This week, Rend Smith writes about the fairly remarkable pot delivery service, Mindy’s Muffins, and one of its shadowy sellers:
Now that it’s all over, one of the arrested is speaking about what happened on the condition of not being named because, he says, his current employers—a PR firm—don’t want to see him talking about his exploits. Still, he doesn’t seem especially abashed about Mindy’s. Pot trafficking isn’t exactly known for its body count. But the ex-dealer says he was proud to be part of a drug operation that was non-violent. “There’s enough money here for everyone,” he says of the D.C. reefer market, “but it’s got to get violent? We saw that from day one, we can play big dick all we want, but where’s it going to get us? We’re going to have police on our backs and we’re going to make this into something it shouldn’t be. Not to mention it’s just outright wrong.”
By the time the cops finished scouring the place, they’d know the guy in the apartment was telling the truth about the guns. According to court documents, there were no weapons seized. Mindy’s was strict, he says. “If you can’t work for us without carrying any weapons, you can’t work for us,” recruits were told. Police sources, speaking on condition of anonymity because they weren’t allowed to speak publicly about the case, confirm the delivery service existed and that it was called “Mindy’s Muffins.”