The next night, things went smoother than we expected. By 1 a.m., we had already sold everything and headed home.
But business wasn't all smooth sailing. On the 4th night, things got dicey.
A guy malik sold to earlier came back, sweating bullets, claiming it didn't hit right.
"Are you sure you did it right?" Malik asked, cool as ever.
The guy didn't push it, but it was a reminder to move fast before word got out.
By the fifth night, we were down to the last of it.
The paranoia was creeping in hard, but the money kept us moving.
Each sale felt like a small victory, a step closer to being done.
Then came the final night, a Friday.
The stash was smaller now, no need for us to spread out. Tonight, we were hitting The Drop, a popular downtown club crawling with high school kids.
It was packed, the kind of crowd where you could vanish if you needed to.
Malik was in his element, working the floor like a seasoned pro, shaking hands, slapping backs, his charm infectious.
"Alright, boys," Malik said, pulling Duke and me into a quick huddle near the DJ booth. "I'm going upstairs. Duke, you stick with me for the first hour. Luis, you hold down the fort down here. Keep your eyes peeled."
Upstairs, the VIP section was a haze of smoke and strobe lights. Malik, smooth as silk, moved through the crowd, a phantom in the shadows. Duke, ever watchful, trailed a step behind, his eyes scanning the room.
Downstairs, I felt the bass thumping in my chest, the vibration a constant reminder of the risk we were taking.
The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume and desperation.
A couple of hours in, things got hairy.
A couple of hulking guys, clearly not high schoolers, started sniffing around. They weren't cops, I could tell, but they were trouble.
They were asking about "product," using street names I hadn't heard before. My gut clenched. This wasn't part of the plan.
I subtly signaled to Duke, who was just coming down the stairs with Malik. We needed to move, and fast.
Malik, ever the quick thinker, grabbed a couple of girls from the dance floor, pulling them into our little group.
"Act like you know us," he whispered to them. "Just smile and keep moving."
The hulking guys eyed us suspiciously, but the girls' presence seemed to throw them off. They grunted and moved on. Crisis averted.
My heart pounded in my chest. This was too close.
After that scare, we tripled our efforts, selling the rest of our stash with a newfound urgency.
Every transaction was a gamble, a whispered exchange in the dimly lit corners of the club.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we were clean. Every last gram was gone.
We met up near the exit, adrenaline still pumping. "Let's get the hell out of here," Malik said, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Out on the street, the cool night air was a welcome relief.
We walked in silence for a few blocks until we got to Malik's car.
The weight of the night slowly lifted. Then, Malik let out a whoop. "We did it, boys! We're done!"
Back at Malik's house, we sat around the same table that had once held the ruined product.
Now, it was covered in stacks of cash.
Malik leaned back in his chair, a look of disbelief on his face. "We actually did it, and we're still breathing.
"I told you," I said with a grin. "It's all about the right product and the right market."
Duke laughed, pouring shots of whiskey for the three of us. "Here's to baby formula and benzocaine. Who would've thought?
We clinked glasses.