I used to cut the stuff in my living room, usually late at night when everyone else was passed out. I used baby formula sometimes even though it’s sweet. Most people don’t notice anyway. I could take an ounce of crank and turn it into a hundred one gram bags in two hours.
Tweakers are jumpy, paranoid people so I pushed a lot of quantity discounts on anyone who had the cash. I wanted to deal with as few people as possible. I’d snort a little myself but I wasn’t a real user. It’s a living.
I had a few close calls, of course — you gotta expect that. Like once a guy I’d known forever drove me out to the boonies pretending to look for his dealer, then pulled a gun, took all my cash and left me there to walk home in the freezing cold.
The worst time was when I sold a bag to a whacked ex-con in my neighborhood. His name was Jeremy and he was a really big dangerous looking dude. He lived in an old converted motel, just one big room with a small bathroom out back.
The place smelled real bad, like old pee or something; tweakers always have a bad smell. I was planning to drop off a bag and get the hell out but he kept saying he wanted to do serious business so I stayed. “This’ll tell the tale,” he said, and then he whipped out some old works and started mixing up my stuff. Before I new it, he had popped it. I don’t like to be around people when they’re getting off and I was starting to get a little panicky.
He pulled out the needle and just sat there real still. Then he looked at me with this warped smile and said, “What’re you up to, you little prick.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a pistol and sat it down real hard on the table. I tried to act cool and suggested he try a different bag. His smile was gone then and he grabbed another bag from me which was my prime personal stash. He booted a full one from that bag and just let the works fall to the floor. I knew he was starting a good run and I had a chance to get out of there.
I told him to keep the bag and I’d check back with him later and then I left as fast as possible. Now whenever I see Jeremy he asks me for the good stuff. I tell him I’m out of the business but I know he doesn’t believe me. I keep thinking about that gun. Crank makes people crazy.