“You don’t want to find out.”

“Okay, but just for the sake of discussion.”

Old Guys Rule looked at him like he was wondering if this kid was fucking with him, and then said, “We put you out of business.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Ben asked. He saw the look on the guy’s face and said, “I know-I don’t want to find out. And if I do pay this fee?”

OGR held out his hands and said, “Welcome to the market.”

“Got it.”

“So we have an understanding.”

“We do,” Ben said.

OGR smiled.

Satisfied.

Until Ben added, “We have an understanding you’re an asshole.”

Because it’s also Ben’s understanding that no one controls the marijuana market.

Cocaine-yes. That would be the Mexican cartels.

Heroin-ditto.

Meth-the biker gangs, more recently the Mexicans.

Prescription pills-the pharmaceutical industry.

But the 420?

Free market.

Which is excellent, because it runs by market rules-price point, quality, distribution.

The customer is king.

So Ben pretty much dismissed this guy as some whack-job trying to jerk his chain. Still, it’s a little troubling, Ben thought-how does the guy know who I am?

And who is this guy?

Whoever he is, he gave Ben one of those old-school stares until Ben actually had to laugh.

OGR stood up and said, “You motherfuckers think you’re the kings of cool, right? You know everything, no one can tell you anything? Well, let me tell you something-you don’t know shit.”

OGR gave Ben one more Bobby Badass look and then walked out.

The kings of cool, Ben thought.

He kind of liked it.

Now he turns his attention back to the game.

5

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Ben says, lacing his fingers behind his head and tilting his face to the sun.