The Celebration

Eighty six thousand six hundred and twenty one dollars.

The end tally on the money we collected earlier that evening. We had driven around the county and north over the state border collecting green trash baggies of the bills locked up in self-storage places. The bags were usually wrapped in an old ragged paint tarp or hidden in amongst similar bags filled with junk-store quality used clothing. The collected bags filled both trunks of large American cars by the time it was over.

We had taken two vehicles - one following the other closely enough to provide protection but far enough away to avoid detection. I rode with my boyfriend Ronnie. He was the only one who knew where we were going until we got there. Both cars were equipped with handguns for every man and also a sawed off shotgun for each guy in the back seat - one in each car. It was the first time I had ever seen Ronnie or any of his people carrying loaded weapons.

It was so scary I was almost peeing my pants, but I wanted to be more a part of Ronnie's world and Ronnie's world was dangerous and illegal. It was a surreal experience from start to finish. That special kind of rush you get when you know you shouldn't be doing something, but feeling so cool you wouldn't miss it for the world.

I didn't know if the guns were to protect us from a potential robbery by rival groups or for a shoot-out if cops came. I didn't want to think about what might have happened either way.

Eighty five grand isn't much money by today's standards I guess, but back then is was enough to buy a very nice house even in major cities. It was more money that I thought I would ever see at one time.

This was true drug money. It wasn't like the movies with crisp hundred dollar bills stacked nicely into a leather briefcase. The bills were wrinkled and torn from time spent in blue jeans pockets - enough to get some horny boy and his girlfriend high on Friday night. $5 given to a teen to go to the roller skating ring, spent instead to buy a few loose joints. $20 earned by a fast food worker and used to buy a gram of crank. The change from a few trips to the store for mom, never returned to her and instead used to buy a few black beauties.

This was street drug money collected over time by some of Ronnie's local distributors. There was a shitload of it. Not a bill over $50 in the stack and very few of those. It was currently lying on my bedroom floor stacked into in $100 dollar stacks so we could count it all.

Ronnie and I had been counting and recounting the money for hours - stopping periodically to laugh, drink, snort a line, and occasionally fuck. It's kind of trite scene from a B-movie to see a drug dealer and his girlfriend rolling around on a bed full of cash these days, but we did it loud and proud like we had invented the idea. Ronnie was riding high on his nights score, I could tell, and he was riding me pretty hard which I had no complaints about. The sex was electric and fun and just kept getting more inventive as we went.

It was pretty fucking hot and I was enjoying myself to the point of being out of my head, and I was letting him throw me about on that bed to take me any way he wanted. I wanted him to take me and make me cum all over that money, even if some of those bills smelled pretty rank.

It was just a bit awkward because I knew that four of Ronnie's friends were in the house - each wired, buzzed and armed to the teeth. The creaking bed and un-stifled moans and giggles were nothing I'm sure they hadn't heard before but I tried not to think about that. (It's hard to have too much privacy when you live with a drug dealer.)

Each time we finished fooling around we had to recount whatever stacks we hadn't already bound with rubber bands. I sat there naked and counted some of that money for what was perhaps the 3rd time while Ronnie admired the view. He would break up another rock of coke or roll up another joint now and again when I got to embarrassed I begged for him to stop.

After a while, Ronnie realized it had been a while since he had looked in on his guys - and I could tell with over $80K in the house we was a bit paranoid even if we were having a good time. He slid his pants back on and left the bedroom to check in.

I heard them talking - reminding me again that they could hear us as well - and heard one of the guys ask Ronnie "when they got a turn." It had been Mark, a big bully of a man who had ridden with a shotgun all night in the back of the second car.

There was no humor in his voice. This wasn't Mark just razzing Ronnie. Suddenly everyone got quiet and even from the other room, I sensed there was some tension. It was a concern any time a bunch of drugged up gangsters got into a disagreement but doubly so for me because Ronnie was the only one in the bunch not heavily armed.

