Page 57 of Bad for You

“Yeah, right. See? Point proven.”

I leave her to her shopping because right now, I sound like a dumbass. I open the drawers behind the counter in hopes of finding something that will prove my hunch that this place is just a sham to conceal the illegal dealings that really take place here.

But I find nothing as expected.

“I’ll take these.”

I forgot the woman was here because that’s how interesting her tiger’s eye talk was. She smiles when I look at the array of goods she places on the counter.

Some are household items with crystals in them. I honestly don’t know about the other stuff and won’t embarrass myself further by trying to guess.

I ring up the total and blanch when this pile of junk comes in at over a hundred bucks. But the woman looks at me, confused.

When she reads my puzzlement, she clarifies, “Oh, Aldo said he left a bag of quartz for me?”

Her comment piques my interest because this is surely code for drugs.

I fucking knew it.

“My name is Chanty. He said it was in the back,” she adds before I can ask.

“Be right back.”

I round the corner and see a door down the end of the skinny hallway. I have no idea what I’m about to find when I open it. I peer around the doorjamb, expecting to see it stocked high with drugs, guns, and everything else illegal, but when I see crystals and stones, I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

This isn’t going how I thought.

Remembering I have a customer, I quickly check the shelves for her order and am definitely disappointed when I see a bag of white and pink stones with her name on it.

“What the fuck am I missing here?” I mumble under my breath as I grab the bag and make my way back into the store.

When she sees her goods, she smiles happily.

I add the bag of crap to the total, which comes to over five hundred dollars. “What are you doing with this shit?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She stops rifling through her bag. Her eyes widen before she composes herself. “I teach art.”

She offers no other explanation.

She pays me in cash and places her items in her tote. I assume she’s a “say no to plastics” kinda girl.

“Thanks. I’ll see you next week.”

I don’t ask why the fuck she needs more rock ’cause what kind of art class does she teach? I am so out of my element right now.

Chanty leaves while I wonder what I’ve missed. There’s nothing here to prove my suspicions. Everything has a place. It’s clean—too clean.

Something is amiss.

But what?

The bell once again chimes, hinting yet another customer is here.

Am I wrong? Could Aldo really be an upstanding citizen who runs a legitimate business selling…crystals?

I snort out a laugh because what in the ever-living mumbo jumbo is happening?

“Who are you?”

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