sawing, the noise pretty loud, the saw dust spinning in a small eddy due to the breeze coming around the corner.  The sawing finished, the board cut in half, the guy placed the tool down and looked at Natch, removing the stogie from his mouth.

     "Yeah."

     "So, when you're done, whattaya' gonna' do with all the fuckin' garbage?"

     "Why you need to know?"

     "Well, for one fuckin' thing, we ARE the garbage men in this area and for another thing, we are the guys gonna' pick up your garbage.  You got that?"  Natch wondering, this guy a dummy or something?

     "Yeah?"  The guy spit some stogie juice to the floor.

     "Good."  Nick stepped over the door frame, sidestepped the stogie juice and smiled at the guy, who didn't smile back, Nick thinking, what the fuck is wrong with this gamoke?

     "I'll have the can delivered tomorrow."  Natch, smiling.

     "What's it gonna' cost me?"

     "Whatever it is, you'll pay it."

     "I don't get to know?"

     "Stop breakin' my balls.  I have no fuckin 'clue what it costs, but since we are the ONLY fuckin' deal in town, you'll pay what it is."  Fuck this guy, Nick smiled.

      "Yeah?"

     "Yeah, now stop dancing.  We'll make sure you pay the right price, no games, no stupid contracts like those pricks with the big green fuckin trucks, just a handshake, me and you, we got a fuckin' deal."  Natch extended his hand.

     "You won't hurt me with the price?"

     "It's gonna' be a good price, no pain."  This sales stuff is fuckin' hard, Natch thinking.

     "Maybe I should ask around."

     "Go ahead, ask around all you want, talk to the guy across the street, the fuckin' guy next door and the guy other there, they are all happy, smilin' customers."

     Not totally true, Nick.

     "I don't need no can until I open."

     "You can get a fuckin can right now, looka' all the shit on the floor here."

     "The sawdust?"

     "Listen, buddy, we ain't got all fuckin day jerkin' around, the can is coming tomorrow, a two yard, no big deal, the smallest one we got and you will be fuckin' happy."  Natch patted the guy on his back.

     "I guess so."

     "No guessin' about it Roscoe, the can is comin tomorrow, you'll be smilin' in a big way."

     "Rocco."

     "It don't fuckin' matter."

     "What's this place gonna be?"  Nick looking around, shit he seems like a nice enough guy, this that and the other thing considered.

     "Deli, coffee shop."

     "No shit.  That's fuckin' great and listen what I'm gonna do.  I'll put the word out to all my fuckin' drivers, they gonna' stop here for their fuckin' coffee and when they wanna have fuckin' lunch"  How I'm gonna' do that is fuckin' impossible, almost all our routes are miles away, we ain't breakin' off route to get coffee at this jerkoff's place.  Nick sorta' smiled at the guy, the guy sorta' smiled back.

     "You would do that?"

     "Without a fuckin' doubt."

     Big smiles all around, hand shakes and Nick and Natch took off, heading towards the piers where they hoped to find Paco and score some major fuckin' weed.



     They did score some major fuckin weed, Paco was happy to be of service.  Quickly, though, Nick and Natch figured, what the fuck, why we gotta' buy this shit offa' Paco, we're his biggest customer, we need to find our own wholesale guy.

     They spent some time doing their homework, don't tell Natch it was homework, but they did find a pretty reliable source of heavy weight weed, and this source, this fella' well, they found out this guy could also score some serious shit.  And the serious shit was where they figured the large money was.

     After a while, when they were moving more serious shit than the source of the serious shit, Nick figured, fuck that guy.  We ought to head down to Mexico and hook ourselves up.  A fairly important guy in the trash business knew a guy and he knew the guy they needed to talk to about a direct line to Nick and Natch for the pretty serious shit.

     It took months, months of hard work, both for the trash business and for their own enterprise, but the wheels started turning and pretty soon, Nick and Natch were quite the team for the trash stuff and quite the team for the serious shit.



     Joseph was in his office, an espresso being delivered by the awesome ass wagging secretary, as he sat across from a fairly important guy in the trash business.

     "Those two kids, guys, they set things straight with those pricks with the big green trucks.  Nobody tossin' beefs around, and besides, they are kickin' up some pretty serious money.

     Joseph smiled, he always smiled when he knew he had come up with a very well thought out, very well executed (pardon the expression) plan.  "Yes, they should be salesmen of the year."



     The Regional Sales Manager for the Pricks With the Big Green Trucks had other ideas, wondering, who are these two guys scared the crap outta' my trainees?  And besides which, they got no right scaring the shit out of my regular customers, we are loosing stops to those two clowns.  More stops than we can count, contract or no, these people don't give a rats ass, and well, can you blame them, these two thugs come in, terrify the owner and bingo!, another lost stop.  Not that we had a lot of work down here anyway, but we looked at it like it was growing thing, we would grow with it.

     The Pricks With the Big Green Trucks were down to two lousy routes remaining, both only running into town three days a week.  The big, REAL BIG, executives at the Home Office (those pencil pushing assholes, he thought) had said on more than one occasion hey straighten that crap out or we don't need a Regional Sales Manager for a two bit operation we got there now.

