Crowe takes out a QP package, cuts it open, and smells the dope.
Turns to Ben, smiles, says, “Jesus Christ.”
“To coin a phrase.”
Crowe shines his flashlight on the dope-sees red hairs and crystals. Runs some through his fingers, nice and dry, no excess moisture weight. “Very nice.”
Ben shrugs-what did you expect? “You want to smoke up, go for it.”
“No need,” Crowe says. “You want to be a grower for us, maybe we can talk.”
“Pass.”
Crowe tosses the bale to the ground, then another one, and grabs the next bale. He slices into it and pulls out another handful of dope. Smells it and nods approvingly.
“Just wanted to make sure the rest wasn’t ditch weed.”
“Your trust in me is touching.”
“Ain’t nothing about this business that has anything to do with trust,” Crowe says. He turns to Brian. “Load it up.”
“Whoa,” Ben says. “My money?”
“I almost forgot.”
“Good thing I’m here, then.”
“Get the money,” Crowe tells Brian.
Brian goes to the car, comes back with a briefcase, and hands it to Crowe.