A Storyby John Lescroart
When I think about it, I can’t believe I’m going to kill two people over weed.
I mean, come on, talk about victimless crime. Weed isn’t dangerous to anybody. Way less dangerous than alcohol, less addictive than tobacco. A harmless recreational tool that makes music sound better and sex a little more fun.
And this stuff you read in the papers about it being a gateway drug, leading to cocaine and meth and heroin—well, that’s nonsense too. There’s a correlation, sure. It’s probably rare that someone did his or her first line of coke or shot up with heroin who’d never smoked a joint, but I know literally dozens of people who enjoy a weekend toke or two and would never dream of trying anything else, anything harder.
By the time I was in college, it was every day, more or less. It was my own private vacation, and when I got a good supplier, I’d help out my friends who wanted some and take a little off the top for my trouble. So I started buying a little farther up the chain, selling to people I knew who wouldn’t be a hassle. Pretty soon I was dealing an ounce or two at a time, real money for me in those days.