 
Roll Call

Glenn Langohr

Copyright © 2011 Glenn Langohr

Amazon edition

In Memory of Pistol Pete and Dorothy

ChapteR 1

I am Benny Johnson and my childhood got sideways

in the eighties. I'm still trying to sort through the

detritus my mind has accumulated. Although, some

of the trash in there is life's lessons I do not want to

forget about. I fast forward this story into the California

Prison system and then bring you back to show you

how that journey took me there. It turns out that the

saying; "Truth is stranger than fiction" holds a lot of

merit.

Like a bunch of us in these times, I grew up

through a ruptured home. Standard issue these days,

right? Through my parents' divorce all these years

later I have come to realize how blessed I am. I had

two good parents. My Dad came from a family of

athletes. He himself was a pro golfer, and his father

was a pro baseball player. Too bad they didn't make

the kind of money they do now because money has

always been a focal issue and a weapon in my family.

Actually that wouldn't have changed it, only magnified

it. My Dad comes from one generation after another

where negativity rules, or rather dictates the family

into submission, or better yet, subservience. It's that

unhealthy kind of competition where they have to win

at everything to earn your respect. That means they'll

set you up to fall just short of expectations, and put you

down in the process to keep their title. The only time

I measured up in my Dad's eyes was playing baseball.

I was a natural with God given talent. He couldn't hit

a ball by me, but he took it as his duty to break me

and the rest of my family down in all of the other areas

of our lives. I now realize he was just doing what his

father bred in him, and his father bred in him. It was a

multi- generational curse that had to be broken.

My Mom was the opposite spectrum. She comes

from an Italian family that migrated from Sicily a couple

of generations ago. From generation to generation,

her family made it through the hard times with love

and support. There were some hard times. Her father

earned the nickname Pistol Pete and had one of those

last names that end in a vowel. He raised my Mom as a

single father while owning and running his own bar in

New Orleans, Louisiana. He literally had to live at the

bar and work it almost twenty-four/seven to stay on top

of things. My Mom's mother took off for an easier life,

leaving Pete to handle it solo. The D.A. made it their

business to intrude on those kinds of living arrangements

and took my Mom from her father. My mother also had

a medical condition in her early childhood that had to

do with weak tendons and ligaments. For a while, she

couldn't walk any better than a fawn taking their first

few steps. My grandfather did what he could. He put

her in foster homes and found some nuns to raise her. He

realized that the foster homes he put her in were after

the money the state provided. Every time he noticed

she wasn't getting the same milk, food, or anything else

that resembled caring, he stepped in and tried another

home! This kind of powerful love that acknowledges

your circumstances and pain, along with the love the

nuns showed her comes from God, was bred into her

and she blessed me with it. Now I understand that,

like a diamond has to go through a lot of fire to become

one, the depth of real love is proven by how far it's been

tested.

Prohibition put my grandfather out of work. Facing

poverty even harder he continued his trade in the alcohol

business. He began to associate with others whose last

names end in a vowel. He facilitated liquor in a ring of

facilitators who took care of the elite who still wanted to

sip. Among those were the same D.A.'s who separated his

daughter from him, judges, police, feds and underground

establishments. The feds got pressured into pushing the

prohibition issue and people had to fall to make it look

like business was getting handled. My grandfather was

one of the most recent to enter the ring with a racquet

in his hand so he earned some points by taking a fall for

the benefit of the whole. The judge that sentenced him

to a year and a day was another component who sipped

from my grandfather's deliveries. How could you not

appreciate these kinds of genes?

My parents moved to Orange County, California in

1979 and bought a house in Lake Forest. I realize now

that the only influence my Mom had in her marriage had

to do with her three kids getting into a Christian school

similar to how her Daddy had done for her. Everything

else in her marriage with my Dad was all him. Her

opinion didn't matter because he was the bread winner

and provider and he held her under an iron fist, and

squeezed. He told her what to cook for dinner, where to

go during the day for errands and like I said, nothing

was ever good enough. He was like a drill sergeant.

Just like an addiction, it was a progression that just

got worse.

I saw and felt all of this in so much detail because

my Mom was such an affectionate angel. Her love was

so pure and strong; you felt it in hugs, kisses, deep

smiles and the need to feed you such good food. She

even wrote songs for each of her kids. The song she

wrote for me goes like this: "Benny is a boy, he loves

his toys, and lots of good things to eat. He goes Yum

Yum Yum give me some, sweet little Benny." It might

sound corny but I can still hear her voice. My heart was

being filled with something so pure it was overflowing

and I was all ears for her best advice. "Everything is in

God's Hands honey and everything happens for a reason

and He has a purpose for you. He will get you out of

any darkness you wander into... Just ask Him for help

and He will be there... Help others in need and He is

using you as His instrument... He will never give you

more than you can carry... Always stay grateful for what

you have because all you have to do is look around and

you can see those who have it worse than you do." As

a kid hearing this advice being whispered with more

passion and frequency, I knew my Dad was going to

lose my Mom. At first I thought this was a good thing

because I'd surely be going with her. That's not how it

worked out.

When you truly love someone, you walk in their

shoes and feel their pain and frustration. I can remember

waking up suddenly one morning at about four a.m. I

felt my Mom's anguish before I heard the coffee cup

drop on the floor and walked down the hall from my

bedroom to see her having a nervous breakdown. She

was crying and shaking uncontrollably and I kept

asking her what was wrong. She shushed me and told me

nothing was wrong and she knew I wasn't buying it but

she wasn't ready to tell me anything. Being powerless

to help someone I loved planted an angry seed inside of

me. My Dad had plenty of water for it.

ChapteR 2

My Dad had controlled my Mom so strictly, for

so long that she was like a bird without wings. The

straw that broke the camel's back and brought on that

nervous breakdown was his refusal to let her get a part

time job. The excitement she had for getting one must

have scared him into thinking he'd lose control of her

and then lose her. With that nervous breakdown also

came her decision to leave him. When she told my

father she was leaving him he analyzed and strategized.

He treated it impersonally as you would if you were

a business acquiring another business. The dictator

pattern that took everything for granted, didn't allow

an opinion without shooting it down with patronizing

tones, and always had to win was magnified further and

drove the nail in the coffin with even more clarity. He

tried to compromise without recognizing anything and

came up with a list of his pro's to represent himself as

a good provider, father, and husband. He bartered with

her until he was blue in the face, betting on the fact

that she wouldn't actually leave. He knew how much

she loved her kids and there wasn't any way she'd break

that up. Therefore, he played on that strategy and made

it even worse by telling her if she wanted out that bad,

she'd have to leave without the kids. He convinced

her that she couldn't provide since she'd never worked

and didn't have any job skills. My sister was already in

high school and getting straight A's and was heading

for Berkeley, so how was she going to provide for that

expense? My Dad convinced her that if she tried to take

care of us on her own we'd live in a dirt shack, and

is that what she wanted? When my Mom brought up

visitation rights, he convinced her it would be better

for us if there were a clean break so we could get on

with our lives.

She left with a small car with over a hundred

thousand miles on it and some clothes. Just before she

left she talked to me. She explained that she just couldn't

win with my Dad and that she'd lost her identity and

had to get away to find herself. She explained that my

father told her that she couldn't have any contact with

us at all or he'd take drastic measures to insure that she

never saw us again. Those were the conditions. He was

betting that her love for us would pull her back to him

within the week.

Once our Mom was gone, I couldn't help but study

my Dad through angry eyes. He'd just made an angel

flee from our house. From that point on every time the

phone would ring my younger brother and I would

look at each other wondering if that was her. We'd run

to the phone expecting to hear her voice telling us she

was right down the street asking us if we wanted to live

with her. When we got to the phone and it was one of

those crank calls we'd be left wondering if that was her.

I can remember that Lionel Ritchie song with the lyrics

that went, "Hello... Is it me you're looking for? Because

I wonder where you are, and I wonder what you do,

are you somewhere feeling lonely, or is someone loving

you." It was okay for me to feel the tears running down

my face because I could grit my teeth and feel the pain

building something that felt indestructible. It wasn't

okay to see my brother crying himself to sleep at night.

My Mom had showed me some Christmas presents

she'd left for us under her bed hoping my Dad would

soften his heart, so I brought my brother to see them

the next morning. They were gone.

The next day a U.P.S. deliveryman came to our

door. My brother and I stood there looking at a package

with our Mom's handwriting on it. I grabbed the pen

to sign for it right as my Dad got to the door. He took

the pen out of my hand and sent the deliveryman on his

way. As the door closed my Dad yelled,

"This is my house! I pay the bills, feed, and clothe

you and what I say goes or you can hit the road! You're

not to have any contact with your mother or you'll

never see her again!"

I yelled back, "That might have worked on my

Mom but it doesn't on me! I'm not scared of you!"

The argument continued for a while until my Dad

grabbed some alcohol and went in his room to fume.

My brother and I ran to the garage for our bikes to

try and catch the U.P.S. truck. We pedaled as fast as

our little legs could and posted up at one of the two

entrances to our community. While we sat there waiting

we realized he might be exiting out the other entrance.

I volunteered to race to the other one about a mile away

but my brother didn't want me to leave him. After

about twenty minutes we knew he'd left out the other

entrance and my brother blamed me for arguing with

our father. He said it delayed us from getting to our

bikes. I realize all of these years later that he was right,

I shouldn't have argued. I also realize that my reactions

to the injustice of our situation had me calling my own

shots, self-destructive ones.

Those phone calls we expected to come never came

but we were listening to my Dad's conversations. He

had an old military buddy calling who was trying to

help him through the divorce. We listened to him lash

out about what a whore our Mom was for leaving him

and her own kids. He'd yell, "She doesn't even care

about her own kids! What a piece of trash! I never

expected this out of her... Piece of shit!" The rest of

the conversation would be him justifying what a good

husband and provider he'd been so it must be her fault.

Then he'd turn the conversation toward how my brother

and I didn't stand a chance because of her. We weren't

going to amount to anything because of the whore. It

seemed like it was going to be his mission to prove that

fact and lay the blame on her to drive the point home.

ChapteR 3

As the weeks went by and Christmas had come and

gone my Dad drank more and more and the mood got

a lot darker. Before my Mom split the discipline in our

family was of the belt variety. Now we were graduating

to the fist and brute force. I wasn't the type of thirteen

year old to sit there and take it though, I'm a runner. At

least until enough anger builds up in me that I have to

get my own vengeance. My Dad ran a territory for the

newspaper in Santa Ana and would be gone from 1 a.m.

until the morning. He'd often take my brother and me

to work with him for free labor. I remember one time in

the back of the Buick throwing papers he was talking

bad about us and our Mom and I told him how I felt

and hopped out the back and watched him drive away.

Another time at home he caught me and hit me so hard

in the back that my spleen busted and I was stuck in

the fetal position for a couple of days. Another time he

caught me and picked me up and carried me like a sack

of potatoes and threw me into a tree in the backyard. I

bounced up and did my fake left go right move to escape

the rest of his wrath and took off running. Down the

street wiping the blood off of my nose I wondered if I

could call my grandfather up to have my Dad whacked.

The next day I looked for his phone number.

I didn't find his number but I found his money.

From that point on I stopped going to school and started

hustling. I started avoiding him while he was home and

when I had to sleep when he was there, I set up a spot in

the rafters of the garage to tuck myself into. When he

got home from work and I heard him snoring, I'd crawl

in his room and grab the money clip out and crawl

back out of his room to inspect it. There was usually

about $300 in there and I was hit with the question,

should I steal all of it? What would the future of that

be? None, so I just peeled off about $30 and opened

a bank account with aspirations of saving up enough

money to buy my own place for my brother and I. Since

a kid on the run can't live on one pay number alone I

spread my hustle. During school days I found cars that

looked rich enough to spare some change. Every time

I'd come up and hit the jackpot my need for another

score pushed me further! I was on an adrenaline high,

filled with aspirations to be a self-made millionaire and

prove my Dad wrong and reunite us with our mother!

My brother Bo took a different street. He started

ditching school and living at the beach all day. Surfing

became his escape and he was a natural. He found his

adrenaline rush racing down the steep peeling lines

at lower trestles. He had a road dog named Mark he

surfed with whose parents took him in. This scared

me because I didn't have a road dog and it didn't seem

like my brother needed me anymore. Feeling lonely,

I infiltrated my brother's life and found a better pay

number.

Mark and my brother were smoking some pot and

examining a bag of it. When I found out how much

that small bag cost I was intrigued. If a small little bag

like the one they were holding cost $100, imagine how

much a trash bag full would cost! I investigated their

scene and was amazed to find such a huge market place!

It was like an underground Dow Jones stock market.

Almost everyone who skated, surfed, snowboarded,

punk rocked... and in general everyone else who was

interesting partook. I got so excited with this new

opportunity that I looked at it like a playground. Mark

was a good person to learn the ropes from. He explained

the prices and the level of hustlers. He pointed out that

the closer you went to Mexico to find a dealer the larger

a provider you'd be. If that was the case then I'd have to

show some ambition.

For the next couple of days I determined how I was

going to get a connection in Mexico. From my spot in

the rafters I heard my Dad pulling his car out at 1 am

and briefly thought about taking his other car. That

wouldn't have worked. I couldn't risk driving without

a license to the border of Mexico, meet a cartel level

pot dealer, and make it back in six to eight hours to

beat my Dad home. My brother was at Mark's house

sleeping comfortably and I felt left out. I walked to the

freeway to hitchhike there.

At the freeway going south I got a ride immediately.

My ride was going to Oceanside about a third of the way

there. My driver was a thirty something year old dude

and it turned out he smoked pot. I tried to incorporate

him into the mission but he wasn't into it. He told

me I'd never meet a dealer off the street and that I was

crazy. I looked at it like he was a scared little guppy and

it took being bold to capitalize.

He dropped me off in Oceanside and I got another

ride almost immediately. This time it was a pretty

woman that resembled my Mom a little. She asked me

where I was headed. I told her I was going to the border

of Mexico to meet someone. She said she was going to

National City and would drive me the extra ten or so

miles. When we got there I had no idea where I even

wanted to get dropped off. The driver that looked kind

of like my Mom was confused and had a worried look on

her face. She drove me as close to the border as possible

where you can park your car on the California side and

walk across. She pointed to a Macdonald's restaurant

and told me that would be the safest place for me to

wait for whoever it was I was meeting. I had to get out

of the car because that pretty lady was looking at my

scared face and having second thoughts about dropping

me off. She asked me if I was a runaway and I got out

of the car and told her she reminded me of my Mom

before closing the door. I walked away and looked back

and saw her praying.

Following the pretty lady's advice I stood in front

of the McDonalds. People were walking by too fast for

me to ask them to be my big time Mexican pot dealer

but I tried anyway. Mark had prepped me on some

Mexican slang so I asked, "Molta?", "Yesca?", to try

and get the ball rolling but that only sped people away

from me. I looked around and decided I was a bust out

in front of the parking lot under the lights so I went

inside. I stood at the back of the line to order to think

it out.

All of the big time Italians that I'd seen all had a

certain look, a big belly, nice shoes and that look in

their eyes and body language that they were always

aware of things. I decided Mexicans couldn't be that

much different. I found a table next to the bathroom to

study the Mexicans. I decided to add the look of a fat

wallet as another indicator and started following those

that fit the criteria into the bathroom. The first guy I

followed looked about forty, had that big belly, some

expensive looking snake skin boots, a big ass belt, a fat

wallet, those wary eyes and a fedora hat. I had him in

the bathroom to myself and gave him all of my Mexican

slang for pot and even put two fingers to my lips like I

was smoking a joint.

The big Mexican stared at me like he was deciding

something and then said something in Spanish: "I'm

the Mexican police!" but I couldn't understand. Since I

didn't know what he'd said, I kept putting my two

fingers together to my lips. I hit him up in English

that I wanted to buy thousands of dollars worth of

"Pot", "Molta", "Marijuana", "Weed", Another two

fingers to my lips and the big Mexican walked out of

the bathroom.

I followed him out and watched him sit at a table

so I sat back at mine. I tried to keep my eye on him and

the rest of the place at the same time. He got on the

phone and called someone. I imagined he was calling

one of his employees to come check me out. I didn't

let this delusion of grandeur keep me from following

a few more that fit the criteria into the bathroom. The

next one ran out of the bathroom as if he was being

set up. I stood there in shock and then realized he had

to be a big time Mexican drug dealer if he was that

paranoid. When I opened the door to look for him,

he was gone. I looked over to the big Mexican sitting

down and he was laughing. The next guy I followed

in looked like he knew the big Mexican sitting down.

They had looked at each other and you could tell they

knew each other. Was that the phone call he'd made?

I followed the newest Mexican into the bathroom and

ran down my "getting more desperate" spiel. He asked

me a few things I couldn't understand so I pulled out

a wad of cash to show him I meant business. I flashed

a thick stack of one-dollar bills with a hundred on the

top while my real stash was in my shorts underneath my

jeans. The Mexican shook his head and I understood,

"How old are you?"

I wasn't prepared for the question and lied. "I'm

seventeen... I can make you guys a lot of money! Hook

me up!"

The Mexican smiled like this life always kept

him laughing. He raised his left hand for me to stop

talking and said something fast in Spanish I couldn't

understand. "Wait at your table. We've got someone

coming to hook you up!"

I sat back at my table wondering what that Mexican

just said in the bathroom. I got the feeling I was making

progress. I looked over at that big time Mexican doing

his homework on me and saw him open his wallet and

flash a badge of some kind. I felt my adrenaline spike so

hard I almost took off running out of the McDonalds.

The only thing that held me in my seat was the

reality that there wasn't anywhere to run. Outside the

McDonalds, there were only those parking lots, then

about a half a mile to the freeway. I looked away from

the big Mexican cop and decided that he must not have

any jurisdiction on this side of the border. I stayed cool

and it got worse. A Mexican Federale in uniform walked

in and sat at the table with the big Mexican cop. They

practically huddled together to discuss something that

was obviously important. The Federale in uniform got

up and got in line to order something. Then a white

man that looked about fifty walked in and shook hands

with the big Mexican cop who pointed him my way.

The white man came to my table and introduced

himself as Bill. He asked me if I was hungry and I

wasn't. My stomach was fluttering and I was nervous

but I said I was hungry anyway. Bill bought me a

hamburger meal along with a shake and sat back

down with me. I found myself telling him everything

about my life leading up to hitch hiking to Mexico. Bill

was a good listener and he encouraged me by telling me

he'd had a similar childhood. Just having another adult

listen to me as if he cared, felt good.

Bill studied me and I told him my name. It looked

like he could see how focused I was but I added to it with

my furrowed brow and my posture. He told me how he

had run away from home in similar circumstances, also

from Orange County, and how he got blessed to meet

a good person he was still doing business with in the

harbor to this day. He looked thoughtful and said, "If I

don't hook you up you're just going to keep looking for

a dealer until you find one, aren't you?"

I nodded my head like there was no stopping my

quest.

ChapteR 4

On the ride home to Orange County in Bill's

B.M.W., I asked, "Who was that big Mexican who

called you to come and get me?"

Bill said, "Sometimes not knowing everything is better."

I needed to know. "I saw that he had a badge that

I'm assuming was from Mexico. I just want to know

who I'm doing business with. Does that guy look out

for you?"

Bill answered, "That guy is the chief of police in

Mexico City. He plays both sides of the fence. The mafia

family that runs the Tijuana border taxes everything

that crosses with drugs involved. That police chief not

only doesn't get taxed, he gets paid as a spy from a drug

kingpin in Mexico City and even gets paid from the

mafia family along the border for tips to warn them of

what's happening on the law enforcement side of things.

He also steals drugs that have been seized in raids by

law enforcement. He's got a good system going."

I mulled that over and didn't know what to say.

That was a lot of information. Was I in the car with the

mafia? I thought about what Bill said. Sometimes not

knowing everything is better.

I stayed quiet and waited Bill out. We hadn't even

discussed any business and I didn't know how to broach

the subject. I was trying to figure out what would be

a good deal for the $4,000 I had on me. How much

should I expect for that?

For the rest of the ride Bill schooled me in the art of

dealing. "Don't rely on selling pot as your only income!

That means get a job or find a vocation. If you have a

legal income, you won't have to rely on an illegal one to

pay the bills. If you only rely on the illegal one you'll

take too many chances. You'll sell to too many people.

You'll get greedy. You'll get busted. Another thing, do

a lot of homework on those you do business with to

determine their character. You don't have to deal with

everyone to make money. I only do business with five

people right now. Each one of them makes about as

much as I do off of them but they have to deal with

more people to make that happen. Do you understand

what I'm saying?"

I nodded my head that I did but wondered why

he'd do business with me? Probably because he feels

sorry for me and can relate.

Bill read my mind. "With you, youngster...

I come from the same kind of childhood and wanting

to take care of your brother tugged at my heart. I also

saw in your eyes that your mind was made up to get

into business. Even though I'm in an illegal business

I don't believe pot is a bad drug and I think of myself

as a good person with a conscience so I won't take

advantage of you. It's a dangerous business. You very

well might have met someone without a conscience if

I didn't take you under the wing. Plus to be honest, it

benefits me because you're from Orange County and

that's a network I'm not tapped into."

I could respect that.

Bill continued. "When I do business with you I'll

have you show up to a location and then I'll direct you to

another one so I can have you followed and scrutinized

to make sure you don't have anyone with you or to make

sure you're not being followed. Then once you get to the

meeting spot, the pot will be placed somewhere for you

to pick up. I'll have you put the money somewhere else

for me so nothing is changing hands."

The passenger seat of Bill's B.M.W. felt good. I was

in the car with a pro. I could feel my life was about to

change. It was exciting.

Bill parked down the street from Mark's house

and got something out of his trunk. I assumed he was

getting some product so I pulled out my money. He

came back with a U.P.S. package that was sealed and

post marked. He sat down and tossed me the box and

said, "Put your money away Benny. This is to get you

off to a good start. There's a quarter pound of good

Mexican pot along with an eighth of an ounce separated

you can use as a guide. I'm giving you the number to

my voice mail and when you leave me a message say

you're 007."

ChapteR 5

Mexico City, Mexico

Mexico City's chief of police Fuego Sanchez was

busy coordinating the security at the drug boss's estate

for the summit meeting of the cartels. He had most

of Mexico City's police force defending the drug boss

and the perimeter of the monstrous property. The drug

boss, Juan Carlos Abrego Valdez on paper, but he was

known as El Diablo or the devil in English. El Diablo

Valdez called on Jorge Espinosa, the leader of the Gulf

cartel, Carlo Garcia, the leader of the Juarez cartel and

Felipe Nevarrez of the Michoacán cartel for a meeting

of the minds.

This was the first of the summit meetings. El Diablo

Valdez always stayed many chess moves ahead of his

competition and the authorities. He knew his nephews

along the Tijuana border were taxing every cartel's

shipments crossing their corridor into the U.S. so he

was feeling them out and seeing if anything needed to

get put on the table to iron out.

El Diablo looked at the cartel heads at his table

and realized that suspicions were so high that nobody

was saying a word. It looked like everyone suspected

the others of infringing on or wanting their business.

El Diablo's position of power to call this meeting was

made possible for two reasons. The first was, he was the

longest standing pioneer for getting American dollars

into Mexico for their drugs. The second and more

important reason was he had the most influence and

the furthest reach into both the Mexican and the U.S.

governments. He was so far into the U.S. government

that he was involved indirectly with the highest up

U.S. officials who decided on how much money Mexico

would get from the U.S.in aid for fighting the War on

Drugs. He also had the Mexican government so far in

his pocket that the Mexican military escorted some of

his most massive loads of drugs into California along

the remote Imperial and Coachella valley.

After a few tense minutes El Diablo decided it was

time to get the conversation started.

"Thank you all for taking the time to come to this

gathering. As always I send my regards and respects

to your loved ones and countrymen. I established this

meeting and look forward to others so we may pool

our resources for our collective gain as Mexicans and

to settle any problems that arise in our locales. The

bottom line is we shouldn't fight against each other.

I'm going to give up the floor for you, my guests, to

represent your interests."

Not surprisingly nobody spoke. El Diablo calmly

looked at the cartel leaders and waited them out for

a few more minutes. When the silence got a little

uncomfortable he smashed his fist against the table and

knocked a few cups over.

He took on a passionate tone and said, "My fellow

Mexicans, we have to look at each other as comrades in

this together! Our country is poor and hungry... With

some of our relatives and countrymen starving! While

in the United States they have so much money and food

that they are like a spoiled fat cat! Those Americans

think they are better than us, smarter than us and feel

they deserve more than us!" El Diablo noticed the

cartel leaders nodding their heads in collective Mexican

honor.

El Diablo threw out more string with, "I have a

master plan I am willing to share with you. In showing

you how I run my operation please recognize and

remember this sharing so we don't become greedy over

the gringo money... What I do with my smuggling

operation is I send leaders that I use as spies into the

dense cities in California. Our Pisano's are hard workers

who get jobs at restaurants and construction sites.

Some of them will sell my drugs to supplement their

meager income because their dream is to buy a house

in California and bring the rest of their families out

of Mexico to the dream. Another way I have my spies

recruit our countrymen who have migrated to California

is to hang out at stores that wire money to Mexico.

The temptation to make faster and larger amounts

of money combined with the power that comes with

being a supplier of the party materials is too much.

The women, the toys and the prestige pull them into

the business and we are tapped into their networks and

under my control."

El Diablo studied his guest at the table and realized

they all had similar strategies in place. He was hoping

his sharing would inspire them to offer some details,

anything. The stoic faces that stared back at him

proved otherwise. In the silence that hung in the air

Felipe Nevarrez decided he could play the same game

of rallying the troops.

"Men, In the Bible..." He crossed himself before

continuing. "Adam and Eve were told not to eat of the

forbidden fruit and the snake tempted them by telling

them, ' HE DOESN'T WANT YOU TO EAT IT

BECAUSE YOU'LL BE AS SMART AS HIM'. It is like

that with the Americans, we offer them the forbidden

fruit their government makes it so hard to get. You see

men, we are not the devil or the snake, we're just people

who are already familiar with the forbidden fruit."

ChapteR 6

A week later in Michoacán, Mexico

Felipe Nevarrez met his uncle Ernesto at his

restaurant, Ernie's Tacos. It wasn't open for business,

just for this meeting. Workers loyal to the cartel were

making a feast and serving beer for the two leaders.

Three other loyal members stood at the doors with

A.K.47's to maintain security.

Ernie's Tacos sat on an isolated desert road that

wound from the mountainous region of Hidaka all the

way to the border. This passage was known as snake

eyes because of all of the dead rattle snakes and other

reptiles that littered the dirt. There were also hundreds

of hastily made tombstones for the people who didn't

make the trek. Snakes, scorpions and lizards that ran

with their tails in the air to avoid the heat could be seen

moving through all of the cactus and rocks.

Felipe ran down every detail of his visit with El

Diablo at his ranch in Mexico City in such a minute

degree that it was as visual for his uncle as it had been

for him. He included every word that was spoken, every

detail of the ranch, the pictures of his family on the

walls, the familiarity El Diablo had with the chief of

police and their security and all of the body language he

could interpret from all who were present.

Ernesto took it all in and sipped on his Tecate. "Do you think El Diablo has all of the Mexican government in his pocket?"

Felipe nodded his head and said, "Yeah... It's like we thought."

Now that the summit meeting was over Felipe

was thinking about their next drug run. This one was

going to be a culmination of a year's worth of smaller

ones. Profits from their contacts in Southern California

had added up considerably. The plan this time was for

Felipe to bring his cousin on a run for the first time to

meet some of the associates in the Inland Empire and

Los Angeles. Ernie had labeled this trip as the Monarch

run as it was their biggest one yet.

Felipe asked, "Are the Monarchs ready?"

Ernie thought about why he named it. The monarch

butterflies migrated from Michoacán Mexico to the U.S.

every year. He was using the term as a code word for

their packaged drug clavos. The drugs were packaged

up in the mountainous hillside and wrapped in plastic

with a Monarch butterfly stamped on them. There was

speed, heroin and cocaine loaded up and ready to go.

Ernie answered, "The Monarchs are ready! Our

eighteen wheeler is up the road with your cousin Javier

in it waiting for you to give him the green light from

the border. The call from the border just came in before

you got here telling me you're clear to cross. I still want

you to spend ten minutes studying the border agent to

make sure he doesn't have any company looking over his

shoulder. You're going to drive the same Ford Festiva

as last time and Jefe will be following the eighteen

wheeler in the Honda to keep an eye on the rear." Ernie

slid a pack of Camel cigarettes across the table and said,

"There's some speed in there to keep you vigilant for

your long drive. Call me at the border if anything looks

fishy... Stay in touch with your cousin Javier constantly

to let him know you've got his front scoped out and

to keep him calm during the drive. I want you to help

him catch on to our operation as fast as possible so you

can both go on separate runs pretty soon. I love your life

and will be praying for you all. Vaya con dios."

ChapteR 7

Felipe pulled the Ford Festiva over to the side of

the road to watch the border agents like Ernesto said.

He felt a freaky, sketchy adrenaline high flood through

his veins knowing he was about to cross the border

with over four hundred pounds of narcotics. Felipe

remembered how Ernesto had found the best border

guard to have in the palm of his hand at this corridor

into the U.S.... That was five years ago. Felipe thought

about how he married the agent's daughter and they

had a daughter of their own now. Felipe remembered

how as soon as he saw an opportunity to help her father

when financial problems arose, he seized it. All it took

was a little finesse from there. Ricardo the agent was

just like most people, he worshipped money. Ricardo

was a lot more cunning then the rest of the naive agents

he worked with and had the most clout so it was a good

match.

Felipe studied Ricardo and he didn't look any

different than normal, none of the other agents did

either, so he made the call to get the caravan started. A

couple minutes later he pulled the Festiva into traffic,

just ahead of the eighteen wheeler and the Honda. It

was six p.m., right before shift change. Ernesto had it

planned that way figuring the border agents would be

less prone to be as vigilant since they wanted to leave –

Human nature. Felipe inched toward the checkpoint

and stayed calm thinking about how low his profile

was in the little blue car. The border agent pretended

to scrutinize Felipe for the appropriate amount of time

and waved him through. The same thing happened

for Javier in the eighteen wheeler and then Jefe in the

Honda – The American dream.

Felipe lined up some speed to snort already on the

edge of his seat. He loved speed ever since they'd learned

how to cook the product from the biker gang. Felipe

snorted a healthy portion and checked his nose in the

mirror and felt like a movie star. This life was meant for

a movie. As the speed made its way to his brain Felipe

told himself what he always did about speed. That it

wasn't bad, people were. The drug brought out in you

what was already there... further. If you could handle it

you could get a lot of stuff done in a short time but your

true colors would show through to the sagacious eye.

Smoking a Camel wide cigarette Felipe thought

about his mother in heaven. She had raised him

Catholic, God rest her soul. She loved everyone, saw the

good in people well before others pointed out the bad

and was very compassionate. All of that didn't help her

avoid poverty, getting beat up and raped by his father

though. After he killed him Ernesto pulled him into

the just starting cartel. Felipe looked at his uncle like

a hero who took on the world to bring money to their

poverty stricken town of dirt and heat. Songs were made

and sung by the mariachis as a tribute to how much he

helped out the town and his countrymen. The message

was clear in Felipe's mind when he philosophized on it.

The Americans thought they were God. They created

laws faster than good sense could catch up along with

passing judgment like they were without sin. It was

poetic justice that the Americans created the demand

for drugs and made their kid's want to experiment with

them more for making them so taboo! The more the

U.S, raved about the war on drugs the more kids rebelled

by using them. It was like a challenge. It created an

unstoppable underground culture and the wave Felipe

was happy to ride. Felipe continued to study the road

for cops but didn't see the magnificent eagle flying high

above him.

From up there, you could see Felipe in his small blue

Ford Festiva with three conspicuously placed antennas

a half a mile ahead of Javier in the eighteen wheeler,

looking a lot more rugged than the more regulated

California ones, and, then Jorge in the back in the blue

Honda with another three conspicuous antennas on an

otherwise deserted freeway as dusk approached.

ChapteR 8

Felipe drove the speed limit and daydreamed about

how much money this shipment was going to bring in.

Most of the business they had been doing over the years

had been with Mexicans residing in Southern California.

There had been a representative from Pomona, one from

Norwalk and one from Fontana until a man who went

by Topo made his presence felt and changed all of that.

He had come to Felipe with the Norwalk representative

and explained that he was the problem solver for most

of the drug business for the Mexicans for most of the

Inland Empire and Los Angeles. Ever since that day

Felipe couldn't get a hold of the other reps, only Topo.

When Felipe inquired about this phenomenon to Topo,

he shrugged his shoulders and said, "This way there

won't be any problems to solve."

After that run Felipe remembered how he and

Ernie scratched their heads trying to understand what

had happened to the other reps and why they wouldn't

return their calls for continued business. Ernie did

as much homework on Topo as possible and came up

with some understanding. They had found out that

Topo's reputation preceded him with the widest regard

throughout Southern California and the authorities

considered him mafia even though there wasn't any proof

to substantiate the claim. Ernie didn't mind losing the

other business contacts because Topo coordinated more

business anyway. Ernie decided that the other contacts

were still getting their product, just through Topo

now. Felipe thought about how Topo changed the rules

subtly in that he fought for lower prices and didn't pay

for the product upon arrival. He had his associate pay

once it was liquidated and the next shipment arrived.

Topo explained that the cartel had to take that risk so

his operation had money to problem solve. If one of

his reps got busted and he provided bona fide proof in

police reports and court documents the cartel would

have to eat the loss. Felipe understood that Topo was

a shot caller and learned from and respected his style.

In East L.A., Topo's backyard, he had the speed dyed a

color of his choosing to keep track of who wasn't selling

his dope. He had his heroin and cocaine packaged a

certain way for the same reasons.

Felipe drove and thought. He and Ernesto preferred

the business they did with the biker gangs in San

Fernando and San Bernardino. They paid almost double

what Topo paid and they paid in full up front.

Three miles away from the initial destination on

the Indian reservation Felipe got a call from Jefe in the

trail car. Jefe rapidly explained that he spotted a police

cruiser come out of hiding behind him. Felipe called

Javier in the eighteen wheeler and told him to get ahead

of him and to floor it to the reservation. As Javier passed,

Felipe changed lanes so he and Jefe in the Honda were

in both lanes to throw a block so Javier could reach the

reservation. Felipe watched the police cruiser race up to

the rear of both he and Jefe's bumpers.

Javier got off the freeway and entered the

reservation. Felipe watched the officer behind him call

in one of their plates and signaled to change lanes in

front of Jefe to transfer into the reservation also. Ernie

had explained that regular law enforcement didn't have

jurisdiction on the reservation. Only the feds did. As

Felipe turned into the reservation with Jefe following

he was surprised to see the police cruiser follow also.

A few seconds later Felipe breathed a sigh of relief as

the officer pulled the cruiser to a stop on the side of the

road.

From his rearview mirror Felipe watched the officer

until the road into the reservation got too windy for

view. The windy road quickly turned steep for a mile

where it leveled off and the reservation's business

and housing started. Felipe knew the reservation was

completely self-contained and run by their own tribal

police force. A few more miles past the town's shops

were another steep hill that took them to Paulo's estate.

Paulo pretty much owned the entire reservation and

was considered the real chief even though someone else

had that title officially. Felipe got behind the eighteen

wheeler as Paulo waved it into an open gate. Felipe and

Jefe followed on the dirt road that skirted behind Paulo's

estate. Once they were all parked they were completely

hidden from view to anything other than a helicopter.

Felipe got out of the Festiva and saw Topo come out the

front door of Paulo's and head their way.

Felipe explained to Topo and Paulo the situation

with the police cruiser on the way in. Paulo listened

intently and immediately made a call to a crew member

and sent him on the mission of checking if the cruiser

was still within the reservation. While he was doing that

Felipe shook Topo's hand and studied his expression.

Felipe stood eye to eye with Topo's five foot eight inch

frame and was surprised to see how calm Topo seemed

under the circumstances. He looked focused but seemed

to be enjoying this challenge. Topo pointed to the sky

and Felipe and Paulo looked up to see an eagle soaring

Topo wasn't too distracted to see.

Topo said, "Let's be like that eagle and go to the

perch I had built for Paulo to get the best view. Why

don't you have someone bring us a pair of binoculars

from inside your house so we can study the reservation's

entrance and highway?"

While they waited Paulo explained to Felipe that

Topo had a thirteen foot high wall built around his entire

property that stretched more than a half a mile. "It's my

own wall of China right here on my reservation."

A couple of minutes of waiting and someone came

running out of Paulo's with a set of binoculars. Felipe

followed Paulo with Topo at his side and took in the

wall made of concrete and boulders. It was impressive

in its height with an added couple of feet of concertina

razor wire circling atop the structure. There ahead of

them Felipe saw the perch Topo was talking about.

There was a ladder set up on one side and the wall's

structure was even wider for a stretch of ten feet and

gave enough room for four or five people to sit or stand

on. Right next to the perch sat a stone statue of a lion

and then a gate that opened to leave the back of Paulo's

property. Ten feet away on the other side of the gate

was an identical lion and perch. Paulo was the first up

the perch and immediately studied the reservation's

entrance down below.

Paulo found what he was looking for and said,

"That police cruiser just pulled out and got back on

the freeway!"

Felipe asked, "Which way did he go? East, going

back or West, towards Riverside?"

Paulo said, "East going back, but if he was as

suspicious as you felt he could be circling back to watch

from a distance."

Felipe asked, "Do you know where he might post

up so we can watch him?"

Paulo said, "Yeah, I know exactly where. About a

quarter of a mile down they slide in behind some cover

that provides a view of everything coming in and out of

the reservation."

Felipe pondered the circumstances and couldn't

help but stare at how calmly Topo looked standing on

the perch next to the lion statue. He looked like an

Aztec warlord who was used to conquering.

Paulo pulled the binoculars from his eyes and

patted Topo's shoulder and said, "Thanks again for this

magnificent wall around my estate. The architecture is

beautiful, the security is fortified and the view from up

here next to this lion is absolute!"

Inside Paulo's house Felipe called his uncle to check

in and apprise him of the situation. Ernie didn't answer

so Felipe just left word that he was going to stay put

until he got a return call. After hanging up the phone

Felipe decided that the best plan of action was to get

the dope out of the eighteen wheeler's extra gas tank

and break up Topo's issue and get the money owed for

the last load.

Felipe, Jefe, Javier and Topo positioned themselves

inside the eighteen wheeler's cargo area sitting on extra

tires that were used as seats and stash spots for money

and drugs while Paulo and his crew were circling the

highway to look for a police presence. Felipe dumped

out a backpack he'd been told to grab on the way out of

Paulo's house and looked at the half a million in cash.

He positioned his triple beam scale and Tanita digital

scale next to each other and began weighing the money

in like kind bills on each scale for accuracy. Each bill

weighed a gram and was a fast and efficient way to

approximate a count.

After Felipe finished counting and broke through

some of the plastic sealed bundles of dope Topo stopped

him and got his undivided attention. "With all respect

Felipe, why take the chance of driving out of here with

any product at all. I could take the whole thing off your

hands right now. Why risk getting pulled over and

having the dogs come sniffing around your vehicles?"

Topo noticed Felipe's stoic expression and

determined he didn't like the plan, probably because

he had other buyers paying more for the rest of the

product. Understandable! Topo chiseled into that

terrain, "I can have the rest of your product delivered to

your other buyers for you. We could package it now, set

up locations to meet and you can follow me to watch

me handle it. The rest of your caravan can wait here

while I handle the risk and you monitor the whole

thing. What do you think?"

Javier on his first drug run into the U.S. nodded his

head at what a good plan it was. Felipe and Jefe were

stoic statues and stared at Topo looking much the same.

Eventually Felipe responded, "With all respect to your

good plan, I have to call my uncle and run the situation

by him. It's his call. I'm just one of his many integral

components."

Topo nodded his head appreciatively and said, "I can respect that."

Right then Felipe's cell phone rang and he saw his

uncle's number. He excused himself and got out of

the eighteen wheeler and walked all the way through

the gate with the perch behind Paulo's property to get

some privacy. Felipe explained all of the details in drug

runner slang without any names or felonious activity.

When he was done he asked his uncle for instructions.

Ernie took his time and commented on Topo's

plan. "It sounds like that guy has a good plan but we

don't know him well enough to put everything in his

control..."

Felipe pondered the years worth of business that

was now on the line. He knew he was closer to the

problem and would have to come up with the solution

but sharing the problem with Ernie took some of

the responsibility of his shoulders. Felipe thought of

another angle. "I wish we knew these guys better so

we could leave everything here and have our other

associates come to this place for takeout."

Ernie didn't reply. He was busy thinking. Felipe

continued thinking out loud, "This guy that lives

where I'm at..." Ernie knew he meant Paulo at the

reservation. "The guy from L.A. has him in his pocket.

It might as well be his house. He does seem to really

know what he's doing though... I just don't trust them

yet. Not enough experience to go on."

Ernie's tone of voice took that skeptical line of

thinking even further. "Another thing to consider

is we don't want them meeting our other business

associates!!"

Felipe's mind raced with a vision of the worst

possible scenario. What if Topo stole the whole load of

drugs! And our white biker associates!! What if Topo

was doing business with another cartel and his job was

to land a direct hit on ours?

Ernie was remembering another time many years

ago where all of the circumstances looked similar but

even worse. That time all of the evidence presented

looked like a despicable double cross. Assumptions

were made, action was taken, and many people died

execution style. In the aftermath Ernie learned they had

been manipulated by bad information. The lesson was

not to make assumptions too early and to do a lot more

homework before jumping the gun.

Considering all of that Ernie said, "We don't want

to assume anything. How does this compromise sound

nephew... We could give Mr. Torpedo half the product...

Split the rest into thirds... a third for the truck, a third

for the Festiva and a third for the Honda?"

Felipe knew his uncle wasn't thinking clearly.

Calling Topo Torpedo was funny but Ernie had always

taught that you never hide drugs and money in the same

place! Felipe reminded him. "We would be putting

the money at risk!"

Ernie responded, "Good thinking... You keep the

paper and give the Honda and the eighteen wheeler the

product."

Felipe said good bye and got off the phone. Walking

back he thought it was a pretty good plan but there had

to be more they could do. Then a better thought came

to him. The drugs were already weather proofed in over

twenty layers of plastic wrap. It wouldn't take much to

bury them. Felipe located a good spot behind Paulo's

estate and decided he could sneak away in the middle

of the night to make the deposit.

Back inside Paulo's gate Felipe saw Topo going

through Jefe's Honda and tweaking through the wires.

Then he had Jefe get in the car while he ran behind the

vehicle and yelled, "Hit your brakes!"

Jefe followed his directions. Topo yelled, "You've

got a tail light out on the right hand side. We'll have

Paulo go to the auto parts store to get that fixed. You

can't drive around like that on this side of the border.

You'll get pulled over."

ChapteR 9

The next morning everything was set according to

the new plan. Felipe thought, I'm glad I followed my

instincts and buried a good chunk of the product in

the middle of the night unknown to Topo or Paulo. It

took three hours of work and careful consideration to

remember the landmarks and the distance from Paulo's

wall.

That morning, constructing their exit strategy Topo

shocked Felipe with his description of how he was going

to hike along the same path the chunk of product was

buried. He explained how he knew the hillside like the

back of his hand and had even had a perch constructed

in a tree that over looked the parking lot he was going

to drop into the back of. He said that with binoculars

and the steep hillside it was an excellent perimeter

check. The parking lot was perfect for a covert entry.

You dropped into the backside of a gas station with the

only thing back there being a bathroom.

Topo left for his hike and perimeter check and forty

minutes later called Paulo. Paulo had been monitoring

the police airwaves for potential problems and let Topo

know there weren't any. From Topo's end he explained

that the parking lot was clear and it was time to get

the caravan rolling. Paulo handed the phone to Topo's

driver associate to get instructions. A minute later he

handed the phone to Felipe and left in the suburban.

Felipe stayed on the line and heard Topo getting into

the suburban and the door shut.

Topo told Felipe, "It's clear. You hop on now and

we'll wait right here for you and get behind your

caravan to give your back more cushion. Stay sharp and

let's go, vamanos!"

The procession of vehicles started with Javier

leading the way in the eighteen wheeler, Jefe in the

Honda, and Felipe in the Festiva in the rear. At the

second exit Topo's suburban pulled right behind Felipe

and it was smooth sailing – Until the next exit.

It turned out that the same cop that gave them the

scare entering the reservation just happened to be in

the right place at the wrong time. He was waiting at a

traffic light right next to the freeway and just happened

to look up in time to see the caravan. What caught the

officer's attention the first time was how haggard the

eighteen wheeler was. Then the officer zeroed in on the

Honda and all of its conspicuous antennas. When he

pulled up behind it the broken tail light was the kicker

but there hadn't been enough time to make the traffic

stop. That wasn't going to be a problem this time.

Topo and his associate lived in their rearview

mirror and saw the squad car racing up immediately.