     His green company car, a small two door something, cruised along a side street, radio on, listening to some talk radio crap, not really paying attention, these cheap bastards don't even put FM radio in this hunk of shit, forget altogether satellite radio.

     "Hey!"  There they were, the two guys, and shit, ain't that our last stop on this street?  The Regional Sales Manager for the Pricks With the Big Green Trucks pulled his car to the curb, shut it down and exited.  He hit the sidewalk at a pretty fast clip, and reached the two, ahem, salesmen, thinking to himself, what?, no company shirt?

     "Hey fellas!"

     Nick and Natch stop, Nick turning around, eyeing the guy.  Fellas?

     Natch spun around, also thinking, fellas?, what the fuck is fellas?

     "You need somethin' Mac?"  Nick, looka' this guy, and holy shit, he's got one of them douche bag shirts on, another sales puke from the pricks with the big green trucks.

     "What the fuck you want, get outta' here.  We tossed the other two assholes out, now what, we gotta' toss you too?"  Natch rapidly approaching the Regional Sales Manager, the Regional Sales Manager not exactly sure of himself at this moment, took a step back.

     "You people have been-"

     "Shut up."  Nick poked him in the chest.

     "Hey, no rough stuff."  These guy might be insane.

     "Didn't he just tell you to shut the fuck up?"  Natch poked him in the chest.

     "Can we have a conversation?"  Maybe I should run like Hell, that short one looks dangerously crazy.

     "No, fuck you, no conversation, get the fuck outta' here before we gotta' toss your fat ass in the fuckin' river."  Nick poked him again, thinking, looka' this fat fuck, got a fuckin' belly roll the size of a beach ball.

     Natch placed his arm around the guys shoulder, curling it around his neck.

     "Look, lets be reasonable, my friend is gonna' choke the shit out of you, you don't hit the fuckin' road."

     It did, at that moment, occur to the Regional Sales Manager for the Pricks With the Big Green Trucks, that he might have made a very big mistake.  He also realized, to his horror, that he really had to pee.

     "Look, fellas-"

     "Again with the fellas shit?  Hey, we ain't fellas, not to you, and not to anybody you ever met in your entire fuckin' life."

     The Regional Sales Manager began to feel a slight leakage from his very, at this minute, turtle like penis.  Holy Crap he thought, if I pee my pants, Jesus, I don't wanna' be here if that happens.

     "Dick Head, my friend here wants you to do something."  Natch squeezed the guy a bit, his arm around the chubby neck.  The guy, unfamiliar with conversations which were conducted in this fashion, was all ears.

     "You got a phone shit head?"  Nick smiled at Natch.

     Natch backed up, walking the guy backwards and together they all entered Vito's Pizza Parlor, all walking backwards.

     "Yes, I have a phone."  The guy was now beyond the point of peeing his pants, he was approaching the point where his blood pressure had reached a pretty high spike, as a slow urine leak ran down his pants leg.

     "Call your office, call your boss, the big fuckin' boss."

     "I don't know-"

     "You think this is some kinda' potsy game?  Call the office, you tell them you wanna' speak to the biggest big boss."

     "He's in Arizona."

     "They got fuckin' phones in Arizona asshole?  Call him before my friend here snaps your fuckin' turkey neck you fat bastard.  And when you do, you tell that big boss, you tell him, hustlin' trash for scum bags like you ain't your deal no more, you fuckin' quit.  Can you do that?  Can you do that before my friend rips your fat fuckin' lungs out?"

     "Hey you pissed your pants!  Jesus, what a douche bag!"  Natch smiled, aroma of urine was working it's way up.

     The Regional Sales Manager for the Pricks With the Big Green Trucks made the call, said the things we was told to say, and with tears in his eyes, quit, shut the phone off and slumped into a chair in Vito's Pizza Parlor.

     "Vito, give this guy a slice and a diet Coke."

     "Gimme' your wallet asshole."  Nick reached into the guys pants and removed the billfold.

     Nick pulled the guy's drivers license, his social security card and his company paid credit card.  Nick stuffed the wallet with sixty bucks of his own, and gave it back to the guy.

     "So we unnerstand each other.  I got your stuff, all I ever need to run you down and choke the shit out of you, you ever show up around here again."  Nick smiled as Vito passed, placing the slice and Diet Coke in front of the ex-Regional Sales Manager for the Pricks With the Big Green Trucks.

     "You got a car around here?"

     "Yeah."

     "Where fuck face?"

     "Up the block, the little one, the green compact car."

     "Don't be lookin' for it.  Take the money I just gave you and get yourself a fuckin' cab, you got it?"  Nick patted the guy on the back.

     "Can I eat the slice before I leave?"

     "Yeah, don't waste fuckin food, then wash yourself up, you smell like shit, and get the fuck outta' town."

     Which the ex-Regional Sales Manager for the Pricks With the Big Green Trucks did, very happy to be leaving town in one piece, but still very much alive.



     Nick and Natch stole the little green car, Natch wondering who the fuck gives people cars like this shit box to drive?



     After a while they arrived at a certain place, a place they were doing some business with, and this place could take a car apart and sell off the parts very nicely, no fuckin' questions asked.  Nick and Natch get a few hundred from the guy who said :  "where the fuck you get this piece of shit?, smiling as he handed them the money......


Next Chapter Eight:  NOT SO FUNNY..