Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from LOST. I do not condone or promote the use or sale of drugs.
"You're going to be late."
"It ain't a tea party, Faroukh."
"Less time there means less profit, partner."
"Why do you want me out of our lovely abode so bad, Omar? Got a hot date?"
I grinned at my roommate-slash-partner over my shoulder in the mirror. Sayid simply rolled his eyes in disgust and stalked out of my bedroom. I didn't know if he was more aggravated with me getting the last word in or me taking my sweet-ass time getting ready. It ain't easy being the face of our little operation. There's more to sales than just supply and demand, product and payment. You've got to look the part, and appeal to your clientele. And our clientele meant rich college kids on spring break or study abroad, with too much time on their hands and not nearly enough outlets at which to waste their daddy's money. I had to be flirty and just a little bit dangerous to the girls, and non-threatening and cool to the guys. I ran my fingers through my too-long blonde hair. I needed a haircut, desperately. But most of the California water-polo playing pretty boys that had flocked to Bond University this past year wore their hair that way so it helped me to fit in as I networked through their parties and not quite look the thirty-five years I was beginning to feel.
By the time I had dressed and shaved and came out into the living room, Sayid had meticulously laid my supply for the night out in neat piles. Coke, a little x, and plenty of weed. Never any prescription drugs, and never any h. It gets too complicated and too messy, and we do all right with the connections we have. Next to the assorted substances was the small .38 he always insisted I brought with me when I was pushing. I had never once needed it in our six months in Sydney, but it's important to protect yourself in our line of business. I began packing my messenger bag for the night, slipping the piece beneath the waist of my jeans and tightening my belt to keep it secure. "What are your plans for the night, Mohammed?"
He didn't answer me but just gestured towards the television, a soccer match. Sydney vs. Melbourne. Sayid's hooked up our tv with all kinds of seven hundred fifty channels satellite. He also made some sort of surveillance system for our neighborhood with this old camcorder from the eighties. He's good with his hands like that. I bet if you handed him a pen, a paper clips and a packet of m&ms, he could wire a stereo together. Sometimes, it makes me wonder what a guy like him is doing drying pot and being the 'behind the scenes' guy in our operation. But he's not much of a talker, and I've never asked him. We've been doing this for three years, and the system we've got works. So I leave him alone.
I finally got out of the apartment a little past twelve-thirty. The party was across town, just off-campus from the University, but most of the kids were probably still getting plastered in the nightclubs downtown. So I thought I'd stop in the convenience store down at the end of our block and visit with Claire for a little while.
She smiled at me when she heard the little bell jingle as I opened the door. She's a good kid, that Claire. Twenty-four but looks like she's all of sixteen, with her rosy cheeks and big baby blues. I have no idea why her asshole manager puts her on the over-night shift, or why she takes it. She must need the money real bad. So on nights when I don't have to work, I come in and sit with her through the early morning hours.
"Hey dollface," I grinned at her. "Grab me a pack, would ya?"
She flipped me a pack of Newports and matches. "You know, Sawyer, these things are really going to get you one of these days," she clucked good-naturedly.
"I'll take my chances. And they're doing wonders for my sanity."
She just shook her head and sort of laughed softly. I peaked over the counter, to the little stool where she sat when it wasn't busy. "What're you reading tonight, Claire?"
She held up an old batterd copy of Wuthering Heights. Her favorite. "Wuthering Heights? Again?" I teased her.
"What can I say? You can never get sick of a good love story."
"Remind me to bring in some Daniel Dafoe next time. You need a little adventure, girl."
She giggled and spread her arms out. "I think I have all the excitement I need in this lovely store every night?" I just shook my head. How badly did this poor girl need this crap job?
"Well, I'm heading out for a while. But I'll be back to check on you later on," I said, as I turned to leave the store.
"You don't have to do that Sawyer, I'll be all right," she said, but I couldn't help noticing that she looked a little sad.
"Baby, you always say that, but I'm here every night anyway, ain't I?"
"Yes, you never let me down."
It's a heavy thing, someone's trust in you. And I've never been one for living up to promises, but I thought, Hey, maybe I should start somewhere small. Looking back at Claire, all big baby blues and innocent pretty smiles, I thought, somewhere around five foot two and a hundred and one pounds.