They knew the officer was trying to provoke a panicky

reaction and that wasn't happening. The squad car

stayed right on their tail in a severe tailgate. After a

few Moments the squad car got in the passing lane and

did the same thing to Felipe in the Festiva, then Jefe

in the Honda. Topo watched the officer pull in front of

the eighteen wheeler and hit the lights and siren. Topo

told his associate, "He's going to pull over the eighteen

wheeler and the Honda."

That's exactly how it went down. The officer got

Javier to start pulling over and angled his way in front

of Jefe in the Honda and motioned for him to pull over

also. Felipe and then Topo passed right on by. In front

of Topo in the suburban Felipe maintained the exact

speed limit (In Mexico).

Topo continued to watch the rear through the visor's

window and saw the other two squad cars racing up

to assist the traffic stop. Topo was trying to ascertain

if this was a choreographed move by law enforcement

or just chance. When Topo looked forward he noticed

Felipe was only going fifty miles an hour in a sixty five

mile an hour speed limit. He had his driver pull up

alongside and rolled down his window and got Felipe

to do the same. He yelled out the window, "Hey, homes

you've got to pick up your pace and stay with me! I

know where we can pull off the freeway!"

Topo called Paulo to check what he was hearing on

the police scanner and apprised him of the situation.

A few miles away Topo pulled off where a restaurant

over looked the highway. Topo stopped Felipe and had

his associate park Felipe's car while Felipe watched the

road. Topo hid the suburban and they all went into the

restaurant.

At the table the minutes were ticking by and it

wasn't looking good. Topo said, "We're either going

to see your family driving by or their vehicles on tow

trucks. Do they have California driver's licenses and

insurance for those vehicles?" Topo had already taken

note that they had current registration back at the

reservation.

Felipe nodded his head vigorously. "Ernie made

sure it was all legit."

Topo thought to himself how much better he would

have been able to do the drug run in an eighteen wheeler

that blended in better and cars without so many obvious

antennas. In California there were a lot more angles to

think of relating to the law then in Mexico. Topo said,

"That's good. Now we can bail them out of jail if we

need to and move on it fast enough."

Forty minutes later they saw Jefe drive by in the

Honda going forty miles an hour with two squad cars

behind him. Both squad cars got into the passing

lane and accelerated past the Honda. Felipe held his

emotions in check and looked to Topo the problem

solver. Felipe told himself that it was his back yard...

And when in Rome, live as the Romans live.

Topo told Felipe to go get the Festiva and he'd keep

watch on the highway. A few minutes later as Felipe

pulled up Jefe called from the Honda. Felipe and Topo

listened to Jefe explain.

"They let me go after searching the Honda but they

held Javier to wait for the police canine unit to arrive.

What do you want me to do?"

Topo got on the line and explained where to get

off the highway in Indio. From there he helped him

navigate into a hotel's underground parking lot he'd

used in the past.

A few minutes later the eighteen wheeler Javier had

been driving went by on the back of a tow truck with

two squad cars trailing it. Felipe's heart ached when he

saw Javier in the back of one of the squad cars. Right

then Paulo called and gave Topo some information that

came off the police scanner. The canine units arrived

and the dogs responded inside the eighteen wheeler. It

was being towed to the police station for a thorough

search.

Every hour thereafter Topo called the county jail to

run a check on Javier's alias, Jesus Rodriguez. The first

three times came back without any charges. Then on

the fourth call the hammer dropped. Jesus Rodriguez

was being charged with health and safety code violation

of transportation of narcotics for sale.

Topo made a few more calls to establish the bail

situation and the wheels were in motion. Six hours later

Topo had his driver associate pick Javier up from jail.

Javier's alias, Jesus Rodriguez had a case pending for

possessing over fifty pounds of narcotics.

Felipe called his uncle in Michoacán, Mexico to

report the details. They both thought about what the

loss of fifty pounds of narcotics meant to them. It cost

them about a hundred thousand dollars. It would have

sold to Topo for over a half a million dollars. It would

have sold to the white biker gang for one point two five

million. The biker gang could have potentially broke

that down to near three and a half million.

Ernie swallowed the loss like a champion. After

the near heart attack he found the silver lining. "It's a

blessing we got Javier out on his alias. Send him back

to me immediately."

Felipe responded, "I can't believe how easy the

California system is for us to manipulate."

Ernie said, "It should be. California used to be

ours."

ChapteR 10

On the very next cartel run Felipe got pulled over in

San Bernardino and lost the Festiva and a smaller load

of drugs to the authorities but Topo and Jefe bailed him

out on his alias.

ChapteR 11

A Central California State Prison in the 2000's

A tattooed down Mexican prison guard stood at our

forty man holding tank holding the bars trying to get

our attention. He finally got us quiet enough to talk.

"Listen up! Everybody quiet and pay attention.

Welcome to our State Prison. It's going to be about

four more hours until we get your bedrolls and your

housing situated. If you keep the noise down we'll get

you some extra bag lunches. If you get too loud, and

it bothers our work down here in receiving, we'll keep

you cooped up in this cage until morning. Work with

us with respect and you'll get the same in return. You

Southern Mexicans... You're having problems with the

Mexicans from Fresno. So be on your toes."

A youngster Southern Mexican nodded his head

and said, "We're always on our toes!" All of the other

youngsters from the South nodded their heads in

agreement.

The prison guard continued. "You whites... You're

having problems with the Mexicans from Fresno and

the blacks so be on your toes."

I looked around at the couple other white faces and

wondered if the guard was stirring the pot. We'd be

finding out all of the details from our cellie when we

got housed in a little while.

The guard continued. "B.L.T.'s arrive from

Bakersfield on Wednesdays so there's your heads up on

that, any questions?"

I looked around and saw that almost every inmate

understood. Some were laughing at the guard's straight

forward style; some were a little shocked by it.

One inmate asked, "What's a B.L.T.?"

The guard looked like he wanted that question

asked. "Does anybody want to tell this guy?"

A tattooed down inmate said, "A butt load of

tobacco."

ChapteR 12

Later, a couple of deputies escorted some of us out

of receiving to the yard where we were processed. They

told us we were headed to the cells on D-yard. My name

is Benny Johnson but I also go by B.J.

The hallway out of receiving took us into the prison

where main control opened gates that went full circle.

There was the main kitchen, C-yard's gated entrance,

D-yard's gated entrance and then the medical offices.

On the way toward the D-yard gate we went past the

counselors' office and the program office where all of

the guards checked in for their shifts and some worked.

I took it all in and saw a white inmate working out in

front of the program office sweeping the sidewalk. He

looked like an older dope addict.

The deputies escorting us were watching us closely

so all we could do was nod our heads and walk on by.

At D-yard's gate, once opened and through, it split

two ways. The path to the right took us to buildings

one, two and three and the path to the left went to

buildings four, five and six. It looked like a baseball

diamond. Right there where the path split a gun

tower rose approximately thirty feet high. Like a home

plate umpire he could see all six buildings and their

mini yards to get to the path and the rest of the yard.

Looking up I couldn't see the guard inside the tower

and determined he must be sitting down because the

windows he scoped the yard through were tinted up the

halfway point. The rifles and block guns were visible

though. You could see them stationed for the guard to

grab when he stood up.

Just down the path I saw where a gate opened for

inmates to get escorted to the yard at their yard time

when the program wasn't locked down. Inside the yard

I saw pull-up bars lined both baselines, the outfield

sported a soccer field from right field to center field

and there was a full court basketball court in deep left

field.

Our escort deputies walked us down to one block

and dropped a couple of inmates into the custody of

the guard waiting at one block's gate. The same thing

happened at building two and three. The buildings

were that tan prefab concrete color and the towers were

all painted green. The guards wore the same green

colored military fatigue style outfits. From the feet up

they sported a pair of jacked up army boots for good

stomping power and traction, then at the belt they had

an almost fire extinguisher sized can of pepper spray, a

Billy club and what we refer to as their panic button.

Once pressed it activates a high pitched alarm that

pierces the air with decibels that rise up and down in

pitch. The guards were trained to immediately identify

the level of the incident and where it was cracking so

that, if needed, every yard at the prison could respond.

In contrast to the deputies uniforms, we were dressed in

paper thin jumpsuits similar to what hairnets are made

of and jap flap shoes that let you feel every inch of the

pavement.

In front of five block, one of the escorting deputies

called all but one of us, Inmate Rodriguez. That meant

he had to be going to the hole, ad-seg, in six block, over

night.

"Inmates Johnson, Grisham and Sanchez this is your

new home for a while. Probably three to six months

unless you're level four... Then up to a year or more.

Have fun!"

I said goodbye to inmate Rodriguez who went by

Topo. He'd said he was going to a prison down South

on the border. I'd talked to him briefly and he knew I

went by B.J. He told me, "All right Johnson, see you

around the corner huh..."

I knew Rodriguez was a straight mobster, you could

just see it. He was one of those guys who was brought

up right under the old school. None of that Pepsi cola

generation shit where everyone calls each other by their

A.K.A.'s in front of the cops. Neither would he self-

admit his own nickname or self-admit he was anything

other than a human being just trying to figure this

thing out also.

Rodriguez made me laugh in receiving. He explained

that the climate in California started changing in the late

eighties and nineties because prisons started processing

prison sentences like D.M.V. processed licenses. Gone

were the days where you'd only go to prison for very

serious crimes and there were only a hand full of them.

Tough on crime platforms, overzealous detectives and

the meth craze worked together to build thirty five new

prisons in a ten year period to change everything. He'd

said, "Now everyone in prison wants to be someone. The

new generation wants to be so hard that they go around

telling on themselves with all their claims about what

they've done, who they're with and where they're from.

They stamp their gang in ink all over them to fit in

with the ones that are smart enough not to tell the cops

anyway. They're just helping the cops build up a file on

them that all levels of law enforcement and the courts

share to classify you as a terrorist. Some act this way

because they're too new to know any better, some to fit

into crazy circumstances with a name and a platform

and others because they assume it's the only way. It's

the seven up generation, never had it never will. When

I get a chance to play on the main line prison yards I

call them on all their shit. If I hear them talking about

how many people they've stabbed or shot or other high

powered attitudes I find work that needs to be put in on

child molesters or rapist and tell them to go blast them.

I explain that I know I can trust them to do a good job

since they've already done so much... Right?"

A big black deputy with a name plate that read

C. Jackson came out of five block and sent the escort

deputies on their way. He looked us over with a quick

scan for obvious knuckle heads and said, "Listen up!

Inmates Johnson, Grisham and Gomez you're on A side.

Johnson you're in cell 123, Grisham you're in cell 125

and Gomez you're in cell 213. We entered the building

and deputy Jackson stopped us in front of his office and

told us to wait there until the tower deputy got back to

pop our cells open. Deputy Jackson left us and walked through a sally

port that connected five block to B-side. Once through

he was out of view and inmates locked in their cell

started calling for us. I looked up to the tower and tried

to make out the shadow of the guard through the dark

tinted Plexiglas. The rifles and block guns were visible

but not the guard. An inmate close by in cell 104 was

yelling out from the side of cell.

"HEY ESSAY!! HEY HOMMIE!! I'M OVER

HERE IN CELL 104!! COME HERE HOMMIE!!"

Standing right with us, inmate Gomez looked over

to see who it was that was calling him. He noticed it

was a Mexican but wasn't sure if he was from southern

California. He looked from cell 101 to cell 107 that

made up A-section, then from the right angle cell 108

took to cell 117 that made up B-section, then another

right angle from cell 118 to cell 125 that made up

C-section looking for a more familiar face. Inmate

Gomez didn't bother looking over the top tier because

the inmate calling him identified himself. Inmate

Gomez walked his way and looked over his shoulder to

check for the guard in the tower.

I looked around and saw some expert fisherman

slinging their fishing line off the second tier up in the

air and over the fourth bar barrier to land on the first

tier. It looked like the line was made out of dental floss

it was so thin and a tooth paste container was the sports

car getting launched off what I now saw was a ramp

constructed out of a magazine the inmate slid out of

his cell to send it on the mission. An inmate downstairs

raced his car and line out of his cell and onto the tier to

run it down and cross over it. The inmate downstairs

yanked his line back and it caught the other one in a

loop so he could reel it into his cell. Then there was

another cell that didn't look like he was used to being

in a locked down cell environment. He was trying to

fish to the cell next to him and his line looked like it

was made from half of his sheet and a bar of soap. I

took another look around and found a sign on the wall

that read in both English and Spanish WARNING!

NO WARNING SHOTS WILL BE FIRED IN THIS

AREA "Warden"

ChapteR 13

Inmate Grisham had come from Orange County

jail with me. I told him to look the bottom tier over

for white faces at the cell door while I scan the top tier.

I found a white cell in 223 who was finger signing me

"Where are you from?" I quickly signed the letter O.C.

Then I watched him sign me "Are you affiliated?"

Deputy Jackson came back in from the other side of

the building so I waved cell 223 off. Grisham asked me

under his breath, "What did that guy ask?"

I told him, "Where we were from and affiliation...

I told him O.C."

We walked to our cells and I told Grisham the three

cells I had identified as being white on the top tier. It

was easy, all I had to do was watch the guy who had

been finger signing me finger sign the other two cells.

I scanned the bottom tier and saw a serious white face

studying us at the corner of B-section in cell 117 and

one studying us in the last cell in C-section, 125 right

next to the showers. Every other cell had a Mexican or

black standing there studying us. As I got to my cell I

told Grisham I'd see him later.

While I waited for the tower to pop my cell open I

looked into the cell to take a quick inventory. I looked

at the sink and toilet because you can tell a lot about

your cellie by how clean he keeps it. It was chrome

polished to a shine and the floor looked clear of clutter

and was spotless also. I noticed a couple of floor towels

he must use to take cell showers and to mop the floor

with. So far so good.

The cell popped open and I stepped in and studied

my cellie. He stood there in his state issue white boxers

and a pair of flip flops at just under six feet and about

190 pounds. He looked cut up in the right places but

looked like he lacked any real power. He looked about

thirty years old, was going bald, and had blue eyes that

looked a little frayed from life and a bunch of happy

tattoos. He must have loved the ying-yang because

he had it tattooed on his chest, his shoulder and his

stomach. There was a Yosemite Sam tattoo on his other

shoulder and some tribal and barbed wire on his arms.

He stepped up to shake my hand and said, "I'm

Dave from San Berdoo."

I looked Dave in the eyes and shook his hand. "I'm

B.J. from Orange County. Nice to meet you. How long

have you been here?"

I moved around Dave to get situated and noticed

his bed was made with his mattress rolled up on the top

bunk. I had to wonder if he actually preferred the top

bunk or if he just wanted to avoid any confrontation

over wanting the bottom bunk, wanting control of

the cell and a lot of other things that have to do with

control. Dave started talking while I situated things.

"I've been here three months! I should be out of

here any day now that I've seen my counselor and

been classified. This place sucks! I hate it here! The

counselors don't want to do their jobs... And nobody

else does either!"

I thought to myself, I only asked how long you've

been here! David looked like your regular run of the

mill drug user. I was guessing speed and a secondary

drug or two like alcohol and pot. David continued with

his negativity.

"You're going to hate this place! We don't get any

program at all. This building has been locked down

for six months. No yard, no dayroom, no store...

nothing!"

I finished tying my sheets to the mattress and then

rolled the mattress up in a tight roll and set it at the

end of the bunk so my part of the cell was ship shape. I

had heard from a few people what had been going on at

Wasco but information is often unreliable. "Why has

this building been on lock down?"

Dave said, "The Mexicans from Fresno have been

going at it with the hommies on all of the buildings

on D-yard."

I said, "I already know they've been going at it on

this yard for years. Ever since they stopped being allied

with each other at prisons up north and Corcoran, but

what does that have to do with the whites?"

Dave looked uncomfortable. He must not know. Or

was he uncomfortable passing along what he'd heard,

unsure if it was bona fide? Or did he just not want to

get involved? I tried to fish out what his awareness was.

"Is it because we're allied with them at certain prisons

like Southern California? Maybe because we work

out together there? Or maybe because we do business

with them, say our good mornings and good nights to

them in our cadences? Maybe they think we're passing

weapons for them?"

Dave looked like these thoughts were out of his

league. I had to wonder if he was really that naive. I tried

to help him see what I was saying. Maybe we're caught

in their war's crossfire? Maybe the Fresno Mexicans are

just trying to flex on us as a show of force to try and

hold down this prison and make a name for themselves

since this prison is located in their backyard and it's

really their only chance to. Still nothing out of David.

So far David was failing every test in my eyes. He

hadn't done any homework on me to see who I was. He

didn't seem to know what was going on in our block

and in general seemed to want to stay hidden under

a rock. That didn't inspire much trust in a place you

needed to know your cellie had your back. I asked again

with an edge to my voice. "Why are the whites locked

down in this building? You're telling me you don't

have a clue?"

Dave gave me the universal 'I don't know' shrugging

of the shoulders but finally came up with something.

"We've been having problems with the Fresno Mexicans

and blacks at some of the other buildings on this yard

and this is where all of the trouble makers are sent.

Screwball has this building for the whites and he'll give

you the 411. He'll be shooting his line over here to

you..." Right on cue I heard a sliding thump and saw a

flash under the cell door.

The cell door had about two inches of clearance

space at the bottom of it for incoming and outgoing

business. I looked at the toothpaste container a couple

of inches in front of the cell too far and followed the line

to where it came from. A granite stoic white face stood

inside a cell six cells away staring at me. I nodded my

head in acknowledgment and got down on the ground

to pull his line in. My cellie already had a two foot long

stick made of rolled up magazine up against the wall

so I grabbed it and used it to get the screwball's line. I

asked my cellie, "Do you have a good line already made

or do I have to make one or get one?"

Dave went through his stuff and pulled it out. It

was a single serving milk carton that had been folded

down with soap in it to give it added weight. While

he was already in his stuff I asked him if he had his

paper work so I could start running my make on him.

Homework.

Inside screwball's toothpaste container there was a

folded up note or what we call a kite. Screwball's kite

was written in very small clear print like he was always

conserving paper and space. It read: Greeting Komrad,

this is screwball and my cellie is bouncer! We both

send our loyalty and honor to you full blast. It's good

to have you here. You look familiar... I'll be able to get

out of the cell later and I'll come by and talk to you. I'm

responsible for this block so I'll need to see your paper

work, along with the guy that just rolled in with you a

few cells down. Once that's cleared I'll get at you with

the 411 on this building and yard. With Vigilance and

Respect, screwball. P.S. stay tied to my line.

I got out all of my felonious paper work and found

the one that said I didn't have any sexual offenses and

put it on top. I appreciated the fact that he wanted to

see it because if screwball was doing his job right sex

offenders who molested women and children would

get at least something sharp poked in them to take

to the infirmary and a scar for life to remind them of

their ways. The rest of the paper work would show

the manager of the building what kind of crimes

were involved so nobody could try to act like a bigger

criminal then they were. A purse snatcher couldn't run

his mouth that he was some kind of drug mobster and

so on. It reduced fraud somewhat. I knew that when

no one was running the building, yard or streets with

an iron fisted program everyone wants to be that guy

and it promotes a lot of bragging that I've done this or

that. If screwball was a field general he'd call on those

individuals to step up to the plate and be on deck to

put in work to keep up the program of "Handle your

business, not talk about it."

I sent my paperwork to screwball and checked my

cellie's. He was a small time drug and alcohol abuser

like I thought. The only thing that made me frown

was a domestic issue he had with his spouse but it was

one of those verbal fights more than anything seriously

violent. I noticed the end of my cellie's fishing line

had another milk carton for a car on it so I called out to

Grisham a few cells down that I was sending it. I sent

it a couple of cells down and heard screwball yell for me

to "Pull your line!"

Screwball's next kite read: B.J., I know of you

through the grapevine and many mutual acquaintances

and it's a pleasure to cross paths. I'm going to move

you to my cell in the next few days. My utmost respect

from one white soldier to another. This block has

been locked down since November. Seven months of

24-7 slammed in your cell slow motion. No yard, no

dayroom and worse yet no store! I've been working on

the Lieutenant and the associate warden to at least let

us get to the store for cosmetics. I shot your cellie a

deodorant I broke into over ten pieces to pass around

to the white cells in here. Let me know if you need

toothpaste, soap or anything else at all, don't hesitate. I

got to this prison in December and started in one block

where I did my homework on this issue we're having

with Fresno. To give you a feel for how they are apt

to get down, 10 of them jumped a sixty year old wino

of ours. I conducted a retaliation move to balance the

books before they could mount one on us to get over

here. I'll fill you all the way in when I come by and

for now keep it brief. Currently in this building we're

debating a peace treaty with Fresno but it's lopsided.

We have to send a white soldier we have in this block

to another block to satisfy it. That white soldier peeled

one of their caps with a razor in another building and

got away with it by sliding the piece under a cell to get

rid of it. I don't want to get dictated to by another race

like that but that is what's on the table at this point. We

get showers tomorrow so enjoy your fifteen minutes of

freedom from your cell because that's all you get three

times a week. I'll come by and talk to you then. I'm

enclosing two of the four cigarettes I had left and the

white roll call list for all of D yard including what I know

about in the administrative segregation hole building

six so you'll know if you have any of your loved ones

here. Make sure you flush it when you're done checking

it out!! With that said good night to you and your

cellie. Screwball.

I had read screwball's kite out loud for my cellie's

benefit, common courtesy. I threw it in the toilet and

began reading the roll call list to myself.

Dave asked me, "What's on that kite? The roll call

list he mentioned?"

I nodded my head yes while scanning for familiar

names. I found a couple in six block's hole, one on the

other side of our block and a couple in building's one

and two. It's a small world after all.

Dave intruded and said, "You're the seventh cellie

I've had and none of us have gotten to check out a roll

call list."

I didn't say anything. Dave was winning some small

points by coming out from under his rock. The pause

got pregnant and he wasn't pushing the issue. It got a

little uncomfortable and he finally got bold enough to

ask, "Do I have any homeboys from San Bernardino?"

I decided to throw a dog a bone and let David feel

a little less neglected and read off the Inland Empire

A.K.A.'s on the list.

ChapteR 14

Screwball came by my cell the next morning after

I was done with the fifteen minute shower. Screwball

stood there with a soldier's posture at just over six feet

of thin but strong tendony muscle. He carried himself

with poise like he'd already faced what the world could

throw at him and found himself able. His eyes radiated

how intense he was. When they fixed on your position

they were like lasers that could reduce all fraudulence

to the barest reality. He had a small lightning bolt

tattoo under his right eye that accentuated his granite

cheek bone. Other tattoos on his body looked like they

were going to have meaning to him until the day he

died and looked like they were placed strategically by

an architect. He managed to still carry a clean, almost

G.Q. look despite the ink. He began by explaining

the most serious incident. I imagined seeing it in my

head.

Pequeno was standing on the toilet in his cell so he

could talk to Tico his neighbor through the vent.

"Hey, homeboy!! Did you get the kite?" He was

talking about the kite all of the Mexican's from Fresno

were passing to each other cell to cell. Both Pequeno

and Tico were kids and didn't realize there was a white

cell above them who was attached to the same vent

listening to their conversation.

Tico stood on his toilet so he could get up to the vent

and level with Pequeno. "Yeah homeboy I got the kite...

It's from the big hommie and it says it's mandatory and

on site..." Tico paused wondering if it was okay to talk

about this kind of stuff through the vent. Then he blew

it harder so he wouldn't look as scared as he felt about

everything. "When the cells crack open it's time to take

flight on the whites."

Pequeno blew it just as hard. "Yeah homeboy,

tomorrow morning at breakfast it's on and cracking."

Both Pequeno and Tico considered that since

their cells weren't going to get popped open as early

as most of their other homeboys they might not be

involved. They both breathed a sigh of relief until they

remembered that last week their section went to chow

first! It was a long night for the youngsters.

In the cell above, Mike also known as Italy, was

writing a warning kite to cell 106 about what he'd just

heard. He knew that was going to be the first white cell

released to breakfast in the morning.

For breakfast the food was set up in deep dish pans

for the inmates to file in a single file line to get their issue

one section at a time. Jason, also known as Damaged,

was standing inside cell 106 staring out the Plexiglas

window. He was in the last cell of A-section, a corner

cell. Out of the other five cells in front of him four of

them held Mexicans from Fresno, the other held black

inmates. Damaged thought about he and his cellie's

odds, eight against two, not good. Damaged went over

the things in his head that he did have going for him

to balance the odds. Their cell was a corner cell so they

couldn't get surrounded initially being the last cell in

that line; they were already aware of their adversary's

intentions; and, most important, he had a lot of level

four experience under his belt.

The anticipation of the cell doors popping open was

mounting. As the seconds ticked by, Damaged watched

the guards and the gun tower guard coordinate their

readiness. On the floor near the spot inmates were

going to pick up their trays of food stood a fat white

guard with a block gun in his hands. There were two

other Mexican guards with canisters of pepper spray

standing ten feet away looking at the guard in the

tower holding the rifle. It looked like he was waiting

for one of the Mexican guards to call the shot on when

to start popping the cells to feed. Damaged watched it

unfold and felt the adrenaline surging through his veins

like electricity. He lightened the mood in his head by

telling himself that he was getting this high for free.

He also told himself that his preparations were solid

so he went over them to contain the natural fear of the

situation and keep it from turning into panic. Standing

next to Damaged was his cellie, Josh. He was pacing in

place from one foot to the other as the noise from the

tower's microphone signaled the upcoming release for

chow.

"A-section! Cells 101 to 106, stand by..." The cells

started popping open in a row.

"You're being released for chow. Single file line and

don't forget your cups and spoons, you can't go back for

them!" Inmates started stepping out of their cells and

stood side by side just in front of their cells awaiting

instructions to proceed. Damaged wondered, were their

adversaries going to turn and rush as one right now, or

were they going to wait and get seated with all three

sections out at the same time? Damaged knew that

taking the initiative in this situation would be the key.

He schooled Josh on what to do and when.

The guards on the floor pointed at cell 101 and

instructed them to walk the 15 feet to the food trays.

Damaged felt the tension in the air get so thick you

could cut it with a knife. That's exactly what he planned

to do. All of his senses were vibrating and from his

vantage point he could see all of the Fresno clan in front

of him with their necks clinched up wanting to turn

he and Josh's way to get a look. Some did and a guard

picked up on it.

Instead of letting them coordinate, Damaged took

measures. The two next to him began walking to get

their trays and, with the opportunity there, Damaged

jumped on it. He literally jumped in the air far enough

to throw his left arm securely around the bigger ones

neck while simultaneously yanking backward and

throwing a knee through his adversaries lower body. The

action caused the inmate to lose his balance completely

with his upper body getting yanked backward and

his lower body forced forward. Now with his leverage

gone, Damaged was able to run-drag him backwards in

a choke hold.

With Damaged pumping his legs away from Josh,

Josh shoved the other inmate off balance to clog up all of

the others rushing their way. Josh did everything he could

to cause a pile up. He punched while he had the distance

until the mass of rushing bodies only allowed elbows and

knees and grappling tactics. Enough of the inmates lost

their balance and gave Damaged room to work.

Damaged was still maintaining his hold with his

left arm while his right hand swiped with a makeshift

razor sticking out of an empty pen across the forehead.

After successfully slicing open a line of scalp Damaged

lost the grip on his choke hold to ditch the weapon

under a still occupied cell in B-section. With so much

pandemonium it worked.

Now free of the choke hold, the Fresno Mexican

fought back like a soldier. He fired heavy punches at

Damaged that were nowhere near the mark due to all

the blood pouring into his eyes from the gash above

them.

The sound of block guns booming filled the

building as over twenty guard flooded in blasting away

indiscriminately. Inmates that didn't get down on the

floor, face down, got to feel the blocks slam into them,

along with Billy club and pepper spray until every

inmate was lying in the prone position. The Fresno

Mexican Damaged cut was the last to go down. He

continued to fight and took it to the guards. He took

two of them down until a guard blasted him in the

chest with a block gun from four feet away. Drenched in

blood and lying on the floor with the wind knocked out

of him, a few guards pounded on him with their Billy

clubs until a couple other guards edged them out of

the way to drench pepper spray on the battered inmate.

Damaged watched and thought, these prison guards

are used to this kind of level four mentality and aren't

intimidated in the least with all of their experience and

fire power. They made quick work of pinning all of the

inmates and zip tying them up.

Damaged came out of the war zone and realized he'd

been hearing the guard's yell "GET DOWN!! GET

DOWN!!" Over and over and a dozen booms from the

block guns being fired in the last few minutes. He looked

around for Josh and found him painted orange, from all

of the pepper spray, in zip ties getting yanked away

from the Fresno Mexicans. Damaged looked around the

building and saw two faces trying to squeeze into every

cell window to see the action provided. Under heavy

escort out of the building Damaged heard Italy yell out

his door from upstairs, "THAT'S WHITE!!"

ChapteR 15

I asked screwball, "How did you find out about that

in that kind of detail from another building?" Screwball

stood at the side of my cell door communicating and I

couldn't see him until he stepped in front of my window.

He had to talk through the side of the cell door so other

inmates in nearby cells couldn't hear our conversation.

Screwball said, "I didn't find all of it out at first.

Italy and all of the whites left in that building got

moved out of it that day to another yard so it was hard

for them to leave word that a race war had begun. Italy

did his duty though. On the way off the yard he got

word to our yard janitor who sweeps up the walkway in

front of the program office. You might have seen him

when you got escorted into D-yard."

I said, "Older tattooed down biker looking dude?"

Screwball stepped in front of my window and

nodded his head I was right. He came back to the crack

on the side of the cell door and continued. "That dude's

name is whitey. He's from I.E. somewhere. The dude's

a burnt out dope fiend. He lived in the same block as I

did, building one, and ran down all kinds of drag that

Italy only had time to virtually tell him nothing. All

he told me was that our race and the Fresno Mexicans

bumped heads. Everyone knew that already so I grilled

him for more. I asked all of the important questions

like who rushed who? He didn't know... What started

it? He didn't know... I found out later that he knew

about the on-site green light they put out on our race.

Unfortunately I didn't find out about it until after they

mounted an attack. Before I tell you about it, I want

to show you how the prison administration gets down

here."

ChapteR 16

The prison administration gathered in their office to

discuss the options. Mr. Gonzalez, the associate warden,

sat at the head of the table and asked Lieutenant Gomez

a question. "Do you want to keep the whites segregated

from the Fresno Mexicans in all of the buildings?"

Lieutenant Gomez knew that if he answered yes It

would mean a lot more work for all of the buildings

and D-yard guards. They were already going through

a lot of trouble segregating the Fresno Mexicans from

the southern Mexicans. That meant every time one of

them had to go to medical, to see their counselors, to go

to a church service or anything else it took making sure

those that needed to be locked in their cells were and

that there were enough guards available to escort the

inmates properly. It took a lot of time and was a hassle.

Lieutenant Gomez considered this and that they were

already getting the extra bump in their pay for hazard

pay because of the ongoing escalation between Fresno

and the Southerners so there wasn't any need to get that

out of this escalation between Fresno and the whites.

Lieutenant Gomez decided. "Even though I think it

would be a security risk to house the two races together

considering what already happened I don't think we

have the man power or the time to segregate that many

races from each other."

The associate warden had his mind made up also.

"I agree that Fresno isn't going to let one of their dogs

getting his cap peeled slide either but like you said

we don't have the man power to escort every freaking

race to medical, the psyche, their counselors, church

and any other services and testing... We'll do it on a

building by building basis. We'll keep four block where

the incident happened on complete lockdown and five

block on complete lockdown because that's where all

of the knuckle heads involved in batteries and riots

are sent but in the other three buildings we'll just be

vigilant."

Lieutenant Gomez laughed to himself and said

what they all were thinking. "We might as well let

Fresno get their money to balance the score sheet while

we're all on standby."

The associate warden nodded his head. "That's how

some of us used to do it at Corcoran."

ChapteR 17

I listened to Screwball finish his deduction process

on how the prison administration was playing the issue.

He stepped away from the side of my cell so I could see

his face to see if I was impressed with his ascertation,

I was.

He came back to the side of my cell. "Listen.

I talked to some of the dogs from Fresno that have been

around a while. They really aren't with this war. All it's

doing is keeping us from store and some time out of our

cell's. They're trying to tell me a few things..."

The kite Pequeno and Tico had talked about in their

vent that came from their big hommie that mandated

the decree to make war made it from building to

building. Some of the seasoned veterans from Fresno

wrinkled their foreheads over which big hommie was

calling that shot. They didn't know him. For the

seasoned veterans it was time to do some homework to

bona-fi that call.

Building two didn't have any seasoned veterans

at the time the kite was getting passed around. That

being the case they all wrote each other kites about how

they were going to put the smash down on these spoiled

white boys. The bragging got bigger and bigger until

some were talking about weapons they had just made

and all of the shootings, stabbings and cage fighting

type work they had put in for their neighborhood.

There was an empty cell on the bottom tier.

The Fresno Mexicans in building two's A-side all

stood at their cell doors staring at the fifty five year old

burnt out white man waiting for his bedroll, fish kit

and cup and spoon. After getting that kite and rallying

themselves into a frenzy about how high powered they

were, they were like a pack of hyenas ready to pounce

on the wino

Screwball slid from the side of my cell to look at

me for a second to see my expression. He came back

to the side of my cell and said, "They jumped one of

our older winos. The dude shouldn't even have been in

prison. He was a self medicating diabetic. He thought

if he didn't bother anyone, nobody would bother him.

He got lucky he didn't get hurt. As soon as he took

one to the back of the head, he rolled under the table

and avoided any real damage. He must have had some

Guardian Angels watching over him."

I told Screwball, "You run things down like you

were right there watching. How did you know about

the associate warden and Lieutenants meeting?"

"I did a chunk of time at Corcoran and knew the

associate warden when he was Sergeant Gomez there.

When I move you to my cell I'll tell you a lot more

about that. Let me finish running down how I got to

the bottom of this issue we're having with Fresno before

the guards make me lock it back in my cell. I knew

Whitey knew more about this war with Fresno then he

was sharing so I stayed on him like a jack hammer. I

broke out all of my lock picking tools to pick through

his brain. I realized he was just what he looked like, one

of those older dope fiends that forgot about integrity,

honor and loyalty. At first when I asked him what Italy

told him in front of the program office relating to the

incident in four block where the Fresno head got his

cap peeled, he had his story straight in his head. It was

that Italy only had time to tell him the block erupted

between the two races. The next time I came by his cell

I trapped him by telling him that I'd gotten word from

someone else that Italy had passed the word to him and

there was a lot more to it. I watched his body language

and his eyes fish right and left while he hesitated. I

could literally see him thinking of how he could lie his

way to safety. He was lucky there was a door in between

us because I had to listen to him lie. He told me, 'Hey

holmes... There were guards right there when Italy

walked by! You know how it is, holmes, the guards

were all over our shit man and there wasn't time to

communicate and in fact, Italy didn't even stop walking

past me! We're lucky we got what we got!' This was

what everyone found out about the next day anyway."

I realized everyone would have gotten word of the

incident and the injury report from inmates who went

to medical who listened and asked questions. Screwball

continued the explanation.

"I had to listen and watch that scumbag get

comfortable in his lie so I split and went back to my cell

to figure out how to take my investigation to the next

level. Since I had insinuated to whitey that Italy told

someone else, possibly in receiving I left that open. I

wanted Whitey to stew that I was going to get the 411

from him anyway and I ran with that further. I knew I

had a homeboy that just pulled up in four block. I found

out he was here and in four block from people coming

and going to medical so I wrote him a kite to get some

intelligence and let whitey wonder about it. The next

day I went by whitey's cell and dropped a cellophane

wrapped kite under his door. When he picked it up

and asked what it was I told him it was his last chance.

His last chance to elaborate on what else Italy told him

because I was about to find out anyway. He had that

same hesitant look like he was caught with his hand

in the cookie jar with his eyes fishing around for a way

out. He finally stammered, ' How am I supposed to get

this kite to four block?'"

I laughed at how deep screwball's investigation

went. He continued.

"I was sick of his playing stupid, biding for time

style. I told him you're out there sweeping up the

walkway in front of the program office and all you

have to do is pass that kite to someone in four block

whose coming or going from medical. It's not a puzzle

holmes. If you can't handle the job well enough to pull

our line together on this yard in a time of crisis then

give the lieutenant my name for your job. Whitey just

looked at me like a dumb ass so I spelled it out for

him. I told him, If Italy passed the word to you that

Fresno is starting an on-site war with us and you don't

do anything with that information our whole race is in

jeopardy and in the blind. Don't you think it looks like

that's what's happening with that older white man that

just got rushed in two block?"

Screwball went on to tell me that he was testing

whitey to see if he tried to read that kite he was sending

to his homeboy in four block. It had been wrapped a

peculiar way in cellophane and then had a string

wrapped around it a certain amount of times. If broken

into improperly the recipient would know. Even if

whitey dared to break into it the kite was in a code he

wouldn't know. I assumed screwball had learned these

interrogation and investigation techniques at Pelican

Bay and Corcoran state prisons.

Screwball went on to tell me that he had another

kite for his youngster as a secondary kite that was going

to get sent through a different conduit if whitey failed

in delivering his. He also came back at whitey with

another tactic. He told whitey the next time he went

by his cell that he'd gotten Italy's wife's address and

would be in touch with him personally soon. I could

appreciate Screwball's problem solving skills. His

brain power and the tenacity he had was a powerful

combination. Whitey must have felt like the walls were

closing in on him and squeezing towards the truth. I

asked him if whitey delivered the kite for him to his

youngster in four block.

Screwball motioned to the prison guard who had

let him out of his cell that he needed five more minutes

and answered. "He did. I'll give him that much. He

never threw in his hand. My youngster shot me a return

kite twelve hours later. I love this youngster like he's

my own brother. His name is David and I know his

Mom. She's a prostitute. David used to run in hotels

in Ventura and beat up her johns because they were

known to beat her up. The kid is all heart. Anyway, he

shot me a kite and ran down everything in detail. He

entered four block and got the same cell Italy had been

in. His upstairs vent neighbor was a southern California

Chicano who along with Italy had listened in on those

Fresno youngsters front their declaration of war off

against the whites. David ran down how well Damaged

had defended the first attack and how the building's

program was... I love that youngster so much I had to

get over here."

I looked out my cell to the second tier and found

David standing at his cell door watching screwball talk

to me. I asked, "Tell me about your one block mission,

and what happened to whitey?"

Screwball's face wrinkled like he still had a bad taste

in his mouth. He said, "I decided whitey wasn't worth

my personal time since I had bigger fish to fry so I put

him on the back burner. I wrote a kite to buildings

one, two and three to inform them of our situation

with Fresno. I didn't give orders on how to handle it, I

just gave them the heads up. Then I got my building

one ready. I don't believe in on-site orders very often

because you're rolling the dice with circumstances

beyond your control. Like which gunner is in the gun

tower, does he have priors for shooting live rounds and

putting inmates in body bags. Or what the numbers of

your adversary are like at a particular time. It doesn't

make sense to me to force someone coming back from

medical or somewhere else to take flight against twenty

foes. I got at all of our kinfolk in building one and told

them I was looking for a spot that suited us. I didn't

feel the need to escalate the beef any further by using

weapons."

ChapteR 18

Screwball explained what happened and I again

visualized it in my mind like a movie.

Screwball and three other whites were getting their

every other day shower. He saw the tower guard acting

weird and he and the other inmates dried themselves

off a little faster. This was the only time other than

under escort to medical or other that paths were prone

to cross. About an hour ago, before the tower popped

Screwball's and the other white's cells to shower, three

heads from Fresno and a couple of south central L.A.

blacks were escorted out of the building to medical.

Screwball heard some noise in front of the building

that signified the inmates were back. Now it was just

a question of if the tower guard was going to have

screwball and his crew lock it up in their cells before

letting in the other inmates. Or, would the guards come

into the building to escort them under armed guard, or

turn around at the sally port?

The sally port door opened and the Fresno crew

stepped in with the blacks behind them. The guards

didn't follow. Screwball looked up at the tower guard

and saw him waving good bye to the escort deputies.

The oldest of the three from Fresno maintained the

most composure as the group entered. The other two

stared openly at the whites getting out of the showers.

The blacks just stopped walking and watched, adding

an even thicker element of tension. The elder from

Fresno managed to walk casually to the fourth cell on

the bottom tier to get instructions from who screwball

knew was their leader. Screwball and the others exited

the shower and headed towards the stairs. The stairs

were in the same direction as the fourth cell. Screwball

calmly led the way and walked calmly around the stairs

like he wanted to talk. As soon as his casual demeanor

took him close enough he took flight.

Screwball left the explanation like that so I asked,

"What happened when you took flight?"

Screwball laughed and looked like he knew how

to be humble. "We only had about a minute of fame

before the guards drenched us in a sea of pepper spray.

I got the first punch in right as a weapon came sliding

out from under the cell. I stayed on him to keep him

from getting to it but I had a lot of trouble fighting in

shower shoes. I was actually glad the guards got there

because I was sliding and flailing the whole time. It

sucked."

I said, "At least you guys made out alright. What

happened to whitey?"

"He lost his job as janitor sweeping up in front of

medical and the program office first. Then when that

building got off lock-down he got smashed by five

dudes from Fresno. I heard they got him pretty good

on the second tier where it took longer for the guards

to arrive. They split his head with state cups if the story

I heard is accurate. It's poetic justice. That dude was

oblivious and only cared about himself."

I remembered the peace treaty he'd mentioned.

"Who drew up this peace treaty you mentioned?"

I was looking at it like Fresno had and visualized

the worst possible scenario. What if Screwball allowed

Damaged to get sent out of the building to make them

happy. Then, when the program opened up and we got

dayroom together... What if they okie-doked the whole

move and rushed our race with weapons?

Screwball said, "The proposed peace treaty came

from them. I told them it would take some time for us

to go over it before we got back to them. We can't roll

with it as is because it's not a fair trade to give up one of

ours without them giving up one of theirs. It's lopsided

until then and it would look like we got our program

dictated to us."

I offered, "Pick out three of theirs for them to pick

one to send out of the building with Damaged."

Screwball said, "That's what I'm thinking because

it gives them some latitude. Why don't you scout

them out and we'll put something together slowly and

carefully."

I nodded my head that I could do that.

Screwball continued. "I'm getting close to seeing

my counselor and sent to another prison. When I leave

I'm going to leave the responsibility of this building

to you."

I shook my head and stared at Screwball with a

stoic mask and said, "No you're not... I'm busy writing a book right now and don't want this drama."

I was just kidding but played it out to see how Screwball

would react. If I didn't run the building or have enough

control of it, the drama would infect me anyway. My

eyes gave the first hint that I was kidding and Screwball

started laughing.

Screwball walked toward his cell and stopped

by another one on the way. I heard him yell, "Hey

Blockhead!! Are you alright in there?"

I knew Blockhead. He was the president

of a biker gang we all knew about. He had a life sentence

but everyone that knew him well loved his big heart. I

heard Blockhead yell from his bunk in his cell. "What

are you, a doctor?" I laughed at the fifty something year

old and heard the love in his voice when he said, "I'm

alright youngster, Thanks for checking!"

As Screwball made his way to his cell I thought about how Screwball

had been at my cell for the whole hour the guards let

him out. I looked around at all the heads from Fresno

standing at their cell door looking at me.

ChapteR 19

"Hey bro, which of these samples do you want to

put in the pipe? Or do you want to roll a joint before

paddling out to catch some waves?"

Damon sat in his car's driver seat. He had three

plastic bags of high quality marijuana he was using as

samples of the product. Sitting in the passenger seat

of the Buick, Todd examined them. The first bag had

three lime green popcorn shaped nodules that were

spongy and sticky to the touch. Todd squeezed the bag

and the nodule's T.H.C. crystals stuck to the plastic.

Damon was outraged! "Hey bra, don't squeeze the

pungies! You're deforming my sample dude!

Todd, already grizzled from an early morning joint,

smiled. "Smell that fragrance my pinch produced.

I think this pot might bring peace to the Middle East...

This is the Hawaii Kush isn't it?"

Damon grabbed the bag from Todd and said, "Yup."

He tore a piece of the sticky bud off to put in the pipe

and realized the inside of the car smelled like a skunk.

Damon handed the pipe to Todd and wrapped up the

sample and put it in his board shorts to get it out of

the way.

Todd watched while he lit the pipe and wagged

his finger at the same time with the lighter in it in

the universal no, don't do it sign. He choked on the

expanding hit of skunk bud and coughed out, "Dude,

you're going to paddle out into the ocean with your

sample again. That would be the third time this week

that your prized buds got all soggy in the surf with

you."

ChapteR 20

Detective John Maltobano, who those close to him

referred to as "Gotti" because he looked like the dapper

don John Gotti, walked to his undercover Crown

Victoria in the parking lot behind the Laguna Niguel

Sheriff's substation. Narcotic detective Pincher Johnson

watched him and knew exactly what he was going to

do. He did the same thing every morning. He was

going to set his coffee cup on the roof of his car, start

the vehicle, step back out of the vehicle with a Bible in

his hand, read it for a couple of minutes standing there,

say a prayer that finished with the sign of the cross

over his chest and then back in his vehicle for a couple

more minutes of just sitting there. Detective Pincher

wondered what in the hell the detective did in the

car? Did he keep praying? If he did, it wasn't helping

him climb the ladder within the Sheriff's department!

