Horse gets these thoughts. He wants to write a book someday, he claims, and is creative in an eccentric sort of way, so I don’t fault him for that idea. But he goes over the top with his next scheme. He devises a plan that will make us beach bums a big pile of money.
He claims he has knowledge of how to concoct a mix that will pass for real cocaine, of which we can sell easily here to the tourists. It is simple, he tells us, so we listen to his proposal.
All he needs is enough cash to acquire some specific over-the-counter drugs, apply a little bit of his expertise, and we soon stand to make hundreds in return. We do have a gullible market here, he reminds us, so we all agree to pony up some cash.
He then borrows Frank’s old car, and heads for town.
After three days of silence, we get concerned about our money. Frank is more worried about his beater, but Horse finally shows up on the fourth day, empty handed and grinning all crazy-like, and after some waiting for him to relax a little, we get the lowdown.
It seems he succeeded in step one and two with no problem at all, but when it came time to sell the wares, he hit a slight snag. Outside a convenience store, he tells us, he encounters a decent sort who has an interest, but the man wants proof. They then retire to this fellow’s home nearby for a test of the goods.
It looks like cocaine, the man said.
It tastes like the real deal, they seemed to agree.
It even had the familiar burn that follows snorting it up one’s nose, Horse tells us.
Apparently, it was high quality coke too, but temptation set in, for then, over the course of the next few days, they both proceeded to enjoy the whole batch until it eventually disappeared.
Horse now proclaims to any that will listen that it was indeed the best damn cocaine he had ever had, but he now regrets that it is all gone.
Bunk cocaine he got; he just never seemed to get the irony.