Chapter 1: Money Trees
Disclaimer:
The following story is a work of fiction. It does not promote, encourage, or support the use, purchase, or sale of any kinds of drugs or illegal substances.
I repeat: Do not take inspiration from this story.
All characters, events, and situations described are entirely fictional and bear no connection to real people or real-life incidents.
For any reader: Do not consume drugs. Substance abuse is dangerous, harmful, and has severe, life-altering consequences.
“Narcotics is a dirty business.” -Sagar Alias Jackie.
Episode 1: Money Trees
It was a sunny morning, the scorching heat pressing down. A man in his twenties carried a box in his hands. He wore a yellow formal shirt with black pants neatly tucked in. Stopping at the gate, he glanced at the board sign: House No. 67.
He was in Leisure Woods—a quiet suburb for retired people, a perfect for salesmen like him. His name was Joey Antionnie . Half American, half Italian from his mother’s side—that’s where he got his sharp looks. He had a draped hairstyle, stood about six feet tall, and carried himself with confident charm.
At the door, Joey rang the bell, taking a deep breath. “I got this,” he whispered to himself.
He rang twice, but no one answered. Just as he was about to press it a third time, the door opened. A sweet old woman stood there, wearing a white house gown. She looked at him curiously.
“How may I help you?” she asked kindly.
“Good morning, Ma’am!” Joey greeted warmly, his smile open and reassuring. “My name’s Joey Antionnie, from Jackiesville. I’m here with something special—Little Missus Pickles. We have every flavor you could imagine—sweet, spicy, even fried pickles and pickled watermelon rinds. One taste, and I promise, it’ll make your day a little brighter.”
The woman shook her head gently. “I’m sorry, young man. I’m not interested. I already have some at home.” She began to close the door.
Joey stepped forward just enough to appear earnest, his voice soft and friendly. “Oh, Ma’am, I completely understand. But before you decide, may I share something with you? Every jar we sell helps children battling cancer. Just a small purchase from you… it could give them a moment of happiness in a difficult day. And honestly, someone with your kind heart—you wouldn’t want to turn your back on that, would you?”
He shows her photos of sick children, smiling faintly as they are eating their meal. One by one the lady goes through the photos feeling bitter.
The woman paused, her eyes softening. “I… I don’t know." " I mean I do feel bad for these kids, I really do, but unfortunately I don't need any more pickles."
Joey tilted his head slightly, his smile gentle, almost coaxing. “Ma’am, you have the kind of heart that makes the world better. You remind me of my Nanna—she never let anyone go hungry, no matter how little she had. You have that same glow, that same generosity. Surely, you wouldn’t walk past when you can make such a difference? May I ask do you have grand kids?”
Her lips trembled. “I… I do have three grandchildren. Stacey, Mason, and Jonathan.”
“Jonathan!” Joey’s eyes lit up. “Johnny! I can tell he’s the funniest, keeps you on your toes? Quite the prankster, right?”
She smiled faintly. “Yes… mischievous little chap. But I adore him.”
Joey pulled another photo from his folder—three kids playing Monopoly, pale and fragile. One boy bore a striking resemblance to her grandson. He let her look at it quietly, letting the connection settle.
“See that boy, Ma’am? Doesn’t he remind you of Johnny? These kids… they don’t have a grandma to love them. But you… you could be their hope. Just one small act, and you’d be giving them a moment of joy. Isn’t that a wonderful thing to do?”
Her eyes misted. “Oh… those poor children…”
Joey’s smile softened, almost intimate, like a trusted friend. “Ma'am look at them so sick and lonely , don' you think they deserve help?"
“Oh, these poor children… they really do need help. Tell me, how much do you charge for these?”
"Well Ma'am, here’s the beautiful thing—you can help without it costing much at all. Fourteen dollars. One jar for you, also one for free too. Our special offer, buy one get one more for free. A small choice, but an enormous difference. And honestly… anyone with a heart as big as yours wouldn’t let this chance pass by.”