Maybe he's praying for me since I'm the one in the lead

for making the most drug arrests in Orange County.

Detective Maltobano followed his morning ritual

that started with prayer. God...Bless all of us at the

Sheriff department this day. Grant us wisdom and

guidance to serve and protect the citizens who pay us.

In Jesus name, amen. With his prayer done, he signed

the cross over his chest and thought about how he'd

grown up. He remembered how his father was an

abusive alcoholic who beat his mother, and then him

when he got in the middle of it. He remembered how

he gravitated to the streets, started to get high, and

was close to joining a street gang for some identity. He

remembered how his father died suddenly and then

his Mom had a stroke. Instead of getting all the way

caught up in the street life, he moved back to take care

of Mom. Then he remembered seeing the ad to become

a Sheriff and promised his worried Mom he'd become

one. Working inside the jail as training, he remembered

how close he was to being one of the ones behind the

bars. As he did every day, he promised himself he

wouldn't forget how close.

He drove the Crown Victoria out of the parking lot

and got on Crown Valley parkway. He headed toward

the beach on his way to Monarch beach and Dana Point

on his usual morning route. At Sea Island Drive he took

a right that led him up an otherwise untarnished foothill

that winded up high enough to see from Laguna Beach

all the way to the San Clemente pier. Was Sarah's car

parked out in front of her parent's house yet? It wasn't.

It hadn't been for the past month.

Detective Maltobano thought about Sarah's file on

his desk for that month. Sarah's girlfriend Nicole had

made the call to the Sheriffs to report that Sarah had

been raped by a 21 year old white male by the name

of Bob Prescott. Detective Maltobano thought about

how cloudy the rest of the pieces were. Sarah herself had

disappeared after one phone conversation. She admitted

she had been in a relationship with Bob Prescott for a

little over a month. During that period she admitted

she'd had consensual sex with him and then broke up

with him. At that point she hung up the phone.

Detective Maltobano called her friend Nicole and

learned a few things. Bob Prescott had found Sarah at a

party a week after she'd broke up with him. Nicole said

he slipped the date rape drug G.H.B. into her drink

while she wasn't looking and when she was passing out,

gave her a ride home. The next morning Sarah called

Nicole and explained how she had woken up feeling

sick and violated. Her vagina and anus were sore and

she found Bob's discharge in both places along with

some on her chin. Since then Sarah stopped going to

the beach everyday with Nicole to lie out and watch

the surfers.

Nicole had also said that Sarah had started hanging

out with a gang member lately. She said she thought

Sarah wanted to feel protected and guessed they were

looking for Bob to smash him. Detective Maltobano

wondered if she was right. He also wondered if narcotic

detective Pincher was having any luck finding Bob

Prescott. The plan was for him to nail him on a drug

charge. Maybe then Sarah would feel comfortable

enough to testify against him.

Detective Maltobano drove through the parking lot

at Salt Creek's beach looking for Sarah's Lexus. It wasn't

there. He pulled back out to P.C.H. to see if she was at

the more local Strands parking lot a mile away. At Selva

Street he took a right. A quarter mile down Selva Street

the detective passed the Chart House restaurant on the

cliff to the Dana Point harbor. The street hooked to the

right into the wetlands. Another quarter mile down the

street it dead ended with enough room for about eight

vehicles to park. Sarah's Lexus wasn't there either but

there was a Buick with a couple of occupants in it that

looked suspicious.

ChapteR 21

Inside the Buick Todd lit a fresh bowl full of the

Hawaiian Kush bud in the pipe. After he got the cherry

going he coughed and pointed to the other two samples

on Damon's lap. He asked, "What are those samples?"

Damon picked up one of the samples. "This one is

the chocolate tye and the other one is the golden tye. I

like the golden tye better. The chocolate tye burns you

out."

Detective Maltobano pulled up thirty feet behind

the Buick and parked. He observed a smoke cloud

escaping from the windows with two male occupants

and their surf boards in between them. It reminded the

detective of that movie, "Fast Times at Ridgemount

High." Detective Maltobano got out of the car with the

intention of doing so loudly. As expected, the occupants

reacted lethargically. The driver casually looked over

his shoulder and then told the passenger something.

Then the passenger freaked out.

Damon heard the car door slam behind his and

calmly looked over his shoulder. He saw a big strapping

man with suspenders and a shoulder holster walking

slowly toward the car. Damon grabbed his two samples

and told Todd, "We've either got an F.B.I. agent or some

kind of mobster coming at us. Get rid of the pipe!"

Todd wasted time by having a look himself. He saw

the giant just in time to see his boots and pants and

panicked. "That's an F.B.I. agent!"

Todd tapped the pipe against his hand and the

burning embers went everywhere. A good sized cherry

landed in his lap and melted right through his board

shorts and burned flesh. He screamed, threw the pipe

and flailed his hands against his lap to escape the pain.

Detective Maltobano pulled his service revolver out

and reached the Buick. He yelled, "Get your hands in

the air where I can see them!"

The driver was complying and had what looked

like the end of a couple of plastic baggies sticking

out of the waistband of his shorts. The passenger was

desperately slapping at his shorts in obvious pain. Upon

closer inspection he had a large hole in his board shorts

right in the middle that looked like it was a burn mark.

Right then the pungent odor of marijuana reached the

detectives nose and he realized his earlier conclusion

was right. He looked at the floor on the passenger side

and saw a pipe laying there with some ash next to it.

Studying the two occupants, they were both about

twenty years old and looked local to the area. The

driver had a Volcom hat on backwards over almost no

hair. His eyes looked aware and observant and didn't

appear to be stoned. He had a sun bronzed body that

looked over six feet and in good shape. Right under his

chest was a tattoo of an iron cross with the letters O.C.

tattooed underneath it in a rounded font.

The passenger had wild sun bleached hair. His

skin didn't absorb the sun as well and was freckled and

chapped. His eyes looked perpetually stoned and red

from too much sun, pot smoke and possibly allergies.

His lips looked puckered like they were sunburned

and swollen. He had a small wiry build without any

tattoos.

Detective Maltobano got both drivers licenses and

checked the driver Damon Smith's registration and

insurance. After a check for warrants came up clear of

any he had Damon and Todd step out of the Buick.

"I'm going to give you a chance to be honest with

me. Give me anything you have on your person or in

your vehicle that is illegal."

Damon pulled out his two samples that were

partially sticking out of his shorts.

Todd rose his hand like he was in class and said,

"That's my pipe on the floor of the passenger seat."

While Todd gathered the pipe, Damon remembered

his Hawaiian Kush sample. He reluctantly pulled it out

and handed it over.

Detective Maltobano accepted the third bag of pot

and asked Damon, "Are you a dealer?"

Damon just looked at the detective. He didn't

vigorously shake his head no, or even say no.

Detective Maltobano stared at Damon for over a

minute until Damon finally just looked at the ground.

Detective Maltobano said, "You don't like to lie do you?"

Damon immediately responded, "No."

Detective Maltobano asked, "Am I going to find

anything else inside the car?"

Damon looked into detective Maltobano's eyes and

said, "No."

"Then you won't mind if I look?"

"Go ahead."

Detective Maltobano said, "I'm going to put you

both in the backseat of my car while I look."

While Damon and Todd got into the backseat of the

Crown Victoria Todd asked, "What kind of cop are you?"

Detective Maltobano flashed his Orange County

Sheriff's badge and said, "I'm with the rape and sex

crime branch. Sit tight."

Damon and Todd watched the detective search

the Buick for over twenty minutes. He searched the

interior, the trunk, under the hood and even under the

car along the frame. When he was done with the search

he walked back.

"Okay guys get out and let's take a walk to check

the waves while I figure out what I'm going to do with

you two."

Damon and Todd walked ahead of the detective to

the cliff line overlooking the ocean above strands point.

The path down the cliff was a couple hundred feet to

the sand affording a good view up and down the beach.

There was a south swell pushing four to six foot waves

for the surfers to play on. Directly below at Strands point

seven surfers were packed together awaiting their turn,

down the beach for another half a mile around twenty

heads bobbed more spread out and at Salt Creek's point

two thirds of a mile away another twenty or so fought

for position in another pack.

Detective Maltobano watched the surfers and

thought to himself that possibly half of them had

smoked some pot before their surf session. He also

ventured a guess that about 90% of the surfers in the

water had at least experimented with pot. He wondered

if it was really a good way to police the community to

start criminal files on as many of them as possible for

doing so.

Damon and Todd's attention was torn between

watching the swell peel down the beach and the three

bags of pot in the detective's hand.

Detective Maltobano asked, "What do you two do

for work?"

Todd answered first. "I bar back and wait tables at

the Chart House around the corner... I'm also hoping to

make the pro surfing tour this year!"

Detective Maltobano nodded his head and looked

at Damon. "What about you?"

Damon answered. "I used to own my own

landscaping business until the Mexicans underbid

almost all of my clients. It turns out they will work for

a lot less then we will because they will share a house

with twenty people. I guess it's better than struggling

in Mexico."

Todd chimed in, "The Mexicans are coming over so

fast it looks like they are reclaiming California."

Damon breathed a sigh of relief. The detective

dumped the pot out of the bags onto the ground. He

used his boot to grind the pot into the dirt until it was

no longer salvageable.

When he was done he said, "You know there are two

good ways to look at our border problem. You could get

in touch with our local politicians or our governor in

writing to state your claims, or you could get creative

and start another business to put their cheap labor to

work for you."

Todd said, "I think we should seal our borders."

ChapteR 21

Mark and my brother weren't there but Mark's

Mom let me in. I went into mark's room and pulled my

U.P.S. package out of my backpack. There were two

vacuum sealed bags of pot inside. The smaller of the two

was the size of a finger across the bottom of a sandwich

bag. The larger one was about the size of two of my

fists. I tried to smell any fragrance through the plastic

wrap and couldn't. I sat there looking at my money I

didn't have to spend and the pot and couldn't believe

I'd pulled it off. I pulled out Bill's phone number and

wondered if that's how it was for the big timers in this

business... Was it that profitable that they could help

a kid like me with that kind of assist? People helping

people, I didn't know it was going to be like this.

Mark and my brother showed up and stood in the

door way staring. I watched their eyes go from me, to

the U.P.S. box and then to the pot. I broke through

their shock with an explanation of my adventure. Mark

looked like he couldn't believe it and my brother was

smiling like he could.

Mark took over as resident expert on matters relating

to marijuana and broke open the bigger vacuum sealed

bag. He pulled layer upon layer of tightly condensed

nuggets apart from each other until he found a prized

one to examine. The buds were green and now we

could all smell the fragrance. Mark's expression looked

excited, and that was making me excited. It felt like I'd

just struck gold.

Mark made his conclusion. "These are the Mexi-iIndi's,

they're very rare. Some of the Mexicans are

getting smart and cross breeding their Mexican weed

with Indica and coming up with this. It's way better.

The Mexican weed is brown like dirt, it's seedy and full

of stems, it's packed like a brick and when you smoke it

you get all burnt out and you'll end up with a head ache.

You only smoke that swag when there's nothing else to

smoke. This stuff right here though." Mark pinched his

prize bud and smelled it. "This stuff is going to sell like

hot cakes. This is the best Mexi-Indi I've ever seen."

Hearing Mark talk about my product like that was

music to my ears. He filled me in on pot dealing 101

and I was a sponge. I was so grateful to have met Bill

and been afforded this opportunity that the big Mexican

with the badge didn't seem as important.

Mark explained that the Mexi-Indi's hadn't been

around for a year. Someone who went by Gumby was the

last person to have it. He sold his from $900-$1,500 a

pound. I did the math on what I was holding and asked

Mark what he thought mine was worth.

Mark broke that pot into parts and explained as

he worked. "I can sell this eighth of an ounce for $30.

There's eight of those in an ounce so that's $240 if

we sell it all that way. That would make your quarter

pound worth $960. You might not want to sell it all

that way though because it would take too long and

you'd have to deal with too many people. Once I start

making some calls there will be people lining up for

quantity. We've got to decide on what kind of break

we'll give on quarter ounces, half ounces, ounces and

larger. If I was you I'd call your business man and ask

him how much is in stock so you know how to break

it down. How much will you sell me a quarter ounce

for?"

My mind was racing with excitement. I had a

thousand dollars worth of product dropped in my lap

and a bunch of new doors opening up for me. I told

Mark, "I'll give you that prized bud you're holding and

the rest of a quarter ounce for $50."

I studied Mark's expression to see if I was off to

a good start and he reacted positively and got on the

phone and showed me his marketing ability.

"Hey, bro! You should see this Mexi-Indi I've

got my hands on! It's so stony I can't believe it... I'm

smoking a joint of it right now."

I heard the other end of the conversation asking

questions until Mark continued.

"Yeah I'm sure it's the Mexi-Indi! Come on bro,

you know I know my product. It's got that lime green

color, it's not all seedy, and when you pinch it, it has

that skunk smell."

I was a sponge taking in Mark's marketing style.

He kept making calls and the buyers started arriving.

The first guy to arrive was the first guy Mark had

called. He immediately explained he was a good sized

dealer, told me how popular he was, that he ripped

at surfing at all the right surf spots, had all the right

sponsors, was in all the surf videos and on and on. Mark

had explained to me earlier that he was spoiled rotten

and lived in a mansion where the Nixon estate used

to be. I studied the perfect looking guy that should

have been a girl with his perfect skin and blond hair.

He studied the product and tried to take over as the

resident expert.

"Hey bro...This is the Mexi-Indi. I haven't seen

this stuff in years."

I watched his real expression of interest change to

a more controlled one so he could barter for a better

deal.

"It's not quite as good as the Mexi-Indi Gumby had

a few years ago... I think his were going for $900 a

pound if you bought one and down to $700 a pound if

you bought ten or more at a time. I moved like fifty of

them for him and we did some good business together.

What are these going for?"

I stopped looking at him and looked at Mark so he

wouldn't try to do business directly with me. I didn't

like how he dropped Gumby's name like that on the

airwaves so carelessly. He had an attitude that said he

only cared about himself. Mark had explained to me

that Gumby's product wasn't as clean as mine was and

it was more expensive than the pro sponsor had just

mentioned. He took over and handled it like a champ.

"We don't have a price on pounds yet and we

don't even know what's available. I can get you off and

running with an ounce for $150 to give you something

to showcase while we check on the numbers."

The pro sponsor gave the snottiest look I'd ever seen.

I interpreted it to say we were a serious inconvenience to

him and we better get our shit together! Mark handled

him like a champ and he left with the ounce.

Over the next couple of hours Mark dished out the

rest of the product in smaller increments. All I had left

was a few buds to use as a sample or what Mark called a

picture of the product and $900! Now I had power and

control in my life by having something that everyone

else wanted! Now that it was gone I had to call Bill for

more.

I made the call but wasn't sure how to talk business

on the phone. "Hey boss... Excuse the interruption sir.

It's Benny and I need to talk to you about an account.

I came across a pro surfer who is looking for sponsors.

He's talking about a far and wide ability to reach

people so I need your assistance on how to showcase the

product." The message was so spontaneous that I just

hung up and thought about it. Did I even tell him my

name? I knew I forgot to leave Mark's phone number

because I didn't even know it. I left another string of

messages that associated my name with the McDonalds

along with Mark's number and a bunch of thank yous.

A couple hours later after stressing, Bill called back.

"Hey youngster it's Bill. I got your messages."

I was so apprehensive I interrupted. "Were my

messages alright? Did I mess up at all?"

"Those messages were perfect! I listened to that

first one three times. You've got a good head on your

shoulders kid. I even had a couple of my associates listen

to it to see how it's done!"

Hearing this praise made me feel so happy that if

I had a tail it would have been wagging. After hearing

all of the degrading comments about our Mom, my

brother and especially me, it felt good, like I'd arrived.

The rest of the conversation covered business and Bill

got an idea of what I might be capable of. He gave me

the rundown on how to market the rest of the flavor

being showcased. Bill was even adopting my lingo!

ChapteR 22

Over the next two weeks I forgot everything Bill

had taught me. I was consumed with chasing money,

stacking it and making it multiply. My brother was the

eagle eye who with Mark found the clients at the beach

surfing. The next guy they met that became integral

was Charlie.

Charlie was your standard issue beach kid with

blond hair and blue eyes but he had substance to his

character you could see. Maybe because his Dad Kent

was a provider of pot who also dealt in trash sized bags

also? When Charlie saw the Mexi-Indi's a meeting

was set.

Kent had blond hair and blue eyes also but had a

bigger blockier bone structure that looked like Barney

Rubble in the Flintstones. My first impression of Kent

was that he was local and kept it real. Like Bill he

practically lived in the harbor on boats and had the same

kind of fatherly advice. Since my brother was pretty

much living at Mark's, I moved into Kent's garage.

Since Kent was so good to me I told him exactly what I

was getting product for. He bought ten pounds and let

me make $50 a pound. Five hundred dollars was a rad

profit but my greedy mind told me I could have made

four times that since my prices were so low. I could

see how this quantity thing could work out nicely. I

wondered if I could find a hundred pound buyer from

a distant land further from Mexico to make $100 per

pound.

ChapteR 23

Over the next three months I obtained a Chevy

S-10 truck and over $10,000 in cash and that much in

product. My focus on buying a house consumed me,

and my business bumped heads with Kent's business.

His clients would come over and hear my story and I

got the sympathy vote. Kent would allow me to sell

some of my product to his customers. That got old

fast. He had a bigger family with more mouths to feed

and more bills to pay so he tried to pierce through my

delusions of grandeur that it was possible, if you were

miserly enough, to grow a nest egg of say $40,000,

then continue to double and even triple that up until

you're in a house cash with $40,000 on the side to

keep parlaying. He told me if it was that easy he'd be

doing it. In my hard head I was saying, 'you're just not

hustling hard enough sir!'

Kent explained that it was time for me to live

like the rest did and get a job and rent an apartment.

My brother was running out of room at Mark's at the

same time. Kent helped us fill out a couple of rental

applications and we got into one in San Clemente. It

was a two bedroom apartment right off the freeway

next to a grey hound bus station. Now that we had our

own place we got creative with the space.

We filled my closet with a marijuana garden. We

bought self help books to teach us to rise up our cash

crop and remove us from having to rely on our dealers.

It wasn't that we weren't happy with Bill and Kent, it

was that even the big timers ran out of good product

at times. We went through a few dry periods where

nothing worthwhile was on the line for a month or so.

Up to this point my method of miserly living where

I put every last dollar into investments had us just

barely lasting. I treated the business the right way, I

bought low and as much as I could of a hot commodity

and sold as high as the market would allow without

disrespecting anyone. With our first go-round trying to

be green thumbs we weren't very successful. Our seed

stock sucked, we over fertilized, provided too much

light and not enough C.O.2, and our cash crop barely

covered the cost of the operation, but it was fun to

nurture something.

By now I was not only breaking every rule of Bill

and Kents not to do business with just anyone, I was

an absolute bottom feeder. I would deal with people

right off the street, bus stops, liquor stores and any

other place my buyers might kick it so I could sell,

sell, sell! There were three other large sized marijuana

dealers in our immediate area we'd hear about from our

customer base. We'd hear about how cool this one was

with his prices, or what kind of attitude this one had

and we were happy to take on their overflow as equal

opportunity providers. Along the way we listened to

our instincts and advice from Charlie and Kent that

it was time to move to another residence. My careless

behavior had blown up our first spot.

This time we rented a two bedroom house with

a backyard down by the beach. We got a couple of

puppies from the pound to play with, bought a video

camera and sat in our own laps of luxury doing it our

way. The Mexi-Indi's were such a hit with their low

cost and high quality that the market came to us. One

such bold individual did his homework on where the

Mexi-Indi's were coming from and came from some

inland Mission Viejo area with an offering.

He went by Tripper. He was in his thirties, with

dark hair, dark eyes that darted around on a head that

swiveled to see what was around him. My brother and I

looked at him like he might be a threat and sized him

up. He didn't look big enough or athletic enough to

be one physically if we got to him before a weapon was

involved. He felt our scrutiny and offered something

about a mutual acquaintance and "I'm a like-kind

individual and sometimes sheer boldness is necessary."

We didn't budge so he looked around again and

reached for something in his jacket pocket. I almost

sprung at him on instinct but caught myself short from

impact as I saw his hand come out with a plastic bag of

product. We pulled him inside and inspected it. It was

a golf ball sized nugget of lime green fluffy stickiness

without seeds or stems. We went from skeptical to

familiar pretty quickly after that. It turned out that

Tripper had his own agenda. He said, "Now that you

see what I've brought to the table, where are the MexiIndi's?

I've been looking for those for years."

My brother and I had a conference and decided

the make of Tripper's brand was copasetic and entered

him into the fold. We did good business with him for

months.

ChapteR 24

The squad cars parked a street away and around the

corner from our house at six in the morning. We were

eating cereal and watching our puppies growling at

each other over their bowls of food. The pounding on

the door was so loud that adrenaline shot through my

veins and I sprinted to the front door to look through

the peep hole. I saw a tightly bunched group of law

enforcement officers. My brother ran into his room to

see the same travesty through his window. He grabbed

his backpack full of flavor and money and ran into my

room to the bedroom window that faced the backyard

right behind me. I had a heavier backpack with four

pounds and $20,000 on the line. The backyard was clear

and freedom was only one fence from being hopped. I

slid the window open and pushed the screen out right

as Sheriffs in bullet proof vest and jackets filled the

yard. At the same time at the front door a final warning

was yelled and the front door exploded.

With our exit strategy ruined I faced the front door

and saw a pyramid of officers pointing nine millimeter

gun's into all angles of our house. From left to right, one

was crouched down on a knee, the next one was semi-

crouched, the middle one was standing in a shooter's

posture, to his right another one half crouched and then

another one on his knee. I saw the two detectives that

looked like they were in charge of the operation with

Sheriff Jackets over plain clothes and a set of hand cuffs

in their hands.

"Get down!! Get down on the ground!!" He pointed

to the ground like it was necessary.

We tried to comply but our puppies chose this time

to rush at the intrusion. As valiant as they were they

were still teething and tender and their barks were met

with kicks and turned into yelps. The lead detective

yelled, "Control your dogs or I'll shoot them!!"

My brother and I dove on our dogs and covered

them up. The Sheriffs in uniform managed to save the

dogs from getting shot and put them in the backyard.

I sat on the couch in cuffs looking at my brother's

devastated scared face and listened to the narcotic

detectives discussing that my brother would go to

juvenile hall since he was only sixteen and I'd be going to

jail since I just turned eighteen. The narcotic detectives

stepped outside to get something and I realized all of the

felonies were in my room. I told the Sheriffs everything

was mine and could they please let my brother off?

They saw the pain in my eyes and mercifully agreed!

The narcotic detectives came back in and put a halt on

it. I watched them search the two bedrooms and was

sick to my stomach. They both looked like they had

chips on their shoulders from not being able to fit in

at school or something. They both had beady eyes and

looked like bullies that enjoyed other people's pain and

the power they had to instill it.

I read the name plate of the one who had threatened

to shoot our dogs. Detective Pincher. He announced,

"I'm the lead detective in South Orange Counties

narcotic division and we're not going to cut either one of

them any slack! We have intelligence from hundreds of

hours of recon that shows both of these two are partners

in a significant criminal enterprise. We are charging

both of them with health and safety code violations of

possession of a controlled substance, possession for sales,

cultivation, cultivation for sales and paraphernalia."

A couple of the Sheriffs were shaking their head in

irritation.

Detective Pincher pulled those two aside but I could

still hear him. "I found a glass bong in the sixteen year

olds bedroom. That shows culpability and knowledge

of what was going on in his brother's room and out of

the house."

I read the other detective's name plate, Marks, just

as he pulled my brother up from the couch awkwardly

in handcuffs and walked him out of the house on his

way to juvenile hall and my heart broke.

Detective Pincher, still within hearing distance,

said to the two Sheriffs, "We want to pressure the older

brother into being an informant. You can see how much

it hurt him to see his brother in handcuffs on his way to

juvenile hall. I think I can play off that protective love

and offer him and his brother leniency with the D.A.

if he cooperates with us and sets up three other dealers

with controlled buys. With as much weight as these

two were pushing we might catch us some whales!"

One of the two Sheriffs shook his head and

asked, "Can you even authorize that with the district

attorney?"

Detective Pincher sized up the older Sheriff like

he shouldn't have to explain all of this. "No... Not

really... But I write the report and file the charges.

The district attorney wants their conviction rate to

be impeccable and right now in Orange County it's at

ninety nine percent so they'll get convictions. But if I

tell them they were cooperative they'll plead out to a

reduced sentence. They'll probably get six months to a

year in the county and have a four year prison sentence

suspended and hanging over their head for probation to

deal with. If you think we're hard on them you should

see how petty probation is! It's as if they'll lose their job

if they don't send a big enough percentage to prison...

Hey California keeps building prisons, so we have to

fill them!"

I watched Detective Pincher go back into my room

with a scale and a camera he had in his hand. The two

Sheriffs that had showed compassion continued to shake

their heads.

The younger one said, "Remember when the only

crimes people were sent to prison for was murder, strong

arm robbery, rape and child molestation?"

The older of the two Sheriffs responded, "When I

was a rookie it was like that. In this kind of situation

with these youngsters we would have just confiscated all

of the marijuana and called their parents. End of story.

I can remember as a rookie I didn't even think that

was enough. I thought we should have dug into their

background to find out what kind of circumstances or

conditions led them into the lifestyle so we could try to

find a way to shepherd them in a better direction rather

than just leave them worse."

The younger Sheriff asked, "Would you do the

same thing with houses that were moving heroin and

cocaine?"

The elder Sheriff responded, "We wouldn't charge

them for sales unless we thought they were dealing

directly with the cartels. We'd just charge them with

possession of a controlled substance and usually for

possession of stolen property. Most of the dealers are

just micro dealers managing drug habits for a hustle to

keep them off the street."

I watched the narcotic detectives come out of my

room and back to me on the couch. Detective Pincher

said, "Okay Benny. I heard your younger brother tell

you he loved you on his way out the door on his way to

juvenile hall. It looks like he really looks up to you. Do

you love him?"

I stared at the narcotic detective and thought about

how he and the other one shot down the Sheriff's proposal

of letting me ride the whole beef and letting my brother

off. Every injustice I'd seen and lived through wanted

to boil out of me. That righteous anger that burns until

it finds an adversary felt the presence of one. Narcotic

detective Pincher got impatient with me.

Are you listening to me Benny? I'm going to try

and help you and your brother...But you have to pay

attention and give me one hundred percent cooperation

or I can't help you."

I felt the handcuffs biting into my wrist behind my

back so I tried to move things around to relieve the

pressure unsuccessfully. "You say you want to help my

brother and I huh?"

Narcotic detective Pincher tried to seize what he

mistakenly took as an opportunity.

"Benny... I'm the only one that can help you!"

I almost raged and spat out... Liar!! I just saw you

keep those Sheriffs from letting my brother go! You

don't want to help us, you're a fraud and I see right

through you. Instead, a temporary calm settled over me

and I said, "If you're the only one that can help us than

you must think you're God. Where were you when I

got thrown into a tree, or beaten so bad that my spleen

busted open and I was in the fetal position for a few

days to keep it from releasing poison into my body?"

I continued, "Or how about watching your younger

brother cry himself to sleep knowing he didn't know

why his Mom was gone. All he understood was what

he heard his father telling other people on the phone.

That his Mom was a whore who abandoned her kids

and must not love them and that her kids were going

to be worthless now."

I could see the narcotic detectives didn't have any

compassion. Detective Pincher looked irritated.

"Benny I'm not talking about any of that. I'm

talking about you and your brother possessing over ten

pounds of high quality marijuana for sale!"

I lost it and spoke to fast. "What are you talking

about? There's only four pounds and it's all mine...

Both backpacks!!"

I realized I shouldn't have said anything! My

backpack had four pounds in it. My brother's had

another half a pound in it. Thankfully, it didn't look

like detective Johnson was listening that carefully. He

was so focused on coercing me to work with him.

He clarified how he was getting the ten pounds.

"You're forgetting about your cultivating operation.

We are trained to pull the plants up by the roots and

weigh up whatever soil hangs on."

What a slap in the face! We still hadn't mastered

growing marijuana. This time had turned out even

worse than last time. We hadn't identified a male plant

among the garden of females and it had pollinated the

whole harvest to seed. There wasn't a smoke able ounce

of marijuana in the closet. Detective Pincher just got

worse.

"I tell you what... You call all of your dealers and

order as much as you can... I'll let your brother off the

cultivation charge."

I got up and walked to the phone. Detective Pincher

took off the handcuffs and I picked up the phone and

dialed. I looked into the detectives beady eyes and told

him, "You're a real saint."

I then told him. "They aren't answering; do you

want to hear their message?"

I handed him the phone. The message played.

"At the tone the time will be...Four twenty."

ChapteR 25

A year after detective Maltobano searched his Buick

at Strands point in Dana Point; Damon got a call from

Bob Prescott for some pot. Damon thought about how

Bob had asked for the price on a pound, and then for

the price on five of them.

Damon replayed the phone conversation and how

he'd told Bob, "I don't usually sell pounds. I usually

just buy one at a time to break it up and try and double

my money. Why are you trying to buy pounds anyway,

you usually only buy twenty bucks worth?"

Bob had responded, "Hey Damon! This guy I used

to know is back in town! He used to do big things

around here before he headed to Texas and started doing

business there... Now he's back in town and you could

make a lot of money together!"

Damon remembered how at that point his instincts

were detecting a possible earthquake. Then he

remembered how Bob had finished the conversation.

"Hey bro, if this works out for you I want to make

a hundred or two as the middle man until you two get

comfortable doing business together... This account

should be worth at least five hundred for me hooking

you two up!"

Damon thought about Bob's greed. That made it

feel more plausible.

Damon got on the freeway and headed north to

meet Bob at the Best Western hotel. He looked in his

rearview mirror every minute or so to check for cops and

every time he did he checked to make sure his backpack

with the pound of pot in it was still laying there by the

tailgate. He laughed at his concern that it was going

to fly out. He considered why he had it back there and

how he was going to act like he didn't know anything

about it. That's not my backpack! Someone walking by

must have thrown it in the back of my truck.

From these thoughts Damon wondered if his plan

to deliver the pound of pot to Bob was foolproof. Bob

expected me to come to room 290 with it. How about

I come to his room empty handed and get a look at his

friend first? Then I could have Bob walk with me to my

truck and grab it himself so it never touches my hands

in front of his friend. That way my security isn't at risk

during the exchange.

Waiting to turn into the hotel, just barely in view,

was a cop car parked in the lot to the left. Damon

thought about the hotel's layout and parking lot. It was

a spacious three story hotel and the parking lot circled

around and in the back gave the option of sliding into

an underground parking lot or continuing the circle. If

I continue the circle I'll have to drive past that squad

car. I better flip a U-turn out of here and call Bob to see

what's up with that cop! Around the first corner on the

way to the underground lot another vehicle caught the

eye. A tan Ford Taurus was parked backward with two

watchful people in it. Driving by there were two male

occupants in it. The driver had his hat on backward and

was staring like he was trying to make an identification.

The passenger had a burly looking goatee and was

staring at something else. Driving by, Damon followed

his gaze to a truck parked across and a couple parking

spots down. It was a Ford F-150 with tinted windows.

Damon thought he noticed someone moving behind

the tint as he drove by. He turned the next corner and

entered the underground lot.

In the underground lot Damon sped up and looked

for an open space to slide his truck into. He circled

the first corner and didn't find any. The second corner,

nothing. He screeched to a halt behind the parked

vehicles and got out. He hustled to the back of his truck

and hesitated just short of grabbing the backpack. He

looked around and thought about what he was doing.

Am I over reacting? Where would I even stash my

backpack? Damon wondered if he should just toss it

under a parked vehicle nearby and hesitated again. I

could lose my pound of pot. There had to be a better

spot to stash it. There was. There were washers and

dryers visible in the lobby where the underground lot

opened to the hotel.

Damon reached for the backpack and froze with his

hand on it as the Ford Taurus turned the corner. The

Ford Taurus stopped ten feet away facing him. Damon

let go of the backpack like his hand was stuck in the

cookie jar. There wasn't any way to get the backpack

out without the occupants in the Taurus seeing it.

Stuck, Damon looked towards the lobby and saw

Bob Prescott arrive. He stood there with his bleached

spiked hair and looked like he expected to see someone

else. He looked back at Damon and waved, "Come on!

I'm in room 290!"

Damon acted as normal as possible and nodded his

head. "Alright! Let me find somewhere to park and I'll

be right there!"

Damon got back in the truck and sped out of the

lot. He looked in the rearview and the Taurus was right

there. He drove back the way he'd come in to get out

of the Best Western and right into a road block of four

black and whites blocking the exit.

ChapteR 26

Narcotic detective Pincher slammed the door of

the Sheriff vehicle on Damon handcuffed inside and

watched the vehicle accelerate away on its way to the

county jail. He looked at Detective Marks standing

next to Bob Prescott with his bleached tipped hair

and remembered how they had both proposed that we

should have hid all of our vehicles in another parking

lot so Damon couldn't see us. Detective Pincher knew

they'd been right, but detective Marks shouldn't have

followed Damon into the underground lot with the

Taurus!

Bob Prescott watched detective Pincher trying

to figure things out. He looked pissed. He's probably

going to take this shit out on me and say that bust

doesn't count as one for me. He laughed to himself at

how the detective looked. Like he was always trying

to fit in and couldn't. This time he had a pair of Doc

Marten boots on with white socks, outdated O.P.

shorts, and then a Hawaiian print button down shirt

like it was supposed to hide the fact he was a detective.

Then he had that police issue mustache with premature

grey in it, thin wispy hair with premature grey in it

that flew everywhere but didn't cover up that dominant

bald spot at the top of his head, and then those beady

eyes of his. They looked like finding fault with others

is what he lived for. Fuck him, he's a dumb ass! I can't

believe how stupid this county is to pay someone like

him to be a narcotic detective! I'm just going to bail on

this county and go to Long Beach where I can leave all

of this shit behind, as soon as I can.

ChapteR 27

Damon stepped out of the squad car in handcuffs

in the parking lot of the Orange County jail in Santa

Ana and followed the directions of the officer. At the

entrance to the jail the officer stopped Damon right

next to a phone and asked, "Do you want your one

phone call?"

Damon said "Please."

The officer said, "Tell me the phone number."

"949-498-1408, that's my wife Jade."

The officer said, "Just talk when she answers, it's

on speaker."

The phone rang until the machine picked it up.

Damon waited for the beep and said, "Hey baby, it's

me. I'm getting processed into the jail in Santa Ana.

Someone threw a backpack into the back of my truck

and it had some pot in it... Can you call the jail and try

and bail me out please?!"

The officer laughed under his breath somewhat and

offered, "You'll probably get released on O.R. if you

don't have any cases pending and aren't on parole or

probation."

Damon asked, "What's O.R.?"

"O.R. is own recognizance. It means you'll be

released without any bail. You just have to show up to

court on your own to deal with your case of the magical

backpack."

Damon reiterated what the officer just said in case

the message machine didn't pick it all up. Then he

asked the officer, "What's the phone number to the jail

so she can call and check on me?"

"It's 714- 888-0666"

ChapteR 28

Jade woke up to the message machine at a little after

midnight and got up. She put her Doc Marten boots on

over bare feet and climbed into a black skirt and put

on a white T-shirt. She remembered thinking to herself

before she went to bed that the day couldn't possibly

have been any worse. Now this shit with Damon! She

woke up her five year old Ryan and then her one year

old daughter Victoria and managed to get her in the car

without waking her.

A half hour later she pulled up to the county jail

and wondered if she should have stayed at home until

Damon got released and called. I probably wouldn't

have been able to sleep anyway. The jail was lit up

like a Christmas tree and was packed with people in

continuous motion. Jade looked at her watch, it was

1a.m. A couple of hours since Damon called.

It took twenty minutes to find somewhere to park

and then another twenty minutes of standing in line

to talk to a tired receptionist behind a bullet proof

window. Victoria took that Moment to start crying.

Ryan chose that Moment to run to a vending machine.

Jade managed to get Ryan, soothe Victoria, keep

her place in line and give the receptionist Damon's

information. Ten minutes later the tired receptionist

came up with nothing.

"His name isn't coming up yet. If he's released on

O.R. it could be in a couple of hours or it could be

many more than that. You might want to go home and

wait for him to call."

For the next six hours Jade sat in the Buick, put her

kids to sleep and thought about her husband. He's loyal

and true which is rare these days. He doesn't drink or

use hard drugs, which is also rare these days... He just

occasionally smokes some of the pot he sells. I remember

how his pot dealing started a few years ago when we got

married. He started losing all of his landscaping clients

he'd built up in his parent's neighborhood and didn't

know what he was going to do to provide support. He

blamed the invasion of Mexico as the reason he had to

get in the pot business for the illegal money and even

rationalized that the government would probably make it

legal one day anyway, just like they did with prohibition.

Jade also remembered how he'd promised that if he ever

got busted he'd quit the business instead of being one of

those people who just kept getting busted and sent to

prison. It was time to hold him to that promise.

Jade wondered how Damon got busted. He never

brings any pot to the house. He keeps it in storage

and seemed really careful who he did business with. I

wonder what he's going to do now. Maybe it's a good

thing he got in trouble. Now maybe he'll find a real

job, start another business or go to a technical school

or a trade school. That all cost money that we don't

have. We can barely afford all our bills as it is. Just this

morning when I went to the free clinic in Laguna Beach

for my check up I got denied. I guess Damon's right

about the invasion. You have to be from outside of the

U.S. to get free medical.

ChapteR 29

Detective Marks watched his partner carry the

backpack found in the back of Damon's truck into

the evidence locker room. He watched detective

Pincher deal with cataloging the seized marijuana and

remembered the scene at the Best Western. After telling

Bob Prescott that his cooperation as an informant wasn't

going to count if a conviction of sales wasn't obtained

on Damon, he'd really blown his top.

He'd yelled, "I've never had a criminal outsmart

me, and I'm not about to start now!"

Detective Marks remembered how he tried to

console his partner. "Damon didn't outsmart you! He's

on his way to jail for Possession for sales and transporting

for the purpose of sales. It's a good bust."

Detective Pincher had exploded, "The sale never

happened! Don't you remember your training and

seminars? He only had one bag of pot in the back of

his truck where anyone could have thrown it... There

wasn't any pay owe sheets to prove he's selling product,

there isn't a scale to prove he's weighing product... It's

a fragile case the district attorney might just throw out.

Even if they get a conviction it will get plea bargained

to almost nothing. Just a possession, probably. Damon

will probably only get a slap on the hand and informal

probation!"

Detective Marks remembered telling his partner,

"You can't take the whole world on your shoulders. I

remember that part of our seminars. That's what you're

doing. You have to let the courts do their job and not

worry about it. Not every bust is going to go down

exactly the way you want it to."

Detective Pincher had ranted and raved and finally

found the solution in his head. "We blew it! I blew it!

I should have had the phone conversation between Bob

Prescott and Damon Smith recorded! We would have

been able to give it to the district attorney and it would

have insured the sales charge! God dammit!"

Detective Marks wondered if his partner was doing

what he thought he was doing with the pound of pot.

He had it on the counter and opened the freezer sized

zip lock bag. He reached inside it and pulled some out

and put it in a smaller sandwich sized zip lock bag.

He did the same thing two more times. He sealed

the bag that once held a pound of marijuana in it and

taped the necessary paper work to the outside of it. The

paperwork consisted of the name of the suspect, the

arresting detective, the time, date and the weight of the

narcotic. Detective Pincher wrote the weight down at

418 grams, 30 grams short of a pound. He then placed

it in the evidence locker, shut the door and shut the

lock on it and said, "Let's go to Damon's house and wait

for him to get there."

ChapteR 30

Damon walked through the last corridor of the

county jail with his up-coming court date paper

in one hand and a plastic bag of his property in the

other. Outside the jail he squinted his eyes against the

midday sun and felt the excitement of being free from

the jail eroding into anxiety. He thought to himself, it's

time to face the music. That started with calling Jade.

What am I going to tell her? What is she going to ask

me? She's going to remind me over and over about the

one and done rule. The, if I ever got busted it's over

forever, new career. She's going to want to know what

my new career is going to be. I don't want to get back

into landscaping and compete with the illegal migrants

who will underbid me at every turn... Damon caught

himself from allowing the same bitter resentments

from building any more Momentum and stopped that

train of thought. It was time to be a man and face it

for what it is. I should have held on to the handful of

clients I still had and advertized harder for more. Even

if I would have suffered through some hard times, I'd

still have been better off than I am now.

Jade pulled up in the Buick looking pissed. Her

hair was in pony tails so tight it had to be on. Her

white tank top looked like it had the baby's throw up

on it and it didn't look comfortable. Damon sat down

in the passenger seat and reached over into the backseat

to give Ryan a hug and with his free hand held his

daughter's foot.

Jade exploded, "What happened? I've been here

with the kids all night waiting for you!! We've been

here for over twelve hours!"

A brief glance at Jade was all it took to realize

looking directly at her wasn't the answer. Damon

opened his wallet to hand over the money, a desperate

measure. The $300 that was in there was gone. Still

looking at the empty wallet Damon answered, "I dealt

with someone I shouldn't have and got set up."

After explaining the details, as expected, Jade

hammered home the one and done rule. "You know you

promised to stop if you ever got busted... What are you

going to do now?"

Damon stared out the window while Jade left the

jail. As soon as she got on the freeway she filled the

silence.

"Damon you need a job... My parents are going to

be so pissed off about this! They're going to tell me,

We told you Damon wasn't any good for you! Why are

you with him? All those questions are going to come

up again...You better get a job right away! What kind

of job are you going to get?"

Damon shrank down in his seat and explained his

new understanding, that even though the migrants

obtained a lot of his landscaping clients, he should have

bunkered down and held onto what he could...

Jade interrupted, "That's all well and good Damon,

and I'm glad you had your epiphany... But that doesn't

just fix everything and provide you a job!"

"I'll start another business."

"Damon that costs a lot of money and it's risky!

More than half of the new businesses go out of business

within the first year. Why don't you get a minimum

wage job anywhere to start? Or go to school and learn a

trade so you can get some skills to make more money...

Maybe you can do both at the same time."

"I've got $8,000 in the bank."

Jade looked at Damon. He had a confused look on

his face. She softened. "Damon, you better put that

money in my name just to be safe. What if the Sheriffs

try to seize it. We need that money for an attorney for

you."

"I don't want to waste that money on an attorney.

We need it for rent, food and the kids! Besides, they can't

seize that money. I saved that money from landscaping,

and it's been in my bank since high school. My pot

money was what we were living on month to month."

ChapteR 31

This time, detective Pincher studied the perimeter

of Damon's apartment in Dana Point to hide their

vehicle better. He drove the Taurus up Crystal Lantern

and passed Damon's apartment. Just passed it, he

turned left on another street that allowed him to circle

up above Damon's on a perch where the street dead

ended.

Detective Marks got out of the passenger seat and

noticed he could see Damon's apartment through a gap

in the row of houses. He watched his partner step out of

the driver side and put on his bullet proof vest over the

same Hawaiian print shirt he'd had on yesterday. It was

going on twenty hours since that shift started.

Detective Pincher looked through the gap at

Damon's apartment and said, "This is a good spot. No

matter which way Damon pulls up to his residence he

won't be able to see us."

Detective Pincher waited for his partner to say

something. He didn't. He hadn't said anything since

the evidence locker room. "What kind of outfit did you

change into on your break. Those pants look like chollo

pants, what are they Dickies? That Volcom shirt you

have on doesn't go with the pants. What are you trying

to look like, a gang banger who surfs? You should dress

more like me so we can blend in better."

Detective Marks thought to himself, anyone other

than the actors in the T.V. show Hawaii Five-0 would

clash with you. I dress the way the rest of the scene does

around here. "I'll keep that in mind."

Detective Marks looked toward the ocean and

marveled at the post card view. He looked down the

hill to where Crystal Lantern connected with P.C.H.,

then at the row of shops, restaurants and exquisite

landscaping, then at the ocean in the background with

the sun above it in a pink cascade, an hour away from

setting. Looking the other way at Damon's apartment

through the gap in houses at the only other direction

Damon could arrive from, detective Pincher thought

out loud. "You know about the code of silence we share

in as a brotherhood fighting bad guys, right? It's us

against them, and we watch each other's back instead of

pulling each other down. Remember how we are trained

to write reports a certain way to ensure the conviction.

Sometimes we have to tweak things a little to make

sure the bad guy doesn't slip off our hook and continue

being a bad guy. If we look at the big picture, and do

our jobs thoroughly... That shouldn't happen."

Detective Marks didn't respond or even turn from

his view of P.C.H. and Crystal Lantern. The silence

got awkward and he wondered what he should say, if

anything.

