Ricardo Carlos is a 34-year-old drug dealer. His dream is to be a successful kingpin in Vice City. He has been dealing drugs since the age of 10 and has been arrested in his 20s. He was an ex-Los Santos Vagos gang member. -- Anon Guest
Things change too fast, amigo. You grow up learning one way to climb the ladder and then the asshole at the top pushes it down. Used to be you could go places. Move product, show your strength, don't take any shit... and one day you could get to be bossman.
Los Santos Vagos used to mean something. Wanna escape reality? We got your shit. Just shake hands with a saint. It's all gone to shit, amigo. It's all gone to shit.
Eneftees. Fucking eneftees. They're not even real, you know? Picture of a monkey looks like he's been hit with the ugly stick is worth more money than God's got? It's horseshit, but it's how things move now. Ain't nobody got time for dime bags in the alley near the bodega, no more.
I tried to hustle some of them graphics cards for the boss? I didn't get nothing. No credit, no notice, just another stretch on my rap sheet.
How was I to know they were an allied gang's shipment? Ain't no names on it, amigo. Boss sorted it out, but I had to go down.
I'm done with following my boss.
Fuck him.
You and me, amigo. And the gringo with IT privileges. I got the smarts, you got the arts, and the gringo? He's got the skills. Here's the math, mi hombre. You draw a thousand little pictures. All the same kind'a thing. I dunno, man. Fallen angels or something. Out of all of them, you got like eight hundred with a lot of similar features, right? One hundred of what's left over has like unusual shit about them. A unique scar or something. Like those switcher pictures you do with sharpie on them clear cups, you savvy?
Yeah. Now you get it. The last hundred, you pick like ten of them and colour some shit about them real funky. Tie dye. Rainbows. Doesn't matter. Not to us.
Meanwhile the gringo's doing the code, right? These eneftees are all code anyways. He does the security, codes the certificates, does the arengee shit... and then they go on the market.
Mi familia, they know the plan. They buy and sell and trade with the money they got and spread the word. Bid on these funky coloured motherfuckers, they're super rare.
And then when it's all up, they sell, pocket the money, and wait for us to serve the terms. We could each buy a state. Buy a president, eh?
That kind'a money, we don't need to do crime no more.
One thousand pictures? Two billion dollars. Each. Easy.
Whaddaya say, amigo?
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / cthoman]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [54 remaining prompts!]