[ WP ] Caffeine has been classified as a Schedule 3 drug for over a year now . You run an illegal Caffeine Drug Ring . What does a day in the life of an Underground Caffeine Drug Lord look like ?

Albert stirred, and slowly the world came into focus around him as he forced his eyes open. A noise, something like the intermittent hiss of an almost primed teapot pulled him into focus on the room. 
 
 He rolled over; whoever she was, she was wheezing pretty badly. Albert thought about being the nice guy, the accommodating type. But no, he needed another hour of sleep and needed all his wits about him today. No time for distractions or weakness. “ Ricky! ” he shouted out the door and Ricky came lumbering into the lavish room, awaiting instruction and primed for action. 
 
 “ Yes sir? ” he asked. “ Get her out of here, she ’ s breathing like a ragged dog. Come back and wake me in an hour. ” 
 
 “ Yes sir, ” Ricky responded and grabbed the girl as she lay for the four poster king. She tossed a bit, but didn ’ t wake. Ricky began to walk out, “ And Ricky, make sure Tom double checks the times again with the Colombians. ” Ricky nodded, and left with the wheezy girl. Albert closed his eyes and took one moment trying to remember her name, straining through a fuzzy head and foggy memory of the previous night in which all he could recall was her attempt at witty repartee as she lingered by his table in the speak-easy: “ Al, I ’ m a premium blend. ” He knew she wasn ’ t the height of class, but he appreciated the effort regardless. 
 
 Albert smirked as he drifted off to sleep, feeling like a bonafide prohibition era boss. He pulled the satin sheets up under his chin. What a fuckin ’ life he ’ d fallen into. 
 
 Three hours later Albert sat, cross-legged in a wicker chair. Sunglass clad in his white suit, he began to think perhaps he ’ d overdone it. Too many times watching Tony Montana climb to the top, perhaps. 
 
 He continually flipped the lighter open, then closed, until Tom put his hand onto his prompting him to stop. 
 
 “ Why are you so nervous, they ’ re the ones who should be nervous to meet us, Al. ” 
 
 Albert had known Tom for years, as far back as their years rooming together in Freshman year at Harvard. Many a late night had they spent hunched over desks, 5 cups of coffee deep and hunched studying for a test, or a final, or even writing some meaningless paper. It had seemed such an innocuous process, so natural and simple that never had they given second thought to the stimulant they had so readily available at their fingertips. 
 
 Multiple trips to the campus Starbucks, a mocha latte from a corner bodega, or a shitty K-cup pressed out in their Keurig. Naive and idealistic, their 18 year old selves could have never fathomed where they would land 10 years down the road. 
 
 Even then, Tom was the more neurotic of the two. He kept a baseball bat under his bed which he had to get up and swing five times after finishing a typed page. He ’ d pace and read back to himself, swinging methodically and meticulously and he walked. With his humidifier by the bedside and his haphazardly arranged collection of D & D memorabilia on the dresser at the foot of his bed, Albert at first found him to be a caricature of a real person. 
 
 Now, 10 years later, they sat around the pool of a lavish Spanish-Style estate, on the property of one of the most revered men in Columbia, and Tom had chosen reasonably to wear a short-sleeve blue cotton button up in the sweltering heat, while Albert dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief and fought not to sweat through his white dress clothes. 
 
 Before Albert could respond to Tom, Mr. Chacon exited through the glass doors into the backyard and walked directly toward them. Striding across the lawn toward the pool, he was trailed by two men in Hawaiian shirts donning sunglasses and automatic weapons slung over their backs. He walked with purpose, sweat beading around his bushy mustache. 
 
 “ Albert and Tommy! ” Mr. Chacon shouted as he approached, in his almost perfect American accent. “ Such young and pretty American boys who will fly all the way down here just to see me. I am a lucky man! ” 
 
 Albert and Tom stood to greet Mr. Chacon, all parties shaking hands and exchanging cheek-kisses. 
 
 Albert removed his sunglasses, “ You flatter us, Mr. Chacon. We wouldn ’ t have flown down here except that we were told you are the only man in the western hemisphere, perhaps the world, who can help us reach the next level of....distribution. Chacon coffee has been a staple of the Americas for years, and we are honored to be in your presence. ” 
 
 Mr. Chacon eyed them both, looking them up and down as if to properly size them up. “ Right to business Albert, I like that. And what is it that you need from me, and what is it you are willing to offer? ” 
 
 “ We ’ re prepared to pay you $ 15 per pound of Chacon beans for the first thousand pounds, as a show of good faith, and $ 13 per pound thereafter with a guarantee of 20,000 pounds in the next two months. ” 
 
 Mr. Chacon wiped the sweat from around his mustache, and looked to his two Hawaiian-shirt donning confidants, then back to Albert. 
 
 Everyone stood silent, the moment seeming to drag as Chacon returned his glare to Albert and Tom. “ Hmmmmm. Fair Trade. ” 