Detective Pincher filled the silence. "Some of these

criminals are smart enough to manipulate the law and

it's our job to be just as cunning to prevent that from

happening. We just have to be willing. Willing enough

to hop in the dirt they roll around in and find the gray

area they're using to manipulate the law and tweak it

right back at them."

Still looking toward the beach detective Marks

said, "I understand."

Through the gap in the houses detective Pincher saw

a female pull up in a Buick and park in the driveway.

She and Damon got out, then a little boy with blond

hair got out of the backseat and hugged Damon and

held his hand. The female reached into the backseat and

pulled out a baby.

Detective Pincher said, "Put your vest on, they just

pulled up."

Detective Marks retrieved his vest and police issue

two way radio from the Taurus. He put the vest on and

asked, "Are you going to call in our position and report

the... conditions?"

Detective Pincher watched Damon as he walked

with the little boy holding his hand, and the female

carrying the baby, open the front door to go inside. He

looked back at the Buick and noticed the back door on

the driver's side was still open. They must be coming

back for something.

"Let's go. I'll call it in when Damon is in

handcuffs."

ChapteR 32

Ryan came running out of the apartment just as

the detectives reached the Buick in the driveway. Ryan

looked up and stopped in his tracks seeing the strangers,

and then their guns.

"Daddy!! People are here with guns!!"

Detective Pincher trained his gun on Damon's chest

as he came running out.

Damon stopped on the edge of the porch and asked,

"What do you want now?"

Detective Pincher took a shuffle step toward Damon

and commanded, "Get down on the ground and assume

the prone position Damon!"

Detective Marks followed suit. "Down on your

stomach Damon! Comply with what we tell you, hands

behind your back. Now!"

Damon started to comply. He got on his knees and

had his hands in the air and looked at his son. Ryan had

a scared, confused look in his eyes and was frozen in

place behind the detectives.

As calmly as he could he said, "Ryan, it's okay bud.

Go find your Mommy and have her put you in your

room."

Detective Pincher shuffled closer to Damon and

said, "Is that where you have the rest of your pot hidden,

in your kid's room?"

Damon responded immediately. "I've never brought

pot to my house!!"

Pincher responded, "It's only an apartment Damon.

You have to get shit right with me or I won't have a

future for you. Now get face down so my partner can put

the cuffs on you. We're going to search your apartment

for more contraband."

Ryan saw his Mommy arrive at the door and ran

around the detectives and his Daddy. As soon as he got

to his Mommy he hugged her legs and looked back at

his Daddy.

Laying on the ground with his hands behind his

back getting cuffed, Damon said, "Jade put the kids in

their room."

Jade took her son by the hand and went inside

leaving the front door open.

Detective Pincher took the opportunity to follow

her inside. As Jade put the kids in their room, detective

Pincher went straight to the master bedroom.

Detective Marks lifted Damon to his feet and said,

"Words of advice for you... You don't want to get on my

partner's bad side. Now let's go inside."

Jade came out of the kid's bedroom with a phone in

her hand. She walked up to detective Marks escorting

Damon to take a seat on the couch.

"Where is your search warrant? You're not supposed

to be in our house. I'm calling internal affairs and

reporting your names and badge numbers for this."

Detective Marks stared at Jade's determined face

not knowing what to do. While he thought about what

she had said he realized she was right. We don't have a

search warrant.

Damon watched detective Marks reaction. Then he

saw detective Pincher come out of his room with what

looked like bags of pot in one hand and a digital scale

in the other.

Detective Pincher set the bags of pot and Tanita

digital scale on the kitchen counter and responded to

what he'd overheard Jade say. "Listen young lady. Your

front door was open and you didn't say I couldn't come

in. Even if you had, I have the right to check on the

welfare of your children and anyone else that might be

in the house to make sure everyone is okay. Both of

those reasons give me a legitimate reason to be in your

residence. Then while searching your residence for the

welfare of your kids, I'm also legally allowed to observe

any contraband in plain view."

Detective Pincher pointed to the pot and scale on

the table. "This is what I found in the master bedroom.

It was right there in plain view on the dresser. I also

saw pictures of both of you from your wedding and

property that I'm assuming is both of yours. All of

this makes the warrantless search, and these narcotics,

another legit arrest. I'm also betting it's the same kind

of pot we busted you with in your truck last night. Am

I right?"

Damon hunched on the couch and moved his arms

in the bitingly tight handcuffs. He said the first thing

that came to his mind. "You must have pinched some

out of what you got last night!"

Jade looked at the phone she had in her hand and

thought about her bluff with calling internal affairs. I

might not have their phone number, but I know that

pot and scale wasn't in my room, I'm just going to

dial 911. "I'm calling to report that you just planted

that stuff in our room! We've never had any pot in our

house!"

Detective Pincher walked right to Jade and tried

to take the phone out of her hand. It wasn't easy and a

minor grapple ensued.

Jade struggled for the phone that was now firmly

in the detective's hand and got pushed away with his

other hand.

With his other hand free, the detective held her

off and yelled, "Stop resisting and interfering with our

investigation young lady! I'll write you up on charges

of resisting arrest and battery on a police officer."

He set the still ringing phone down with a still

battling Jade on his arm. He got control of the situation

and placed her in cuffs and put her next to Damon on

the couch. He looked at Damon, still struggling with

how tight the cuffs were.

"Damon... It's time to deal. You have two choices

here so listen carefully. Choice A, is I can make what

happened last night, and now today, go away. You'll

still probably plea out to informal probation but that

should be it. I can make that happen if you choose to

cooperate. You have to set up three dealers that are

larger than you in volume. Don't play any games with

me on that score because I've spent over a hundred

hours watching you. So I know how big you are around

here."

Damon looked at detective Pincher standing there

in his Hawaiian print shirt and thought, there isn't any

way I wouldn't have noticed you watching me. More

likely, you found out about me from Bob Prescott.

Detective Pincher continued. "Choice B is I call

child protective services and have your kids become

wards of the state, I charge you and your wife here for

what I found in your room and I'll do everything in

my power to send you to prison for the maximum term

allowed under the law."

Hearing the threat of having her kids taken was too

much and tears spilled from Jade's eyes. She looked at

her husband in shock.

Damon looked into her eyes and tried to make sense

of what was happening. All he could do was think out

loud. "Honey, you know he had to plant that pot in

our room. You know that stuff wasn't on top of our

dresser..."

The tears continued to flow down her face. "He's

going to take our kids from us!"

Hearing his Mommy crying, Ryan opened the

bedroom door crying also and yelled, "I'm not leaving

my Mommy!"

Damon felt all of the pressure of the situation and

hated how powerless he felt! Then a thought registered.

"I want those bags of pot and that scale finger printed!

I guarantee you won't find mine or my wife's prints on

there, but I bet yours are!"

Detective Pincher decided he'd heard enough,

Damon wasn't going to cooperate and play ball.

"Alright Damon, I guess it's choice B. for you then.

Let's get you and your wife in the back of my car so I

can call this in. Oh, by the way, the $300 in cash we

found in your wallet, along with the $8,000 we saw

on your bank statement are both being seized by the

government under asset forfeiture laws that I especially

like to utilize... Detective Marks, go get the car so we

can put these two drug dealers in the back of it."

Detective Marks came back with the Taurus and

detective Pincher decided a little mercy was in order.

He took the handcuffs off Jade and let her hold her baby

girl and her son in the back of the Taurus with Damon

still in cuffs. As Damon got in he asked, "Can you

loosen these cuffs a little, my hands are going numb!"

Detective Pincher laughed, shook his head no and

shut the door. With that done he walked toward the

residence and told detective Marks, "Let's go back

inside and call this in."

Back inside standing at the counter looking at the

bags of pot and the scale, detective Marks asked, "What

are we going to do about the fingerprints?"

ChapteR 33

Detective Maltobano studied the Strand's parking

lot to the beach for Sarah's Lexus. It still wasn't there

and hadn't been for all this time. Maltobano thought

about how much he wanted to find Sarah and help her.

I can almost feel her life sliding into darkness. She's

running from the pain and shock of being raped and

is using drugs and hanging out with the wrong people

to mask it. He thought about the conversations he'd

had with her friend Nicole over the last year. The last

one was a couple months ago. Nicole had called to

report that she had finally seen Sarah at a gas station

for the first time in six months. She said Sarah looked

terrible. "She looked impossibly skinny and couldn't

have weighed more than 95 lbs., and she had a lost and

spun out look on her face. The once naturally gorgeous

blond, now looked like a tweaked out Barbie doll trying

to carry all of her accessories in both hands." Maltobano

thought about the rest of Nicole's words. Sarah was

dressed like a stripper, she was living in Newport Beach

now, but supposedly she still came to Salt Creek and

Strands beaches to lay out occasionally. Nicole said

she'd asked all of her friends who were locals at the two

beaches if they ever saw her down there. Nobody had.

Nicole figured her friend Sarah was so spun out she was

delusional and wished she had her old life at the local

beaches back, but was lost and couldn't find her way

back to face everything. All of these images filtered

through the detective's mind when the emergency call

from dispatch came in.

The emergency broadcast gave the Crystal Lantern

address without any information. Detective Maltobano

realized he was less than a mile from the address and

called in his position and that he'd arrive in less than

two minutes as the first responder. Accelerating down

P.C.H. the detective manipulated his way through the

light traffic. He pulled the Crown Victoria to a stop at

the traffic light to Crystal Lantern and looked up the hill

toward the address given. He saw narcotic detectives

Pincher and Marks walking casually to the front door

where they entered the residence. Maltobano looked

from the now empty front door to the driveway where

the Buick was parked. It rang a bell in the detective's

memory. From there he saw detective Pincher's brown

Ford Taurus parked along the curb.

The light turned green and he accelerated up

Crystal Lantern, flipped a U-turn and parked behind the

Taurus. He walked up to the Buick driver's rear door.

Maltobano looked through the tinted window half way

down and the memory of the Buick flashed through

his mind. Damon stared right back. Maltobano looked

at the little boy, the baby girl on her mother's lap and

then he realized he knew the mother.

"Jade. What's going on?"

Jade immediately recognized the man underneath

the shoulder holster and white suspenders holding up

an otherwise blue outfit. "John Maltobano? You're a

detective now?"

Maltobano nodded his head.

Jade continued in a desperate rush of words. "John

those detectives planted pot in my room! I know for a

fact it wasn't there! Now they're trying to take my kids

from me! Please help me!"

Damon added to it. "I know you probably hear: '

It's not mine, it's a set up' tune all of the time, so it

sounds hollow even telling you that, but I know a way

to prove our innocence. Run a finger print test to show

our prints aren't on it!"

Detective Maltobano tried to make sense of the

situation and couldn't. "Sit tight. I'll go check on

what's going on."

Maltobano stopped at the open front door and

overheard detective Pincher explaining something to

his partner.

"We don't have to worry about finger prints. I've

done a lot of studying on the matter. Through case law

examples I've learned that finger prints are rarely used

as primary evidence in drug cases. Sometimes they are

lifted off of scales, jars and other devices that hold finger

prints well but hardly ever off of plastic baggies because

the plastic doesn't give a sturdy enough platform to

hold a large enough print to identify."

Detective Pincher thought to himself while he put

his gloves on, I should have had these on before, then I

wouldn't have to worry about my prints on anything.

He wiped down the digital scale with a dish towel near

the sink, turned and saw detective Maltobano standing

in the doorway.

Detective Maltobano thought about what he just

heard and what it might mean compared with what

he heard from Damon and Jade. He thought about

how he knew Jade. I grew up on the same street as she

did and our families knew each other. I also knew her

through high school and she had always shown good

character... But it's been more than four years since

then, a lot could have changed. I just can't jump to

the conclusion that narcotic detective Pincher and

Marks fabricated evidence against them... But why was

Pincher discounting the need for finger prints?

Detective Pincher realized detective Maltobano

couldn't see him wiping the scale for prints. His

own body was blocking the view. He continued

his summary to his partner to cover up his shock at

detective Maltobano's arrival. "Like I was saying about

primary evidence in drug cases, it really comes down

to dominion and control. That means ownership of the

property where the drugs are found. In this case, the

apartment and utility bills are in their names. We use

that to show dominion and control over the residence.

Now we tighten up the scope on where I found the

drugs and scale on the dresser in their room right next

to their wedding picture. Then we make an exhibition

of clothes, shoes and other things that belong to both

of them to show sole and personal control of ownership

for everything found in their room."

Detective Maltobano walked up to the two detectives

and shook their hands. "I talked to Jade on the way in

and she said you were calling child protective services

to take her kids away."

Detective Pincher responded, "It's within my

authority to do so if I determine their welfare is at

risk."

Detective Maltobano shook his head and said, "I've

know Jade for twenty years and I don't think that's a

good call."

Detective Pincher thought to himself, he just gave

me the perfect opportunity to undermine his authority

within the department! "First of all detective, I don't

appreciate your involvement in my case. You don't see

me involved in your rape cases do you? Even though I can

see better ways for you to do your job, I stay out of your

business. Secondly, I'm surprised you're not professional

enough to separate your personal relationships from

your duties as a Sheriff to uphold the law! Should I

assume you had an intimate relationship with Jade in

the past? What are you doing here anyway?"

Detective Maltobano shook his head. "That would

be the wrong assumption Pincher! The reason I'm here

is I was in the area to respond to the 911 call that came

in from this residence."

All three detectives turned their attention to the

front door where a number of Sheriffs came in with

guns pointing everywhere. Detective Pincher took

immediate control. "STAND DOWN!! CODE 4,

CODE 4!!"

Detective Pincher watched the Sheriffs entering the

residence lower their guns. One of the Sheriffs turned

around to yell a code 4 to those still outside. Pincher

thought to himself, I have everything under control

and I deserve the respect and control because I make

the most arrest and keep the criminals off the streets.

Detective Maltobano broke through detective

Pincher's thoughts. "So you're going to arrest both

Jade and Damon for that small amount of pot on the

counter?"

He watched detective Pincher's expression carefully.

It went from smug, to indignant and then irritated.

"Listen carefully detective. I'm arresting both

of them so I can pressure Jade into testifying against

her husband who hasn't been willing to admit to the

pot we found in the back of his truck last night, or

the pot we found in their room today. I have to ensure

her testimony. Now for the last time, get out of my

investigation! As I promised earlier, I'm reporting your

behavior with your problem separating your personal

life from your law enforcement duties!"

Maltobano shook his head and responded, "I think

you're overreaching your own law enforcement duties

by calling child protective services and taking their

kids for that small amount of pot."

He walked out the door and heard one of the other

Sheriffs observing say something.

"Does that pot even weigh over an ounce and qualify

as a felony?"

At the Ford Taurus Maltobano leaned down to talk

through the window. "Damon, you have to man up and

cop to the pot. That's the only way I can fight for him

to drop the charges on Jade and not to call child services

to remove the kids."

ChapteR 34

I got processed into the county jail and met Damon

in the first cell along a line of seven more of them

known as "the loop". I listened to his story carefully

and realized something. Bob Prescott was the reason

my brother and I got raided! A few weeks back a

friend of ours, Vince, brought him over to our house. I

remembered how Bob Prescott had run down the same

song and dance to us, "I've got this friend from Texas

that's big in the business and he moves a lot of product.

He wants to get things going from here to Texas and

back. This is a gold mine opportunity for you."

Now I pictured in my mind's eye how my brother

and I had a conference about it. My brother detected

something foul about Bob Prescott right away. Looking

back I could see it as clearly now as my brother had

then. I saw his bleached tipped spiked hair, his lazy

posture and build, and his eyes and body language.

His eyes seemed devoid of a conscience, and his body

language read that he would seize on any opportunity

presented. At the time my brother and I conferred, I

was looking at it from strictly a financial viewpoint. At

the time, Bill and Kent were out of marijuana, and so

was everyone else in the business, it was dry. It made

the most sense to sell what we'd managed to hold on to

in small increments for maximum value. My response

to Bob Prescott had been, "If this guy does big things

in Texas get a sample of the product he moves so we

can inspect it." I could picture now how Bob Prescott's

weasel eyes had darted around while his pea brain

tried to figure out a tactic. He didn't come up with

anything and left. He came back the next day with the

claim that his friend in Texas was dry of product also

and that's why he was in California, to find another

line on product. I had asked some probing questions

to determine what kind of mark up we could make if

we did business with him and my greed over rode my

instincts. He couldn't answer so he pulled out the best

distraction man ever invented, paper money. He pulled

out $60 that I now realized was probably detective

Pincher's marked money. Bob Prescott had tried to talk

me down to selling him $40. worth and I now realize

the little rat was trying to pinch $20 from the detective

to smuggle out a profit! Being the business miser I am

I held out for the $60. While explaining all of this to

Damon I had to face that I was the reason my brother

was in juvenile hall and our world was upside down.

Damon and I noticed a twenty year young looking

Sheriff that must have just started working for the

department come to our eight man holding cell that

currently had a dozen other inmates in it. He opened

the door and announced the names of those moving to

the next cell in the loop. Ours were among them.

We walked along a painted line next to the cells

with our hands behind our backs behind the young

Sheriff to the next cell. I noticed the slightly larger cell

had a sticker on the cell door. It said the maximum

occupancy was 12. I entered the cell first and noticed

there were about 20 people packed along the edges

of the cell like sardines and there wasn't anywhere to

sit. Even the mini toilet area had people posted up for

space. I inventoried all of the faces quickly and spotted

Vince in the corner.

I thought about Vince. My brother and I had met

him about 6 months ago on our way to the beach. He

was immediately on our good side when we found out

his last name ended in a vowel. Prestolli. Full Italian.

From Vince we learned a lot that he seemed hungry

to share. He knew his lineage extensively and started

from so far back, it was impressive. According to Vince,

the Prestollis in Italy made a name for themselves

in the Catholic church to the point one of them was

a cardinal. Sometime long ago, one of the Prestolli

daughters got swept off her feet, in love with a Faruso.

The Faruso's made a name for themselves in Sicily as

high ranking Mafioso. From there the family tree bore

some potent fruit. One of his grandfathers, sometime

in the 1950's to 1960's here in California was such an

intellectual that he published books on psychology.

Another grandfather invented some kind of technology

the U.S. government bought up for national security.

Vince explained that neither grandfather cared much

for money and were far more concerned with study.

They set up a trust fund that doled out money to every

member of their large family and extended family.

They also acquired a large piece of property in Silverado

Canyon that included water and mineral rights. That

property went to Vince's Mom Rutha. According to

Vince, his Mom had a lot of the Faruso blood in her

and she found her comfort zone in the underground.

The property in Silverado Canyon became a playground

for a chapter of outlaw bikers. They brought a lot of

problems to the property and there were even rumors

that a stolen cache of military weapons were buried

on the property. According to Vince, his Mom then

kicked the outlaw bikers off the property but it was

too late. A federal search warrant was executed and the

military weapons were not found, but the troubles just

got worse. Vince claimed he and his Mom had been

railroaded by Orange County ever since. While the feds

and the county studied Rutha and her Silverado Canyon

property, they alleged a dispute over the land deeds.

They seized her approximately 50 acres of property,

mineral and water rights and left her with enough

room to live in a trailer. While Vince told his tale my

brother and I shook our heads. It was such a deep tale,

it was hard to believe. I looked into Vince's tenacious

brown eyes and felt his frustration. He obviously had

been telling this story to many people seeking help,

comfort or just somebody to listen to him because the

scope of his story was so full of detail and sharpened.

Part of the problem was the way he looked. At 20 years

old he looked more like 14. He had a baby face and a

kid's build that was so chiseled and wiry that all eight

of his stomach muscles showed cuts over a bronzed olive

colored skin. His brown hair was always in disarray and

gave him a wild appearance, until you really looked at

how determined his eyes were. I believed in him and

decided he wasn't lying. But that didn't mean his Mom

wasn't to him. I had gently probed in this direction and

could tell that others had also by his quick response.

"Look it up. It's public record at the county recorder's

office. You can see we owned approximately 50 acres of

land, mineral and water rights until it was seized. The

federal search warrant for the stolen military weapons

is also public record." He was defensive about his Mom

and had a good reason to be, he was her son. From

Vince I had learned that his Mom didn't think school

was as important as life experiences so he rarely went.

He explained that he didn't have a ride there and when

he did, he wasn't dressed like the other kids. I realized

Vince didn't have a father figure in his life. The only

ones he'd had were the outlaw bikers who ran through

Rutha's property and hung out. Vince explained how

they gave him his first taste of methamphetamine at

9 years old by injecting him with a loaded syringe of

it and taking bets on how many days he'd be gone.

Vince explained how he'd walk for days, covering over

a hundred miles, looking for those life experiences his

Mom told him about.

Damon and I stood in front of Vince sitting on a

slab of concrete in the corner and I realized he had been

talking to Damon about our cases while I was deep in

thought. Now he was saying something to me.

"I'm sorry for introducing you to Bob Prescott. I

didn't know he was working as an informant. I was just

doing what you told me, to bring as much business

your way as possible. I've been in Silverado Canyon

since I last saw you and heard from a friend of mine

that Bob Prescott raped my friend Sarah. I tried to get

a ride to come to your house and tell you and ended

up walking and hitch hiking. I got pulled over and

arrested in Mission Viejo on my way. The Sheriffs said

I had a warrant for 4 counts of assault and battery on a

police officer. It must be that July 4'th incident at the

San Clemente pier I told you about."

I thought about what he'd told me. According to

Vince, he'd been at the pier watching the fireworks

where a mass of people filled the streets partying and

listening to loud music. Vince had said that he'd been

singled out by the Sheriffs for drunk and disorderly

conduct and roughly pulled away from the crowd. He

tripped while getting dragged and a number of Sheriffs

proceeded to wipe the concrete with him by raining

punches and kicks until he was almost unconscious

and compliant. Vince had said his blood alcohol had

registered zero because he hadn't drank. His head and

face were swollen and the black and blue bruises didn't

fully go away for over a month. I remember asking Vince

why he and his Mom didn't bring a law suit against the

county. He had told me that his Mom decided since the

beating wasn't on video, the Sheriffs would just bring

charges against him to cover it up. Now it looked like

the charges were coming anyway.

ChapteR 35

We got processed down the line of cells and got our

pictures taken, finger printed and then interviewed.

The interview process consisted of going into a little

room where a smart looking older Lieutenant Sheriff

sat behind bullet proof glass to determine what level

of criminal he had in front of him. He asked me if I

had ever been arrested and convicted of a felony before.

I said no. He looked at a file he had in front of him and

told me that I'd had a lot of marijuana at my house.

I looked at him and shrugged. Then he asked me if I'd

ever been to Orange County jail before. I said no. He

attached a white band to my left wrist and told me I'd

probably get O.R.'d and explained that meant I'd be

going home and have to show up to court on my own.

The last thing he said was to take care of myself until

then. I took that as a warning that there must be a lot

of problems in the jail.

The next two cells were the largest and the stamp

said the maximum capacity was 24. The second cell was

empty and the cell I was going into looked packed to

double the capacity. Vince and Damon soon followed me

in. I looked around and realized that almost everyone

in the cell was Mexican. I saw a few Asians huddled

together in one corner and a few blacks huddled

together in another corner. I found a couple of whites

with their backs to the wall and we headed their way.

On the way there we squeezed by Mexicans and avoided

the stragglers who were laying on the ground. Standing

there like sardines I noticed two serious looking

Mexicans studying the floor to see who was laying on

the ground. The tension in the cell magnified. I noticed

Vince and Damon's eyes were doing the same thing

mine were, looking at the ground to see if any whites

were laying down. We found one right when the cell

door opened and an extremely observant looking white

man squeezed into the cell. He looked about forty years

old, was very large and stocky and very capable looking.

He zeroed in on us and I wondered if my instincts to

wake the white guy on the floor up were right. We did

anyway and told him to stand up and make room like

the rest of us were.

The big white man squeezed his way over to our

spot and introduced himself as Carl. We introduced

ourselves and felt a little better with such an imposing

presence. He looked wise to our environment and by

body language and positioning; he took over as our

leader and teacher.

"Listen up youngsters. That was smart to wake that

white guy up lying down before those Chicanos had

to. They're just laying down the jail law. Look around,

we're the minority in here. That means you have to

stick together, look out for each other, strengthen each

other and build each other up. That includes every

white person you see because we're only as strong as our

weakest link. It's simple in here if you keep it simple. It

starts with respect. Respect yourself and all others at all

times. Respecting yourself includes keeping yourself

looking groomed and sharp, working out a lot and

building up your mind so you can figure out how to

stop coming back to this place!"

Right then as Carl was educating, the Chicanos were

waking up a Mexican wino who was still trying to sleep

it off on the ground. He made the mistake of trying to

push them away with his leg. The two Chicanos reacted

and started firing punches, kicks and stomps. Everyone

in the crowded cell squeezed against each other to get

out of the way. I jumped up on the concrete slab for

higher ground and saw the wino was knocked out while

the Chicanos continued to soccer kick and stomp his

face and head area.

A few young looking Sheriffs arrived at the cell door

watching, and waiting for enough back up to arrive. A

few others arrived and I could see they were about to

enter. The Chicanos stopped and tried to blend in, like

that was possible. The cell door popped open and four

Sheriffs rushed in with Billy clubs and pepper spray.

Other Sheriffs came in behind them and handcuffed

the two Chicanos and escorted them out of the cell.

A medical team came running in and got the still

unconscious wino on a gurney and rushed him out.

As everything began to calm down Carl stepped

up to the last Sheriff standing at the cell door and said,

"What's wrong with you people? You've got a wide

open cell next door you could have put half of us in

and this shit wouldn't have happened! Do you like

stacking us on top of each other so you can watch the

violence?"

ChapteR 36

Vince walked the line with a sea of other inmates

coming out of the modules on their way to the bottom

of the jail for a bus ride to court. He thought about

the last three weeks of being locked up, and the other

two bus rides to court. On the first trip to court the

assault and battery charges had been amended to

include G.B.I., great bodily injury. On the second trip

to court a pretty lady came up in the holding cell and

introduced herself as Stacy, his public defender. She

explained the difference in the original charges and

the amended charges. "The original charges carried a

sentence of up to a maximum of a year in the county

jail. The amended charges with the G.B.I. attached,

carry a prison sentence that starts at two years and can

reach up to four years."

Vince thought about his public defender Stacy.

She seems to care so much I think I'm in love. Vince

smiled to himself and considered how blessed he was to

have such an honest and caring person fighting for him.

Most of the other inmates talked about how much they

hated their public defender. They called them public

pretenders who cared more about their association

with the D.A.'s then their clients. Vince thought about

what his cellie Joe was going through back in the

modules. Joe claimed that in his case the prosecution

was mounting a landslide of evidence against him

and his public defender wouldn't use any of his own

evidence and the testimony of witnesses to refute the

prosecution's slant. Vince thought about Stacy and how

she'd said "if I get the pictures from my Mom of my

swollen head and black and blue face, she'd shock the

judge by the excessive force and discredit the police

and their reports. I hope my Mom comes to court with

those pictures!"

Vince got to the bottom floor and walked the line

to the holding tanks already familiar with which ones

were used for south court. He spotted Damon in the

corner doing pushups and looking out the glass. He

noticed Damon's mustard colored jumpsuit was way

too tight and laughed. A few minutes later, Vince heard

his name for the holding tank Damon was in.

Damon came to the holding tank's door and greeted

Vince as he entered in a big hug. They sat down on the

concrete slab along the holding tank's bullet proof glass

to watch the line of mustard colored jumpsuits and the

faces in them coming down the line.

Damon asked, "Is your Mom going to show up with

those pictures today?"

Vince stared out the window and answered, "I hope

I see her in the courtroom... I was calling her collect

every night on the phone and at first she told me she

couldn't find the pictures, and said someone must have

stolen them... Then two nights ago she said she found

them but needed to find a ride to court to bring them

because her car broke down. I called her last night to

see if she found a ride and her phone had a block on

it that said her number didn't accept collect calls...

I guess she didn't pay the bill or something."

Damon shook his head with a painful look on his

face and wondered, "what do I say to that?"

Vince caught the look. "She'll come... What's up

with you? How's Jade doing, is she going to be at court

today?"

"Jade's not doing too good... Her parents are putting

a lot of pressure on her to divorce me. She really doesn't

have much of a choice because I was paying all of the

bills while she was a stay at home mother. Now she

has all of the bills on her shoulders and her parents are

willing to pay for them if she files for divorce. They're

even offering to buy her a big house in San Clemente

to turn into a sober living home for her to run during

the day and make some money. They want to name it

Crossroads, to signify the point she's at in her life."

Vince's deep brown eyes were so sad that Damon

shook his head and continued, "It hurt really bad at

first but it forced me to get real and start looking at it

through her perspective. This is a blessing for her and

I told her I want her to do it. She'll have peace of mind

with all of that security and be able to take care of our

kids... I won't be as worried about her and the kids the

whole time I'm gone this way."

Vince breathed a deep sigh of relief like the weight

of the world just got lifted from his shoulders. Damon

noticed it. "You're a good friend Vince. I'm glad I met

you. Most people only care about themselves these

days... I wonder how our friend B.J. is doing out there

on the streets. He seemed to carry the weight of the

world on his shoulders too."

Damon and Vince sat on wooden slabs in the in-

custody section of Division Seven courtroom looking

out. Vince looked through the fenced-in enclosure for

his Mom in the public seating area and didn't see her.

Damon looked in the same direction and found Jade

with Victoria on her lap and Ryan in the seat next to

her.

Damon waved to Jade and Ryan and found he

couldn't take his eyes off of Jade. He thought to himself,

"If I can just detect what she's feeling, does she still

love me?"

Vince stared at the courtroom's mahogany door

where the public could enter from and thought out

loud. "My Mom's not here yet, she's probably having

trouble with a ride..."

Standing at the fenced-in enclosure for the in-

custody detainees was Stacy. "Vincent Prestolli."

"Hi, Stacy. I don't know where my Mom is. She's

having car trouble and needed to find a ride here."

"Vincent. I need those pictures! The prosecution

has medical records of the officers showing bruises to

their legs to back up their claim of G.B.I.. What's your

Mom's number? I'll call her and send a car for her."

Excited by the thought of being rescued, Vince

gave the number.

Ten minutes later Stacy came back with that worried

look again.

"Vincent... Your Mom said the pictures are still

missing... She said she told you that over the phone...

And then said something about life experiences?"

Damon and Vince watched the judge enter the

courtroom from a back door in the mahogany wall.

He walked to his seat of power wearing a purple robe

over business attire, had a bald head and was wearing

horned rimmed glasses perched at the end of his nose.

He passed the great seal of California with the condor

on it hanging on the wall and all of the idle noise in the

room quieted. The bailiff wearing an Orange County

Sheriff uniform stood even straighter and announced,

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Karl Homer."

Damon and Vince watched with a growing

sickness in their stomachs, awaiting their turn to be

judged. Everyone rose, but from there every detainee

fell one by one. Every detainee got chastised by the

judge who referred to police reports and the D.A.'s

recommendations, and never was there an argument or

any defending from the public defender.

Vince watched every detainee feel overwhelmed,

pressured and coerced into just getting it over with and

pleading, "Guilty,your honor."

Damon watched the same thing and marveled

at how fast the courtroom processed judgment. He

imagined all of the detainees as cattle getting herded

and branded and sent where there was more room for

beef.

At the end of the line and late into the afternoon,

Damon and Vince were the last men standing. The

judge opened up the second to last file and said, "Damon

Smith."

Damon walked to the fenced enclosure to stand

next to his public defender on the other side of it. The

judge's face wrinkled in displeasure, like what he was

reading in the file was increasingly worse. He turned

with that disgusted look and analyzed. It didn't feel like

he judged me part of his race. Maybe I'm an insect. I

looked over to where Jade was sitting. She had Victoria

in her lap praying. My son Ryan was playing with a

game.

"Damon Smith. On the night of March 29, you

are charged with a violation of the safety code for

transporting a pound of marijuana for the purpose of

selling it, in count two you are charged with another

count of the Health and Safety code of possession with

the intent to sell that same pound of marijuana... How

do you plea?"

"Guilty, your honor."

"On March 30, you are again charged with another

violation of the Health and Safety code for another

possession with the intent to sell... How do you plea?"

"Guilty, your honor."

Damon watched the judge look directly at him

and say, "Damon Smith, I have to tell you that while

reading these police reports narcotic detective Pincher

wrote, I find myself wondering how you could deny

possession to him over and over, and then allege you

were framed the following day? Detective Pincher is

one of the hardest working detectives in Orange County

and for you to allege something like that is despicable!

I'm sentencing you to two years for each count for a

total of four years in a California State Prison."

Vince stared at the door thinking to himself, I hope

my Mom enters right now.

He didn't even hear all of his charges being read, or

Stacy saying, "There's nothing I can do without those

pictures."

"Vincent Prestolli. How do you plea? Vincent

Prestolli! I said, how do you plea?"

"Guilty, your honor."

"Four years in a California State Prison."

ChapteR 37

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA STATE PRISON

A month later Damon and Vince got off the bus

and under an armed and handcuffed escort reached

Southern California Central and the eight man holding

tank where they got their cuffs taken off and sat down

on another hard slab. They both looked around to study

their environment and looked through the steel bars

at the receiving sergeant at his desk, and then took a

look at the rest of the place. Damon looked at Vince

to see if he was just as shell shocked as he, and found

Vince looked excited and was smiling. Damon thought

of all of the level 4 stories he'd heard about Southern

California Central and wondered if Vince knew about

those stories.

Vince looked around and thought, this must be

the most exciting life experience I've faced yet! I better

take mental notes and remember everything in as much

detail as possible.

They both noticed a Mexican prison guard walk

from out of their view to the desk the sergeant was at.

He asked, "Do you have that paperwork and a can of

Bugler tobacco for Sycamore Hall?"

Damon looked at Vince and asked, "Do you think the

paperwork he's talking about is an inmate's list of crimes?"

Vince nodded, "Probably. Let's see the name tags of

these guards to remember them."

They both noticed the sergeant's name was Renfro,

and the other deputy was Gonzalez.

Sergeant Renfro went through his desk and found

a can of Bugler and added a lighter to it. Then he went

through some files and said, "I know I've got those

files somewhere. Here they are. Chester Goldstein and

Sherman Covington. How's that for the names of a

couple of child molesters."

Damon and Vince watched prison guard Gonzalez

react and respond. "The state of California and the rest of

this country are too soft on child molesters. I remember

seeing that Chester piece of shit Goldstein on the news.

He molested nine different little girls that they know

about. The other molester was doing his own daughter

for God knows how long until his mother walked in on

it. Remember that? She got arrested for trying to stab

him to death!"

Sergeant Renfro said, "Stay down Mom! I didn't

know all of those details. What did the state give

them?"

Vince thought, he knows all of those details and

probably what the state sentenced them to. Is this

conversation meant for us to hear it?

Right then, both Vince and Damon heard a rustling

noise and strained to see further into receiving toward

the hall. Vince got up and went to the bars where he

could see a grizzled looking tattooed down white inmate

messing with the trash in a trash can. Apparently, he

had been there the whole time. He left a tied trash bag

on the ground and slid the empty trash can into view.

Deputy Gonzalez said, "The courts gave Chester

the molester Goldstein six years and the other one got

four years."

Vince watched the tattooed down white inmate

burglarize the conversation. "Then the same courts will

throw the keys away on someone just for trying to hustle

to survive and eat! It doesn't make sense Gonzo."

Vince recognized deputy Gonzalez went by Gonzo

and added it to the memory bank.

Gonzo looked over with a smile and said, "Hey

peckerwood, inmate Longwhore... A.K.A. The

Sandman. I need you to take this paperwork to the floor

officer in Sycamore Hall and this can of tobacco and

lighter is for Mad Dog."

Vince and Damon watched the Sandman walk his

trash can to the desk, partially out of their view, where

he grabbed the files and the tobacco and lighter and

placed it in an empty trash bag that he rolled up and

put on the bottom of the can. Then he put another bag

in the trash can over it and tied the bag off at the lip

of the can to put trash in it. He grabbed some nearby

mini trash cans and dumped it in. While he worked he

talked to Gonzo. "How many times do I have to tell

you not to throw my A.K.A. out there like that? You

know they use that to affiliate us to a prison gang!"

Gonzo laughed like it was a long running joke.

"You know that's what you want anyway!"

"No I don't!! I don't want to be slammed in that

new S.H.U. (Segregated Housing Unit) at Pelican Bay

for the rest of my life!"

"Then you should have been more careful with your

A.K.A.!"

Vince stared openly at the situation and thought,

this is just like a prison movie!

Damon was also staring and thought, with the way

things are going for me we'll get housed in Sycamore

Hall and I'll catch another case. He laughed at how

unlikely that scenario was.

The Sandman finished his drawn out task and

realized both deputies were staring at the youngsters

in the holding tank. He looked over and saw they were

watching intently. He looked right at them also.

Damon and Vince took his look as a challenge and

didn't look away.

Sergeant Renfro saw an opportunity to stir the pot.

"These two fish are going with you to Sycamore Hall.

Are you going to add these two to the list of torpedoes

on standby over there?"

The Sandman had an irritated look on his face like

he was all that, and said, "Do you send your kid's into a

busy street to get in a wreck?"

Both deputies busted up laughing and Gonzo

pointed at Damon and Vince and with his other hand

pretended to cover up a mocking laugh.

Damon wasn't laughing, he was thinking, "I can

smash your old ass."

Vince was laughing to go along with it. He was

thinking, so Sandman, you like to cut it up with the

prison deputies and make fun of us. If that's how you

get down I'll add you to my life experience movie.

Deputy Gonzo watched the youngsters determined

not to bend and decided they had a lot of heart and

nerve on their sleeves. "I don't know Sandman. With

a little seasoning I think these youngsters might just

move you out of the way and take your job out here as

our janitor."

Sergeant Renfro added to it. "I bet they could send

you back to your cell to do those mandatory workouts.

Then you'll be standing at the cell door all day trying

to get a crumb of this tobacco sent your way, instead of

out here where you're bringing back the mother lode."

Now it was just the deputies laughing.

ChapteR 38

On the walk from receiving to Sycamore Hall

deputy Gonzalez led the way with Sandman a few feet

behind him sliding the trash can, then Damon and

Vince behind him with their hands behind their back.

Vince whispered to Damon, "Study the layout in as

much detail as you can. You study the left hand side,

and I'll study the right hand side. We'll compare notes

in our cell."

Vince noticed how receiving's hall started down a

declining slope as it entered Central's main hall. They

entered it and Vince looked both ways and decided they

were right in the middle. He estimated the length of

Central's hall at about the distance of a football field

and decided the width of the hall was about ten yards.

Then he focused on his right hand side and looked as

far down the hall as he could. Up the way, there were

offices that had a sign that read, Lieutenant/Sergeant

offices. Looking past those offices another sign read,

Medical. Vince noticed a hulking deputy that looked

about 6'4 and about 240lbs. of muscle come out of the

medical area looking at the procession. He stopped in

front of the Lieutenant/Sergeant office with his arms

crossed and looked into deputy Gonzalez's eyes. A

message seemed to pass between the two and deputy

Gonzalez stopped the procession.

Damon studied his left hand side along the wall

and noticed steel cages the size of phone booths.

Directly above them were a nozzle facing downward

and a sign that read, decontamination spray. Damon

realized the phone booths weren't for phone use, they

were for combatants involved in altercations and the

spray was to hose off the pepper spray. Then he noticed

the massive Sergeant staring at their lineup.

Vince read the Sergeant's name plate, Sergeant

Fountain. He had sagacious eyes that looked like they

didn't miss much. He walked to the trash can Sandman

was holding and asked everyone, "Are there any

weapons in this trash can? Any ice picks, bone crushers,

or swords?"

Sergeant Fountain tilted the trash can, looked

inside, then grabbed it and shook it. Then he looked

right at Damon and Vince. He watched the youngsters

keep as stoic a face as possible and asked them, "Is there

anything in this trash can I should know about?"

Damon and Vince shook their heads and looked at

the ground. Both said, "No."

Sandman looked relaxed like he dealt with this

kind of thing on a daily basis. "It's just trash Sergeant

Fountain."

Deputy Gonzalez smiled and said, "I think they've

got enough weapons over there already Sergeant."

Sergeant Fountain nodded his head and said, "So

just an extra trash can huh? There must be some extra

trash over there in Stickamore then. If there aren't any

weapons in there then you won't need me to escort you

safely."

Deputy Gonzalez said, "Not this time Sergeant."

Vince watched in amazement as the Sergeant gave

the nod and said, "Carry on then." Vince thought, "this

is rad."

Continuing up Central's hall, Vince studied his right

hand side and noticed a sign that read: CHOW HALL.

Then one that read: KITCHEN. Walking by, Vince

looked into the chow hall and heard gangster rap music

playing. He saw four different races of level 4 convicts.

They were all tattooed down and wearing beanies slung

back to the point they looked like skull caps. Those who

were working had hairnets over their beanies and were

wearing state issue denim pants and prison shirts as they

carried trays and wiped tables. Over in the corner, Vince

saw a cut up black dude without his shirt on working

out. It looked like he had three pairs of boxer shorts on.

Each one hung lower than the other one and his denim

pants hung all the way at the bottom below his ass.

Another sagging black dude walked up to him and said,

"Sugarfree! Hey nigga how much time they give you

on your violation?" Sugarfree responded, "Hey crip, we

ain't supposed to call each other niggas in front of other

races. Big T. in stickamore put that out on the tier. He

says it gives the other races the green light to use the

word and that shit starts riots. He says it's okay if it's

just bofus talking and no other race can hear us."

Damon studied his left hand side and noticed a sign

that read: MADRONE HALL. It also had a sign that

read: KITCHEN. There wasn't anything else to see so

he looked to the other side as their caravan pulled up.

He looked up at the sign and realized it was a different

kind of sign. This one was made of redwood and had

the letters: Sycamore Hall stamped on it. Above the

printed letters stamped into the wood there was the

word stickamore etched into the wood.

A new prison deputy came out of Sycamore. Another

Mexican with a name plate that read, Primo. He looked

at deputy Gonzalez and shook his head like he didn't

like something. He nodded his head at Sandman and he

took the opportunity to get into Sycamore.

Damon thought, here we go, we're going to get

moved right next to those child molesters.

Deputy Gonzalez asked, "Do you have a cell for

these two?"

"We've got cell 215 open, the last cell on the

second tier on the west side. I wanted to get these two

youngsters sent to the east side but the only cell we've

got over there is being held by main control for black

inmates."

Deputy Gonzalez looked at Vince and Damon and

said, "You guys didn't want to go over there anyway.

It's all black."

Deputy Primo pulled Deputy Gonzalez aside and

said, "You know that cell is right next to those chesters

that came in last night don't you?"

"Yeah. I know. Are you worried these youngsters

are going to have to do it?"

"You know Mad Dog has that side of Sycamore...

He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, in fact he's straight

up stupid... But he is a big ass crazy white dude."

Damon and Vince listened in on the conversation

and watched deputy Primo wave good bye to deputy

Gonzalez.

Deputy Primo walked back over and said, "Check

this out youngsters, It's Friday night right now. I

need you to keep your noses clean until Tuesday or

Wednesday. That's how long it's going to take to get

you out of central and over to the west yard. We have to

keep you here until medical clears you."

Vince said, "No problem."

Damon nodded his head.

Deputy Primo asked, "Do you know what cell

you're in?"

Vince said, "215."

Deputy Primo nodded his head and knew they had

overheard.

ChapteR 39

Vince turned into the hall and turned to the left

and saw the desk the deputy sat in. He couldn't see into

either hall from there and thought, we must not even

be supervised.

Damon followed Vince into the hall and shut the

door behind him.

The noise of the door closing brought a lot of people

to their cell bars to see what was going on. Someone

down the way yelled out of their cell, "HEY CHINTO!

WHO IS THAT HOLMES? ARE THE JAVES ON

THE TIER?"

Damon saw Vince studying the cells on the first tier,

so he looked at the shower directly to their right, past the

last cell. There were two Mexicans in it and one of them

was watching the door intently to see if a prison guard

was coming. It looked like he decided that it was clear

and yelled, "IT'S JUST SOME YOUNGSTER GAVAS,

FLACO'S GOT THRUSHA FOR A SECOND!"

Damon watched who he was assuming was Chinto

grab something from Flaco. It looked like it was a

hypodermic syringe. He turned so his back was to the

tier and got busy with something. With nothing else

to see Damon turned his attention to the cells on the

second tier. The first cell he looked at, directly above

him, had a big hairy Mexican in it that had two big tear

drops tattooed under his right eye. Damon looked into

those eyes for a second and saw a lot of hate there. He

looked down the tier further and saw heavily muscled

tattooed down arms hanging out of bar doors. One

of them had a homemade rear view mirror and was

watching Damon in it at the same time. Time seemed

to slow down. Damon looked at Vince and saw him

staring at a big white guy in the cell ten feet away

staring back at him.

Vince studied him standing at the bars with his

large chest and upper arms blasted down with ink. He

looked like he weighed about 240 lbs. at six feet of

stockiness. He had a large tear drop tattoo under his

right eye. Vince realized he was being waved over to his

cell and decided, this is Mad Dog.