Her defenses melted. She sighed, touched. “Well… I suppose you leave me no choice. I’ll buy one.”
Joey’s smile was warm, triumphant yet humble. “That’s wonderful, Ma’am. You’ve just done something extraordinary today. Your Johnny would be so proud of you.”
He packed two jars into a bag, handed them to her with a slight bow, and accepted the cash.
The woman smiled, her heart lightened by the thought of helping, and closed the door.
Joey walked away, suitcase in hand, slipping the money into his pocket with a satisfied smirk.
Time: 3:55 pm
Joey walked next door and rang the bell, hoping for his next quick opportunity.
A voice called out from inside, gruff but curious:
“Who is it?”
“Hi, sir. I’m from the service center. You mentioned a problem with your TV?” Joey said, keeping his tone polite, with just a hint of charm.
“Only ten minutes since I called, and you’re already here? Wow… you guys are fast!”
“That’s our specialty, sir,” Joey said, smirking, letting his confidence fill the silence for a second.
Click. The door swung open. An old man stood there, wearing a blue-collared sweater even in the summer. Joey had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. " Is he out of his mind?" Joey thinks.
“Step in,” the man said, waving a hand. Joey ducked inside, set down his suitcase, and pulled out his tools like a pro. He crouched to inspect the TV.
“It seems like a connectivity issue… easy fix. Wish Sammy were here to help!.”
“Do it quick , boy! I can’t miss my fishing show,” the man barked, tapping the armrest of his chair.
“You fish, sir?” Joey asked, leaning slightly on the doorway, buying time and to keeping the conversation light.
“Yep. Only on weekends with my boys. Couple of beers, some fishing at Tiger Lake. Simple pleasures.”
Joey nodded, pretending to be fascinated. “Fishing’s great. I love it too.”
“Really? You don’t look it. I thought guys your age goes out out partying or something… I don’t know… whatever young folks do.”
“Well… I had a grandfather who loved fishing. Every Sunday, he’d take me to Canary Lake in Mansonville. Sadly… he’s gone now.” Joey’s smile softened, looking depressed over the thought.
“I’m so sorry, son,” the man said.
“Well he did leave me his gear. He said to give it to someone who loves the art of fishing! That's what he said before he passed away. I was thinking of selling it to his friend Thomas for $300, but Thomas… he didn’t really care about fishing. He just liked my grandfather. So I couldn’t do it.” Joey shrugged, looking down at the floor.
“That’s a shame. Why not just keep it?” The old man said.
“I do have it with me. But I feel one day, I wish I could do just the right thing, you know? Find the right guy and pass it on.” Joey glanced at the old man, hoping for a little understanding.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Can I see the gear?”
Joey grinned and opened the bag like a magician revealing his trick. Inside gleamed high-end fishing equipment. The old man’s eyes went wide when he spotted a premium high end rod and it was the Sage Sonic Spey Fly Rod, easily worth ranging from $600–$1,000 worth anywhere from $600 to $1,000.
Joey closed the bag gently and flicked the TV back on. The screen came on playing the fishing documentary playing just in time.
“That’ll be $120, sir. All fixed—for now,” Joey said.
The old man handed over the money. Joey started moving towards the door, backpack over his shoulder, but then a voice called from behind:
“Wait!”
Joey stopped, smiling with an easygoing grin. “Yes, sir?”
“The fishing rod—you were going to sell it for $300, right?”
“Yeah, sir. Why?” Joey raised one brow, curious.
“Well… I’d like to buy it for $350. Seems like a solid one.”
Joey tapped his chin dramatically, pretending to think it over. “$350 is too low, sir. If you can do $500, then we have a deal.”
“$500? You said $300 before!” The old man exclaimed.
“That was my first thought, but my grandfather really loved this rod. Selling it cheap feels… disrespectful to him,” Joey said, shrugging with a playful smile.
