“I guess we can’t call the cops now, “ Joe said.
“Your goal all along,” Ransom pointed out. “I really thought I was the bad influence, why can I never be the bad influence?”
“We’ll have to figure out what to do with the drugs,” Joe said, setting his bag down and heading towards Ransom.
“Lots of straws, we’re gonna need lots of straws,” Ransom said, “or needles, I guess, I have no idea what is in the bags.”
“We could just cut them open and dump them in the creek,” Joe said as he reached into the bag and grabbed one of the cellophane wrapped packages, “trying to sell the stuff would be really stupid.”
“We could save some for a rainy day,” Ransom said, half joking.
“Or we could dump it in the creek,” Joe said, “that would be the safest route.”
“We’d have to do it at night,” Ransom pointed out, “too many people wander up and down the trails, too many kayaks and canoes.”
“Yeah,” Joe agreed, “should we open one to see what it is?”
“No,” Ransom finally admitted, to Joe and himself, “that would be an even worse idea than, say, crossing the street and taking the bags in the first place.”
“Okay, I will run in and grab a couple of different bags, you start a fire.”
Ransom left the stuff right where it was, on the garage floor, and fought the urge to count the money. He went down the hill to the fire pit Joe had created in his back yard and began to build a pile of small sticks, looking around for leaves and dried grass to use as tinder. By the time he was ready to light it, Joe was handing him a package of matches.
“Fire it up, I’ll grab the stuff and be right back.”
“okie dokie,” Ransom replied, the nervousness returning now that he could breathe regularly.