Vince told Damon, "Come with me."

They both walked the ten feet and Vince realized

the large tear drop was actually a swastika. His head was

shaved bald and was also very large. He had a collage

of art work on his chest that included an Ace of Spades,

some crime scene tape and a naked goddess with her

arms and face to the sky. Both Damon and Vince were

busy looking at it when they heard him say, "Which

one of you is Vince, and which one of you is Damon?"

Damon looked at Vince's surprised reaction to how

he knew their names.

"Sandman told me your names before he ran over to

the chow hall. I'm Mad Dog."

Mad Dog studied the youngsters standing there

trying to look so tough. He thought, Sandman was

right. These kids don't have any tattoos and I'd be giving

them the chance to earn some by adding some steel in

those high-profile child molesters. He thought about

how he'd also pointed out that the rest of us whites over

here in Sycamore are just doing a few more months of

prison time in violations, whereas these youngsters are

doing four year prison terms. They won't even catch

much more time... Sandman had also suggested we

shouldn't let the rest of our whites in this block know

about the molesters because they'll all throw their two

cents in on how it should get handled and it'll be a big

cluster-fuck mess. He remembered how Sandman had

said, Just bait the youngsters and give them some steel

and we'll have them do it during showers..."

Vincent said, "I'm Vincent..."

Damon said, "I'm Damon..."

Both Damon and Vince looked down the row of

cells next to Mad Dog and saw Mexican faces watching

and listening.

Mad Dog said, "The sandman also told me you two

looked like a couple of white warriors. I'm trying to

figure out how he came up with that. You don't look

too bad ass to me. Can either of you fight any good?"

Vince puffed up a little and bit. "I grew up on the

streets and have fought my ass off! I don't win them all

but I hold my own."

Mad Dog maintained a stoic mask and looked at

Damon for his response.

Damon felt the eyes on him and thought, this is

some kind of trap. "I can hold my own."

Vince noticed Mad Dog get frustrated. His big

forehead wrinkled up into five deep lines.

Mad Dog took his time and thought it out, then

came up with, "Sandman also told me that you two

got caught up in cutting it up with the deputies about

taking his job as porter. Then you had the nerve to Mad

Dog him and gang bang on him with your eyes. That's

a no-no."

Damon studied Mad Dog and thought, I was right,

this is a trap. Maybe if we wait him out and stop biting

he'll get ahead of himself and we'll see where he's going

with it.

Vince bit. "You better run a check on that noise

you heard! This is what happened. Deputy Gonzalez,

Gonzo, stirred the pot and disrespected us by asking

Sandman if he was going to add us fish to the list of

torpedoes in Sycamore. The Sandman disrespected us

by telling Gonzo that he wouldn't use us because we're

kids, and you don't sent your kids into the street. So get

your facts straight stud."

Damon watched Mad Dog's forehead wrinkle

impossibly deep and thought, here we go.

Vince watched Mad Dog go get something under

his bunk and bring it back and hand it through the

bars.

Vince grabbed it. It was a brown sandwich bag the

lunches came in. He opened it far enough for Damon

to see.

Damon looked in and saw four six inch pieces of

sharpened steel. Each one had strips of sheets wrapped

tightly around the bottom ends of them for handles.

Damon asked, "What's up with these?"

Before Mad Dog answered, Vince slid the bag into

his waistband to hide it.

Mad Dog said, "Do you two have any idea where

you're at? Check this out youngsters; we've got seven

white cells on this side of Sycamore, six on the other side,

eleven in Madrone across the hall, five in Cypress and

Seven in Palm Hall. The fellas in Palm Hall are heading

to Pelican Bay, to the S.H.U. You landed smack dab in

the middle of level four southern headquarters where

all business gets handled with those things I gave you!

We've been running the routine the fellas put together

with the Mexican mafia since 1982. I just wanted you to

know how we get down over here since you're picking

fights with one of my integral components."

Vince interrupted, "We aren't the ones picking

fights!"

Mad Dog exploded, "Hey youngster keep your

mouth shut and your ears open while I'm talking to

you! School is in session! If the Sandman says you were

gang banging on him with your eyes, then you were!

That's why I gave you that bag, so you'll be on equal

footing with the rest of your white race in here."

Mad Dog let that set in and thought, I'm running

out of time, the deputies should be popping their cells

any minute.

Mad Dog said, "I want you to answer one question,

but do it carefully. Are you going to be a benefit to our

race, or are you going to disrupt our race?"

Damon watched Vince jump on the baited hook

right as the noise of iron clinking together signified

their cell was getting popped open.

"We're here to benefit our race one hundred

percent!"

Mad Dog nodded, "All right youngsters, get to

your cell."

Vince and Damon walked to the stairs and walked

up them to the second tier. Damon looked at Vince and

saw his left hand covering the lump pressed against his

waist under his clothes.

At the top of the stairs, Vince looked to his right

and saw deputy Primo in a separated cage holding a

steel handle that apparently opened the cells. He turned

and walked down the tier toward the end and saw each

cell had two heavily muscled and tattooed down bodies

in boxer shorts. Every face seemed to be studying he

and Damon.

Halfway down the tier, two stout white men

stopped Vince and Damon. "Hey, real quick youngsters,

I'm Bird and this is my cellie Pelican. If you two need

anything at all don't hesitate to come to us. We'll be

right here for you little brothers."

Both Damon and Vince said, "Thank you."

Damon was about to introduce himself but a

Mexican in the next cell yelled, "SPENCER ON THE

TIER!! JAVES ON DA SEGUNDO TIER!!"

Right after that Vince listened to Mad Dog yell,

"EXCUSE ME ON THE TIER!! THE KEYS ARE ON

THE SECOND TIER!!"

Bird and Pelican noticed how shell shocked Damon

and Vince looked standing there not knowing what to

do.

Deputy Primo tapped his keys against the steel

enclosure.

Bird said, "Go to your cells youngsters. When he

clanks the keys like that it means lock it up or he'll do

some cell searches and get you in trouble. We'll talk to

you at chow time in a little bit."

ChapteR 40

Damon followed Vince into the cell and closed

the barred door behind him. He felt a claustrophobic

feeling squeezing in on him as the iron cell door clanked

shut. He thought, this cell is impossibly small! It's only

about 8 feet wide and half of that is swallowed up by

our bunks. I can't even get by Vince while he's standing

there! Damon turned around and faced the bars and

practiced sticking his arms out like everyone else had

been doing. He looked down at his arms and realized,

I need some bigger arms and tattoos. He changed his

stance and grabbed the bars instead. He looked at the

wall in front 15 feet away. About 10 feet up the wall it

turned into a glass window. A lot of it was broken. Like

someone had thrown something up there from the main

hall to send pieces to the other side. Damon imagined

the big pieces of glass being wrapped at the end with

sheet for use as a modified knife.

Vince stood studying the cell and wondering where

to put the weapons. The cell was only 10 feet long and

the bunks took up 7 feet of that space. Vince looked at

the toilet and sink, practically an extension from the

end of the bottom bunk. He thought whoever sleeps on

the bottom rack better face the other way. He imagined

someone's head right next to their cellie's pooping butt.

On that note, he wondered if the weapons would slide

down the toilet.

"Damon, where should we hide the weapons?"

Damon turned around and looked at Vince. "How

about we turn the brown bag they're in into a mini

trash bag and put it right next to the toilet. We can put

some toilet paper over the top of the weapons for some

cover and if we need to we can dump it in the toilet if

the guards are coming."

Vince nodded his head. "That's what I was

thinking... Which bunk do you want to sleep in?"

"It doesn't matter. We can switch on a weekly

schedule or something if you want..."

An hour later deputy Primo made his presence felt

and announced a warning to get ready for evening chow.

A few minutes later the cell door popped open.

Damon and Vince stepped out on the tier and

noticed the child molesters in the cell next to them

didn't come out. One of them shut the cell door and

both of them avoided making eye contact.

Bird and Pelican walked over and Vince took a

visual inventory. Both Bird and Pelican looked like

studs at about thirty years old. Neither looked like they

belonged in prison, but both looked very capable. Both

had well groomed slicked back brown hair and blue

eyes on a stoic looking G.Q. face. Both of their arms

were inkless from the elbow down but you could see the

tattoos started somewhere up the biceps and triceps.

Both had a pair of boots they set on the ground in front

of the cell.

Bird shook hands with Damon and said, "Welcome

to the west side of Sycamore. Me and Pelican here have

your back youngsters and we're the only other white

cell on this second tier. The rest of the whites are on

the first tier and we've got three cells all in a row above

you on the end of the third tier. You'll be going to chow

with us and sitting at our table so we're together."

After shaking hands, Bird looked into the cell the

child molesters were in and asked, "Why aren't you two

going to chow? We've got a mandatory everything over

here on the west side. That means mandatory workouts,

chow, showers and yard. You have to come out and

participate in all of it!"

One of the child molesters on the bottom bunk said,

"Nobody told us that. We just got here last night."

Pelican said, "Now you know!"

The line to chow started moving and Vince

wondered if Bird and Pelican knew that they had just

been talking to a couple of hi-profile child molesters.

Damon assumed they didn't know and wondered,

would we be in the wrong for telling them? The

opportunity didn't seem to present itself.

Vince was busy taking in the surroundings. He

thought, Mad Dog was right, everyone here looks like

they've been doing this for ten to twenty years. It must

be our turn to prove ourselves and earn some points.

Damon was thinking, it can't be wrong to tell Bird

and Pelican about those child molesters, we would want

them to tell us if the situation was reversed, but how do

I tell them?

On the way back from chow Damon realized the

opportunity to talk in private was gone. The space just

wasn't there.

Back inside their cell an hour later the lights on the

tier clicked down to a dim.

All the noise from conversations going back and

forth from cell to cell got quiet.

Mad Dog's voice and presence took over in a deep

and loud command and reverberated in the echo

chamber. "EXCUSE ME ON THE TEIR!! OVER HERE

ON THE WEST SIDE OF SYCAMORE WE HAVE

A LIGHTS OUT POLICY!! THIS MEANS NO

MORE YELLING OUT OF YOUR CELL!! IT ALSO

MEANS THERE IS TO BE NO MORE CELL TO

CELL TALKING!! THE ONLY TALKING THAT

SHOULD BE IS BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR

CELLIE, AND THAT MUST BE KEPT TO A

MINUMUM IN RESPECT OF THIS POLICY!! WE

WANT TO RESPECT EVERYONE WHO IS GOING

TO SLEEP!! THANK YOU!!"

Everyone in all 45 cells yelled out at the same time

in a booming crescendo, "THANK YOU!!!!"

Vince and Damon looked at each other impressed

with the powerful cadence and the respectful rule and

realized they hadn't added their voices to the "THANK

YOU!"

Mad Dog yelled out another deep, "WOODPILE...

GOOD NIGHT!!"

Everyone of the whites in cells yelled, "GOOD

NIGHT!!!"

This time Damon and Vince got into the cadence.

Mad Dog yelled, "THANK YOU!!"

Damon and Vince added their voice to the return,

"THANK YOU!!!"

The Mexicans sounded off next and with a lot more

of them it was even louder!

The blacks were next and they yelled out something

in Swahili and added some WHOOP WHOOPS!

Vince laid down on his bunk and said, "Now

I know what Mad Dog was talking about when he

mentioned the integral components. It felt like he was

a maestro leading an orchestra and we were the integral

components."

ChapteR 41

In the morning Vince woke up just before Damon

and wondered, what's our program going to be like

today? I should have asked Bird if we have yard or

showers today.

Damon heard Vince get up, got up, and stood next

to the toilet to take a piss. He thought about it and

imagined himself standing there peeing into the toilet

and some of it splashing onto the rim of the toilet,

along with the noise of it hitting the water in a stream.

He decided to sit down.

While Damon sat there, Vince heard some

commotion on the tier and stood almost leg to leg with

Damon to see what was going on. From the cell door

Bird could be seen walking down the tier with some

Mexicans.

He walked up to Vince and said, "We're getting cell

fed this morning because of an incident in the chow hall

while we were setting up to feed. A couple of Mexicans

had an insane knife fight that was off the hook. We still

might get showers in the afternoon though."

While Bird walked to his cell, Damon and Vince

listened to one of the Mexicans explaining what

happened a few cells down.

"Hey hommie, the hommie Bat blasted Chinto in

the back of the head with a fucking sword!"

The Mexican in the cell said, "Chinto did Bat's

issue of dope in the shower yesterday. He deserved it.

Did Chinto fight back?"

The Mexican on the tier said, "Hell yeah he did.

Somehow he produced a piece of glass and went right

to Bat's neck with it. There's blood and pepper spray all

over the place in the kitchen."

The Mexican in the cell said, "This is stickamore...

I bet we still get our showers and walk to chow tonight

though."

The Mexican on the tier said, "This is the wild,

wild west side of stickamore!" As he walked away.

For the next half hour Damon and Vince listened to

Mexicans conversation about the incident.

"Hey holmes, Bat's lucky he didn't use my ice pick.

He'd be fighting a murder beef right now 'cause my

poker would have went halfway inside the brain."

Another older Mexican responded, "Hey hommie,

keep that telling on yourself stuff off the tier, you make

yourself look like a youngster... Besides, those swords

aren't meant to kill, they're used to leave a lifelong

deep and puckered scar. Bat should tell Chinto to tattoo

Bat above it so everyone can see what happens when

someone steals Bat's issue of dope."

Half an hour later the trays of food were passed out.

Vince watched how the cells around him slid the empty

trays back on the tier when they were done.

When the trays got picked up, Mad Dog's voice

made his presence felt and thundered authoritatively.

"EXCUSE ME ON THE TIER!! ALL WHITES

ON THE TIER, WE HAVE A MANDATORY

WORK OUT POLICY YOU AND YOUR CELLIE

MUST PARTICIPATE IN!! WE WORK OUT WITH

THE MEXICANS IN TWO GROUPS AND AT THE

END OF THE ROUTINE WE DO 123 BURPIES

FOR THE MEXICANS FOR A TRIBUTE!! THIS IS

YOUR FIFTEEN MINUTE WARNING!! NOW I

HAVE TO RESPECTFULLY ASK THAT ALL RACES

ON THE WEST SIDE OF SYCAMORE PUT OUT

ALL CIGARETTES AND WICKS IN RESPECT OF

OUR ROUTINE!! THANK YOU!!"

"THANK YOU!!!!"

A Mexican's voice repeated the same thing Mad

Dog had in Espanol."

Fifteen minutes later Mad Dog's voice yelled,

"TODAY WE ARE DOING THE SHORT LIST!! IS

EVERYBODY READY!!!"

"READY!!!!"

A Mexican yelled, "LISTO!!"

"LISTO!!!!!"

Mad Dog yelled, "FIRST GROUP, READY, 150

JUMPING JACKS!! BEGIN!!"

Vince asked Damon, "Do you want to go with the

first group or the second group?"

Damon said, "I'll go with the second group so I can

see what the routine is like."

Vince did his set of jumping jacks and sat on the

bunk when he was done and said, "Now I see why

everyone rolls that mattress up and puts it at the end of

the bunk. It's so we don't sit on the mattress and sweat

all over it."

A Mexican yelled out to the second group. "LISTO!!

VAMANOS!!"

Vince and Damon went through the list of pushups,

arm rotations, squats, lunges, knees to chest and then

back over the same exercises. At about the halfway

point Mad Dog yelled,

"WOODPILE, HOW DO YOU FEEL?"

Every white on the west side yelled, "ONE

HUNDRED PERCENT!!!!!"

Mad Dog asked again to build the crescendo,

"HOW???"

Every white on the west side, "ONE HUNDRED

PERCENT!!!!!"

Mad Dog, "THAT'S WHITE!!!"

The Mexican calling their cadence, "MEXICANOS,

COMO SE SIENTE???"

All of the Mexicans yelled, "DAKAIUS!!!"

Vince and Damon worked out inspired by the

growing crescendo of energy. At the end they were both

near exhaustion.

Damon said, "Squeeze your stomach muscles

when you exhale and you'll get your second wind back

faster."

Vince tried it and Damon couldn't help but notice

how shredded he was. "Vince you don't have an ounce

of fat on you."

Vince said, "Yeah but I can't seem to ever get much

bigger either... Do you mind if I take a cell shower

first?"

Damon shook his head that he didn't mind and

watched Vince tear off a piece of paper and put it in the

sink. He held it down until enough of the hot water

from the sink held it in place for him.

Damon followed suit and showered after Vince

and when he was finished cleaning up he asked Vince

something he'd been wondering about.

"Vince... Are you scared of dying in here?"

Damon watched Vince think about it with his back

to him standing at the bars looking out. After a minute

he turned.

"I'm not scared of dying; I'm scared of living...

When my mind asks me questions I don't want to

answer like, why did that happen? Or how should I feel

about it? I get scared to answer my own questions. I

have to live in the Moment and look for excitement so

I don't have time to answer."

Right then a visitor showed up and got Both Vince

and Damon's attention. The visitor set the broom he

was using on the bars and then grabbed two handfuls of

them like they were his.

Vince studied the thirty something year old white

guy hanging on their cell. He had his shirt off and his

head cocked impossibly far back. Vince discerned he

was doing it to show them the tattoo he had on his neck

better. It was a three letter tattoo in old English that spoke

of his gang affiliation. On his stomach he had another

old English tattoo of where he was from, ANAHEIM.

The rest of his tattoos on his chest, shoulders and arms

were a jumble of evil looking artwork to complete the

picture. Vince thought, he sure is trying to get a lot of

mileage out of those tattoos.

Damon stared at the 5'8 inch, out of shape looking

visitor and thought, now that's gang banging with your

eyes!

The visitor seemed to decide it was time to start

the introduction. "Hey youngsters, check this out. I'm

Mikey and the shot caller of the gang you see tattooed

on my neck. Now who in the hell are you? What do

they call you? What do you claim? Where are you from?

Do you have your paperwork? I've got to get your name

to put on the . When do you go to store? You

know about our white kitty right? That means you tell

me when you're going to store and for how much and

then I give you a list of items to buy for the kitty. It's

30%!"

Damon stood up and grabbed the bars a couple feet

higher than Mikey. From 6'3 he towered over him and

looked down at him for at least a minute before asking,

"What?"

Downstairs at Mad Dog's cell, Mad Dog said, "Okay

Irish that's enough time. Go up there and rescue those

youngsters and get them to handle that business during

showers!"

Vince heard the running feet and watched a red

headed husky white man approach. Damon looked his

way and saw him ask Mikey, "What are you doing over

here on the west side Mikey? Take your gang banging

ass back to your side and get off our youngster's over

here!"

Mikey grabbed his broom and scurried off down

the tier.

The big red head looked into Vince and Damon's

cell and said, "I'm Irish, Mad Dog's cellie. Excuse our

little pocket pinball. Mikey is alright but he has some

severe A.D.H.D... He straight bounces off the walls.

What was he saying anyway?"

Vince said, "He was trying to pressure us into

joining his gang."

Vince noticed Irish look confused, but cover it up

by talking, "I thought he was hitting you up for our

white kitty. He runs the east side of sycamore's kitty.

The kitty is for those of us with money. If you go to

store with more than ten bucks then we appreciate it if

you contribute some cosmetics. We stock soap, shower

shoes, shampoo, lotion and even some coffee to give

out to those without so nobody is forgotten about and

everyone is cared for... That leads me to the next item

of business. Here take this and read it."

Irish handed Vince a little note.

Vince and Damon read the note... If you lived next to

a couple of child molesters would you be okay with it?

They both looked into Irish's eyes and shook their

heads that no, they wouldn't be alright with that.

Irish handed over another note.

Vince opened it up and he and Damon read... We've

got a couple of hi-profile child molesters in the cell next

to you! One of them made the news for molesting nine

different little girls and the other one molested his own

daughter! We've got the paper work to bona-fi it in our

cell."

Irish handed over a third note. "We want you two

to handle it when they run showers. Make sure you get

to the bottom showers first so the child molesters have

to go to the showers above your cell on the third tier.

Get over there and use those utensils my cellie gave

you, one in each hand alright... You're doing your race

a service, youngsters."

With that un- said Damon and Vince watched Irish

walk away and ask over his shoulder from a couple cells

down, "Hey Vince and Damon, we're you able to handle

that workout routine?"

Vince and Damon responded at the same time, "It

was no problem."

Vince went to the trash bag and pulled out two of

the weapons.

Damon watched him manipulate different ways to

grip the handles like it was completely foreign to him.

He practiced throwing upper cutting swipes, then tried

side cutting swipes and then tried another grip

He stuck the back of the two weapons against his

palms and made a fist over them so that each fist had a

four inch point sticking out the end of each fist. Then he

switched the grip again so he was holding the weapons

like a hammer. He practiced with a downward hammer

chop and looked up and said, "I like this grip best!"

Damon felt the chaos of the situation closing in on

him and focused on viewing the problem as clearly as

possible.

"Vince. We are being hung out to dry. There has

to be a better way to do this mission. Like when we are

coming back from chow..."

Vince stopped practicing his hammer chop and

said, "I thought about that. We're not in a position to

barter how this gets done. We have choice A., follow

orders and get the child molesters or choice B., get

Mad Dog, Mikey or Sandman for the disrespect... I like

choice A."

Damon responded, "You're forgetting about the

other 24 letters in the alphabet."

ChapteR 42

For the next couple of hours Vince lay on his rack

and looked like he was in his own world. Damon paced

the cell to try and control the anxiety that felt like it

was trying to clamp around his mind like steel bars in

another prison. He visualized and thought of options.

We live right next door to those child molesters; there

is no way we aren't going to get identified for this! Plus

there isn't even a plan to get rid of our weapons!

Both Damon and Vince heard the iron clanking

noise of the latch that meant a deputy was about to

open up cells. They looked into each other's eyes for

the first time in the last two hours as deputy Primo

announced the showers.

"LISTEN UP. WE ARE RUNNING SHOWERS!!

WE ARE RUNNING THE WHITE SHOWERS

FIRST!! STAND BY! COME OUT IN YOUR

BOXERS AND SHOWERS SHOES ONLY!"

Damon stood at the door with a lump in his throat

and watched Vince.

Vince grabbed the brown bag with the weapons in it

and wrapped it in his towel in an odd looking bundle.

The cell door popped open and Damon rushed

ahead of the child predators coming out of their cell to

beat them to the downstairs showers.

Vince came out of the cell holding his bundle

and tried to catch up to Damon. He noticed deputy

Primo disappear out of the hall and realized they were

unsupervised. Vince thought, Damon was right; there

is a better way to do this. Images of Mad Dog having

Mikey come over from the east side of Sycamore with

some makeshift razor weapons entered his mind's eye.

He could have handled the business, got rid of the

smaller weapons, and then got back to the east side where

identification would have been nearly impossible, for a

clean get away. Vince shook his head of those thoughts

to concentrate on the task at hand.

Damon got to Mad Dog's cell and entered the

shower. He saw a box out in front of his cell and realized

it had shampoo, deodorant, shower shoes, soap and

lotion. He saw Bird and Pelican reach into it for some

shampoo. The child predators were right behind them

waiting for their turn to get to the white kitty. Damon

watched Vince come down the stairs and almost drop

the brown bag of weapons. He caught it sliding out and

re-bundled it up against his stomach. Then he turned

his body to avoid being seen and it looked even more

obvious as he walked by the child predators looking

weird.

Damon watched Bird and Pelican's expressions

register Vince's near accident. Damon thought, they

know something is up. He opened the shower door

for Vince so he could get in. Vince got in and huddled

behind Damon out of view.

Damon watched the child predators climb the stairs

and looked at Mad Dog staring right back at him.

Damon realized the child predators were on the

third tier walking to the showers and he looked at Bird

staring at Mad Dog.

Bird asked, "What's going on holmes?"

Mad Dog maintained his stoic stare at Damon and

said, "Go handle that, youngsters!"

Damon looked at Vince and saw he had the weapons

out of the bag. He handed two over and rushed out of

the shower and up the stairs. Damon got a grip on the

weapons and followed suit.

As soon as the youngsters headed up the stairs, Mad

Dog looked at Bird and said, "Those two getting into

the third tier showers are a couple of hi-profile child

molesters."

Understanding the situation for what it was Bird

responded angrily, "What's wrong with you holmes,

you don't use kids on their second day in prison for a

job like that! You're a child predator yourself!"

Mad Dog didn't even have time to respond. He

watched Bird run for the stairs with his cellie Pelican

right behind him.

Damon got to the top of the stairs and saw Vince

come to a stop in front of the showers. Damon sprinted

as fast as he could and saw Vince enter the shower with

both his weapons held in front of his face in his preferred

hammer technique. Damon got to the shower and time

seemed to slow down.

Vince was hammering with both of his arms like

pistons. One of the two child predators had pushed the

other in front of him and was using him like a shield.

The shield was catching all of Vince's steel in the chest

with his arms in front of his face.

Damon reacted on instinct and his body seemed to

be moving without his brain coordinating it. He found

himself in the shower, practically climbing over Vince to

use his longer reach to get to the sheltered child predator.

On the way up the stairs, Bird heard a piercing

scream and then, "NO!! PLEASE STOP!!" from one of

the child molesters.

At the showers, Bird saw Vince's weapons were on

the ground in the shower. Vince was grappling with his

thumb in one of the child predator's eye. Damon was

still hammering away at the other child predator.

Bird squeezed into the shower and grabbed the

weapons on the ground.

Noticing Bird, Vince and Damon got out of the

shower breathing hard on the adrenaline surge.

Bird stepped out of the shower and looked into the

youngster's young eyes pleading, what do we do now?

Bird folded up the weapons in his towel and said,

"Run these downstairs and get them in the trash!"

Bird turned back to the shower and saw his cellie

Pelican go in swinging. Bird followed him.

Vince got down the flight of stairs to the second tier

and saw more than a dozen prison guards carrying shields;

block guns and Billy clubs fan out beneath them.

One of the guards yelled, "DROP IT ON THE

GROUND FACE DOWN!!"

While laying there Damon heard Bird and Pelican's

punches echoing loudly. He heard one of the child

predators crying, "Please stop."

Then Bird, "I bet that is what the little girls said

too punk!"

Vince watched Damon lean his head against the steel

cage while maneuvering his handcuffed wrists behind

his back to try to find a more comfortable angle.

Vince copied the same body position and

remembered what the deputy had last told everyone.

"You're going to be in those cages for at least 6-8 hours

until your paperwork is processed to get you housed in

the hole, AD-SEG, in Palm Hall."

Damon looked into the steel cages Bird and

Pelican were in un-handcuffed straight across the

hall. Both of them looked like their heads and upper

bodies had been spray painted orange from all of

the deputies pepper spray. They had used all of it.

Damon remembered the empty cans of it getting

kicked off the third tier and landing next to he and

Vince. Damon thought about how every 15 minutes

for the last couple of hours a deputy came out to

spray decontamination mist on them. It looked like

it brought on a hell of a lot of pain and their poor eyes

look completely blood shot red.

Bird watched the deputy come out of the Sergeant's

office and told his cellie Pelican, "Hey homeboy, I

think I've figured this out. Tilt your face up at an angle

towards the mist so the pepper spray on our heads runs

down the back of your neck instead of in your eyes."

Vince watched Bird and Pelican face the misters in

an upward posture as the spray started. Both used their

hands to wipe the mist away from their eyes until the

two minute rinse was complete and the deputy went

back inside the office.

Damon watched Pelican grit his teeth with his

eyes clamped shut, yell, "Fuck! This shit burns holmes!

That fucking mist re-activates the pepper spray every

time! I wish they'd just stop misting us and put us in

the hole!"

Somehow, Bird laughed through his pain and said,

"Mad Dog is as stupid as a box of rocks holmes! He

should have had Mikey handle that mission! Mikey

already owes for calling a bad shot in the past! Now

Mad Dog is going to owe!"

Eight hours later Bird watched Sergeant Fountain

come out of his office and stand in front of Damon

and Vince's steel cages. Sergeant Fountain stood there

and thought, the "once wide awake and trying to take

everything in" little puppies finally ran out of gas.

He slammed his Billy club against the steel cage and

watched Damon and Vince's eyes pop wide open. "Wake

up kids! It's time to escort you to the hole!"

Vince watched Sergeant Fountain handcuff Bird

and Pelican's wrist through a slot in the steel cage.

Then he opened the steel door and Bird and Pelican

backed out.

Damon stepped backwards out of his cage and

looked at Bird while Vince backed out of his cage.

Bird said, "Come on youngsters, were almost

home."

Leading the procession Sergeant Fountain said, "I

hope you like your new home 'cause you're going to be

there for about two years."

Bird responded, "Are you serious? You're going

to prosecute us for serving justice on a couple of child

predators?"

Sergeant Fountain stopped the procession and

looked at Bird, "If it was up to me you guys would just

get a slap on the wrist and I would personally thank

you for what you did. My sister was molested by our

uncle for years and she killed herself by overdosing on

heroin to get away from the memory! But you have to

look at the position you're in. Those child molesters

aren't going to hold their mud and stay silent during

the investigative interviews. They're going to identify

all of you so it's out of our hands and into the district

attorneys. You should count on doing at least 3-4 extra

years on top of what you're already doing. You can also

count on doing all of your time in the hole at Pelican

Bay's S.H.U.. I'm just giving it to you straight up."

Sergeant Fountain paused and continued, "That

job on those child molesters wasn't handled with any

brains. Someone should have done it from the east side

of sycamore."

ChapteR 43

A couple days later during showers a note came

sliding under the cell. Vince picked it up and read it

to Damon.

"Bird and Pelican here, sending our utmost

love, respect and honor to you both! We have been

consulting with a man of honor in the cell next to ours

who represents our race in this hole. He's been doing

some research on the three strike legislation that looks

like it's going to pass and affect our cases. Get this,

some piece of shit rapist child molester got out of

prison and raped and murdered a beautiful girl from

Santa Maria. Her name was Polly Claus. Her father is

a powerful official and the media is all over it talking

about how criminals just go through a revolving door

and don't get enough time. So the problem for us

is it looks like we are all going to catch strikes! It's

ironic we're going to get strikes for getting a couple

of child molesters and has us scratching our heads

over here but just keep your heads up and we'll all get

through this strife together. I'm also to tell you that

workouts are mandatory. It's also mandatory that you

fill eight hours of your day seven days a week reading,

writing and playing chess to sharpen your mind and

to avoid depression. Our man of honor next to us has

people studying law all day and some of them want to

become lawyers when they get out! That rocks! With

that said, we're proud to have you both as brothers

in this."

ChapteR 44

A week later Damon looked up from a chess game

and saw a deputy stop in front of the cell with some

paperwork in his hand. Damon accepted it and brought

it back to the bunk to read it with Vince.

Damon scanned through it and said, "Sergeant

Jenkins interviewed Sherman Covington.

Vince said, "That's the one the other one used as a

shield!"

Damon read Sherman Covington's responses.

"I deserve what I got and still feel a deep guilt for

molesting my own daughter. I don't want to prosecute

and I can't even remember what the attackers look

like."

Vince watched Damon's face light up with hope

and asked right away in an emotionless voice, "What's

the other one say."

Damon filtered through the pages and said, "This

interview is from Sergeant Dingle. Chester Goldstein

said, I want all four of them prosecuted to the fullest

extent of the law. I'll identify the two who used weapons

were in the cell next door to ours. The other two I'll

identify and point to in court. I have a diseased mind

that I can't control. It's not my fault I daydream about

little girls' bodies; they are just so innocent I can't help

it. At least I'm not violent it like those four who tried

to kill me."

Vince watched Damon's face turn back into a stoic

mask. Vince proposed, "Let's play another game of

chess."

A week later during showers Bird told Damon

and Vince, "Mad Dog got stabbed on the west side of

Sycamore for calling that shot wrong."

ChapteR 45

Damon watched Vince stick his hands behind his

back and bend over enough to push his wrists out the

tray slot for the deputy on the other side of the closed

cell door to place on the handcuffs.

Vince stepped out of the way for Damon to back

up against the cell door to stick his wrists through the

tray slot.

While the deputy placed the cuffs on he asked, "Is

this the third trip for you guys to West Valley's court in

Rancho Cucamonga?"

Facing Vince with his arms through the tray slot

Damon watched Vince nod his head and say, "Yes sir.

Today we either take what the D.A. offers, or go to trial

and face up to 20 years."

At the bus, Vince stepped in and heard the deputy

yell,"Good luck."

In the bus Vince saw Bird and Pelican in single man

enclosed steel cages and realized he and Damon were to

enter the two open ones across from them. Bird held his

file folder and patted it with a smile on his face.

Vince entered the courtroom and noticed their

public defender. She stood there looking stocky holding

some files in her hand. She was wearing a blue business

suit over black nylons standing in heels at 5'2 with her

brown hair pulled back in a bun.

Damon watched Rosa come to the attorney box in

their cage where Bird and Pelican greeted her. Damon

thought about their last trip to this courtroom and how

Rosa said she was trying to get the D.A. to come down

from six years to four years. He looked at the judge's

seat of power and reflected on the division seven sign

hanging there. The same division I got railroaded at in

Orange County. The D.A. will probably take back the

six year offer and come back with eight years! Damon

lowered his head and told himself, stop thinking

pessimistically! That kind of thinking only brings

misery! Damon took a deep breath and told himself,

Rosa is a hard worker, the D.A. is going to respect her

and offer us the four years she's asking for. Laughing at

his hard to control always running mind, Damon asked

Vince, "Do you think we'll sign for four years today?"

Vince said, "Sure. Rosa works really hard and the

D.A. will go for it."

Both Damon and Vince overheard Rosa laughing

and telling Bird, "Just don't use those quotes until you

sign your deal! I don't want the judge to get mad and

pull your deal off the table!"

Bird and Pelican turned around smiling and Bird

said, "We're signing for four years."

Vince watched Bird finish signing his deal as the

last one to do so. He asked the judge, "Your honor. If I

may I would like to address this court and ask it to be

put on record."

The judge responded, "Everything you say in this

courtroom is on record as long as you see my court

reporter's fingers moving over there."

Damon looked at the court reporter and she was

indeed typing.

Bird said, "In that case I'd like to start with a couple

of quotes. The first one is by Fredrick Nietze. He says,

THAT WHICH DOESN'T KILL YOU MAKES YOU

STRONGER. The second quote is from Benjamin

Franklin. He says, THOSE WHO AREN'T WILLING

TO FIGHT FOR THEIR LIBERTIES, AREN'T

WORTHY OF THOSE SAME LIBERTIES. I want to

give one more quote that is out of the Bible where God

tells all of us how hard He plans on judging those who

hurt His children and leads them astray. He says WOE

TO THOSE WHO HARM MY CHILDREN! I say all

of this so that maybe you as a judge might open your

heart a little and think about all of the cases that come

through your courtroom. A lot of young kids come

to you who have been so beaten down by bad parents

and bad communities that the only thing they can do

to survive is run from that pain as fast as they can to

avoid looking at it and asking why? As one of these

kids I've always looked at life like that Fredrick Nietze

quote, counting on getting through all that God puts

in my path until one day I look around and see that I've

made it where he wants me to be, and can finally find

peace. I bring up the Benjamin Franklin quote because

as those kinds of kids we feel it is our duty to fight for

our women and children's liberties when they are being

preyed on by scum."

Vince was the closest he'd ever been in his life to

crying.

ChapteR 46

I got processed out of the county jail in Santa

Ana and realized how alone I was. It felt like I was an

insignificant little piece of sand getting blown around. I

looked at the curb and pictured me as that piece of sand

at the bottom of it looking up at the Grand Canyon. I

walked around thinking about how the last four years

had been my brother and I against the world. Now, my

brother was lost to me sitting in juvenile hall. I felt so

lonely for my brother that I felt like crying. Holding

off the pain for the Moment, I thought about some of

the things my Mom had told me. 'God has a plan for

you honey... Everything happens for a reason...God

will never give you more than you can carry.'

Walking aimlessly through Santa Ana some of the

streets looked familiar. My Dad used to wake us up

at 1 a.m. to go to work with him at the L.A. Times.

I remembered hanging off the back of the Buick

throwing papers where I was directed with my brother

right next to me. I remembered one night feeling my

Dad's resentments and anger and they collided with my

own. I articulated something about how he didn't have

a good enough reason to be angry – we did! I had to

hop out the back and run. My Dad got back in the car

and drove away. I walked around aimlessly then, as I

did now, and wondered how a father could hate his son

like that. That time after many hours of wandering the

streets I called the L.A. Times warehouse and a dude we

referred to as Murdock; like that guy on the T.V. show,

"The A-Team", came and got me. He knew my dream

had been to play pro baseball so he tried to inspire me

to stay focused on that and stop bucking up against my

Dad. That time. This time I wasn't calling anyone. I

saw the freeway.

Instead of hitch-hiking from the on ramp I tried

it from the gas station right next to the freeway. I

scrutinized drivers getting gas and asked for a ride

where ever I thought it looked possible. For an hour

straight it felt like I had a disease jumping off my skin.

Few people even made eye contact. Right when I was

about to give up the gas station theory I tried a Mexican

Indian in a restored Chevy truck. He looked me over

and asked where I was going.

ChapteR 47

He was only going to Lake Forest, about half of the

way to San Clemente but it beat a blank. From Lake

Forest I walked to Tower Records. I knew a few people

I sold pot to who worked there. I was hoping a cute girl

named Jasmine was there. She was.

She arranged herself a break and we headed to my

house.

When we pulled up to my house I could see a yellow

piece of paper taped to the door. Upon closer inspection

it was a five day notice to vacate the residence. My face

had a plastered look of shock on it ever since we'd had

our door smashed in, now it just got worse. Where in

the hell was I going to live!

Jasmine saw how vulnerable I must have looked and

tried to offer a remedy. "You can contest that notice and

stay for months... I know people who've done it."

I listened to her while I read the fine print. At the

bottom it said the Orange County Sheriffs would show

up and seize whatever property was left behind. We

went inside and the shock got even worse. The place

was absolutely trashed.

The couches were cut open with the stuffing

thrown everywhere, the kitchen had food, coffee, milk

and other stuff dumped on the floor, the microwave

was on the ground among the dumped contents with

a visible crack in the tile where it landed. We walked

into my bedroom and it was just as bad. The floor

had soil all over the carpet from the grow room in the

closet. I noticed some glass amongst the soil and saw

the bedroom window was broken. I looked at my bed

and saw it had been cut into like the couches had been.

I walked into my brother's room like a robot so my

emotions wouldn't spill out in front of Jasmine and saw

some more mayhem. Other than the carpet yanked up in

places it wasn't so bad. My overwhelmed mind seemed

to be having trouble processing all of this calamity. I

did understand that we wouldn't be getting our $2,400

security deposit back.

I finally looked at Jasmine, she was feeling my pain.

"I can't believe the Sheriffs can get away with this!"

I knew it wasn't the Sheriffs. It was the narcotic

detectives. We walked back into the living room and

Jasmine pointed out the T.V. screen. It was cracked.

Jasmine took me in her arms in a comforting

protective hug and said, "I don't want to leave you like

this but I have to get back to work or I'll get fired. I'm

on a short leash from being late a lot... Why don't you

come to Lance's house with me so you won't be all alone

right now. I'll come back when I get off work. Do you

want to come?"

I felt like I'd just start crying if I stayed at my

house. I had five more days facing everything all alone

so I went.

ChapteR 48

Lance's house was across the street and a couple

houses down. He often came over to our house for sacks

of pot and was really cool people. His Dad owned a

popular bar in Dana Point, a club that had all the cool

bands play there, in San Juan and an even bigger club

in Anaheim.

We entered Lance's house and the first thing I

noticed was the older guy standing by the pool table.

He looked irritated like he was being intruded upon.

Jasmine walked up to him and introduced him as Paul.

He looked about 6'4 and 220lbs. with a shifty look.

Jasmine gave him a hug and whispered something to

him and they walked to the bathroom. Lance saw me

watching and ran interference by asking me if I wanted

a beer.

Feeling as out of place as possible I said, "Sure."

I walked over to the pool table and Lance came

back with a cold Fosters beer while I racked the pool

balls. Jasmine and Paul came out of the bathroom and

Jasmine walked right to me twice as fast as she had

been walking earlier. She gave me a kiss on the cheek

and said she'd come back after work.

Paul kept his distance and used his cell phone while

studying me. I could feel his paranoia and couldn't

help but stare at him. I watched Lance's reaction to the

tension and saw him come up with something.

"Paul this is Benny. He and his brother are the ones

that got raided by the cops across the street."

Paul was noticeably less sketched. He walked up to

me and stuck out his hand to shake. "I'm sorry to hear

about your bad luck."

I didn't like the reference to luck. "What did you

hear?"

Paul was visibly shocked by my question, or tone,

or both. He thought about it and answered. "I heard

you and your brother got popped with a sizeable chunk

of marijuana."

That wasn't good enough for me. Now that I was

going there I had to find out if he knew Bob Prescott.

"Do you know who set us up? Where did you hear

about my brother and I getting popped?"

I studied Paul like he might be an enemy.

Lance looked like he was getting more than stressed

out by the implication. "Benny! I told him. I'm sorry

if I shouldn't have. We were just putting our heads

together to try and figure out why so many Sheriffs

were parked around the corner and in your house."

I broke the pool balls and the cue ball went flying

off the table. Two solids and two stripes went in and

the eight ball just missed going into the corner pocket.

There was a little less tension in the room and I asked,

"What did you come up with?"

Paul picked up the cue ball and handed it to me.

"Nice break."

I set the cue ball on the table and Paul continued.

"There was another bust in Dana Point a few days ago.

They might be connected."

That must have been Damon's bust. I asked, "Did

you know that dude in Dana Point that got busted?"

Paul said that he didn't know him personally but

knew of him. I asked him a barrage of other questions

to do my homework on him and dropped the million

dollar question right in the middle of it.

"Do you know a dude named Bob Prescott?"

Paul didn't look like he knew him or of him. He

got a little bit more comfortable and opened up more.

"Man you were going at me half cocked there and I

don't even know you! Are you always that intense?"

I gave him the short version. "You'd be ready to

explode too if you just lost your younger brother to

juvenile hall and about $40,000 in cash and product

over some piece of shit rat I found out is a rapist too!"

I snapped my fingers to show how fast it happened.

Then I explained that bust he mentioned in Dana

Point was Damon who I'd just met in jail, and how

he was on his way to prison over the same rat. Then I

explained that Vince who was going with Damon to

prison had informed me that Bob Prescott raped one of

his friends.

Paul and Lance both looked ready to help. After

a couple of pool games Paul broke out his specialty,

selling speed. He told me he used to sell coke until he

decided it was for sissies. He explained that you wasted

too much money on a wasteful high. "It helps you get a

lot done in a short period and it's really just a more raw

form of A.D.D. medication like Ritalin or Adderall. It

helps you focus better, like adrenaline does. Remember

the last time you had a spike of adrenaline, and how it

felt?"

I could remember how it felt. I was also pretty sure

I had A.D.D. What I didn't know was what a major

crossroad I was at. I asked, "How much can you make

on your investment with this speed?"

Paul broke some out. He had a little sandwich

baggie with a yellowy white substance at the bottom

the thickness of a cigar. He pulled out a little rock and

dropped it on a portable glass tray. It made a "tink"

noise as it hit. He smashed it down with an I.D. and I

could hear the rock cracking into smaller and smaller

shards. It kept cracking until it was finally powder to

chop up. The contents on the mirror had gone from

that yellowy color to white like magic.

I asked Paul, "How much is that small bag

worth?"

Paul answered it was worth over a thousand dollars.

I imagined that a suitcase full would be worth a hundred

grand! Since I'd just had $40,000 seized from me... And

I still had $3,000... I had to know more.

"What does that bag cost you? Run down the

business to me!"

Paul explained that the cigar thick bag of speed he

had was just over an ounce and that it cost him from

$400 to $600. He could sell five quarter grams per

gram if he weighed them up at point two. At twenty

dollars a pop that made it possible to get $2,800 for the

ounce. I was sold on that kind of return.

I watched Paul snort two of the four lines he laid

out, one in each nostril. Paul's eyes cringed and his

forehead creased in what looked like pain. After a pause

he pinched his nose to snort what hung on his nasal

membranes and ran to the kitchen faucet. He turned it

on and rinsed his nose and exclaimed, "That shit is the

rocket fuel. You have to rinse those dirty chemicals out

or they will eat through the cartilage eventually."

Paul walked back and handed me the rolled up

hundred dollar bill. I hesitated and thought about my

Mom. She'd always said that doing drugs fried the

brain God blessed you with, and doing them showed

you weren't grateful for those blessings. Then I thought

about how alone I was with my brother in juvenile hall,

the five day notice to vacate the house I was living in,

and the over $40,000 I had just lost. There was a huge

gaping hole inside of my chest that I blamed my Dad

for. I grabbed the rolled up hundred dollar bill.

I snorted a part of the first line and literally jumped

off the ground. The pain in my eye was so sharp and

foreign that my hand covered it and the rest of my face

seemed to cringe around it. That eye with all of the pain

in it was flooded with tears and I felt my brain opening

up. It was just like Paul had said, I felt Focused! And

Happy! I went back to the mirror and snorted some

in my other nostril and the same thing happened but

this time I was ready for it. Once I gathered myself I

studied Paul in greater clarity.