“$400?” the old man offered, leaning forward slightly.
“$460,” Joey countered, crossing his arms with a mischievous grin.
“$450,” the man said, shaking his head but chuckling.
“Deal,” Joey said, tipping an imaginary hat like an old-time gambler.
The old man shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, watching Joey walk away.
Little did he know he was duped.
" Poor guy!" He looked as the door with a smirk and starts walking.
Joey’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen—it was Sammy.
“Hey man! What are you up to? ” Sammy says in a cheerful tone.
“Not much,” Joey replied, walking down the sidewalk. “Just wrapped up my sales for the day. If this keeps up, I might actually be able to cover rent this month.”
“Hey, Jackson’s throwing a party tonight at his house, starts around midnight. You coming?”
Joey paused, kicking a small pebble on the street. “Hmm… depends. Will Natasha be there?” His voice held a thread of hope.
“Natasha, huh?” Sammy teased. “You two still on good terms? I mean… after what I heard, have you talked to her again?” Sammy asks, curious.
“Well, we used to date—you know that—but it’s been a month since we took a break. I was kind of hoping I’d run into her tonight. She and Jackie were friends back in high school, so… you never know. Keep me posted if she shows up?”
“No worries, I got you,” Sammy said. “But honestly, man, even if she doesn’t come, just show up for me."
Joey smiled faintly, a mix of anticipation and nerves. “Alright, I will be there. midnight right?"
“Yep, see you there!” Sammy says, hanging up the call.
Joey slipped his phone back into his pocket and kept walking, thoughts drifting to what tonight might hold.
Later at 12:15 PM
246 Olive Street 42B Jackie's apartment.
Joey arrived at the door, carrying a bag that seemed heavier than it looked, a sly grin playing on his lips. Nestled inside was Jackie’s favorite beer, “The Hyena”, a brand he had developed a near-obsessive fondness for over the years. This wasn’t just any gift—it was a nostalgic memory lane to the old days back in high school, when the boys had their own traditions. Back then, every party had a rule: the person hosting would have their favorite beer brought by everyone in attendance. Whoever managed to find the best version—or the rarest, most coveted batch—would claim the coveted title of Brew of the Week, a badge of honor among the group.
There was an unspoken challenge, a dare that ran alongside the beer: a competition to see who could endure the longest without losing their mind, testing the limits of their tolerance while still attempting to maintain any sense of sanity.
Joey rang the doorbell, though with the music blasting through the walls, he doubted anyone inside could even hear it. The bass rattled the doorframe, laughter and shouts spilling out into the night. Just when he was about to ring again, the door swung open. One of Jackie’s friends—someone Joey vaguely recognized but couldn’t figure out— waved him to come in.
Stepping inside felt like walking into a strange world. Red, Violet Lights flashing across the room, shadows of people dancing and swaying in sync with the music. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, smoke, and that faint scent that you can feel at such parties. Joey started looking to atleast find someone he knew. Most of the faces blurred together—he saw strangers laughing, talking, spilling drinks on the carpet—but here and there he caught a glimpse of someone he was sure he’d seen before. Their faces stirred faint memories, but the names refused to surface.
He took his phone from his pocket and called Sammy, hoping to cut through the chaos. The call rang and rang, no answer. With a small frown, Joey thumbed out a quick message: “Dude, where are you?” He slid the phone back into his pocket, knowing it was pointless to wait for a reply in the noise of this madhouse.
And then—clear as day, cutting right through the music—he heard a voice behind him.
"Joey is that you?"
Joey felt his heart racing fast, he recognized the voice and took a deep breath. He then quickly changed his frown and smiled back and replied:
"Hey Nat! Didn't except to meet you here, how are you doing?"
“Fine, I guess. You do know this is Jackie’s party, right? Of course I’d be here, I just couldn’t miss it.” She replied back.