After a silence of entirely too long, Ronnie muttered "Dude, you ain't been here long, so I'll excuse you this time. She's different and she's mine... You want some pussy we can get you some, but lets get this fucking haul tucked away first."

I could tell by the footsteps that Ronnie had started walking away from the door after he said this - his attempt to move the conversation away from the bedroom door and my ears. Mark didn't seem happy with the answer. He muttered "don't seem right - you getting all the fun while we sit out here with our dicks in our hands." I would really grow to dislike this man over time.

When Ronnie came back in the room, he had a few big old hard sided suitcases and we stacked $70,000 of the money into them. $5,000 he taped to the bottom of drawers he took from my bedroom dresser and nightstand. Another $8,000 he sat aside to pay the guys - he pushed this into a brown lunch bag and dropped it next to the door.

He then flipped off the light, and I guessed that this meant it was time for sleep, which was a good thing since it was perhaps 4 in the morning. But Ronnie wasn't finished yet, and as soon as he was naked in bed he was maneuvering my head down and I knew exactly what he wanted from me. While I serviced him he gave me directions - Ronnie never did this ever. I knew he was taunting Mark.

This kind of theatrics was just par for the course when living with Ronnie, and I had learned to find the humor and even the power in it. This time, though, it made me uneasy and I tried to pull back and tell him to stop it. He wasn't having any.

He had his hands on the back of my head tightly and I wasn't allowed to stop until he had finished. Ronnie almost never came in my mouth even when I wanted him too - so I knew this was 100% just for show. He knew Mark was probably sitting outside the door. That was just the way Ronnie was - he let people know who was in charge. I could say it made me feel cheap - but in truth I kind of liked the feeling that I was special enough to cause friction.

When he was done, we finally got to sleep, but around 8:30 he woke me up to give me some instructions as he said he had to leave for a while.

He told me to take his $5,000 out of the dresser a $500 at a time over the next days in 10 different checking accounts we had set up all over the county. Ronnie also let me know the $621 dollars not counted into the stacks of thousands was mine.

I knew that the other guys had been promised $2000 each for the nights work - but I didn't feel cheated at all. I was just eye candy - not a gun toting body guard- and probably would have gone for free.

Finally, he told me go put my hair up, put on a bit of makeup, then to put on the night gown behind the door and go make the boys breakfast. He and I both knew that wearing that thing was so thin that it was almost like being naked, which was the whole point.

I never crossed Ronnie at times like this. I did as I was told - making sense of my hair and morning puffy face as best I could. I bent down to slip on some panties but Ronnie stopped me, goosed my ass and basically tossed me out of the room.

The moment I hit the hallway, four sets of eyes hit by body and stayed there. The gown hung on me like wet paint and I was painfully aware of this. Though every shade in the house was closed because we weren't anxious for prying eyes, there was still enough sunlight coming in for them to catch my silhouette through the thin fabric.

I proceeded to make breakfast, cringing internally whenever I had to bend down to get a skillet or open the fridge with its bright interior light. Ronnie was right behind me on the way out the bedroom, so at least I knew everyone would behave - and they did - thanking me for breakfast and even picking up their pates and placing them in the sink when finished - not something I bet they did at home.

Breakfast served, Ronnie and the crew quickly packed and I did not see or hear from them again for almost a week. (I was worried the whole time too - I didn't trust even Ronnie's people when I knew there $70K available that they might consider their own and take with a few gunshots.)

When I did, it was like our life suddenly kicked into a whole new gear. That $70,000 was used to buy us into a whole new business with higher stakes and higher payouts. I didn't know it then, but Ronnie had bought a territory and sold his soul to what would become known as a cartel. They were less violent then, but were still people you didn't so no too.

Before it was over, I would become too involved in all of this, but I was young, naïve, and all I knew was that we seemed 10 foot tall and bulletproof. We had money, powder and power.

Right up until we didn't.