He had brown wavy hair and a meaty face that

suited him well. He had a rugged look that could dance

between G.Q. and grungy. Other than being a little

fidgety he didn't look like a dope fiend or even a drug

user unless you looked close. He was dressed pretty

sharp and looked pretty athletic.

"Can you get it cheaper when you buy quantity?

When are you going to buy some more?" It felt like my

mind was turning things over so fast I almost couldn't

wait for Paul to answer before I kept firing questions

at him.

It looked like Paul was hoping I'd be intrigued.

What a wheeler-dealer!

"As soon as the kingpin comes down from the

mountain."

All I understood was that he was dealing with a

kingpin.

Paul continued. "He goes by kingpin Bob, or Big

Bob. He's from San Bernardino, but he calls it San

Berdoo. He lives in Redlands up near the mountain

and he cooks better speed than any of the biker dope

I've found!"

If Paul was baiting the hook, I was biting.

I asked, "If he cooks it... How much does it cost

him to make?"

Paul looked like he had often wondered the same

thing. "If you listen to him tell it, it's more expensive

than you'd think. He comes up with all of these extra

expenses that don't make sense to me. But then again,

it's an insanely risky business so I really don't doubt

him. I've heard him say that it cost him just under a

thousand for the ingredients to make a pound. He'll

sell that pound for $8,000- $10,000 in San Bernardino.

There's more speed than money there so it's cheaper. I

could milk that pound into $25,000 here."

That was all I needed to hear. I could picture myself

incorporating this kingpin Bob into my program

and making that $40,000 that had been seized back,

A.S.A.P.!

ChapteR 49

Paul came over to my house to help me clean up

and as soon as we entered he exclaimed, "They tore your

pad a new one!"

That's all I let Paul get out. My mind was spinning

with possibilities so fast that I told him my life story

and time disappeared. The speed I had snorted had me

so wired I couldn't believe what an amazing problem

solver I was! I was going to fix all of the wreckage in

my life and enjoy doing it immensely! My brain was

now operating optimally! It felt like there had been a

missing piece in my mind that was now filled! Why

hadn't I found out about this shit earlier? I spracked

around in circles cleaning and talking the whole time.

Paul stopped what he was doing and watched me.

He started laughing and said, "That rocket fuel is going

to take you on a ride!"

I hit Paul up for another line. He gave it to me

and I pulled out my own I.D. and crushed it up on

the table. I couldn't believe how hard it was. It made

a cracking sound like I was breaking glass until it was

finally crunched up enough to chop up.

Paul said, "Be careful. You already won't sleep for a

couple of days from the other line you snorted!"

I blew right through that stop sign. After snorting

enough to choke on, I gathered myself against the eye

pinching pain and it felt like I could focus even harder.

I remembered what Jasmine had said about contesting

the five day notice to vacate my house, so I hit Paul up

about it.

Paul answered, "No way. Maybe if you owned it.

Look at it this way; you're already going to lose your

security deposit so just cut your losses. It wouldn't

be worth it to put yourself on their radar. Right now

you're just a fish that got fried and law enforcement is

already looking for other fish to fry. If you make a big

stink about it your name will keep circulating. You'd

be developing yourself into a constant enemy and they

would continue to target you. Just let it ride."

That made good sense. Paul was continuing to

impress me. We made it to the kitchen and I saw the

dog food!!

"Oh my God!! Our dogs!! They're in the pound!!

How many days do they give you before they euthanize

them?"

Paul proved to have a love for dogs and rose to the

occasion. He handled everything. He called the pound

and we raced there in his Saleen Mustang in the nick of

time. They would have been put to sleep the following

morning. In the next couple of days Jasmine came to

the rescue and found a home for them.

ChapteR 50

I didn't sleep for more than a week. I looked at

sleep like a weakness. If I gave in to it, I was giving

up the fight! If I gave in to it, I'd have to face a ton of

shit I didn't want to face. A black hole of depression.

I'd rather try and problem solve my life and conquer

the riddle. I only needed to snort a couple of lines a

day and the elevator ride took me up where I could

run from everything and concentrate on my ambitions

of enterprise. Unfortunately, the elevator would come

back down and I'd stress on how scared and lonely I was.

Questions like: what am I doing? How did I get here?

Where is it that I'm going? When I searched through

these thoughts I found that the mental pain hurt more

than anything I'd ever felt physically. I thought about

my childhood memories and let anger carry me.

I thought, if I have to do it alone, so be it. I

welcomed the self propelled will that was fueled by

righteous anger that also slipped into a comforting rage

at times. I told myself, I'm going to hold on to my

conscience, though. I'm going to go into the business

with integrity and honor, and regulate those who don't

have any. If there is anyone preying on the weak, I'm

going to check them. If I find fraudulent people in the

business, I'm going to give them some truth. If this

works out right, I'll be like an underground mayor who

brings honor to our business.

ChapteR 51

The first round with Paul was purely an investment;

a study of the playing field. Paul claimed to do his

business with a few rules he never broke, according to

him. I could respect his integrity but found a flaw. His

rules were: He didn't deal with anyone he didn't know,

he didn't deal with anyone under 21 and he didn't turn

people on to the drug who hadn't already had experience

with drugs. His other famous saying was, "Money talks,

and bull shit walks."

I hit him up over a pool game. "Paul, you have

some good rules... but you broke half of them dealing

with me."

Paul racked the balls and I could tell he'd already

thought about it. "Those rules are rarely broken, if

ever... on general principles... You might be the first."

There was no way Paul could make me over 21 but

he gave it his best.

"The most important rule I mentioned was not

to deal with people you don't know. You're probably

thinking that I don't know you. Let me ask you

something, how can you really know anyone? You can't.

You can only take what you can see and learn from it.

People will always say, Oh, I know him or her... they

would never do that! But have they seen that person

they think they know really pushed under extreme

circumstances? Do they just talk a good game, or have

they proved it in dire circumstances? Most people don't

even know what dire circumstances are! So all you

can do is study the situation and do your homework

carefully and you'll have a better shot at predicting

right. If you do this assiduously, you'll hone your

instincts into a sharp tool that can penetrate into the

truth and separate any exterior fraudulence. I'm doing

this with you. I'd already heard about you and your

brother before I met you. Your specialty is moving high

and low grade marijuana in big and small sizes. That

means you have the skills to develop deep networks

with the potential to earn. Then you got busted... You

didn't rat. Then, when I met you I saw how relentless

you are and thought to myself, that guy would make a

good business partner! Once we started talking I saw

even more – that you have a family first mentality and

I could see how loyal you are. That's rare these days.

You told me your Dad comes from a few generations of

iron fisted discipline. I also learned from you that your

Mom's side of the family has their roots in Sicily. They

are passionate people and I think you've got a lot of that

in your genes. You told me how your grandfather took

good care of your Mom in New Orleans while owning

a bar. Then, through prohibition. Is that enough

homework, or what?"

I realized a few things. Paul could probably sell ice to

an Eskimo, and that I had done a lot of talking since my

introduction to speed. I had armed him with too much

information and knew I had to start guarding my tongue.

I filtered through Paul's speech and decided to give him

the benefit of the doubt as to why he was doing business

with me. Or maybe... it was more about the money,

contacts and potential I had? What can you expect?

Another thing I studied about Paul was his business

philosophy. Instead of stacking his cash to get better

and better wholesale prices on quantity, he spent his

profits on toys. He had the Saleen Mustang, a boat, tons

of fishing gear and a garage full of other things. He

seemed to be comfortable renting his apartment and

staying in the same rat race. I hit him up on it and ran

down my plan to own a house first, and then acquire the

toys when there was enough capital to keep everything

rolling right.

Paul told me, "You don't want to get that big for

a couple of reasons. You'd have a greater chance of

landing on the law's radar and catching a bigger chunk

of time, and the saying, "easy come, easy goes" is true.

Because of these two things, I buy toys."

The more I saw of Paul's business network the

more I realized he was true to his word about the rules

he lived by. All of his business was with people he'd

known for years and they were all over 21. Except for

me, and a girl named Natasha.

It also turned out that Paul was as competitive as

I and we went at it in darts, pool and even bowling.

He couldn't hang in some of the other sports like

basketball, baseball and football but was down to give

it his best shot. I found that Paul's specialty other than

the speed business was fixing things with his hands. He

was an amazing auto mechanic. Almost all of the shops

around town were his playground and network. A seed

was planted in my head on how to go legal. If I could

manage my money well enough maybe I could start

a mechanic shop for Paul to run. I brought it up and

Paul liked the idea but thought it was too far reaching

at this point. He offered an idea of how to help us get

there. He'd always imagined buying cars from auctions,

fixing them up and selling them at a profit.

That girl Natasha was nineteen and I was in lust.

She was a five foot ten inch part-time lingerie model.

Her Dad owned a soft nude magazine that was local to

San Diego but he also had a studio in his garage in San

Clemente. Natasha had blond hair and green eyes. Her

bone structure around those green eyes gave her that

cat woman look. The rest of her bone structure had me

hypnotized. I scooped her up as my first business associate

in the speed world and it was on and cracking.

I chased her around trying to get some play for

almost a month before she gave me some action. It

took pouring my heart out and explaining my life

story before her heart melted. Even then I pretty much

begged to get a taste.

I rented a decent hotel and she undressed for me in a

strip tease that was exotic under lights that were a little

too dim. I was so close to a virgin from not going to high

school and living a normal life that I almost busted a nut

before we even began. I had no idea what I was doing. I

wanted to go down on her and spend all night exploring

how to make her love me. Instead, she grabbed my

almost exploding boner and brought me to her.

She was lying on her back with her legs in the air

open for me and I felt her fit me inside of her. I thought,

the harder and faster I filled her the better so I turned

myself into a jackhammer. After about fifteen thrusts

she saved me from the embarrassment of a premature

explosion by pushing me away. She looked at me like

she was disgusted with my technique and I asked her,

"What? Am I doing it wrong?"

The way I said it seemed to melt her and show her I

really did care. Her face went from irritated to a sexy smile.

She said, "I'm not a blow up doll! I'm a woman. You've

got to treat me like one... Not like a piece of meat!"

I took that as a green light to do what I really wanted

to do. Explore her body. I went to her sexy arched feet

and started massaging one. I kissed her ankle and told

her, "I'll take better care of you this time."

I worked my way up her legs and got the feeling she

wasn't comfortable with the amount of intimacy I was

shooting for. When I got to her sex I licked, sucked and

darted my tongue in circles... I got pushed away again!

This time I said what was on my mind. "Natasha,

I'm trying to show you how much I want your body.

Can't I go down on you and get you into it until you're

writhing against me and I can taste you?"

She gave me that irritated look, but, I could see the

smile underneath it that meant I might eventually get

that chance. But not this time. She grabbed me and

pulled my boner back into her.

She said, "This time slowly! Listen to me breathe

and feel my heartbeat."

I did and she was right. It was way better. I was

so insanely turned on. I wasn't going to last very long,

but apparently long enough. I heard her breathing turn

into small gasps. I felt how hot and wet she was and

kissed her softly.

When we were done I was still wired and depraved

so I tried to persuade her to let me go down on her. She

just held my hand and told me I was sick. I think it was

the speed talking.

Chapter

I was sitting on a swivel chair in Paul's garage

spinning in circles impatiently wondering what in the

hell I should be doing. It had been three weeks since

I was feeling pretty good other than that impatient

feeling. Natasha was the only client I had slinging

the product for me and I was making interest in my

investment in Paul's product. Money wasn't coming

in fast enough. I thought about my marijuana hustle

I was neglecting. There were still people I could do

business with on that end and there were still people

who owed my brother and I. I felt like it was time to

make something happen.

Paul, on the other hand, seemed content with the

pace we were on. He was sitting at a table next to me

tweaking on his new tungsten darts we used to battle

each other on the dart board. I looked at Paul's face. He

looked haggard. He'd been trying to keep up with me.

Since I was new to this speed thing my tolerance to it

wasn't built up yet so I was feeling relatively sharp and

refreshed. I got up from my swivel chair and walked to

the desk where Paul was sitting and snorted one of the

lines. I started pacing like I'd gotten into the habit of

doing. It helped me think. I got the feeling it affected

Paul and made him feel like he was lagging; like he

couldn't keep up. My mind focused on opening up

a shop for Paul to run as a mechanic. Then I turned

over his idea of buying cars from auctions and selling

them. Then I thought about the fastest way to financial

success. Incorporating big Bob as our personal speed

cook, I decided the only way I was going to make that

happen was through action. You have to shock people

to make them believers.

"Paul! Does anyone owe you any money? I'm going

to go collecting on some past due accounts owed to my

brother and I. Why don't you do the same?"

I watched Paul snort his line. His crinkled face went

from old and haggard... to awake and determined to

keep up. He went into his wallet and started digging.

He pulled out a list, then another, and then a third one.

He studied the three list with a shocked look on his

face. He grabbed a pen and scratched off a few that had

paid and added a few he was just now remembering. He

consolidated his three lists into one updated one and

looked at me.

"What are some of these people thinking? Did they

think they could take me for a ride?"

Paul went back to adding it all up and exclaimed,

"I'm owed $1,800!"

Now that I'd lit a fire under his ass I threw my

grand plan at him. "Check it out Paul. If we tighten up

our program and collect all of the money we're owed...

We should be able to buy a pound of dope from Bob.

You said we could turn that into about $30,000. Then

all we have to do is put all of that into the ingredients

to make the shit and have Bob cook it for us! Once we're

done liquidating all of that we should have enough to

open up a mechanic shop for you! We wouldn't have to

run in place anymore. We wouldn't have to buy used

cars."

I stopped talking because I could see Paul wasn't

listening. In my head it was as easy as A. B. C., or one,

two three, but I couldn't do it without some assistance!

Frustrated, I told Paul, "I'll be back in a while. I'm

going to some lame's house who thinks I'm just going

to go to jail without getting paid what he owes me for

my quarter pound of weed."

ChapteR 54

A couple of hours later I pulled back up to Paul's

garage. I saw him pull the drapes on his living room

kitchen to look down at me. I laughed at his shock.

The back of my truck was filled with a dryer, T.V. and

some other shit.

Paul got the garage open in a hurry. He looked

worried and asked, "Is that shit stolen?"

I shook my head no and explained. "It's collateral

until my money is in my hands. I knew your dryer

was broken so the guy loaned me his. I've also got this

T.V. and some fishing gear. I thought you might be

interested in it since you like to go out on your boat

and fish."

I tried to read Paul's mind. He might be thinking,

this youngster Benny I've got on my line is a shark! Is

he going to take me for a ride that speeds us right off

a cliff?'

Paul asked me, "What exactly happened?"

I lowered the tailgate to get the stuff inside Paul's

garage but Paul wasn't moving until I answered.

"Okay Paul if you want to hear it out I'll tell you.

I show up at the dude's house and open the door and see

the cocksucker lounging in a recliner with his feet up

and a fan pointed at him watching T.V. like he doesn't

owe me $1,200."

Paul stopped me. "I thought he only owed you

$800."

"You see what happens when they owe you for

months, you start forgetting shit. That's what they

hope. Then they hope you'll just go to jail, or worse

yet, they might even try to help put you there! That's

how I'm going to look at it. So back to what happened.

I'm standing there and I ask him if he has my money.

All he said was ' Nope.' No explanation at all. He's

just sitting there lounging with a smirk on his face

like I'm in the way of his T.V. So I walk to his T.V.

and start unplugging it. The guy gets up and has the

nerve to whine about me not calling before coming

over! Then he actually put his hands on me to stop me

from acquiring his T.V. as collateral. That didn't work

out too well for him. He got thrown around his living

room and seemed to realize the error in his ways pretty

quickly. He was ready to listen. I told him I didn't want

his stuff, just my money. He seemed to understand.

Since I had his undivided attention I asked him if he

knew Bob Prescott. He said he didn't. I told him he

should man up and help me find him so we could flush

the rat down the drain, or at least out of our county.

He whined that he just wanted to get high and not get

caught up in all of that."

I looked at Paul standing there taking it all

in. "You know what I pictured Paul? I saw this guy

smoking my pot he hadn't finished paying for and me

in jail. Then I pictured that rat piece of shit rapist Bob

Prescott coming over to his house and getting high

with him. So I explained to him that if he hung out

with people like that, or didn't mind them around, he

was condoning it and was a coward for being unwilling

to do anything about it! At that point we loaded up his

stuff together."

Paul was still standing there in shock so I tried to

make him laugh. "Paul, I think we bonded while we

loaded up his stuff."

Paul smiled. "Did he really not plan on paying you?

Did he think you were already in jail?"

I said, "Yeah. I think so."

We unloaded the booty into Paul's garage. After

we were done with that Paul pulled out his updated

list. I listened to him on the phone. He told the other

end of the conversation that he had a collector who was

coming to see him if the debt wasn't paid within the

week. The next call he made he let my name slip out

along with some subtle threats! I was being insanely

fronted off and wondered for a second if it was innocent.

It couldn't be. Paul was too smart for that. Did he think

I wasn't?

I told Paul while he was still on the phone not to

use my name like that. When he got off the phone I

told him, "You don't call and threaten them! You show

up like I did without any warning and handle your

business. I'll go with you to help if you want."

Paul nodded his head okay. "Alright, but it's no big

deal about your name. They don't know who you are

and I'll just tell them you're from L.A. or San Diego."

I responded, "That's good, but make up a name. I

don't want mine thrown around on the airwaves and

getting attention."

While I had some Momentum going I wanted to

make sure my plan was Paul's plan about incorporating

big Bob into our program and being professionals about

it to go legal and own a mechanic shop. I started in on

him.

"When are we going to invest in some more rocket

fuel?"

Paul looked evasive. He was focused on the new

dryer I'd brought him. He moved the old dryer out and

said, "It should be any day now... I'm just waiting for

him to call."

I felt something that didn't seem right. There was

hink in the air. "We are still going to hit him up to

buy his ingredients right?" I laid heavy emphasis on

the We Are.

Paul was doing everything he could to avoid the

question. I had to assume Paul didn't want me to meet

big Bob. I could picture Paul telling me that big Bob

doesn't want to meet anyone new. Sorry, you know how

it is. He's paranoid. But we are still business partners

and you can trust me to do good business for both of us

with him. That was the last thing I wanted to hear and

I could feel it coming so I dropped it.

ChapteR 55

I went down the street from Paul's to a small pool

hall that also had dart boards and an arcade. Natasha

was going to meet me there to unload some speed

for me. She was the coolest thing going in the little

surf community of San Clemente since she was a part

time lingerie model and her Dad was a soft porn

photographer. Most of her girl friends were enamored

with the Hell's Angels and other bad boys who could

make things happen.

I was in the very back of the establishment at a

pool table. Natasha walked in like a sexy gazelle with

those long legs. She had black stiletto heels with those

straps that wrap up the ankles. When I got past those,

I made it to her mini skirt that was impossibly high.

That's as high as I got. She stood in front of me waiting

impatiently to look her in the eyes. When I did she

gave me an irritated kiss and a hug and let me have it.

"Can't you stop looking at my body and look into my

eyes?"

She stood there with one leg kicked out and her

hand on a hip and I just wanted to lift her onto the pool

table and wrap her legs around me. I wanted to tell

her that but stumbled and threw my hands in the air.

"You're torturing me dressed like that! It wouldn't even

matter if you were dressed in a business suit or sweats...

I'd still be looking at your hips and ass swishing and

dancing back and forth..."

I wanted to tell her it was her fault for wearing

that outfit and would she just go ahead and sit on my

face and wiggle around a little? Instead, I said, "I want

you."

Natasha threw her other leg out in an even sexier

pose the other way and said, "You just want my body...

Not me!"

I shook my head no as fast as I said, "No, no, no,

no, no... That's not it at all. I just want to love your

body so good that I can get you to stay with me, and

be my girlfriend." As soon as the words were out of my

mouth, I hated myself.

It did seem to work though. I saw that coy happy

smile she blessed me with on occasion. Like I was

penetrating her heart but she was scared to let that

happen. So far she was a closed book to me. As fast

as that coy smile came it went and she changed the

subject.

She looked around and said, "Where is it?"

I'd told her on the phone I'd have an Elle magazine

with five baggies of speed taped to pages inside it so

the transaction wouldn't be awkward. She zeroed in on

it sitting on a chair and grabbed it. My mind instantly

tried to tell me she was using me to get the speed! The

rational part of my mind admitted that didn't make

sense because I'd tried to give her discounts that she

wouldn't accept. She told me I needed the money more

since she had a house to live in and I was bouncing

around. She walked out of the pool hall and I stared at

her ass dancing the whole time.

ChapteR 56

I went back to Paul's and noticed his black Mustang

was gone. I went to the front door and his girlfriend

Gina answered. She welcomed me inside and I sat down

on the couch. She went to the kitchen. Gina and I had

never really talked, just in greetings. It was all very

respectful and cordial. Gina finished up in the kitchen

and brought me a couple of tacos.

As she handed me the plate she said, "Thanks for

hooking us up with that dryer. I was so sick of going

to the Laundromat! It's creepy to put your clothes in

something so public."

I laughed and asked, "Did you put only Paul's stuff

in there?"

Gina smiled and nodded her head. "Pretty much."

I felt like asking where Paul was but held off until

I could figure out a way. Gina sat down and shuffled a

deck of tarot cards and I thought of something. "Why

aren't you eating?"

Gina said, "I ate some while I was getting it ready.

I'll eat some more when Paul gets back from the

harbor."

I saw my opportunity to get in where I fit in. "What's

Paul doing in the harbor, working on his boat?"

"He's meeting Bob to pick up more of that..."

Gina looked up at me like she'd said too much.

She studied my reaction and might have noticed my

eyes take on that focused look I seemed to have twenty-

four/ seven these days. I ate my tacos a little faster and

wondered if Paul was bringing Bob here. Maybe the

tacos were for them to. "Did Paul say he was bringing

Bob here?"

Gina stopped shuffling the cards, looked at me and

shook her head no. "I don't think so... He never brings

him here... Plus, I think Bob has to get back to San

Bernardino."

I finished the last of my taco and furiously thought

about where in the harbor they would be meeting. It

must be his boat. I asked, "Where is Paul's slip for his

boat?"

The question confused Gina and I remembered

why. Last week, Paul had fed Gina a little white lie that

we'd gone shark fishing all night while we were really

at the bowling alley. Now that lie was going to bite

him in the ass unless I covered for him.

Gina said, "His boat is over by that tiny beach on

the north end of the harbor. It's the first set of slips to

the south... But you should know that... Weren't you

there with Paul last week?"

"I was there last week when we went shark fishing...

but it was dark and I wasn't paying attention." That

sounded lame to my own ears. I couldn't think of

anything else to say to fill the awkward silence so I got

up with my plate and walked it into the kitchen.

At the sink I said, "Thanks for the tacos, they were

delicious."

Gina said, "Your welcome."

I thought of something. I had a mental picture of

the harbor in my head and focused on where that tiny

beach was and knew the slips to the south of it had five

rows. I had to figure out which slip Paul's boat was in.

"I remember now. It's in the second slip isn't it?"

Gina helped my cause. "It's in the third slip, like

three or four boats down."

She hesitated like she was having a hard time

believing I couldn't remember where the boat was... "It

must have been dark that night. Do you even remember

what his boat looks like?"

I had seen Paul's boat at his friend's house while

it was getting serviced. "Yeah, I've got that part. It's

the Viking. I'm just unbelievably bad with my sense

of direction in a car, especially when I'm the passenger,

but sometimes even when I'm driving and being told

where to go. I daydream, or try to problem solve stuff

instead of paying attention to directions. Do you think

that's an indication of A.D.D.?"

This was partially true. Unless I was driving

extremely fast to the point I had to solely concentrate

on driving my mind was the one running. Right now

my mind was running on how to find Paul with Bob.

I thanked Gina again for the tacos and headed

for the door. I could feel Gina's trepidation that I was

planning to impose on Paul and the kingpin's time.

Right when I got to the door she asked me, "Are

you going to the harbor?"

"I have to. Paul forgot something."

Gina got up and stood there with her hands on her

hips. "I'm sure if he needs you he'll call you!"

I felt the adrenaline rush that came with going on

a mission and the way my brain clicked a little faster.

"Paul will thank me later, trust me."

Gina fired back with what must have been Paul's

reasoning. "What if you scare Bob off and he stops

dealing with Paul?"

I was offended at the implication and jack hammered

back. "Paul's my partner! He should be building me

up! If Bob is a kingpin, Paul should be telling him

his partner is a mastermind and a money machine! He

should be telling him I'm tightening up the ship down

here where all of the money is at. Remember, money

talks and bull shit walks... Once Paul builds me up

right, I'll handle the rest."

I patted my pockets to make sure my keys were

there and watched Gina try a stall tactic. She patted

the couch next to her and pointed to the tarot cards.

"Sit down first for a reading. Let's see what your future

holds..."

I thought about it. My Mom had always told me

psychic readings and stuff like that were from the dark

side and the work of the devil to pull you away from

God. I knew I wasn't doing God's work but I still didn't

want any readings so I crossed myself and responded, "I

make my own future and my conscience is my guide."

I closed the door and left Gina to try and work

through all of the contradictions.

ChapteR 57

I drove to the Dana Point harbor with a mental

map of it and everything Paul had said about it. The

south entrance was about a mile away from the north

entrance. On the south side the harbor patrol had a

section for their station. Paul had a healthy respect

and fear of the harbor patrol. He'd also said that the

Sheriffs and undercover task forces met on that side for

meetings to coordinate raids. Paul wasn't going to meet

Bob on that side of the harbor.

I drove my Chevy S-10 down P.C.H. to enter the

north end of the harbor. The street fronted a cliff that

had a row of mansions on the right hand side and the

Chart House on the left hanging over a cliff. The Chart

House was packed with frenzied activity. Valet parkers

wearing tuxedos rushed to cars. Other greeters in

tuxedos ushered throngs of party goers inside. Driving

by, I noticed how everyone was dressed and realized

it was a wedding party. I really wanted to use their

balcony on the cliff to post up with the binoculars I

had to scope the parking lot down below for Paul's slip.

Paul's slip was only a good golf shot away. As I was

parking, I realized the black tank top I was wearing

would have been a major fashion faux pas and found

a black pullover collared golf shirt I had behind my

seat. I parked a couple hundred yards away in the first

available spot, put on the shirt and hustled my way into

the throng of people.

The throng of people looked to be telling the

greeters in tuxedos which group they were with. The

greeters had a list! I didn't want to try and adopt a

group so I branched off once the greeter in my path was

busy. I adopted the hesitation is confrontation attitude.

I tried to look like I already had a group in there and just

came out for a smoke or phone call. I had a cigarette in

my mouth and a phone in my hand anyway. I threw the

cigarette right as a greeter looked at me and pretended

to talk into the cell phone. It worked.

The outside deck was packed and every seat was

taken. People were taking pictures all over the place

and a lot of them were taking them at the chest high

glass wall overlooking the ocean at the edge of the cliff.

I squeezed my way through it all until I was at the

furthest point over the cliff against the glass wall and

pulled out my binoculars to study the street below.

That tiny beach was right below and I studied the

parking lot for a black Mustang. It wasn't there. The

slip for Paul's boat was right next to it so I studied that

parking lot. It wasn't there, either, but I noticed that to use

that parking lot you needed a key card. I scanned further

south until my vision was interrupted by some S-turns.

I imagined what I was missing. The S-turns finished

turning and gave you the choice of taking a right onto a

bridge that cut through the middle of the harbor to the

outside edge of it, or continuing to the north end of the

harbor. Since I'd discounted the north end of the harbor

as an option I trained the binoculars on what I could see

of the bridge. It ended at a T. I could see a little ways

to the left and remembered there was a bathroom that

would be discreet enough to meet and weigh product.

I almost took off on that impulse until I remembered

how close that bathroom was to the harbor patrol

headquarters. I looked the other way from the T to the

north and couldn't see much with all of the yachts in the

way of the road. I imagined that part of the harbor. There

was another large parking lot for boat owners that you

needed a key card to get into. Even if Paul had a key card

there wasn't anywhere to do a deal. Further down the

road it dead ended into another nice restaurant. It was

similar in nature to the Chart House with valet parkers

and greeters so I couldn't see Paul over there either.

It was starting to get uncomfortable standing there

with binoculars glued to my face all gacked out in the

middle of a wedding party. I looked around and noticed

someone pointing at me and whispering into another's

ear. I took a step away and looked around. A few other

people seemed curious about me and how I fit into the

wedding party. Right when I was about to leave and try

to find Paul in my truck I heard a deep throaty exhaust

reverberating up the hill. It sounded exactly like Paul's

Mustang so I trained the binoculars back at the road

below. I scanned the road as far into the S-turns as possible

and a few seconds later Paul's black Mustang appeared.

Right behind the Mustang was a blue old-school

Chevy truck that looked like it had been restored. I

studied the driver and the first thing I noticed was the

irritated look he had on his face. I was guessing from

how much of a scene Paul was with that exhaust. Bob

had blond hair in a crew cut and looked like he could pass

for a marine. I tried to determine what kind of heritage

he came from, German, Irish, or maybe even something

Slavic. He looked stocky with a blocky face and under

six feet. Paul circled through the marine institute at the

furthest point of the north end of the harbor and rolled

down his window to explain something to Bob in the

parking lot. Then they drove out of the parking lot and

back towards me on the cliff watching. They went under

me and Paul turned into the parking lot for his boat.

Paul pulled up to the mechanical arm and placed

his key card in. The mechanical arm flipped up and the

spike strip laid down. Paul pulled his key card out and

placed it on top of the key card box. He raced through

just before the spike strip popped back up and the

mechanical arm swung down, both narrowly missing

the Mustang. Bob went next. Again, I held my impulse

to rush down there. How was I going to make such a

bold entrance go down smoothly? I scanned with the

binoculars along the path Paul and Bob were walking

and fate intervened.

I noticed a man and a woman studying Paul and

Bob intently. It looked like they noticed how they had

just shared the same key card. I saw the man pull his

phone out. Paul and Bob walked to the boat and didn't

notice the curious older couple behind them watching

which boat they were headed to.

I knew I had the opportunity to save them both from

getting busted. I made my way through the throng of

wedding guest and into the parking lot. I decided not to

bother with my truck because parking down there might

prove hard and bring my truck into view. The impossibly

steep hill I started running down was only one lane each

way and there wasn't any room for pedestrians. I got

going so fast I almost went down around the first turn

and instead only grinded into the bushes over the curb. I

gathered myself and took off running again but this time

I ran leaning back so I wouldn't go faster than my legs

could keep up. At the bottom of the hill I carried a pace

that wouldn't be too obvious. I made it to the parking lot

and thought out the issues. I found the curious couple and

realized they had their back to me so I entered the parking

lot quickly. I kept watch on the couple and noticed the

man still on the phone. I still had a six foot fence to deal

with that required a key. It was on the same walkway the

couple was on. They still had their backs to me and I stood

poised to jump the six foot gate. I grabbed the gate and

felt it move enough to cause noise and ditched that idea.

I was also under the most lighted area so I walked away

from the couple down the path to where the gate turned

the corner for a few feet. It was darker and secluded from

view. I scaled the fence and hustled to Paul's boat.

I hopped right on Paul's boat and felt it rock from

the impact. Paul rushed from the cabin with Bob

sticking his head out behind him. I broke through their

shock with urgency.

"The Harbor Patrol will be here any minute!! Don't

even hesitate; give me all of your shit to stash!!"

I watched Bob look to Paul for guidance and Paul

wasted time by explaining, "This is who I was telling

you about. This is my partner B.J."

I interrupted the formalities. "Paul!! If you don't want

to go to jail tonight, give me all of your felonies to stash!!"

Right then, the throaty sound of a Harbor Patrol

boat made its presence felt nearby. Bob reached into his

jacket pocket and pulled out a good sized Tupperware

container duck-taped shut. I grabbed it just as the

Harbor Patrol spotlight flashed intermittently through

other boats in the way. Both Paul and Bob ducked back

into the cabin and I remembered I had dope on me also.

I checked my impulse to take off running and

realized the Harbor Patrol and possibly the curious

couple would see me. I looked at the boat docked

next to Paul's. I looked around and didn't see anyone

in nearby boats and realized the small amount of dope

I had was in my sock. I grabbed it and threw Bob's

Tupperware bowl and my little bag on the deck of the

boat right next to me.

The Harbor Patrol pulled up in a turn that threw

a wake of water that buoyed Paul's boat and the spot

light lit me up. I squinted my eyes against the glare

and saw three Harbor Patrol officers poised to jump on

Paul's boat. Another officer stood at the wheel below

the spotlight with a microphone in his hand.

"All aboard the Viking this is the Harbor Patrol!

Come to your deck where we can see you! We are going

to board your vessel!"

Paul and Bob came up from below and I yelled out for

their benefit. "Is it illegal to want to sell a boat now?"

I whispered to Paul, "Someone saw you and Bob

share your key card."

The Harbor Patrol came aboard and I watched

everything click into place.

Paul ran with, "I'm just trying to sell my boat.

What's the problem?"

I noticed one of the Harbor Patrol officers looking

at a tattoo Bob had on his arm. The officer had the same

tattoo on his arm and I realized it was a Navy tattoo

of honor. That officer admitted to Bob that suspicious

circumstances had been reported and they were here

to check it out. His expression showed it wasn't a big

deal. The other two officers took a quick exploratory

search without moving anything around in the cabin

and came back to the deck. The now friendly ex-Navy

man asked Paul, "Why would you even want to sell

your boat and lose this slip?"

Paul responded, "To be honest, I really don't want

to sell it?"

The ex-navy man looked at his Navy comrade Bob

with a look that said, is he pulling your chains?

Paul twisted it with, "If I do sell, it would be for

financial reasons."

Bob played the part of buyer and told Paul sternly,

"You better not have had me drive here for nothing!"

I watched the Harbor Patrol get back on their boat

and wave as they pulled away. I followed their boat and

watched them apprise the older couple of the situation.

It looked like everyone was a winner.

ChapteR 58

I stood across from Paul in the cabin charged with

adrenaline staring at Paul like he had stabbed me in the back.

Paul avoided his deceit by asking, "How in the hell

did you pull that off? How did you know the Harbor

Patrol was coming and how did you find my boat?"

I cut through Paul's interference and red tape and

decided I was the one who'd be doing the interrogating.

"Paul, what's up with you man? Is your word worthless

to you? I thought we were going to hit Bob up together

to run down our plan. Is this how you get down, by

going behind my back?"

I was on the verge of taking Paul down to the

ground if he responded wrong. I watched his and

Bob's expressions and Bob threw him a life preserver

by saying, "Hey B.J.! Your partner Paul told me you

wanted to meet me and talk business so don't think he

was blowing you off!"

I cut him off to determine if our plan was on

the table. "Did he tell you we want to buy up the

ingredients so you can cook a batch for us so we can

get a mechanic shop started for Paul and make you an

integral component over here in South Orange County

where all of the money is at?"

Bob shook his head no and looked at Paul. "We

didn't get that far into it... Paul told me some good

things about you, like how hard you collect money...

But he also said you came out of nowhere..."

I looked at Paul ready to take him to the ground for

the implication that I might now be trustworthy yet.

Bob continued, "He mentioned you wanted to be a

big investor, but things like that take time. I'd have to

make sure that all of my counter parts are on the same

page and everything is copasetic. You don't want to

rush things in this business or step on anyone's toes."

I watched Paul's expression change to relieved at

how Bob was putting it. He came to his own defense.

"I couldn't just drop you on him point blank, and it's

not an introduction you can do over the phone either...

So to be one hundred percent honest with you, I was

building you up tonight to get Bob to meet you."

I looked at Bob and it didn't look like that was

exactly the case.

Paul added, "At least that was what I was planning

to do..."

I realized the stage was set for me to run my empire

building ideas but found I was at a loss for words. It

felt like my ideas might be a delusion of grandeur if I

couldn't nail everything down immediately.

I stuck out my hand for Bob to shake, "It's good to

meet you. I've been willing this to happen. Let's go out

on the deck and get some air."

Out on the deck Bob asked, "How did you know about

the Harbor Patrol and those people who called them?"

I pointed to the cliff and the Chart House restaurant.

"I was up there with binoculars looking for you guys. I

heard Paul's exhaust and saw you both come out of the

S-turns. I watched you both circle through the parking

lot at the end over there in the Marine Institute and talk

through your windows. Then I watched you both enter

the parking lot over there and share Paul's key card. It

looked a little suspicious so I checked to see if anyone

was watching. It was just one of those feelings. While

scanning the walkway I saw an older couple staring at

you and follow you while getting on the phone."

I watched Paul and Bob's expressions register that

they were impressed with my observations. I finished

off the explanation.

"Let's go back into the cabin so I can talk business.

Your Tupperware package is safe.I threw it and a small

amount of my dope on the boat next to this one."

I saw the relief on Bob's face. "That's good man...

It's not all mine. My resources in San Berdoo are heavily

involved in it as usual. It's never all mine."

Bob thought, It's usually all Ricky's. Bob went

over it all in his mind, how he grew up with Ricky and

how they had played on the same baseball team; "I was

the catcher and Ricky was the shortstop. Then as we

got older and started road dogging it together we had

each other's back, always. In fights I'd always rush in

like the pit-bull and take the abuse while Ricky would

dance around and land all of the beautiful combinations

he'd tell me about later. Looking back," Bob realized,

"yet again that in the drug scene, Ricky was the one

connected and I'm just his loyal worker doing what I'm

told. Like a loyal dog."

I saw Bob considering his integral components

he mentioned and focused my attention towards what

everyone wants. Paper bills with Benjamin Franklin's

face on them. "Bob, now that I've got your attention,

let me tell you something. Paul and I can liquidate

your speed down here for twice as much money as you

can in San Berdoo. We've got a safe house ready for you

to cook batches and within a couple of months we can

put together at least a hundred grand. We want to split

that in thirds and Paul and I are going to put our two

thirds into opening up a mechanic shop to have a legal

front that will be there for you also."

I knew I was winging it but Bob looked impressed.

I added, "Let's take this to the next level and stop

running in place."

Bob said, "I like the way your mind works, but let

me tell you something. I'm loyal to the bone to my

partners I grew up with. I can't ditch my partners."

I could see that no matter how much I baited the hook

with a massive amount of hundred dollar bills, I wasn't

going to break through Bob's loyalty. It was time to use

my far reaching potential and try another tactic. "Bob

you're from San Berdoo. Your Inland Empire is made up of

desert and mountains and you're more spread out and less

dense than we are down here. What I'm getting at is there

are more speed cooks where you're at and probably less

pay numbers to get rid of it too. With less pay numbers

in your area, you're going to connect the dots a lot faster

and start fighting over them. That must be happening

already if an ounce of speed is only worth $400. Over

here it's worth $800 because there are more pay numbers

then there are dealers with good product. If you guys are

starting to fight over the same pay numbers it's a good

time for you to branch off and come down here."

Bob nodded his head seriously and said, "Man it's

eerie that you just said that. I mean I live there and

it wasn't like that a year ago... But it's getting like

that fast. Other big business men and their cliques are

starting to scope out our clientele, or our pay numbers,

as you call them. Some of it I can understand because

some of our clients are in other people's neighborhoods

that are becoming more organized and there's more

speed flooding in from Mexico. It feels like some of our

liquidators are getting vultured and pulled away from

us. That's why we were so glad to meet Paul."

Bob gave me a skeptical look and asked, "Do you

know people in San Berdoo?"

I saw Bob's mind having trouble understanding how

I could predict all I said without knowing people in his

backyard. I was about to tell him it was all common

sense and supply and demand but Paul jumped in.

"Bob since I met B.J., everything he does is like

this. He's a pro and catches on extremely fast. That's

what I meant by saying he came out of nowhere hard

and fast. It's hard to keep up with him."

I felt like I had that fat Cuban cigar in my mouth again

and continued with my Momentum as my mind spun out

another scene. "Okay. I hit the nail on the head with that

one. Let me tell you what is sure to follow. Drama! Drama

equals all kinds of problems popping up. Drama equals

more enemies from animosity rearing its ugly head. This

agitates your once, well organized structure and ushers

in his friend, chaos. Chaos leads to squandering money,

taking more risk, and raises your chances of getting

busted. Bottom line, less profit and more jail time."

I studied Bob to see if he could keep up with my

Machiavellian philosophy. Was I leading the horse to

water? Was he there yet and ready to drink over here

in South Orange County? It didn't look like he was

reading into the depth of the picture I was trying to

predict so I threw the kitchen sink at him.

"A better explanation of the drama I'm suggesting

over fighting over the same pay numbers could go

down like this: Picture having your regular clients, who

you're scooping money from to keep your operation

running, getting pulled away from you with better

deals coming from somewhere else. You can expect

that, it's just business. But what about when it gets

dirty and the drama gets stirred up with rumors. What

if someone whispers into your clients' ears, or around

town that you're being watched by the feds to keep

people away from you? Then what naturally follows is

people speculating that you're possibly working with

the feds. Now you have to decipher where that noise

originated and make an example out of the instigator

to show everyone what happens to people who put your

name on the airwaves. Even if you handle it perfectly,

you just advertised yourself, anyway. With less people

in San Berdoo, you can expect your reputation to catch

up with you a lot faster and reach law enforcement's

desk. Soon you'll be on a high wire act, with people

demonizing you from the side lines waiting for you to

topple over so they can get to the spoils. I know that's

some ugly drama but it's the natural way of things in

this devil business."

I realized what I'd just said was deep and pictured

myself with that fat Cuban cigar blowing smoke rings.

What I didn't realize is how true what I'd said was and

that I was going to be on that same high wire on my own

unicycle trying to determine where the demons were.

Bob thought, now I can tell B.J. is reaching too far.

It was eerie in the beginning how he could know all of

those things about my area though, but now he's off.

It's not like that where I'm from. We don't mess around

with throwing that fed kind of shit on the airwaves. Too

many people have already been made examples of with

crime scene tape, chalk and body bags. But, could it

be on its way to being like he's predicting? Bob looked

at Paul and wondered why he seemed to be riding the

fence on his partner B.J. earlier. It's probably because

he's scared B.J. is going to take over his business and go

directly through me.

I watched Bob decide something and look me

directly in the eyes. I felt my plan sliding away from

me and wouldn't let Bob look away.

"B.J., you earned some big points tonight. You saved

us from getting busted and losing a lot of product. I'm

going to tell my partners in San Berdoo and it's going

to benefit you in the future. But like I said earlier, these

things take time; they don't happen in one night. I'll

also mention you want to invest in the chemicals to get

a discounted price...But I can't make any promises."

I looked at Bob as hard and determined as I could

and realized my grand plans were slipping away. I felt

myself having to look at my life without those grand

plans and desperately didn't want to face what was

before me. I was desperate. "Bob, check this out!! You're

not going to meet anyone more about the business than

me! I just lost $40,000 and my brother to juvenile hall

because of some rat. I've got nowhere to live, no family

to call, and just my instincts to fill the void"

I got up and started pacing and felt like now I was

looking like a loose cannon. I'd said earlier that I had

a place we could use as a safe house for him to cook

dope! I also detected too much whine in my voice and

hated myself for it. I tried to fix it by proposing, "Do

you have any collections you need made? Anything you

need help with? Let me earn some more points to get on

the ground floor with you. I need to make this money

back I just lost!"

It looked like Bob was thinking about it so I

elaborated. "You need something that needs to get

handled; I'll handle it so you don't have to get your

fingerprints on it. I'll handle it on general principles

and make sure it's a righteous housecleaning!"

I watched Bob nod his head and say, "That's pretty

much how we operate. We don't get our hands dirty

unless it's personal, like an informant, or someone who

bullies a woman or kids."

That was music to my ears! "I found out the piece

of shit that ratted on me also raped a beautiful girl. If

I can find him I'm going to beat him within an inch of

his life and drop a bunch of L.S.D. in his mouth so his

mind never comes back; so he can't do any more damage

to anyone else. Do you need anything like that done on

a similar piece of shit so you don't front yourself off?

I could be a resource of yours no one knows about or

could identify. On the flip side of that nobody down

here knows about you and your partners so you could

establish your operation down here."

That was absolutely all I had left to say. My hustle

tank was empty. I stared at Bob and watched him think

with my future on the line.

Bob thought, "Something about this B.J. wants

me to have him in the car with me. He's relentless and

sharp! Maybe he's right about a lot of the shit he was

saying earlier. It would be nice to open up shop down

here where all of the money is. Would I still have all of

the doors open for me in San Berdoo..?".

I watched Bob look at his watch and decide

something. "I've got to get back to San Berdoo. I have

some other business to take care of. Paul, could you go

get that package B.J. threw on that boat?"

Paul got up and grabbed a flashlight and I told him

exactly where I saw the package land.

I felt Paul's footsteps rock the boat as he got off.

Bob looked me right in the eyes and said, "B.J. I've

got a good feeling about you. But I've got to tell you, your

partner Paul seems to be riding the fence with you."