Joey stared into Nat’s hazel-brown eyes, which looked more captivating than ever. Her perfume lingered in the air, soft and sweet, like a garden of jasmine in full bloom. She wore a simple black top and jeans, yet somehow managed to look effortlessly stunning. Her lips were touched with a soft pink shade of lipstick—the very one he had once recommended, now making her smile feel even more familiar and beautiful. He had missed seeing her more than he cared to admit, but he couldn’t let it show on his face.
Both of them looked at each other and to not make it awkward, Nat decided to ask ask questions:
"So how are you doing? I mean, how is your job and all."
“Just getting through. Sales can be tough, you know! But hey, as long as I’ve got my tongue, I can talk my way into selling anything.” He replied back with a smirk.
"How is your job going on at AD Designs. Did you get that promotion you wanted?" Joey asked to keep the conversation going.
"Yeah no luck with that actually. Gave it to some prick, someone named Gary." She said back looking dim.
"Sorry to hear about that. So how long has it been here since you arrived here at this party."
"Well it's has been a couple of hours, so did you meet Jackie since you came here?" She asked.
" Couldn't find him. I mean where is he? Neither could find Sammy."
" Hey bud. Didn't except you to show up. " A finger tapped at Joey’s shoulder. He turned. It was Jackie. The skinny kid Joey remembered who had braces, wore a SpongeBob T-shirt, ripped jeans is long gone. Instead he saw a man in a fine leopard-print shirt cut to fit his broad shoulders, black trousers, a golden watch that shined when he moved. He even managed to grow a beard. His hair was slicked back so hard it seemed he was seeing a gangster from the 90's era. His eyes were blood shot looking exhausted and high at the same time.
“Sammy,” Jackie said, the name sliding out giving a warm welcome. The smile stretched too wide. He smiled and then crossed his arm over Joey’s body.
Joey took a gulp and said, "Hey, Jackie. How are you doing? I mean, you look great who am I kidding? Here, remember this Hyena, your favorite brand from the good old days."
Jackie took the bottle with languid care and started drinking . “Mmm.” He let the word hang, then spat it out with exaggerated disgust. “Yuck. Blech. Tastes like shit.” He threw the bottle at the floor. He reached for another and started drinking on it looking directly at Joey.
“So,” Jackie said after finishing half the bottle, “what are you doing now? Still in sales… furniture, was it? Or something else?” “Yeah. Sales, Not furniture though, I work at an appliance store now.” Joey said. He felt uncomfortable but still decided to ask:
“You umm, you look different. Hitting the gym lately? Hey by the way did you find Sammy? He hasn’t replied back or called." Jackie’s smile faded. He stepped closer until Joey could feel the cold from his sleeve. Without hurry, Jackie slid a switchblade from his pocket and opened it with a sound that made Joey froze.
“Sammy… you came to see him, huh? Guess who hasn’t been answering my calls either.”
“Sam?”
"Yea. You know WHEN i find him, my blade will give him a reminder to answer any one who calls him. Or he can jUST lose his ears instead, how does that sound. Then he will be careful next time " Jackie said, unnervingly calm.
Joey shook in fear and stepped back. He looked at Nat who had no emotions in her eyes just dead inside, she looked worried but didn't say anything. Joey tried to make up an excuse to leave moving slowly getting to the door :"I should get going, nice meeting you by the way Jackie, Nat."
“Already?” Jackie’s laugh was a dry thing. “You’re in my house.” He stepped in front of Joey, he grabbed Joey’s shirt. “You can only leave when I say so.” By then Jackie had him cornered and in no position to leave.
Joey gulped, the words stuck in his throat. Every instinct screamed to pull away, but Sammy’s hand was iron. He imagined the worst that could happen: a broken jaw, a broken leg, a shitty night that would never end the same. Shit. I’m screwed, aren’t I? Fuck you, Sammy, he thought, anger and fear tangling into a cold, helpless certainty.
To be continued...
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