True Story©... The Pill Mill pt. II
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When we left you, I had done a little footwork for our pal Detective Ramsbottom. I had gone into the probable scene of the alleged crime and done some reconnaissance as to the source of the illicit dingaling pills. In my “research,” I had gained some suspicion that the owner of this store or someone close to him was behind the whole shit.
What I had not noticed until I had a chance to sit down and relax, however, was that there was no UPC bar code on the back of the package. This suggests FOR SURE that this is someone’s basement/garage operation, perhaps as a “fake it til you make it” kinda deal where one goes into business under the radar until they have a proven winner and then they go legit.
The problem here is that they ain’t painting houses, they are out here giving people heart attacks with unregulated wee-wee products. I made a phonecall
Ramsbottom: “I thought you told me I was gonna have to do some policing?”
Me: “Don’t use my words against me"
Ramsbottom: “Fine, do you have something for me?”
Me: “Actually, I kinda do"
Ramsbottom: “What do we know?”
Me: “We know that there is not a barcode on the back of these pills which means more than likely whenever it is time to replenish, they’re not coming through any distribution network.”
Ramsbottom: “Okay…?”
Me: “What the shit kind of cop ARE you?”
Ramsbottom: “What do you mean?”
Me: “I mean you got the ‘boyscout’ thing down, but you’re not particularly adept at picking up on what is happening in front of you.”
Ramsbottom: “So, enlighten me?”
Me: “Look… have someone go into the store and buy out all of the Dig Bick Throbbers. Then it is surveillance time, have someone watch and ANYTIME someone approaches the store with a parcel, go and see if that is the re-up.”
Ramsbottom: “Can I count on you to help me with that?”
Me: “Fuck no. I am neither a cop nor snitch so I strongly suggest you find someone who is to do that shit for you.”
Ramsbottom: “But you were helping so well!”
Me: “And you have gotten the help you gon’ get out of me to this point.”
Ramsbottom: “So I guess this is what you mean by ‘do some policing’ huh.”
Me: “Bingo.”
Ramsbottom: “Well here goes nothing, I guess.”
Me: “Good luck!”
True to the high-level instructions I gave him, Ramsbottom had one of his partners go into the store and buy fifteen dollars worth of gas and ALL TEN remaining packs of the Dig Bick Throbbers in the case. Inconspicuously, he gassed up his car and drove off.
From across the street, Ramsbottom and his partner watched, stakeout-style waiting for someone to come with a box or a delivery… An hour passed. Two hours. Four hours. Sundown came, the store closed at 11pm. Due to open at 7am the following morning, the owner’s son arrived at 6:45 and our boyscout was out there watching as he removed a large Rubbermaid bin from the back of his SUV and carried it in the back door.
Ramsbottom waited approximately 30 minutes and went into the gas station to get a cup of coffee.
As a courtesy to police officers – and to keep cops willing to just be around their places to help stave off robbers – the “cop cup” was free to him as an officer of the law. What the store owner’s son was not aware of, though, was that Ramsbottom wasn’t in there to collect his caffein freebie, but to lay eyes upon and confirm just who was refilling the case behind the bulletproof glass with the winky-invigoration tablets and now he had his probable suspicion. He made his exit and called me…
Ramsbottom: “It’s the son.”
Me: “Nah, I only got girls… Granddaughters too, my last name dies with me.”
Ramsbottom: “What!?”
Me: “Nothing.”
Ramsbottom: “Okay, well it is the son who is selling the pills out of his dad’s store.”
Me: “You think the dad knows?”
Ramsbottom: “I don’t know, the son was working in the store alone when I went in.”
Me: “YOU WENT IN?!!?”
Ramsbottom: “Don’t worry, I just went in for a coffee and looked at the case while he told me I didn’t have to pay for it.”
Me: “Whew.”
Ramsbottom: “So now what?”
Me: “You. Are. The. Law… Go do ‘law’ shit! I’m only here right now to hold you to owing me a favor later–… um… just go do some investigating.”
Ramsbottom: “But–…”
Me: “Do they not teach y’all ANYTHING other than intimidation and fourth amendment violation at the academy? Go lean on the store owner!”
Ramsbottom: “And if he doesn’t know anything?”
Me: “He corrected my mispronunciation… he knows SOMETHING.”
Ramsbottom: “That’s right!”
Me: “Now go, go do work!”
Ramsbottom goes over to the store the next day to find the owner working alone and a case still full of Dig Bick Throbbers. He gets his coffee and approaches the cash wrap.
Owner: “It’s on the house, thank you for your service officer.”
Ramsbottom: “Detective.”
Owner: “Thank you for your service, detective.”
Ramsbottom: “If you don’t mind, I have a question about the supplements in your case here.”
Owner: “What would you like to know?”
Ramsbottom (pointing): “This one, where do you get this one from?”
This store owner has a SHITTY poker face, because the look in his eyes was if ol’ Detective Buttsex had poked a gun in his face.
Owner: “W-we get them from different places, different vendors.”
Ramsbottom: “Well this one in particular is interesting, it is the only one that doesn’t have a barcode. How do you get them in?”
Owner: “My son manages the buying and selling of the supplements.”
Ramsbottom: “Is he available to ask?”
Owner: “Not currently, he is working his second job.”
Ramsbottom: “This is not adding up and you know full well what I am getting after here.”
Owner: “I–…”
Ramsbottom: “… now you can help me to what you KNOW I am asking you or you can share a cell with him.”
[Phlip note: THERE’S that ‘fuck yo fourth amendment’ fervor!]
Owner: “It’s all him!”
Ramsbottom: “Hmm…”
Owner: “I came here from Pakistan in July of 2001 while my wife was pregnant with him. 9/11 happened six weeks later and it was near impossible for us to get our piece of the American dream.”
Ramsbottom: “Wow.”
Owner: “But he was young, he still had a chance to grow and be successful. We pushed him in hopes that one day he would become a doctor.”
Ramsbottom: “Admirable”
Owner: “But he became a slacker. He spends his days in my basement on that damned computer. It seems that these stupid pills are as close to being a doctor as he was ever going to get!”
Ramsbottom: “…”
Owner: “And these other stores around us. They can charge less for gas because they have a Subway, they have a Little Caesars, a laundromat… things that people will automatically come in for, while gas is HIGH cost and low profit.”
Ramsbottom: “Ouch”
Owner: “So my son sees that there a lot of college students, so he decides to make sex pills at home and we sell them in the store to make big profits.”
Ramsbottom: “Wow.”
Owner: “I didn’t want to do it, but I liked the money!”
Ramsbottom: “Are you willing to say this on record, like at the station or when I come back with a warrant?”
Owner: “At this point, I just want that loser out of my house!”
At the end of it all, my hunch that this jackass had just gone online and searched the effective ingredients in every gas station boner pill, ordered them online and pressed them into some capsules he bought from China or Mexico. Printed everything up in the basement and marked them for sale in his dad’s store. Naturally, people desperate to go an extra round or two took the pills not realizing WHY legitimate companies don’t combine certain ingredients and a lot of them paid the price for it, physically.
Needless to say, when the good detective ran that conversation back to me, I laughed until I hiccupped, I hiccupped until I coughed and coughed until I had a minor asthma attack and needed my rescue inhaler. And you know what? That shit was TOTALLY worth it!
All’s well that ends well… Not only has Detective Ramsbottom scored his first big-deal case since taking over for Woodpenis, he now owes me a fuckin’ favor which I will surely cash in eventually. Stay tuned!
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