Bob grabbed a pen on the table and wrote down a

number and handed it to me. "You're in the car. Call

me if you need anything."

I felt the boat bounce and sway from Paul's return

and watched him climb back down into the cabin and

hand Bob the Tupperware container. I got my little bit

back and watched Bob cut through the duct tape. He

dumped a big pile of speed on the table and used his

I.D. and separated a pile to the side.

He slid it towards me and I realized he was giving

it to me. "This is for saving our butts tonight. That's an

eye balled half an ounce. I'm going to tell my partners

what you did, and what you're proposing to see how

they want to work things out."

I looked at my free half ounce and was overwhelmed

with gratitude. I put it away and glanced at Paul. He

didn't look like he liked it. The benefits that were

supposed to go his way were coming to me immediately.

I didn't know what to do so I hugged Bob roughly and

lifted him off the ground easily and set him back down.

"Thanks for the hook up, it's very appreciated!"

I looked at Bob and he looked shocked by my

display of emotions.

Paul explained his take on it. "It's the Italian side of

his family. His grandfather was a loving gangster from

the old days."

Bob smiled and said, "It's making sense now. What

was your grandfather's name?"

I responded, "Pistol Pete Cardarastelli."

Bob asked, "Was he one of those mustache Pete's

from Sicily?"

I nodded my head, happy with the camaraderie we

had going.

Paul broke into the Moment with a shocked

outburst. "This shit is still wet Bob!"

I looked at Paul leaning over the table and the

product. He had his I.D. and was sifting through the

pile of speed. I leaned over to get a good look and the

rancid odor fumed right into my face. It was so strong

I guessed that it had just been cooked. It did look a

little moist.

I watched Paul go into a cabinet and come out with

a bunch of brown grocery bags. He ripped one open and

dumped all of the speed on it. He spread the pile around

and we could all see the moisture on the brown bag.

Paul said, "If this is supposed to be a half a pound,

it's going to lose an ounce and a half by the time it's dry!

I don't know if I even want this shit. It's on the border."

I watched Paul grab a diamond sized shard from

the pile and drop it on the mirror to have a look at

it. He grabbed a magnifying glass out of a drawer and

began his examination.

While he did that I did my own examination with

the pile Bob gave me. I chopped up some healthy lines

and snorted one. It was moist, it hurt in that burning

way and felt like some of it was still caked inside my

nose. Then I felt the effect. My mind started to sharpen

and I realized I had to figure out what my part would

be in this dilemma we were in. As I thought about it

I realized my teeth were clamped shut and laughed at

myself for being such a chiseler.

I handed the other two lines to Paul and Bob to

inhale and they did. While they were doing it, I looked at the shard

Paul had on the mirror and picked up his magnifying

glass. The shard looked like a canary diamond. It was

yellowish and clear at the same time. I snorted the first

issue of drip from my line and said, "This shit is strong!

But it is a little wet."

I looked at Bob's face and saw how frustrated he

was. He looked so pissed, it looked like he was having

trouble articulating words.

Bob found his voice, "That shit is the lemon drop. It's

better than any of the shit you've been getting from me. It's

not going to lose an ounce and a half of weight either!"

Paul shot back, "I know what I'm talking about! I

bought some shit just like this from a cook in Oceanside,

it lost five grams on every ounce."

I watched Paul do the math on that prediction and

come back with the answer. "On eight ounces, that's 40

grams, 2 grams under an ounce and a half!"

I looked at Bob and it looked like he was going to pop

with frustration. He exploded, "Paul are you going to tell

me how dope gets cooked? I'm the freaking cook! Yeah

it will lose a little weight if you don't sell it fast enough,

but not 5 grams an ounce! More like a couple grams at the

most... I've got to get $4,000 for that half pound minus

the half ounce I'm eating I gave B.J... I was supposed to

bring back $4,400 like I told you on the phone!

I looked at Paul and realized what a grindy business

man he was. He didn't look like he was going to bend.

I imagined he might be thinking he had the upper

hand on this negotiation because he knew Bob didn't

want to drive back with the product all the way to San

Bernardino minus the half ounce he gave me.

I looked at Bob and he didn't want to bend either.

Then they both turned and looked at me.

I grabbed the rest of Paul's brown bags and asked

Bob, "Do you want me to dump it all in another bag to

see if it pulls more moisture off the product? Then we

can keep transferring it until we're out of bags and then

put a fan on it."

Bob nodded his head that was okay and said, "Just

be careful not to break it up to much. You don't want it

getting powdery. Buyers like seeing the shards."

While we worked, Bob asked Paul, "Do you have

your scale on you?"

Paul checked his pockets and said, "I left it in the

Mustang. I'll go get it."

As soon as Paul left Bob said, "Your partner was

supposed to meet me off the 91 freeway at the halfway

point between here and San Berdoo. I've got to call my

partner Ricky to tell him what's going on and why I'm

so late."

I watched Bob walk out of the cabin and looked

at the pile of speed he was leaving me with that was

already in question. I didn't want the dope to weigh up

any lighter than Bob expected it to and then have him

wonder if leaving me behind had anything to do with

it so I followed him.

On the deck I couldn't help but listen to Bob talk to

Ricky and I felt nosy. I stepped off the boat and walked

to the halfway point between Paul's boat and Paul at

his Mustang rooting through his trunk. I realized that

there was never a comfortable feeling doing this speed

business. That line I had just snorted of the new lemon

drop made me feel like I was glowing. I looked at my

watch and to my astonishment it was 3 a.m. Where

does the time go on this shit?

I watched Paul walk toward me. He was taking

furtive glances my way to see what I was doing standing

there. As he got to me he said, "I was trying to get him

to meet you tonight, but I had to get his okay first."

I just said, "I understand."

I could tell that Paul didn't expect it to be that easy

and getting on the boat he said, "You're a trip."

Inside the boat we got everything straightened out

just as the sun was coming up. I was starting to come

down and had to wonder if that new flavor of speed

was all that good. Then I thought about the amount of

sleep I'd gotten during the week, about the equivalent

of two hours a night. Plus the night had been intense.

That always seemed to drop the energy level afterward.

We came up with an exit strategy for Bob to follow us

home on his way to the freeway so he could cover our

tail since we were carrying the mother lode. I would

pick up my truck later.

In the Mustang I thought about my grand plans.

We covered a lot of ground trying to get there but I had

to face what kind of business I was in. Could I possibly

get Paul in a mechanic shop this way? If I gave up on

the idea, I'd have to face reality and there was no way I

wanted to do that!

ChapteR 59

Bob got on the 91 freeway heading east to San

Bernardino and rehearsed what he planned to tell

Ricky and Tony. Even to his own ears, what happened

on Paul's boat with B.J. coming out of nowhere in time

to warn them of the Harbor Patrol, sounded contrived.

He thought about the meeting with Ricky so deeply, he

imagined the exact spot in Ricky's grandparents house

Ricky would be sitting for the meeting. Bob laughed

to himself that it was more like Ricky's house now that

his grandparents were in a home for the elderly. Bob

thought, Ricky will probably be at the head of that

long dinner table looking like the aggressive shark he

is. Bob pictured his dark hair combed straight back

over his chiseled angular face, the prominent chin

with the deep scar on it, those dark penetrating eyes

that were always so alert they seemed to always push

others beneath him, sitting there at the head of the

table like a boss. Bob even pictured what Ricky would

be wearing; that tight black silk shirt that stretched

over his body-builder like cut up muscles. Or his

black, Dickie button down dress shirt he liked to have

buttoned at the collar only, so the rest of the shirt flew

open and exposed how shredded his chest and stomach

were for more dominance. Then Bob pictured Ricky's

older brother positioned at the table just beneath

Ricky on his right. He thought about how Tony was

just as good looking and just as built from weights and

diligent nutrition, but that's where it ended. Tony's

personality was more refined and cautious, rather than

try to dominate, he was content to observe and be

overlooked. He'd probably be wearing something more

conservative and probably wouldn't do much talking.

Bob thought about Ricky's cousin Ernie who was sure

to be at the table also. Bob wondered, why does Ricky

put up with Ernie? He's always fucking things up.

We've trained him how to manufacture the product

over and over and he always ruins thousands of dollars

worth of product by doing it wrong. Bob thought, it's

probably because Ernie is so faithful and comfortable

taking Ricky's orders and running any errand asked of

him. Then Bob thought about how things with Ricky

seemed to be changing lately. Ricky had been calling

meetings while I'm busy manufacturing the product.

It feels like things are happening behind my back that

I'm not privy to anymore. Maybe I just need more

sleep and I'm imagining it all.

Bob pulled up and parked and saw Ernie look out

the window for a second. Ernie opened the front door

and Bob saw exactly what he'd just imagined. Ricky

was at the head of the table in that button down Dickie

shirt with the top button buttoned! Tony was on his

right just below him at the table and Ernie sat in a

chair down below Ricky on his left!

Bob saw the only chair left put him at the bottom

of the table and he sat down and looked at Ricky.

Ricky looked refreshed, wired up on speed and angry!

Bob thought, I'm tired, I can't even remember how to

explain what happened...

Ricky waited there patiently for what seemed like

a long time but was only a minute and said, "Give me

the money."

Bob pulled out $3,500 and handed it over. He

patted his other pocket and felt the other $400 he had

and thought, I'm the one who made that dope Paul

bought and I was supposed to make $500. Ricky was

supposed to get $3,900.

Bob watched Ricky count the money quickly. As

soon as he was done his face flew up and asked, "Where's

the rest of it?"

Bob explained the story in as much clear detail

as possible and in a Moment of clarity, realized Ricky

was getting dangerously angry hearing how B.J. was

getting so much support. Bob continued to tell the

story as it happened and saw Tony was visibly impressed

hearing about the cliff and the binoculars. Ricky on

the other hand looked like those kinds of honors were

only supposed to go his way. Bob watched Ricky's face

darken with what looked like pure hate.

Ricky's voice reflected that hate. "You blew it Bob.

You straight up fucked up!"

Bob stood up from the table and threw his hands

in the air. "What did you want me to do, drive back

with it?"

Ricky snapped back, "That's exactly what you

should have done! Ernie had that shit sold for the

$4,400 you were supposed to get.; didn't you Ernie."

Bob looked at Ricky's cousin nodding his head like

a loyal parrot.

"I had it sold in Felony Flats."

Bob thought about that statement. It sounded

rehearsed. He realized there wasn't any way to disprove

it and he didn't even know if he wanted to if he could.

Ricky looked ready to explode. I'll just let him have

this one and count on his conscience reminding him of

how far we go back and how loyal I've been.

Bob looked at Ricky, Tony and Ernie staring at him

and thought back a few years. He remembered how a

few years ago Ricky took someone on who turned out

to be a problem in Ricky's eyes. Ricky had him lured

into a strip club and had him stabbed to death. A few

days later we found out the feds were on their way to

investigate the possible disappearance and information

was leading them right to the club. Bob remembered

how he followed Ricky's instructions. How he had

leaked the most flammable kerosene known to man

all over the area the blood had saturated. It ended up

burning the whole club down, no evidence. Ricky had

been so grateful. He'll remember and make it up to

me.

Ricky broke the silence. "You know we need all the

money we can get for the drum set!!"

Bob thought about the drum set. He must be

talking about the 55 gallon drums the chemicals come

in to manufacture the speed. Bob thought about how

he had been doing all of the work lately. I've been the

one in the kitchen doing the manufacturing, one batch

after another, while Ricky held his meetings, keeping

me out of the loop on what those meetings were even

about.

Bob reached into his other pocket and pulled out

the $400. He slid it toward Ricky and said, "That's

all the money I have to my name and remember I was

supposed to get $500 for making that shit in the first

place!"

Bob thought, Ricky will give me that $400 back!

Ricky scooped up the cash and put it in his pocket

and that hateful look on his face returned. He looked at

his watch and looked back and snapped what sounded

like an order.

"Take that Chevy truck back to Tim in the Canyon.

He's been calling all night asking for his truck back.

I had Ernie leave enough chemicals to make a pound

of dope and we need that done A.S.A.P.. We already

have another buyer for it and we need that cash for the

drum set to take care of that Alabama account we came

up on!"

Bob thought about what little he knew about the

Alabama account. Ricky had met the representative

from Alabama who went by Tiny. Ricky had said, "The

guy is the opposite of tiny, he's almost seven feet tall

and he can move 50 pounds of speed a week through

four or five states. We have to be able to give him what

he needs before he goes somewhere else for the dope and

we lose the opportunity to get rich!"

Ricky thought about Tiny's account and the

$100,000 he imagined making a week. He looked right

at Bob and said, "We need you to step it up a notch

Bob. You're going to have to live in the kitchen making

our dope until we can get Tiny off and running. Then

we'll take a break and go to Vegas and rinse the money

and buy some toys to celebrate."

Bob watched Ricky shake everyone's hand and head

for the front door and say, "I've got to go handle some

important business. I'll check in with you, Bob, in a

few hours."

Bob looked at Tony and Ernie sitting there staring

at him like they were in charge of enforcing Ricky's

order. Bob thought, this change in atmosphere has to

be from the Alabama account, but why am I the one

getting niggard! I'm the most integral component to

this organization... Besides Ricky... And maybe Tony...

All these years of loyalty and I have to look at Ernie

sitting there like he's in charge of me.

"What the fuck is going on Tony?"

Bob watched Tony and Ernie look at each other to

decide something. Ernie tapped his watch like Ricky

had done and said, "You heard what Ricky said, he

needs you in the Canyon like an hour ago!"

Bob thought, "fuck this" and snapped, "Check this

out Ernie, you're a fucking knack! You can't even wipe

your own ass without directions! How many times have

you fucked up thousands of dollars by blowing up our

batches of speed? I lost count. I'm not taking orders

from you!"

Bob and Tony watched Ernie look confused and

decide not to make an issue out of it. Instead he looked

at his watch again and then looked up and said in a

meek voice, "You heard what Ricky ordered."

Bob watched Tony take over and pat Ernie on the

shoulder and say, "Don't worry about Bob. I've got to

talk to him anyway. Why don't you go do what Ricky

told you to do."

Ernie walked out the door and Bob told Tony,

"Ricky left me penniless. I'm not going to the Canyon

until I get laid and go out and collect some money I'm

owed so I can eat! I think I'll go to Lisa's house and try

to kill two birds with one stone."

Bob looked into Tony's eyes to see if his defiance

produced the same hate Ricky had in his eyes. Tony's

eyes looked sad, he said, "Bob, I've got to talk to you.

I'm going to the backyard to make a phone call first.

Give me five minutes and meet me back there."

ChapteR 60

Bob opened the sliding glass window to the back

yard and saw Tony with his back to him in the corner of

the backyard looking over the fence at Highland Blvd.

Tony stood there thinking, what can I even tell

Bob? What if he reacts to the truth and tells Ricky I

told him? How do I tell him about the long ago mafia

issues that are sure to resurface now that Ricky is doing

business with Mark Argenta? I have to tell him.

Bob looked over the fence with Tony. The boulevard

and shopping center across the street brought back a

flood of childhood memories of he, Ricky and Tony

running around together. After a few minutes of

solitude waiting for Tony to talk, Bob asked, "What's

going on Tony? Something is definitely not right with

Ricky... Or you and Ernie."

Tony thought about all of the pieces involved. Mark

Argenta brought us to Tiny, in charge of the multi-

state southeastern belt that started with Alabama and

went through Tennessee, Florida and Georgia. He

thought about all of the homework he and Ricky had

done on it and still had a hard time believing Ricky was

willing to take the risk. Tiny had recently stepped into

the multi-state account after Yogi, the guy who had

the four-state account before him was gunned down

by the police. Tony thought about the homework that

explained the details surrounding Yogi's downfall and

how Yogi was a runner for a drug cartel operation from

Michoacán, Mexico. The same cartel that had it out for

Mark Argenta for all these years...

Tony said, "Bob, you're Ricky's best friend, but

you're my friend too. If I was Ricky, I'd tell you to

transplant yourself in Orange County... You'd still have

your juice card and all of our doors would still be open

to you."

Bob looked at Tony's stoic face until he looked back

over the fence. Bob thought about everything B.J. had

said on the boat for a second, then asked Tony, "Why

would you tell me to move to Orange County?"

Bob watched Tony try to figure out what to say.

He couldn't. Finally he said, "Hey holmes, we're in a

fucked up position in some fucked up times. That's all

I can tell you for now."

Bob thought about the cryptic message and focused

on how Tony had just called him holmes. Holmes meant

stranger! Bob responded, "Tony, what is this holmes

shit? You call me Bob, or partner, or better yet call me

brother. That's how I look at you and Ricky."

Bob watched Tony react and remembered some of

the courageous acts he'd seen out of Tony over the years.

Now it looked like he was near tears. It was hard to

watch.

Bob said, "Come on Tony. Look at me. What's

going on brother?"

Bob watched Tony gather himself and turn to look

at him. "Bob, you know who Ricky's girlfriend, Salina's

stepfather is don't you."

Bob thought, good I'm finally getting somewhere.

Of course I know him. Mark Argenta. Everyone in the

underground in San Berdoo knows his name. He used to

have a lot of the action in these parts in the 1970's and

80's. That was back when the action was mostly heroin

and cocaine. He expanded it into a Limo business and

that's where things got ugly. He let the power go to

his head and turned himself into a pimp. He started

prostituting young girls by getting them strung out on

heroin and driving them around in his limo's as whores.

Supposedly, one of those young girls was a relative of

a cartel from Michoacán, Mexico. They had sent a hit

squad that left Argenta alive but in a wheel chair, and

Argenta's two top lieutenants dead in different places

at the same time. The newspapers noted that both

had been blindfolded and shot with the same caliber

weapon that was left at the crime scene. People in the

business had speculated that if Argenta ever got back in

the business again, his family was next.

Bob said, "Of course I know him."

Bob watched Tony and thought about the

implication. We do a lot of business in the speed trade

and might be associated with Argenta through Salina.

Then he realized what might be. "Is Ricky doing

business with Argenta?"

Tony nodded his head yes. "That's how we got

introduced to Tiny. It gets so deep and evil I can't even

believe it. All the old rules have changed and there isn't

a shred of honor in this business anymore."

Bob thought back to what B.J. had said earlier.

Tony continued, "You know how Argenta got put out

of business by that cartel in Michoacán Mexico? It turns

out that they are at war with the most powerful cartel in

Mexico. The head of that cartel goes by El Diablo. We

found out that El Diablo is into a deep satanic cult and

so is Mark Argenta! They formed an alliance through

this cult. This El Diablo orchestrated the takeover of the

Alabama account in a diabolical way. We know all of

this because we know people in Alabama who watched

everything I'm about to tell you go down. El Diablo sent

in some of the best speed on the planet to some of his

minions to use to pull Yogi's clients away from him. You

know how tweekers are, they will switch their loyalty

for better dope like it's the thing to do. Not only was El

Diablo busy undermining Yogi, the Michoacán cartel's

runner, he was having his minions give this powerful

speed to kids in junior high school and high school.

These kids stopped going to school and walked the

streets like zombies all night. Working with El Diablo,

Mark Argenta opened up shop in Alabama with Psychic

reading businesses. He pulled some of these kids in and

impressed them with all kinds of dark magic, Ouiji

boards, séances and other tricks to lure them into his

power. Argenta had some of these kids working for him

and doing what he told them. He had them spray paint

Yogi's name at churches they set on fire. He had them

tell the authorities Yogi was the one selling the speed

to them and other kids from junior high school. While

this was happening, Yogi felt the dissention among

his micro dealers. They weren't paying up. Then he

found that they had a better flavor of speed. He started

collecting and the trap was sprung. Argenta made calls

to the authorities putting Yogi's name out that he was

the Michoacán cartel's drug and gun runner and that

he is armed and dangerous and promises to shoot it out

with the police. When Argenta found out where Yogi

was collecting, he dropped the final dime. The police

gunned Yogi down in a fusillade of bullets that left him

dead on the concrete. That's how Tiny maneuvered into

position to take over the account."

Bob thought about it and remembered that police

shooting had been on the news a few months back. It

was eerie to see the pieces fit together. It was even more

eerie after hearing what B.J. had to say earlier! Bob

imagined the diabolical plan Tony had just finished

explaining and imagined Argenta on the ground in

Alabama nibbling up the left behind pieces for this El

Diablo. Bob asked, "Does Salina know her step father is

back in business?"

Tony said, "No. She only sees him on birthdays

and Christmas. Ricky said that Argenta knows Salina's

catholic and says Argenta wears a cross on his neck like

he's Catholic too! I've been deciding if I should move to

New York, or if I should stay and take out Argenta."

Bob thought, this is the first I've heard of Tony

going to New York. I wonder if Ricky wants him out of

the area for a while so he can import him back at a later

time to take Argenta out of the picture. Bob realized

that was probably the case. Tony had priors for taking

out evil trash in the past."

Bob thought about everything he'd heard and asked

under his breath already knowing the answer, "Why is

Ricky taking on this bad business?"

Bob watched Tony grit his teeth and respond, "You

know Ricky. He thinks he can problem solve and handle

any situation. He's keeping himself once removed from

Tiny from here on out by having Ernie do all of the

business with him."

Tony didn't say anything for over five minutes and

Bob watched him gather his thoughts. "Bob, the last

thing I have to say is I'm washing my hands of this

business and moving to New York. I can't whack out

Argenta because of Salina, her daughter and the rest of

her family. You should wash your hands of this mess

also. I'm picturing you staying here to watch Ricky's

back and I can see him using you like his tool. You

deserve better than that. Think about it and do me a

favor and keep this under your hat until Ricky exposes

enough of this business himself."

ChapteR 61

Paul pulled up to his apartment and I remembered

to warn him about what I'd said to Gina before finding

he and Bob in the Harbor. I laid down on the couch

exhausted and watched Paul disappear in his room with

Gina. I laid there and imagined what he was telling her

for hours. Going over the events of the evening, and

what I had said on Paul's boat seemed to blur together.

I looked at it in as much detail and with as much Truth

as I was willing to face. Laying there with my eyes

closed and my mind running, it felt like I could see

the battle raging inside me. I saw a powerful force in

my mind's eye holding all of my hurts and resentments

over me in a dark cloud. Then the dark cloud seemed to

envelop me until all I was in was darkness. I huddled

into a ball on the couch and tried to find the Truth. I

saw the details of the night before and faced how back

biting and unpredictable every deal in the speed world

was going to be. I could see the impossibility of my

legal empire getting built with selling speed as its

foundation. Facing this Truth didn't help at all. Now

where was the hope going to come from? It felt like I

was at the bottom of an impossibly deep dark hole and

still somehow I was sliding deeper and deeper. I couldn't

stop the descent no matter how hard I squeezed against

it and fought for traction. In fact, the harder I tried the

more I slid. I tried to garner strength from the same

sources to fight with, but the unimaginable emotional

pain I had stored up wasn't producing anything to

fight with. All there was in that well was a tortured

loneliness... Paul woke me up and my jaw hurt from

gnashing my teeth together all night.

I sat at Paul and Gina's dinner table drinking coffee

and trying to shake the remnants of the nightmare out

of my mind. It felt like a dark depression still hung

around me like a cloak. I looked at Paul and Gina. They

both looked upbeat and positive. Gina stood there

making eggs and bacon and Paul was looking at me

like he was impressed. He said, "I still can't believe you

pulled that shit off last night!"

I looked at Gina to see how she felt and she had

an impressed look also. It looked like she wanted me

to describe what happened. She said, "It's hard to

believe."

I looked at Gina and wondered, is she challenging

what Paul told her happened? Is she challenging me?

I felt the anger seeping in at possibly being considered

fraudulent. The anger seemed to push the dark cloud

off of me a bit.

Paul patted me on the shoulder and told me, "You

climbed the ladder big time last night. I can picture

everything you've been saying about Bob cooking our

dope for us happening now... Before I couldn't see it,

but now I can. You're making it happen, partner. Gina

and I talked about it and we came up with a place for

Bob to cook our batches. My boat! We could take it out

to sea far enough that we don't have to worry about the

Harbor Patrol."

For the next week Paul rallied the empire dream

he was now incorporating into his dream also. I on

the other hand saw the Truth in my nightmare. The

speed we'd gotten from Bob was losing weight and

it was a pain in the ass to sell. Almost everyone who

bought it complained. One person said it made his

whole face break out and he couldn't stop picking at it.

Others complained that it made their brain lock up to

the point they couldn't think clearly enough to go to

work. I realized that in the speed business it's almost

impossible to return bad product for a refund. We had

to pass it on to customers. Depressing. I looked in my

resource bag and pulled out some good marijuana. It

was time to focus on it as a trade again. I remembered

how much less complicated it was and decided to focus

my attention on it a little differently than I used to.

I examined how I used to work the trade. Before I

stocked as much of a good grade of pot as possible and

let the product reach the customers through the process

of word of mouth. There had to be a better and faster

way. What if I looked at my little area as a territory?

That thought brought some inspirational mileage

with it. Should I claim this little 15 mile stretch of

coastline? I answered myself, I might as well, it's where

I roam. The boldness of this new theory brought back

my passion and beat that dark cloud of depression off

of me with a challenge. I could see clearly now with

another horizon of potential to focus on. Determined

and focused I began roaming and the thought grew and

gained Momentum.

Instead of offering pot for sale, why not look for who

sold it in my territory? I did some homework and found

three dealers in my territory who were doing pretty good

for themselves. They didn't hold down regular jobs and

they seemed to be prospering more than I was. They had

their own house or apartment, their own bedroom and

even their own bed to sleep in. I was sleeping on Paul's

couch. I tried to find ways I could justify getting pissed

off about the way they did business. I pulled out my ice

pick and chiseled through my mind and came up with

a big one. They weren't putting in any work around

town. They weren't enforcing any rules and regulations

for the rest of the underground business to respect and

live by. I magnified on that thought and blamed them

for being okay with Bob Prescott ratting off Damon,

my brother and I, and raping that poor girl. It was time

to introduce myself to the first one of them.

ChapteR 62

I weaseled my way in Bagel's front door through

a client of his who also bought speed from me. Bagel

looked like your typical beach kid stoner. He had

brown hair and eyes, was husky, completely non

violent looking and dressed in Volcom and Lost surfer

apparel. Meeting him for the first time, I introduced

myself. I found myself at a loss for words on how

I was going to explain he was taking up space in

my territory and it was time for him to go with my

program.

Bagel looked sketched on me and tried to hand me

a bong hit of his pot. It looked better than the sample

I had in my pocket for him to inspect. I passed on

smoking his offering. It wouldn't help me articulate

my message. I told him my story and gained some

Momentum and words. When I got to the part about it

being my territory he looked impressed.

During my homework on Bagel I found out he

hustled his pot around town on a Vespa motorbike with

a backpack full of pot. Looking at him now and how

non violent he looked; I couldn't see my conscience

allowing me to just seize his product if he refused

to work for me. I started painting a picture of how I

wanted him to move my product for me and what I

expected out of him. I told him he could still sell other

product so he wouldn't have to lie to me. I focused on

him never lying to me. I left with a good feeling, one

down, and two to go.

ChapteR 63

The second pot dealer I infiltrated went by Yerga.

He supposedly moved as much pot as Bagel and I

entered his residence with a mutual customer. Yerga

looked Slavic and I assumed he was Russian. He had

blond hair, blue eyes, was as tall as me at six feet but

not very strong looking. He did have a violent looking

demeanor though. It wasn't that he looked physically

violent in his stature, it was more in his eyes. Like he

was constantly scrutinizing those around him to see

what he could get away with. My homework on Yerga

had come back with, unlike Bagel, he was very careful

and private with his product.

I went into my story and articulated my message

about the territory he was in and how it was mine.

Unlike Bagel, Yerga didn't seem impressed. That was

okay with me because the looks of Yerga were getting

under my skin. He looked at me like he was irritated

with my presence and what I'd said. I had to assume he

thought this was his territory I was intruding on. He

dropped a couple of names on me and said they were his

partners. He asked if I'd heard of them.

While I thought about it, he got on the phone and

I heard him ask the other end of the phone, "Where are

you?" Then, "Come over now!"

I knew I had something to contend with on the

way so I explained things. "Yeah, I know Jimbo. He's

doing 10 years in prison for handling some business in

San Clemente. He'd tip his hat to me if he knew I was

enforcing some rules and regulations to keep business

operating at an honorable level. The rules are that

anyone beating up or taking advantage of women and

children get violated. There is to be no associating with

those kinds of people, or people who rat, or people who

lie and backstab each other. That kind of shit brings

the whole community down to their level. I'm setting

up these rules for all in the business to live by so that

those who maintain this order of honor have something

coming. Those that don't can't partake in the business

anymore."

Right on cue the person Yerga had spoken to on the

phone arrived. He opened the front door and stood there

staring at Yerga and I in the bedroom just to the left.

I had heard of his guy Huddy through the grapevine.

He was well known in the speed scene as a daredevil

attention whore. Stories of him ranged all over the place.

He was known for doing back flips off 15 foot high life

guard stands at our favorite beach. There was another

story circulating of him hopping out a third story hotel

while the police rushed the front door. In that story he

escaped with a badly sprained ankle and still ran across

the freeway to get away. There was another story of him

fighting five gang members and holding his own until

fleeing was the only option. I couldn't take him lightly

and studied him standing at the door studying me. He

had wild and wavy brown hair over piercing blue eyes

with a sharply chiseled face. He didn't have a shirt on

and looked like an acrobat without an ounce of fat, and

every upper body muscle accounted for. I thought about

the other stories Huddy had pushing his reputation

around town. He was known for staying at your house,

eating your food, borrowing your clothes and money,

sleeping with your girlfriend and later breaking back

into your house and stealing something else he had his

eye on, like your safe.

I walked over to him standing at the front door

charged with adrenaline, yet containing it. I reached

out with my left hand to shake his and exploded my

entire body into my right hand that drove through his

chin at a slightly downward angle. It buckled his knees

and he managed to hold himself there two feet shorter

than he was before with his arms flailing for support.

His right hand found the door knob. The punch I'd

thrown carried my Momentum too far and by the time

I gathered myself to fire off another the door closed on

my second punch. Instead of hitting his face, I hit the

door jamb and heard it twang on the hinges. Huddy's

fight or flight instincts kicked in and I chased him

outside. As I ran after him my hand throbbed so bad

that I stopped and looked at it. The fourth metacarpal

from my knuckle to wrist was fractured and sticking

out the back of my hand. I walked back to Yerga's front

door and it was locked. He was standing on the other

side looking through the peephole and told me to flee

before the police showed up. Paul's apartment was only

a couple streets away so I went there.

ChapteR 64

At Paul's, I felt my energy ebbing away and that

dark damp depression moving in like a fog. I pulled out

my speed to help me determine exactly where I was in

my new program and came up with the idea that Paul

and I should consider performing the surgery needed. I

was kidding but Paul wasn't laughing and we were on

our way to the emergency room.

The good doctor told me I needed a brace to hold the

fractured metacarpal together and then he blessed me

with a morphine drip. I slept through the surgery with

the benefit of the morphine drip and other drugs but

could swear I felt the speed underneath it all holding

on to the levers in my brain. As I slept, I studied the

terrain of the road I was traveling. I imagined my visit

with Bagel and then saw a field of dirt with some seeds

scattered on it. I imagined the people he must have

called and talked to about everything I'd discussed with

him. Then I saw Yerga's residence turn into another

field with seeds in it. I saw him on the phone passing

the word through the grapevine and realized his words

were feeding those seeds. I tried as hard as I could to

imagine what he was saying on the phone. Was he

mentioning my rules and regulations properly? Was he

painting a good picture of me or a bad one? The harder

I tried to focus on what he was saying, the darker my

dream got until I was enveloped in ink. It felt like I was

stuck there trying to get out for hours. Finally a beam

of light started to break apart the darkness and I could

see that I was in the middle of a field getting strangled

by vines wrapping around my entire body and neck.

The doctor woke me up. "How's the pain, do you

need any more morphine?"

I looked at my bandaged hand and realized the

surgery was complete. I told the doctor, "No thanks

sir."

As soon as the doctor left the room, I pulled the

I.V. out of my arm and left the hospital. Paul picked

me up and I got as wired as possible and analyzed the

dream and what my subconscious was trying to tell me.

I focused on the wrong thing. I had to find a way to

control what the integral components in my territory

said about me. That way I could control those vines for

my purposes, rather than let them strangle me.

I studied the third pot dealer that I hadn't yet

introduced myself to in my territory. I found out that

he was the biggest provider of the three. I gathered a

lot of information but couldn't penetrate his real name.

He went by 420. I found out that was his little joke

because 420 represents smoking pot. I looked it up and

found out there are 420 known chemicals in marijuana.

I also saw that police referred to marijuana as 420 in

code. Everyone I spoke to about 420 had something

bad to say about him. Things like, "He burns everyone

by selling his bags a little light." Or, "He charges too

much because he has the best product and can."

I studied 420 and his residence. He lived in a gated

community on the beach. That just made the mission

more of a challenge and upped the ante. I also had to

assume 420 had been forewarned of my presence in the

territory. While studying 420's residence I realized he

had some pot plants in his backyard. I decided I didn't

want them, they weren't even mature yet, I wanted

420's loyalty and honor. To get that, I decided I needed

a little shock value. I thought about how I hadn't used a

lot of shock value with Bagel, but who knew what Bagel

had been saying since then? I assumed I needed more

of this shock value with Yerga to cultivate and control

what he might be saying about me. I was coming to the

realization that if I wanted to hold down my territory

properly, I'd have to operate like such a pro that my

presence would leave my components completely loyal.

So loyal, that they would be very careful what they said

about me to others. I'd have to do jobs like a surgeon.

I'd have to do them solo. That would be the only way to

contain things. I'd have to show 420 how easy he is for

me to isolate and zero in on... Maybe then I could control

his pot hustle and keep his mouth on my side...

With this in mind I found a window of opportunity

and put on a ski mask and hopped 420's fence. He was

already in it watering his pot garden. He looked up at

me running towards him and froze. Spracked out on my

adrenaline rush, I tackled him.

I told him, "You're not going to get hurt. This is

just how I do things."

420 wasn't that big. He had wavy brown hair, blue

eyes and had a small surfer build. All of the bad things

I'd heard about him weren't making me feel any better

about the headlock I had him in. I looked into his scared

eyes and the first question he asked me was, "What did

I do wrong?"

420 didn't at all look like a violent person and the

way he asked, "What did I do wrong?", had me feeling

like I was the bad guy.

I answered from the heart, "You didn't do anything

that wrong... but a lot of people are running their

mouths."

"What are they saying?"

"They're saying that you weigh your bags up light,

and you charge too much and rip them off... A little."

Even to my own ears it sounded like a weak excuse to

have him in the position I had him. I thought, maybe

I'm not cut out for this kind of work. My conscience

might be a problem.

Little 420 looked up at me and said, "You know

how it is... Those people are just jealous because I have

the best pot and am making the most money."

That amount of Truth was shocking me... I admitted

he was probably right, but with people talking like that

it was inevitable that he'd have problems. I knew he

lived alone and that nobody was in his house from my

recon. I asked him about it and he told me the truth,

that there wasn't.

We went inside his house. He looked at my

bandaged hand and asked, "Is that what happened

when you fought Huddy at Yerga's house?"

So word had reached him. He knew I went by

B.J. and that I was claiming the territory. At a loss for

words I asked him what he'd heard about my rules and

regulations.

To my astonishment he replied, "What rules and

regulations?"

He seemed impressed by the idea of rules and

regulations. I wondered how Bagel and Yerga had failed

to mention them. I explained that they were in place

and being mandated to integrate honor like a line in

the sand that couldn't be crossed. By now I was running

them down in even further detail. Besides protecting

women and children from predators, I included there

wasn't to be any selling drugs to kids in school, or to

any girl who's pregnant. I explained to 420 that we

have to keep informants and shit talkers from polluting

our territory!

420 asked, "Do you think you can stop it?"

"Only if enough of us come together... I'm going to

sift through the territory to find out who the real riders

are and send the fraudulent ones packing."

420 looked impressed but I could see him on the

fence. I could see he was wondering the same thing I

was, if it was possible. He asked what looked like the

deciding question. "How many of you are there? Do

you have a crew to watch your back and help you?"

I thought about how to answer him. If I told him

I was flying solo, I'd look way too vulnerable. On the

other hand if I told him I had a crew, he'd pass that

information along and the authorities would end up

hearing. I responded cryptically. "Think about how

many people have gone to prison over an informant.

Imagine how much money they lost and how pissed

they must be that the informant is still doing business

and sleeping with their girlfriend while they are sitting

behind bars doing time. How do you think they're

going to feel when they get out?"

420 nodded his head like it all fit into place. "So

with your rules and regulations, and all of those angry

enforcers... Things are going to change around here

aren't they."

I nodded my head and kept any more questions

from coming my way by asking the rest of them for

a while. I found out that Bagel had spoken highly of

me and seemed to want to go with the new program.

Yerga had spoken highly of my fight with Huddy, but

was questioning if I should be the one in charge of the

territory.

420 showed me his loyalty by donating some of his

pot my way.

Happy with the progress I was making, I told 420,

"I'm going to make you my most integral component.

I'll watch your back and you watch mine. We have to

keep our ears to the ground and listen to what people

in the scene are saying. We have to control what's said

about us or things will get chaotic."

After leaving 420's residence I went back to Paul's

to study the field I was determined to tend. I broke up

what 420 had donated into two equal parts, one for

Bagel and one for Yerga. I visited them and dropped

their package off and told them what they owed for

it. The price was steep so I left them with it on the

strength I'd get the money later. I knew 420 had

articulated the first message to them properly by the

way they asked about the rules and regulations. Finally

they were getting it. Things were starting to look

possible to establish the empire with Paul that started

with the mechanic shop. Then, I got a phone call from

my brother. He was finally getting released.

ChapteR 65

My brother Bo got released from juvenile hall after

his year and a half sentence ran out. I found out from

him that on the ride home with our Dad he'd told him

that he wanted to see two people, me and our mother.

My brother explained how my Dad made him feel like

having him in the car was the proof he'd always talked

about of us turning out bad. My Dad had responded to

my brother, "I don't know where your mother is and

I don't think it's a good idea for you to see her. As far

as your brother is concerned, you're not to have any

contact with him either. He is wanted by the law and

better turn himself in before he gets into even more

trouble."

Bo called me on the phone and we made arrangements

for me to come over to my Dad's house while he wasn't

there to reunite. I came over the following day and found

out that my brother had done a lot of soul searching

while he was locked up. He seemed to have grown up.

He told me that he realized while locked up that ,while

we were slinging pot to survive, it had narrowed our

focus into tunnel vision. We had turned that pursuit

into our god. He said he'd kicked himself in the ass

that we hadn't found our Mom since we weren't living

under our dictator father's roof anymore. He asked me

what had been stopping us. I didn't have an answer.

I filled him in on what I'd been doing since he'd

been gone. I left nothing out and included the spracked

out speed business I was involved in along with the

visions I had of building a legal empire. As I explained,

I realized that I hadn't left him any room to be right

next to me, or any desire to be. Instead of him needing

me, I was the one who needed him now. I felt all of

this and him pulling away from me and looking at me

differently. I saw myself losing respect in his eyes.

He did pull away from me and explained that he

was going to find our Mom through our grandfather.

He asked, "Why didn't you?"

I tried to tell him that, like he'd just said, our

struggle with surviving got all of the attention and

narrowed our vision. I kept on explaining how hard it

had been with nowhere to live. "I was on the streets, I

didn't' see any other options. I had to survive. You were

gone and I didn't know what to do."

My brother just looked at me with scalding

judgment. He wasn't giving me a break. He told me,

"You don't look like your real self anymore. I can see

you're still in there, but you look possessed. Get off

that speed!"

Right then we heard our Dad's car pulling up and the

garage door opening. I was prepared enough that I had

parked my truck around the corner to hide it so I took

off running for the backyard. I was already familiar with

the escape routes from there and knew which backyard

didn't have a dog in it. I ran to my truck replaying

what my brother had said to me and got in the truck

with tears flooding down my face. I gritted my teeth

against the loneliness and confusion that covered up an

unrecognizable humiliation and pulled out my speed.

I hated the hopeless feeling that brought all of the tears

down my face so I angrily chopped up a humongous

line and snorted it. I began to rationalize that I had just

been dealing with some bad circumstances the best way

I could. Why couldn't my brother understand that with

some compassion? I drove away telling myself that I

didn't have a choice. What else could I do with a bunch

of prison time hanging over my head? Just lay down

and cry about it. Or make things happen and be pedal

to the metal prosperous so I'd at least have something

built up to come to out of prison.

ChapteR 66

The following day my brother called me and I

heard so much anguish in his voice while he was crying

that I knew before he finished telling me that our Mom

was gone. He told me how he reached our grandfather,

Pistol Pete on the phone and found out it had just

happened a couple of days ago. Pete was about to call

our Dad to report that his daughter Mary, our mother,

had been shot dead in San Jose California while feeding

the homeless at a soup kitchen!

I drove to my Dad's house still on the phone with

my brother. He met me around the corner and we

held each other for over an hour crying on each other's

shoulders. I swallowed all of the guilt that it was all my

fault for not getting hold of her earlier like my brother

had said... Things would have been different. Our Mom

wouldn't have been at the soup kitchen, she would have

been here with us! My brother felt my anguish and told

me it wasn't my fault, it was whoever shot her that was

at fault. I told my brother to see if I could go to the

funeral with him. He told me that our Dad had said

that as soon as he sees me he planned to call the police

to arrest me so that didn't seem like a possibility. My

brother gave me our grandfather's number and I drove

away fueled by anger that my Dad could be so cruel.

It helped mask the atrocious pain of losing our mother

so I intensified the anger.

I called my grandfather and found out the funeral

was going to be where our Mom grew up, in New

Orleans Louisiana. I explained what my brother told me

about my Dad calling the cops on me if he saw me and

told him I didn't care, I had to be at the funeral. He told

me not to worry about it, that he'd handle everything. I

was to expect a plane ticket ready for me to board at the

airport in a few days when he had everything figured

out. I told him how I felt about it being my fault for

not getting a hold of our Mom through him earlier. He

told me, "Boy, God takes you when He's ready to take

you. It has nothing to do with you."

ChapteR 67

My grandfather picked me up at the airport and

explained everything. My Dad had turned down the

invitation to stay at our late Mom's Aunt Chetta's house

and was staying in a hotel with my brother. I guess my

Dad wasn't feeling too comfortable facing some of the

things he did.

At Aunt Chetta's house I met all of the Italian

family from Long Island, New York that I hadn't seen

since I was five years old. The entire 13 family members

were dressed in black pinstriped suits, fedora hats and

Farragamo shoes. They had a duplicate outfit for me to

wear that fit perfectly. I found out that my grandfather

had arranged for the Catholic school our Mom had gone

to as a little girl , The Divine Light, to run the service. I

asked my grandfather how I was going to avoid my Dad

seeing me. He told me "not to worry about it, boy. Your

Dad doesn't seem like he wants to socialize much while

he's here. You're going to be with the family from New

York behind some of those gumbahs and your Dad is

going to be with the immediate family from Louisiana

on the other side."

We got to the park where the funeral was being

held and I saw the layout of chairs. There were two sets

of about fifty chairs angled towards where the Priest

and those using the microphone were going to stand

at the front. I saw my Dad and brother in the middle

of our grandfather and his two other brothers with

Aunt Chetta and some younger family I'd never met.

I was about fifty feet away in the middle of the New

York throng of relatives. My brother found me wearing

my Black Fly sunglasses and we stared at each other

through our tears the whole service.

The speakers who spoke from the Divine Light

Catholic School spoke of how blessed our Mom's loved

ones were to have had an Angel in their hearts and lives.

They went on to say that she was at Home with God

looking down on all of the rest of us.

After the funeral I went back to Aunt Chetta's

house. All of the men in my grandfather Pete's family

were present. I found out that all of the women went

with my Dad and brother to another house to eat

before heading back to southern California. The men

brought out the food and fed me until it felt like I was

going to pop. I just couldn't sample another plate of

flavor. There was so much love and support that I felt

more comfortable than I could remember feeling since

childhood with my Mom. It was okay to be yourself

around them so I explained the paths I'd rode since my

Mom had left. I didn't leave anything out. I looked

around and saw all of the men nodding their heads to

encourage me and show me they understood. One of the

New Yorker's said, "The kid had no other choice on his

own at the age of 14. At that age you haven't matured

enough to make well thought decisions. You're more or

less just reacting to circumstances at that age."

All of the sudden, all of their love and concern

wasn't enough for me. I realized I was going to be on my

own again in the world and I knew what was coming.

My mind was going to tell me, why we couldn't have

called her a couple days earlier. Or why didn't I call her

a long time ago when we stopped living with our Dad.

I couldn't live with the only answers I had, so, I laid

the blame on my grandfather and the rest of the Italian

family. I asked my grandfather, "Why did you let our

Dad keep our Mom from us?"

My grandfather was suffering the loss as deeply as

I was. Tears were pouring down his face when he said,

"Your Mom told me to stay out of it. She was confused

about what would be the best thing for you kids at the

ages you were. She told me she tried to hang on for years

and years for your sakes, but just couldn't anymore.

