Eighty six thousand six hundred and twenty one dollars.

The end tally on the money we collected when earlier that evening
we had driven around the county and north over the state border
collecting green trash baggies of the bills locked up in
self-storage places.  The bags were usually wrapped in an old
ragged paint tarp or hidden in amongst similar bags filled with
junk-store quality used clothing - some of it none too clean. 
The collected bags filled both trunks of large American cars
by the time it was over.

We had taken two vehicles - one following the other closely
enough to provide protection but far enough away to avoid
detection. I rode with Dennis who was the only one who knew where
we were going until we got there. Both cars were equipped with
handguns for every man and also a sawed off shotgun for each guy
in the back seat - one in each car.

It was so scary I was almost peeing my pants from start to finish
- that special kind of rush you get when you know you are in real
danger, but feeling so cool you wouldn't miss it for the world. 
To this day I don't know whether the guys were paranoid about
someone else trying to steal it from them or perhaps being
stopped by the cops. I don't care to think about what might have
gone on if one thing or the other had occurred.

It doesn't seem like that much money by today's standards, but 25
years ago that would have bought a mansion in the little town I
lived in and to a 17 year old girl who had barely ever made more
than minimum wage this was an amazing amount of bills to see in
one place. Everyone was on edge.

This was true drug money.  It wasn't like the movies with crisp
hundred dollar bills stacked nicely into a leather briefcase.
  
The bills were wrinkled and torn from time spent in blue jeans
pockets and gathered into small random stacks ust big enough to
get some kid and his girlfriend high on Friday night. This had
been $5 given to a teen to go to the roller skating ring, spent
instead to buy a few loose joints.  Maybe a $20 earned by a fast
food worker and used to buy a gram of crank.  The change from a
few trips to the store for mom, never returned to her and instead
used to buy a few black beauties.

This was street drug money collected over time by some of
Dennis's local distributors. There was a shitload of it.  Not a
bill over $20 in the stack. It was currently laying on my bedroom
stacked into in $100 dollar stacks so we could count it all.


Dennis and I had been counting and recounting the money for hours
- stopping periodically to laugh, drink, snort a line, and
occasionally fuck. It's kind of trite scene from a B-movie to see
a drug dealer and his girlfriend rolling around on a bed full of
cash these days, but we did it - and I do mean "it" - loud and
proud like we had invented the idea.

It was pretty fucking hot even if some of those bills smelled
pretty rank, and also just a bit awkward because I knew that four
of Dennis's friends were in the house - each wired, buzzed and
armed to the teeth.  The creaking bed and stifled moans and
giggles were nothing I'm sure they hadn't heard before though I
tried not to think about that.  (It's hard to have too much
privacy when you live with a drug dealer.)

Each time we finished fooling around, once we rolled off the bed
we had to recount whatever stacks we hadn't already bound with
rubber bands - so while I sat there naked and counted some of
that money for what was perhaps the 3rd time, Dennis watched me
with appreciation while he broke up another rock of coke or
rolled up another joint.

After a while, Dennis realized it had been a while since he had
looked in on his guys - and I could tell with over $80K in the
house we was a bit paranoid even if we were having a good time,
so he took the opportunity to slide his pants back on and left
the bedroom to check in.

I heard them talking - reminding me again that they could hear us
as well - and heard one of the guys ask Dennis "when they got a
turn."  It had been Mark, a big bully of a man who had ridden
with a shotgun all night in the back of the second car.  There
was no laughter - this wasn't Mark just razzing Dennis.  Everyone
was quiet - and even from the other room, I sensed there was some
tenseness.  (Dennis was probably the only man in that room who
wasn't armed heavily.)

After a silence of entirely too long, Dennis muttered "Dude, you
ain't been here long, so I'll excuse you this time.  She'd
different and she's mine.... You want some pussy we can get you
some, but lets get his fucking haul tucked away first." I could
tell by the footsteps that Dennis had started walking away from
the door after he said this - his attempt to move the
conversation away from the bedroom door and my ears.

Mark didn't seem happy with the answer - grunting like he did
just about everything when he was disgusted. He muttered "don't
seem right - you getting all the fun while we sit out here with
our dicks in our hands" and the matter seemed over.

When Dennis came back, he had a few big old hard sided suitcases
and we stacked $70,000 of the money into them.  $8,000 he taped
to the bottom of drawers he took from my bedroom dresser and
nightstand. Another $8,000 he sat aside to pay the guys in the
morning - he pushed this into a brown lunch bag and dropped it
next to the door.

He then flipped off the light, and I guessed that this meant it
was time for sleep, which was a good thing since it was perhaps 4
in the morning.  But Dennis wasn't finished yet, and as soon as
he was naked in bed he was maneuvering my head down and I knew
exactly what he wanted from me. While I serviced him he gave
me directions - Dennis never did this ever and I knew he was
taunting Mark.

This kind of theatrics was just par for the course when living
with Dennis, and I had learned to find the humor and even the
power in it, but this time it made me uneasy and I tried to pull
back and tell him to stop it.  He wasn't having any.

He had his hands on the back of my head tightly and I wasn't
allowed to stop until he had finished. Dennis almost never came
in my mouth even when I wanted him too - so I knew this was 100%
just for show.  He knew Mark was probably sitting outside the
door. That was just the way Dennis was - he let people know who
was in charge.  I could say it made me feel cheap - but in truth
I kind of liked the feeling that I was special enough to cause
friction.

When he was done, we finally got to sleep, but around 8:30 he
woke me up to give me some instructions as he said he had to
leave for a while.

He told me to take his $8,000 out of the dresser a thousand at a
time over the next days in 6 different checking accounts he had
set up.  Dennis also let me know the $621 dollars not counted
into the stacks of thousands was mine. (I knew that the other
guys had been promised $2000 each for the nights work - but I
didn't feel cheated at all.  I was just eye candy - not a gun
touting body guard- and probably would have gone for free.)

Finally, he told me go put my hair up, put on a bit of makeup,
then to put on the night gown behind the door and go make the boys
breakfast.  He and I both knew that wearing that thing was so
thin that it was almost like being naked, which was the whole
point.

Sometimes I hated Dennis but I never crossed him at times like
this. I did as I was told - making sense of my bed hair and
morning puffy face as best I could.  I bent down to slip on some
panties when Dennis stopped me and instead helped me lift my arms
and he dropped the thin nylon wrap over my head, and goosed me on
the butt as he pushed me from the room.

As I walked out of the bedroom, four sets of eyes hit by body and
stayed there.  The gown hung on me like wet paint and I was
painfully aware of this.  Though every shade in the house was
closed because we weren't anxious for prying eyes, there was
still enough sunlight coming in for them to catch my silhouette
through the thin fabric.  I proceeded to make breakfast, cringing
internally whenever I had to bend down to get a skillet or open
the fridge with its bright interior light.

Dennis was right behind me on the way out the bedroom, so at
least I knew everyone would behave - and they did - thanking me
for breakfast and even picking up their pates and placing them in
the sink when finished - not something I bet they did at home.

Breakfast served, Dennis and the crew quickly packed and I did
not see or hear from them again for almost a week. (I was worried
the whole time too - I didn't trust even Dennis's people when I
knew there $70K available that they might consider their own and
take with a few gunshots.)

When I did, it was like our life suddenly kicked into a whole new
gear.  That $70,000 was used to buy us into a whole new business
with higher stakes and higher payouts.  But that's another story.