Kenton had a good problem, if a good problem could existed in narcotics sales. The demand for his products was so strong that he couldn’t fill all of the incoming requests.
Initially he dealt with it as many dealers would – shorting orders just enough that it wasn’t noticeable and if they tested and weighed with precision scales it was arguably a mistake. Then he took the next step and started adding in fillers. Plenty of options existed that were non-toxic to the end user but also not what they were paying for… he has crossed the line in a dangerous game.
Without a reliable and robust set of suppliers he called a meeting of what he considered his management team. Even at a young age and in a business that was fluid and disorganized, Kenton ran it like a business. His managers were aligned by territories – with newly promoted members given competitive turf or “greenfield” locations serviced only by the local corner store drug dealers. They were also organized by what Kenton coined the “legal and financial cross section”. The further up the risk profile you wanted to run – from recreational drugs to hardcore life altering poisons – the greater the financial reward. With increased financial opportunity came increased jail terms for those involved so Kenton allocated responsibility amongst his team wisely. At the end of the game, it was his neck on the line.
The meeting was quick and to the point as was Kenton’s approach. He never liked to meander in his thoughts when he had already come to a decisive conclusion that had to be accepted by the group. He was not lobbying for consensus.
“Boys, we’re going to Mexico. I’ve done my research and come to the realization that the risks we are taking with our current method of backfilling product are just as high as the risk of coming across the border. We’ll cut out another distribution touch point, improve margins and most importantly secure inventory. I’ll arrange your schedules.”
Simple.
Kenton was more comfortable with Mexico than the usual hotspots in South America for the simple fact that Mexico was right there with the US on a map. North America felt more comfortable and that was the end of his research.
His Spanish was for the most part non-existent but he went to the local library and took out some tapes “Spanish 101” and began practicing it late at night quietly in his room in his parent’s home. They would hear him mumbling to himself with their ears pressed to his door as their concerns about his behaviour increased. He would shuffle to the door, fling it open with a “surprise!” and greet them with a sombrero on his head, explaining they had a school project all about ancient Mexico.
He was shocked at the inventory when he arrived. Checked over thoroughly by his soon to be partners he was quickly surrounded by an unimaginable amount of pills, powders and vials. He kept a strong poker face as though this was all as to be expected but inside he was a kid in a candy store wanting to touch it all, see if it was actually all real and that he wasn’t dreaming. His mind calculated how many lives would be ruined as these shelved emptied and were restocked over and over again. He was pleased that his new friends interchanged between English and Spanish with relative ease.
Left alone at a table in the smoky room he shook his head in amazement. Even for Kenton’s wild ways this trip had his heart racing. A teenager with stacks of cash, huddled up in the heart of Mexico City, Mexico. He was asking to have his throat slit but he convinced himself that while he was dealing with organized crime that had little to no conscious about how to make a buck, if he could keep up the façade of calm and experienced in smuggling they would see much more value to him alive than dead. It was an oddly comforting mindset.
The initial transaction would need to be an all cash deal, credit rarely extended in cross border dealings. Kenton pushed forward $100,000, leaving him with his clothes, wallet and passport to defend him should things turn hostile. He took the simple approach of handing over everything before negotiating to give him credibility in the eyes of his skeptics. He walked them through the opportunity, his business model and why a nineteen year old was sitting in front of them looking for an international distribution partner. Kenton had no idea he was grooming himself for presentations later in life in much more polished attire and boardrooms.
When he finished they said nothing. They sat in silence for what appeared to be an awkward five minutes but in reality what Kenton would later learn was just the pace that his Mexicans friends liked to move. He would remind himself to calm his speech, words and even movements to meld into the sun burned culture of his counterparts in later meetings to put them at ease.
The silence was interrupted when the man to Kenton’s left (that he would come to know as “Fuego”) turned to him and gently grabbed his left hand. Fuego turned over Kenton’s hand and with his stained knife he traced the veins in Kenton’s wrist up to his elbow. He said nothing as he applied increasingly more pressure on the knife until it just pierced the skin. Kenton knew his role and sat motionless, while his heart and mind continued to race. Without looking down he could feel the warmth of his own blood pooling on his forearm.
Just as swiftly as Feugo had initiated the test he eased off. Kenton kept his glare straight ahead during this strange initiation process.
Kenton arrived back at the hotel with what he estimated to be about $300,000 in street value drugs. A 3X return on investment was a reasonable estimate and could go as high as a 400% return if he was willing to slowly release the inventory at his prices instead of dumping it all quickly. The other four that made the trek with him had waited nervously in their shared hotel room. When Kenton dumped it all triumphantly on the bed their nervousness only increased – this was real.
The plan was to drive over the border and then once back in the US to fly home to Boston. While it would have been safer to continue the long drive home it was impossible to explain their collective absence for longer than a couple days.
Following instructions Kenton had provided, the team carefully emptied shampoo, Advil, Tylenol, hairspray and any other container that would fall on the lower end of the scrutiny scale should they be searched at any point along the way home and refilled them with marijuana, hashish, cocaine and a wide array of steroids and recreational stimulants.
None of the boys slept. It seemed logical that their Mexican friends would tip someone off and attempt a double dip by paying them a visit and recovering their product. With every voice in the night or noise in the distance they gripped their only weapon – their fists – tighter and the silence in their room grew more noticeable. If Kenton had ever truly experienced stress it was sitting on the edge of a single bed hotel room that night in Mexico.
It wasn’t the financial reward that he prized, that was secondary. It was the fact that he could do it. That he could pull it off. The ringmaster with his den of lions watching in amazement.
Kenton howled like a wolf to break the silence prompting whispers of “shut the fuck up Kenton!” from the boys.
“Fellas, there’s no turning back now. If they are coming to get us, we’re as good as dead so fuck it. Let’s just relax, do a line and watch the clock tick until it’s time to head out.”
Kenton took out a straw, cut it in quarters and spread out the coke on the dresser. Taking a long hit he sat back on the bed with a large grin on his face.
“We’ll be ok boys. Stick with me, we’ll be ok.”
And with that he closed his eyes, fell back on the bed and contemplated as he had many times previously in a similar state of mind – was it all just a game for him or was this his attempt at suicide in his own subtle way.
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