Your Dad wasn't letting her grow. She was a beautiful

flower that had to bloom further to find herself... She

wanted it to be as smooth a transition as possible for

you kids."

We all meditated on how unsmooth I'd explained

the transition had been. One of the New Yorker's said,

"Hey Benny! There are rules about getting into a

family's business. Unless there is rape... It takes a lot to

get something sanctioned."

I understood what my grandfather was trying to say.

It wasn't anyone's fault. Nobody could have predicted

it. On a deep level, I knew I couldn't even blame my

Dad for any of it. It wasn't his fault he was brought up

the way he was, or my Mom's for the way she was. That

left me with only myself to blame and I found all kinds

of reasons. I immediately thought of my brother in a

hotel going through his emotions and I couldn't even

be there with him. I excused myself to the bathroom.

In the bathroom I looked in the mirror, and, through

the tears that had started again, saw the pain in my eyes,

the window to the soul. Mine look tortured. I hated how

vulnerable I felt so I pulled out my speed. I chopped up

a ridiculously large line and snorted it. I watched my

eyes in the mirror harden and seal off the emotions that

threatened me. I kept studying myself in the mirror

and told myself I wasn't weak. A weak person would

consider suicide. I needed to find a cause worth dying

for. I took one last look in the mirror and remembered

my brother's words. "You look possessed."

I left the bathroom deciding focused was a better

word. My relatives were trained observers and many

of them noticed the difference in me. My grandfather

pulled me back under his wing and into the fold and

asked me what my plans were. I spracked out all of my

business ideas to turn my illegal business into a legal

one.

One of the New Yorker's nodded his head and said,

"Sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do huh? With

those plans kid, just be ready to learn some hard lessons.

The rackets aren't what they used to be."

He went on to explain that since the feds got

organized and turned the five families against each

other along the east coast, it hadn't been the same since.

He summed it up that it took the feds turning into

criminals to break everything up and now everyone

runs their mouths without any honor.

I nodded my head at how smart he was and listened

some more.

"That's okay, though, because we found a home in

the stock market with a few interests in construction

and sanitation... Hey Pete, maybe we should have the

kid move to New York with us. We could put him to

work in the district at a restaurant or something."

I watched my grandfather shake his head no. He

looked like he was considering what to say carefully.

He said, "No... I don't like that idea. He's still got

a court case to deal with in California. Plus he loves his

younger brother too much to move that far away. Now,

if he took care of his court case and then decided to...

I'd be okay with it then."

I studied my grandfather's face and then my

relatives from New York. I couldn't tell if they were

in cahoots trying to dangle a carrot over me to get me

to turn myself in. I thought, good, try, but I've got to

make some money first to have something to come back

to other than poverty.

At the airport my grandfather pulled me aside in

front of the American airline terminal. "You're not

going to turn yourself in are you Benny?" It wasn't a

question, he already knew.

I shook my head once and said, "No sir."

My grandfather pulled out a silver necklace with a

silver cross and put it around my neck. Then he gave me

a ring made of Italian gold with a nice size diamond. I

put it on my finger and realized it was an old ring.

"That's to give you the same kind of love from above

I seemed to have when I was struggling. Now listen to

me carefully, boy, cause I'm telling you the Truth. Drug

business is bad business. Nothing good can come from

it. If you keep messing with that business you'll only

be digging a deeper hole for yourself. The family I was

affiliated with wouldn't allow any drugs to enter our

rackets. After all of the dust cleared they're the only

ones who made it. Do yourself a favor and put all of that

energy into a legal business. And remember, your Mom

is up there watching you."

ChapteR 68

I got back to Paul's house and it felt like I was so

lost that I didn't know which way was up or down.

I remembered always telling myself when things were

bad, that life couldn't possibly get any worse than it is

now. It seemed that it always did. I repeatedly asked

God, "Why are you putting me through all of this?

What did I do?"

Paul saw the tormented look in my eyes and I noticed

the authentic worry and concern in his. I had to snort

line after line of speed to get over the feelings. Who

wants to feel this vulnerable? Plus, I have a reputation

to keep up! The speed worked its way into the gaping

hole in my chest but it wasn't working. My emotions

were stronger.

Paul pulled out a big wad of cash and gave me my

portion. It was $500 more than I expected. For the first

time in my life I looked at the cash for what it was,

just paper. It didn't do anything for me. I saw myself

going outside and throwing it into the wind. Then I

put it away and focused on Paul. He had just given

me something I could build on., truth. I would have

expected him to give me a little less than I had coming

with some logical reasons to back up the shortage. He'd

given me $500 more and I couldn't understand how

that was even possible. What a true friend! My heart

found solace in Paul's gesture. If I stay true, and Paul

stays true, and Bob stays true...

Paul kept the Momentum going by showing me

the homework he'd done on our empire building. He

pulled out his notebook and we went over the numbers

on what it was going to cost to open a mechanic shop.

A lease for a shop the size we needed was going to cost

$4,000 a month, he estimated electricity and other

associated fees would be another $250 a month. Then

he showed me insurance would cost us up to another

$1000 a month, workers compensation would be

another $1,000 a month. He added up the rest of the

California "fuck you" fee's and came up with a grand

total of approximately $7,000 a month we'd need.

Exciting! I felt like I could fill that black hole in

my chest with some hope! I manufactured a purpose

for what my Mom had always told me. "Everything

happens for a reason. God will never give you more

than you can carry." I thought about that and saw

myself just barely able to stand. It felt like my legs

were on the verge of buckling. Was God showing me

the way? I remembered what my grandfather told me

at the airport. "Start yourself a legal business." This had

to be it! I looked up toward the heavens and imagined

my Mom looking down on me with God.

I jumped on this hopeful direction and told Paul,

"I can make that much money a month in overhead

myself! Plus, with what you can bring in there is no

stopping us! Let's do it!!"

Paul ruined my high by sticking out his hand like

a stop sign. "Hold on there, soldier."

He flipped to the next page in his notebook and we

went over the numbers. There was a list of tools we'd

need that included machinery to work on transmissions

and engines. The list added up to over $200,000! Paul

explained that he had seen those machines sell for

pennies on the dollar in the past when business owners

went out of business. He planned to keep an eye out

for those kinds of fire sales. Or, we could look into

borrowing the money and buying everything brand

new.

We went over it and my hope ran into the curb.

Which of us was going to get the credit for a couple

hundred grand put in their name? Neither of us was

that creditworthy. Credit stopped looking like an

option. I had to manufacture some hope... I saw my

rules and regulations... I saw Bob cooking speed for

us... I saw Paul finding the machines at pennies on the

dollar within six months or so...

Paul turned the pages in his notebook and showed

me his other business plan. Buying and selling used

cars. He had a list of government seized auctions

that promised a lineup of newer cars, exotic cars and

great deals on them. After all, they'd been seized by

the government, they should be pennies on the dollar,

right? We were all set to go to the first government

seized auction on the list.

ChapteR 69

As the day approached I started to have second

thoughts. Where was the future in buying a used car

and tying up that kind of money while you wait for a

buyer? It really didn't look any different than buying

our other products. But with our other products there

was an unquenchable demand for them.

We got to the auction and ran into problems

immediately. The advertisement for the auction had

said we'd have a half hour to check out 200 vehicles.

Paul and I had planned to find vehicles that were low

profile, that everyone else wouldn't want, but that we

could still turn a nice profit on. We were going to check

those vehicles out during that half an hour to write

down the mileage, look under the hood and check the

tires. The guy running the auction on the bull horn told

everyone that things were running late and that half an

hour was cut down to 2 minutes! With our pens in the

air over blank paper like all the other hungry buyers,

we got pushed out of the bullpen. We got shuffled into

our seats and accepted the placard to hold up to bid on

cars. I looked at the number 123 placard I had in my

hand and at Paul with his Kelly blue book.

The cars started to roll through in front of us. One

right after another car went by and people around us

put their placards in the air to bid.

It looked like the best of the vehicles were coming

down the line first. Clean looking Mercedes Benzes'

went by that were a few years old... Clean looking

B.M.W.'s went by...

Paul whispered, "Those are out of our price

range."

A Camaro with the 5.7 engine I'd always wanted

went by. I raised my placard. Paul urged me to lower

it. I did.

We looked at his blue book to see what the buyer

saved. Not much.

The same thing happened with a corvette. The

buyer didn't save that much money.

A Lexus went by that everyone wanted. The winner

paid what the blue book said it was worth.

I told Paul. "There are too many rich people here!

Everyone wants to leave with a vehicle and there's a

bunch of impulse buyers driving the prices too high."

A limo went by, then an Audi, then a Jeep Cherokee,

then a Porsche, then a Cadillac. I looked to Paul for

guidance. He shook his head no.

As half of the cars went by, the cheaper ones started

showing. Honda Accords rolled through and on by.

Acura Integra's, Mitsubishi's, and some trucks started

to appear. I felt the impulsiveness of the situation wrap

around me. My mind started telling me that this legal

avenue isn't happening. Then I looked at the mechanic

shop and was depressed that it was just out of reach

also. I've got to buy a car and get us started!

A Mustang went by and I found myself wanting it.

I raised my placard. Paul lowered it.

After the Mustang, a tiny looking blue car with

three antennas on it rolled through. Paul urged, "This

is the one! Nobody will want it, raise the placard!"

I looked at him like he was crazy. This had to be a

joke. A little Ford Festiva.

Paul was serious, "Nobody will want to bid on it!

We'll get it for pennies on the dollar!"

I asked Paul, "What's up with those three

antennas?"

Paul found it in the blue book and showed me. A

two year old 1993 Ford Festiva went from $6,900 to

$8,200.

I raised my placard. The only placard against me

was a Vietnamese looking guy. The epic battle was

beginning. West against East.

The auctioneer on the bullhorn asked, "Do I have

$1,100?"

I shot my 123 placard in the air assertively!

The Vietnamese guy didn't hesitate at $1,200 and

his number 8 placard lifted. I studied my adversary. He

looked like a veteran of the Vietnam war. His eyes slit

even further under his glasses like he was bunkering

down.

A plan quickly formulated in my mind. He was

studying me as much as I was studying him. I'd have

to give him the impression I was reckless and careless

with my money.

The auctioneer on the bull horn asked, "I have

$1,200, I have $1,200... Do I have $1,300?"

I rose my 123 placard and announced, "$1,500!!"

Swearing to myself I'd go no higher.

That Vietnamese war veteran looked like a gangster

dude. He was looking right at me with impossibly

focused but nearly closed eyes. I got the feeling he had

the same theory as Paul had. This is the car that nobody

else will want. I have to get it! He raised his number 8

placard at "$1,600."

The thing I had at the top of my neck was no longer

a brain, it was just an impulse message sender. I shot

my 123 placard in the air and announced, "$1,900!!"

The Vietnamese veteran gangster dude's eyes popped

open as much as western eyes and I read his mind as he

put his placard down against his chair. "These dumb

white people are driving the prices up too high for any

bargains to be had!"

I nodded his way and thought, I resemble that

sentiment. I looked at the little blue Ford Festiva with

the three conspicuous antennas and wondered. We are

at a government seized auction... Was that car a drug

runner? I asked Paul if he thought it was but he was

busy factoring in the profit if we sold it for $4,900.

With the auction over, we went to take care of the

$1,900 to get our Ford Festiva. Standing in line we

learned that you had to put down some money for your

vehicle and come back for it on Monday.

We also overheard angry buyers finding out that

there were a number of unexpected associated fees. Big

government was blessing everyone with a $250 fee that,

in itself, was a limited insurance policy against theft.

All of the major parts had the VIN numbers etched

into them and supposedly were impossible to remove.

The limited policy explained that if the car was stolen

and not returned to you within 30 days, thanks to these

etched in VIN numbers, you the buyer would get an

additional $2,500. The auction itself added in another

$250 fee for administrative purposes. Then another

similar one for $150. Then another one for $100.!

Paul and I stood facing the receptionist and she

pointed out a spot on the third page of fine print where

it informed the buyer of these fees. I told her, "What

a scam you guys run! The government seizes the cars

for free and then you give us this fine print right when

we get ushered into the bull pen to look at 200 cars

for 2 minutes, then get ushered back to bid on the cars

immediately! There wasn't any time to read this fine

print!"

The receptionist replied, "I take it this is your first

time to one of these auctions. That's pretty much how

it works, I'm sorry."

Then she pointed to the bottom of the third page

of fine print. It said we could excuse ourselves from the

purchase for a $250 penalty.

Paul and I conferred over it. He pointed to the blue

book. $6,900 to $8,200. I wasn't going to peel off $250

for a penalty to drive away with an empty dream. The

receptionist added in the taxes and licenses on top of

the other "fuck you" fees for a total of $2,990. I thought

of the Vietnamese guy, I might of won the battle but

it looked like he was winning the war. I put down a

payment and we left.

ChapteR 70

Over the rest of the weekend Paul and I went over

things. We were going to list the Ford Festiva in a

number of free advertisements and one that you paid a

onetime fee for. He helped me see this first acquisition

as a learning experience. Next time we could go to a

government seized auction in a more remote area where

there wasn't so many rich people, like Temecula, or

Chula Vista. Paul also suggested we check out auctions

that tow yards offered. That made sense.

On Monday we showed up to get the Ford Festiva.

I paid the rest of the money and waited for the car. We

waited and waited and watched everything close down

around us. Finally a Mexican brought the Festiva out of

the gate and handed me the keys and some paperwork.

I watched him get in another car parked along the

street and drive away. I opened the Festiva's door and

got in. The first thing I looked for was the mileage on

the odometer. 187,000 miles!!

"Paul!! Look at this shit!! It's got 187,000 miles

on it!!"

I got out and Paul got in. He couldn't even look

at me and said, "How in the hell can you put 187,000

miles on a car that's only two years old?"

I saw that vision of the little blue Ford Festiva

driving from Mexico with drugs through the U.S. in a

nonstop circle 24-7. "It was a big time drug dealer's car.

That's why it's got three antennas on it. That's why it's

at a government seized auction. We're fucked."

Paul looked uncomfortable. He shook his head and

said, "I'm sorry..."

I lowered my head and said, "It's not your fault. It's

the government's and auction's fault. You couldn't have

known."

"I should have listened to you when you wondered

about all of those antennas."

I let him off the hook. "It's not your fault. Let's get

out of here."

Paul got in his Mustang and drove away. I started

the Festiva and had trouble getting it into first gear.

Paul's Mustang was turning the corner and out of view.

I jammed the stick shift towards first gear and was

met with grinding resistance. I played with the clutch

and it didn't feel right. I pushed the clutch in and out

and finally got it into first gear. I drove a little way and

couldn't get it into second gear. The Ford Festiva was

giving me 15 miles an hour at 5,000 r.p.m.'s, but not

second gear. Grind, grind, and grind, sorry, no second

gear.

I made it around the first turn at almost 20 miles an

hour with the r.p.m.'s close to red lining. I tried second

gear again and felt the transmission fall out. The little

blue Festiva bounced over it and angled right into the

curb.

I got Paul on the phone and he came back for me.

We had to tow our little blue acquisition to his house

and pull out the notebook to add another expense.

ChapteR 71

Paul proved his worth as a penny on the dollar

partner by finding a re-built transmission and clutch

in Compton, L.A. I drove there to a Vietnamese owned

shop and spent just under $800 for the parts. A couple

of weeks later Paul had little blue running like new.

I spent another $500 or so on six months of insurance

and another $250 registering it. The notebook came

out and gave me a grand total of $4,450 invested into

little blue. With the kind of mileage it had I knew I

couldn't get more than half my money back. This legal

shit sucks so far.

ChapteR 72

A few weeks later Paul and Gina went to sleep and I

realized I couldn't. I thought, Paul's not trying to keep

up with me anymore. This was the second time he was

going to sleep since I'd gotten back from the funeral.

Not me. I was still bunkering down and pushing sleep

away like a weakness. I looked at my watch and realized

I'd spent the last hour on the couch figuring out how

many days it had been since I'd slept in New Orleans.

I finally came up with 23 days. I examined those 23

days in as much detail as possible as if I was outside of

my body watching me struggle from a distance.

I saw the little blue Festiva bounce over the

transmission and grind into the curb. I saw me standing

next to it looking up at the sky and asking God, why?

Then I saw the days fast forward and could see myself

moving the whole time. I looked so restless! Every

time I saw myself walking from my truck to Paul's or

somewhere else, I realized I was almost running. Then I

would weigh up my product and count my money over

and over until it was time to make another delivery.

Then I'd run to my truck to make it! Then I saw myself

watch Paul going to sleep the first time and leave me

unable to. I saw myself getting one of the mountain

bikes I had in his garage. I saw myself pedaling against

the darkness as hard as I could for the adrenaline rush. I

couldn't believe how risky I looked flying through Dana

Point on P.C.H. under all of the street lights. I looked

like such a bust. From the view of myself looking down

it felt like I was a bird trying to keep up. I saw how fast

I was pedaling and I wanted to try and enter my body

on the bike to see what I was thinking. It worked. I

felt my eyes watering and my teeth grinding together

from the exertion. I realized I was pedaling away from

the Ford Festiva failure. I saw that failure for what it

was. A good distraction from the funeral, my Mom, the

guilt and the black hole of pain and loneliness I didn't

want to face. I felt my legs pedaling as hard as possible

studying P.C.H. for headlights like a challenge. Flying

down the hill, I was so in the Moment I could hear an

engine and see its headlights coming. The vehicle was

coming from the south end of the harbor and about

to reach P.C.H. Just in time, I veered into a Del Taco

parking lot, where the drive through was, to dip out of

view. From the back of Del Taco I watched the Sheriff

drive north on P.C.H. As soon as he was gone from view,

I pedaled through the major intersection and made it to

a lonelier section of P.C.H. Unlike the busier, more lit

up, riskier, downhill section of P.C.H. I'd just traveled;

this section of P.C.H. was dark, hidden and less risky.

Pedaling on this darker, less risky stretch of road I felt

my emotions catch up and surge into my conscious

mind. I saw myself at my Mom's funeral. I saw my

brother's and grandfather's genuine looks of sorrow. I

felt the same deep sorrow but mine was magnified by

guilt, confusion and despair. I couldn't allow myself to

look any further. I was seeking the next death defying

stunt as another distraction.

I continued my dream like a bird flying above my

pedaling body down below. I saw myself make it to

Natasha's house in San Clemente. I couldn't be a bird

anymore so I imagined what happened through her eyes.

I watched myself take my shirt off in her room. Then

I weighed my product and counted my money over

and over. I saw my back muscles straining and dancing

while I chopped up a humongous pile to ingest. I saw

myself ingest a portion and turn towards Natasha to

offer her some. I saw myself holding the mirror with the

lines on it. I wasn't even looking at her. She was right;

I must only want her body. I didn't look her in the eyes

to see how she was doing. The memory of her body was

enough for me. I just stood there wanting her to love all

of my muscles and determination. I wanted her to see

the spirit I had inside of me. Could she see how deep it

was? Could she see how much love was in there fighting

to get out and free me? I didn't look up until she took

the mirror and walked out of her room. At her door she

said, "You have to get some sleep! You're spun out and

you're taking too many risks!"

I saw myself in Natasha's room feeling rejected

and impossibly alone. I saw myself doing pushups,

crunches and pacing her room with restless energy. I

saw myself walk to one of her drawers and open it. It

had her lingerie in it. There were three pieces of mail at

the bottom. Each piece of mail was from the hospital,

a free clinic in south Laguna Beach. One piece said,

URGENT, LAB RESULTS! Natasha arrived at the door

with a plate of food in her hand.

I saw myself in her eyes, caught in her scanty

drawer, in the middle of my hinkie investigation, with

her mail in my hands. But now I was looking right at

her, seeking her eyes to see what was going on in that

pretty head of her's. Now she was the one looking down

avoiding my eyes. I saw her hand me the plate and tell

me, "You have to eat. You're getting too skinny and

reckless. Are you trying to get busted? Do you want to

go to prison?"

I saw myself set the plate down. "Don't worry

about me. What's wrong with you? I don't want to lose

anyone else."

Natasha still wouldn't look at me. She took the

letters from my hand. "Take a shower. I can smell the

speed coming out of your pores and its gross. Then

we're going to Dennis's house so you can meet him and

Tom."

I saw all of us at Dennis's residence. Natasha had told

me that Dennis was a Hell's Angel representative from

a chapter in San Diego. He'd moved to San Clemente

to be with his wife Denise. Natasha had explained

that Dennis had been moving speed for over 20 years

through biker networks in San Diego, so this was a good

connection for me. He needed me to get good product.

I saw him standing in his living room next to Tom.

He looked about 40 years old. He had a husky looking

build at about 220lbs. He had thinning brown hair

combed back, serious looking brown eyes that looked

like they'd seen a lot of action over a brown goatee

with silver in it. His look gave me the impression of a

Hawk. I looked at Tom standing next to him. He was a

little smaller. He was obviously Irish with his reddish

thinning hair and his freckly complexion. He wore clear

glasses and dressed kind of preppy. I remembered what

Natasha had told me about him. He was from Boston

and had grown up in the military. He'd gone to West

Point and was a Special Forces expert with all kinds of

accommodations. Natasha had told me that when he

moved here a year ago he started using speed and had

a hard time fitting in. Small speed dealers had been

burning him for his product and he did his own recon

to find Dennis. I watched Natasha tell both of them in

as much secret as possible how long it had been since

I'd slept at my Mom's funeral.

I saw myself react and misinterpret her whispers. I

had assumed she was telling them, "Please excuse his

presence. He's spun out of his mind... I shouldn't have

brought him here."

I watched myself take my shirt off and stick my

chest out like a rooster and march around Dennis's

living room to impress every one. I saw myself spracking

around in circles and could remember Natasha, Dennis

and Tom laughing at me. I saw myself gritting my

teeth in anger while pulling my speed out at the living

room table. I remember how I thought to myself, I

can handle ten times more shit than either of you old

fucks can. Somehow, I stopped my dream right there

and examined what I was thinking. If I could handle so

much shit, than why wasn't I facing it and dealing with

it? Why was I trying to prove how much more I could

handle? Lost in this deep thought my dream got too

dark to see anything. I focused as hard as I could to get

the dream back and it worked. But this time I didn't

seem to have the same control of my dream. I saw myself

from behind. I was leaning over the table snorting my

humongous issue and I could see something was around

my neck. It was an iron clad chain choking me. It jerked

against my neck like a dog collar. I tried to see where it

was pulling me from and couldn't. I could follow it to

Dennis's carpet but there it went invisible. I looked up

to my neck and saw the chain still pulling against my

neck somehow. I saw Dennis and Tom snort their lines

and felt myself leaning against the pressure of that chain.

I looked at Natasha's face and saw her watching me. She

looked shocked by something. Could she see the chain

around my neck? I went to her eyes. She couldn't. From

her eyes I saw myself leaning forward and swallowing

all of my discontent. Then I watched myself grab a

deck of cards on the table. I shuffled through them and

sleeved the one I wanted in the palm of my hand. I

had Dennis and Tom's attention and they watched me

march around the living room. I saw myself straining

against the invisible chain and bark orders like a field

general. I watched myself tell Dennis and Tom, ' This

is my territory you both live in and I'm running it with

an iron fist. To run a program there has to be rules and

regulations implemented. Mine start with the welfare

of our women and children. There is to be no selling

drugs to women who are pregnant. There is to be no

selling drugs to women who have children lest they

start neglecting them. There is to be no selling drugs

to kids in school. There is to be no doing business with

informants who don't do their own time for their crime.

Those kinds of people are also the ones preying on the

weak. Anyone who is willing to regulate these violators

will be honored and climb the ranks!' I watched myself

sling the card I had palmed against the table next to

the speed. It stuck to the glass like it was glued there.

I watched Dennis, Tom and Natasha look at the ace of

spades on the table.

My dream got darker. I fought against the depth of

my sleep, wanting to get back into my subconscious to

see what else happened. I wanted to see myself doing

the recon on Tom's residence and then what we'd talked

about inside. I couldn't get there. Instead, I felt that

chain around my neck again. I felt myself walking up

a hill, straining against my leash. The hill kept getting

steeper and steeper. I felt myself leaning against my

leash as hard as I could, pumping my legs faster and

faster, and starting to run. I saw the road in front of

me was starting to turn and I assumed that once I

made it through the turn I'd be at the top of the hill.

Determined, I pushed harder. Then I heard Natasha's

voice behind me, "You better hurry and get us there!

I've only got a little more time left with you!" My leash

was pulling against my neck so hard that I couldn't

turn around to look at her or the steep descent I was

climbing would have us both tumbling down the hill,

so I continued to strain against my leash. At least I was

entering the turn now. I began to hear a "Click, click...

Click, click... Click, click..." I realized Natasha must

be on a skateboard holding on to my leash. I pushed

harder and ran faster through the rest of the turn. I

had to get to the top of the hill so I could look back

at Natasha and ask her what she meant. Ask her what

was happening to us. A little further, a little further.

I struggled through the last of the turn and saw the

road in front of me... I still had another steep hill to

climb. It only looked another 50 yards, but it was a

little steeper. I desperately struggled against my leash

as hard as I could. I realized it was turning toward the

top of it like the last one. Pushing harder, pumping

my legs and grinding my teeth against the exertion I

strained onward against my leash. I struggled through

the turn and saw... Another steep hill, identical to the

last one. I didn't want to be in my dream anymore.

Maybe I could take on the form of a bird and see myself

from above to see how many more hills I had left. It

worked. I saw myself straining against the leash, but

Natasha was gone. I couldn't see anyone pulling my

leash I struggled against. Who was pulling it? I pulled

away from my struggling body far enough to see the hill

I was climbing until I couldn't see myself struggling

against my leash anymore. I still couldn't see the top of

the hill. There was one turn after another, after another,

after another with no end in sight...

Then....I saw my grandfather's face at the airport

and heard him tell me, "Nothing good can come out of

this drug business."

ChapteR 73

"Benny! Wake up! B.J.! Wake up!"

I tried to open my eyes and couldn't. They were

stuck. I felt so much dried sleep holding my eye lids

together it felt like they were glued shut. I worked on

prying them open until I saw Paul standing over the

couch I was on. I felt so dazed and exhausted, I couldn't

do anything. I couldn't think. I just laid there and

looked at Paul.

"B.J. You've been asleep for 36 hours! I thought I

should wake you up so you could eat something and

drink some water. Gina made breakfast and there's

some coffee."

I studied Paul and tried to make sense of what he

was telling me. They were just words. I couldn't make

sense of them in the cocoon it felt like I was in. I looked

at my watch. It was 2 p.m. I struggled through my

mind to remember I laid down at about 2 a.m.. Was he

telling me that I was asleep for 36 hours? That meant

I must have slept through another whole day... I felt

that desperate energy coming back to me and ask me,

where did you leave things? What do you have to face?

I saw the Ford Festiva. I looked back further and saw

my grandfather's face! Then my brother's! It was all

coming back to me but I was too exhausted to run from

it. I scrubbed at my eyes to tear the dried up sleep away

from my eye lids and welcomed the pain. I asked Paul,

"What day is it?"

My brain was starting to let me process things faster.

Paul looked wired. I felt a little jealous. I watched him

tell me, "It's Friday the thirteenth. I slept until 5 in

the evening yesterday. I was haggard and felt like hell.

I think our tolerance is finally built up to that last shit

we got from Bob. I'm almost out of that, anyway. We

need to get some more from him. I got a little bit last

night from a local dealer who sells glass. It's expensive.

It's about as good as Bob's but it's different and works

well. It's cleaner. I mixed some of it up with what I had

left from Bob's and it's got me going so hard I want to

fix Gina's car and give it a tune up. I'm going to need

you to get a hold of Bob to get us some more shit. He's

not answering his phone."

I picked through what Paul had just said and liked

hearing I was needed. That felt good to hear from my

cocoon. Then I realized if I got up I could try some of

his new shit. It had Paul talking faster than I could

make instant sense of. That was enough to get me off

the couch. I went straight to his mirror of new shit for

breakfast. I ingested a humongous amount of the new

glass, and then another of the mixed with Bob's stuff.

I got in the shower wired for sound. All of that

restless energy was back and I washed myself so fast I

started laughing. I laughed about the Ford Festiva and

remembered how my brain had turned into an impulse

message sender and saw my arm sticking my 123 placard

in the air. I told myself, I'm not spectacular anymore.

I'm spracktacular! Once I was done laughing at myself, I

tried facing myself. I thought, I should call my brother!

Then I almost started crying and told myself, I can't,

I'm too tweaked out. I got out of the shower and knew I

was going to run from everything. I thought, I might as

well visit Tom and Dennis, my two new distractions.

ChapteR 74

I got to Tom's apartment in Dana Point and parked

my truck down the street. Walking there, I remembered

fragments of my dream. The part I was trying to get to

and couldn't, my recon. The apartment he lived in was

an older brown duplex. Both units were up a wooden

flight of stairs. One was facing the other at a right angle.

The first floor had two garages only. The driveway always

had vehicles parked in it and I used them as shelter to

get into the open back yard. From there I could see

Tom's bedroom window. It was partially open to let

in the fresh air like last time. I remembered how I had

looked to see if any of the neighbors had a view of his

bedroom window. None did. Like last time, I listened

and tried to hear Tom. I couldn't. I lit a cigarette and

thought about him. He was a daredevil. He'd shown me

his Special Forces credentials. He was ranked at 99.3%

in his field as a sniper, right behind the instructor who

was a retired general. He could hit something accurately

from 1,000 yards. He also had an accommodation for

parachuting out of a plane from an insane high altitude.

I thought about how real Tom seemed. I could see why

he was having a hard time fitting into our beautiful, but

extremely trendy, plastic area. I thought, hanging around

him would be a challenge to see how I measured up.

I went upstairs and Tom answered the door. He

looked pretty normal behind those glasses he wore until

you studied his eyes. It looked like he'd been squinting

them for too long and they were a little red. He greeted

me with a big smile and studied me for a second. "You

finally went to sleep?"

I nodded my head and followed him inside. I

followed him past his roommate's room straight to his

bedroom. He had told me he was keeping his speed

habit a secret from him.

His master bedroom was pretty spacious. I looked at

his walk-in closet and had an idea about it. Tom walked

to his bed and reached down it along the wall and pulled

out a humongous glass pipe. At first I thought it was

a marijuana bong. It looked like a three foot bong but

the end of the glass had been stretched into a circular

bowl the size of a basketball. I remembered Tom had

said he couldn't snort speed because the membranes in

his nose had an allergic reaction to it. I on the other

hand didn't like smoking it. It slowed me down and I

couldn't stay as focused.

Tom held it up like he was proud. "I blew this

amazing piece of glass last night. It took me all night.

I need to buy some shit to put in it."

I thought about how I was in the process of turning

Tom into a mini dealer. My plan was to have him be

my infiltrator into what was happening on the ground.

I laughed at the idea of him being able to lord it over

the same people who used to rip him off. I broke Tom

off some for him to put in his pipe and asked, "Do you

mind if I use your walk-in closet to store my pot?"

Tom started his blow torch. It was set up at an

angle so he could use his pipe without having to hold

the torch. "Sure. I don't see why not. I won't have to

have you deliver it that way. I'll just keep notes on what

I remove from it as I move it."

I watched Tom blow a giant bowl of chemicals

and blow them out. He studied the bowl like he was

fascinated with how the liquid potion snapped back

against the glass. Then he looked at me, "B.J. do

you remember what you said about your rules and

regulations at Dennis's house?"

I nodded my head. Of course I did. I'd laid them

down so hard, they couldn't be lifted.

Tom continued, "Those are some of the most

righteous rules I can imagine in this business, but they

seem impossible to regulate."

I waited Tom out; I knew he had more to say.

Did you know that Dennis's wife has a twelve year

old kid?"

I didn't.

"His wife Denise doesn't use... Is he in violation of

those rules?"

I thought about it. I had two choices that I could

see. One, just say I was too spun out to remember what

I'd said. Or two, stand by those rules that came from

what was good in me that I had to hold on to. I looked

at Tom and answered, "If he's putting his twelve year

old in harm's way than it's a problem."

Tom went back to his pipe and blow torch for a

couple of minutes and looked at me and asked, "Do you

have any guns? Or any bullet proof vest?"

I wondered if Tom was indicating that he thought I

needed them to hold down my rules. Or maybe he was

going to offer me some from his Special Forces days.

"Tom, the people that run around with guns all the

time are the ones shooting innocent kids doing drive-bys.

Guns are over rated."

"What about when you go to San Bernardino. You

better have one for that mission."

I left Tom's house and headed to Dennis's.

ChapteR 75

I circled Dennis's residence in case there were

watchful eyes and parked around the corner. I didn't

have a plan on how to deal with Dennis. I got to his

door and told myself, just gather intelligence, and don't

react in haste.

At the door, I didn't knock. There were two people

talking inside. I listened. One was Dennis. The other

one sounded young, but not young enough to be his

son. I knocked.

Dennis answered. He was smiling like he was glad

to see me. He didn't look like he was that concerned

about being in violation of my rules and regulations.

I couldn't return his smile. My face felt stuck in a

determined mask. I looked around Dennis, through

his living room and into his kitchen. There was a kid

standing at the counter facing me. He looked about 18

to 19 years old, had brown hair and was a little rough

looking. I saw him realize he'd left something on the

counter. He grabbed it and tried to hide it below the

counter where he put it in his pocket. He looked at me

with that, I'm busted, look on his face.

Dennis turned away from me and walked inside and

told the youngster, "Miles, I've got to take care of some

business. Thanks for coming by. Give me a call."

I watched Miles pat his pockets, pull out his keys

and shake Dennis's hand on his way to the door. He

nodded his head at me for a second on the way out the

door.

I looked at Dennis and couldn't stop my mouth

from moving. "What the fuck is going on Dennis? I

hear you have a 12 year old son living with you... You

do business right out of your house, and you deal with

kids? How old was that kid that just left? Was he even

out of high school?"

I felt the spike of adrenaline surge through my

body like armor. Time seemed to slow down waiting

for Dennis to respond.

"Hey youngster! First of all, how old are you

B.J.?"

"I'm 21."

"Well check this out youngster. I'm old enough to

be your father and have seen a lot more of this world.

Especially the one you're entering, the speed world.

That kid that just left, his name is Miles, and he's a

year younger than you are. His Dad and uncle are both

in prison. Maybe you've heard of them...."

I had heard of them. They were considered made

men in prison and their reputations carried a lot of

weight.

Miles has been getting his speed from them and selling

it in a small way since 11 years old. Now that they're in

prison, he's been coming to me. Now as far as my son goes,

he lives with my wife, Denise's mother and just comes

here occasionally on the weekends. I don't let my son see

anything and hope he never gets turned on to speed. But

in this day and age, I'm sure he will. B.J. no matter how

hard you try to enforce your rules and regulations there

is no way you can stop that from happening. You have

to get something important straight. You can't control

speed. Speed can control you though. It's going to enslave

you until you're on a leash. Speed is Satan's dandruff. Look

at speed's history. It was Hitler's drug of choice. Then it

was the outlaw biker's drug of choice. Now the Mexican's

know how to make it. Do you really think you can bring

order to all of that chaos?"

I put my hands on the kitchen counter and stared

at Dennis in his Hell's angel vest. I felt powerless, then

frustrated. He had just educated me. I had to find a

challenge in what he'd said to fight against and couldn't

identify one. Then, I sensed Dennis assuming he had

the upper hand on me. I found one.

"B.J. if you want to earn your bones with me, I have

a mission for us in San Diego."

I thought, here it is. I'm being challenged. He's

running a heart check on me to see if I'm all talk. Is he

trying to gain control of my territory?

"I know a speed cook down there that has a safe

with up to $50,000 in it along with a bunch of guns.

There should be a bunch of speed there for us to seize

too."

The money, guns and speed didn't distract me from

wondering if Dennis thought he now held the upper

hand on me. "Dennis, is this speed cook an evil piece of

shit? Is he in violation of any rules and regulations?"

"No. He's actually a good dude. He's been loyal to

his crew for 20 years and runs a good program."

I studied Dennis and wondered if I'd misjudged

him that badly. The only other option was that he was

running a check on me. "Dennis you just said this guy

has honor and loyalty... I get my juice from regulating

those without any."

Dennis nodded his head, "Just checking to see where

your head's at. I'll find a job like that pretty easy... Do

you have any shit on you I can buy?"

I stared at Dennis for a few minutes quietly. Where

did he stand in regard to my rules and regulations? If

he was in violation of them, then I'm a hypocrite for

selling to him. I thought about how I needed to go to

San Bernardino to go get some more from Bob. I didn't

want to take any of what I had left except for a small

issue for my self... I decided he's not in violation and

sold him some.

ChapteR 76

Mark Argenta watched himself in the mirror

from his chair in the living room flipping over tarot

cards. In the reflection, instead of seeing an ugly bald

deteriorating old man in a wheel chair, he saw a powerful

cunning mastermind. He thought, I look so religious

and innocent with this gold cross on my neck sitting

in a wheel chair. He thought back to that day almost

ten years ago. He remembered in detail how the two

Mexicans from the Michoacán cartel stood over him

ready to kill. He remembered the fear of dying that

had brought on the stroke that sent him to his knees.

He remembered their names, Ernesto and Felipe. He

remembered feeling his body convulsing and looking

up at a gun pointed at him. He remembered hearing

the older one say, "Don't shoot him Felipe. Maybe we

shouldn't kill him. We've already killed his two top

lieutenants. He's got nothing left. Now he's having

a stroke. Maybe we should let him live in shame and

pain for the rest of his miserable life." He remembered

watching Felipe pull the gun away and ask, "But

Ernesto, he turned Maria into a heroin addict and then

a prostitute, then she killed herself to get away from

him!" Ernesto had responded, "We'll let him live in his

misery... If he gets his mind back, we can kill a member

of his family every month to keep him in hell for what

he did to Maria."

Mark Argenta saw himself for who he really was in

the mirror and thought, I shouldn't have pretended that

I couldn't walk and confined myself to this wheel chair.

Now I can hardly walk from the atrophy. I guess that's

the cost I had to pay to protect myself. He laughed at

the benefits. The sympathy, the cover and the help from

the government.

He flipped over another tarot card. The Phoenix.

He laughed to himself, they should have killed me.

Now like this Phoenix, I'm rising from the ashes even

stronger than before because I have El Diablo from

Mexico City lifting me up. He thought about the

phone conversation he had with El Diablo concerning

the Michoacán cartel. He laughed how at this very

Moment the authorities in Mexico and the U.S. were

being fed lies about their cartel. They were being

blamed for another cartel's actions near Juarez where

over a hundred women were murdered in the last year.

The authorities were being fed that the Michoacán

cartel was murdering women they had slept with in

the past to celebrate huge loads of drugs making it into

the U.S... Mark Argenta laughed, that should put the

clamps down on my enemies. He thought about what

else El Diablo had said. "My Mark Argenta... You're

to send my money for the heroin profits to me on the

wire every week. I'm expecting you to handle that for

the profit I'm allowing your from the speed. Don't

get the two confused. The heroin profits are mine, the

speed profits are yours. Remember that as easily as I can

manipulate the chess pieces against your enemies, I can

manipulate them against you if you double cross me.

I'm going to arm you with some information to keep

you a couple of moves ahead of the speed game. In the

U.S. the feds are cracking down and making it nearly

impossible to get to the chemicals used to make speed.

That is going to backfire on them and push business to

the Mexican side of the border. Over here we have easy

access to the chemicals the U.S. is making so hard to

get. You can expect that the prices for speed will climb

as it gets harder to get the product. This will give you

the best position to control the trade with every other

speed empire on the U.S. side of the border in a frenzy

to stay in business... I have another diabolical plan I'll

share with you in person that will allow you to obtain

these unattended networks thirsty for speed."

Mark Argenta flipped another tarot card over, the

snake. He thought, that's got to be Ricky. Ricky had

said there was a problem that had to be ironed out with

the money and that he'd tell me about it in person. He

thought, I better play it like El Diablo does and have a

couple moves already organized. I can have a visual aid,

a little show of power for Ricky to see when he comes

over. Plus, I can let him know about the crunch the

feds are putting on the chemicals and let him know I'm

about to have a line on them from Mexico. That way

Ricky will know I'm involved far enough to know the

price on them. He won't be able to bull shit Me.!

Mark Argenta flipped another tarot card, the bloody

eagle. He looked at it and thought how that meant

there was a sagacious threat around the corner...

ChapteR 77

Bob drove Tim's truck through the canyon and

thought about the money he just lost. I can never win

at that freaking casino. How much did I bring with

me? Was it only that five hundred I got from Tim?

Fuck, I need some sleep. Bob thought, I must have

stayed up for three weeks making all that shit for toe

tapping Tiny from Tennessee.

Bob saw Tim standing in his driveway and pulled

the truck next to him. "Bob, the chemicals just got

dropped off from Ernie. I just called the Disciples to

come over and keep watch again."

Bob hustled to the back yard and walked to the

back corner of it to the garage to inspect the chemicals.

Tim walked behind and closed the backyard gate and

looked the street over. From there he walked to the

backyard fence and opened the lock on the gate. Bob

met him there and said, "Same plan as last time?"

Tim nodded, "Yeah. The Devil's Disciples are on

their way. We'll keep one on each side of the canyon to

post up and watch for the C.R.A.S.H. drug team. If we

get an emergency call you know you have three minutes

to get the lab out this gate and into the wash. Plus we'll

have a few of the Disciples meet the task force in the

front yard to give you even more time while the task

force is ordering them to the ground and shaking them

down for guns."

Bob looked from the gate and the 15 yards to the

wash, going over the plan visually. I can run the flask

of chemicals out the gate and slide down the wash to

hide it. "I like that wash right now. It's over 8 feet deep

from all the rain. You can't see us walking, running or

riding down there. Even if I were to get caught down

there running away, there's no way they can bust you

for the lab if it's in the wash and they didn't see how it

got there."

Bob heard the engine of the Harley Davidson's

pulling up. Tim said, "They're here."

Tim ran out to meet the five riders in helmets with

Bob behind him. Bob looked and noticed all five had

on skull cap helmets, black vests with their Devil's

Disciples patches and all of their tattoos showing down

their arms. Bob noticed a couple of different bikers from

the last visit. They were a lot bigger and older. Like last

time, Tim didn't bother making introductions and Bob

realized Tim was taking precautions and remembered

him saying earlier, "This is business. The Disciples

are getting paid in speed to help keep watch and run

a distraction if necessary, not meet you and try and

turn it into a hustle. I don't want to be in the middle

of a war over whose cook you are with Ricky's family

involved."

On his way to the garage to get busy mixing

chemicals, Bob thought, that's smart of him...

ChapteR 78

Racing into the canyon in the black Z-71 Corvette,

Ricky noticed the tattooed down biker posted up at

the liquor store and thought, he looks like he's keeping

watch for someone. Ricky looked at his watch to time

how long it took to get to the middle of the canyon

where Bob was. He accelerated at the halfway point of

each turn like a pro, never able to get it out of second

gear. He parked in a lot across from the house and

noted that it took two and a half minutes. Getting out

of the corvette Ricky couldn't see anything from the

dust kicked up in the dirt lot. As the dust settled he

saw three hefty tattooed-down bikers staring at him

from the yard. The biggest one looked like a Rottweiler

standing at the fence with a face full of black and

silver hair. He had a 44. revolver sticking out of his

waistline.

Ricky walked across the street to the fence and

noticed the two other bikers walking to the other one.

They also had guns sticking out of their waistbands.

They looked to the biggest one like they were ready

to follow his lead. Ricky got to the fence and said,

"Where's Bob. I've got to talk to him."

The biggest biker stood in the way. Ricky noticed

his jacket said he was a Devil's Disciple and instantly

wondered, are they trying to take over Bob as their

cook?

In a deep gravelly voice the Devil's Disciple said,

"Hold it right there. Nobody is supposed to come over

right now. Why don't you call him? What's your name

anyway?"

Ricky felt his anger almost explode and realized

he'd left his gun in the Corvette. "Hey holmes, Bob

works for my company. You might want to go get him.

Tell him the C.E.O. is here in the Corvette."

Ricky watched the big Rottweiler looking biker

just grunt with a stubborn look on his face. Nobody

moved. The big biker said, "Why don't you call him.

We work for someone else and can't leave our post."

Ricky felt his temper boiling over, "I'll be right

back. My phone's in the car. Have someone go get

Bob!"

Ricky ran to the Corvette across the street and

ducked into the car.

From his position at the gate the big biker saw

Ricky reach under his front seat and slide what appeared

to be a gun in his waistband. The big biker said to the

other two, "One of you go get Tim and tell him there's

trouble brewing out front."

Ricky put his Walther PPK in his waist and his

mind wondered again, are they stealing my dope? Is

Bob skimming a little off the side? Armed with anger

Ricky got out and stared at the big biker and noticed

one of the other bikers was gone.

The big biker watched Ricky shut the door and

march his way at a fast dangerous pace like he didn't

give a fuck. He thought, here we go...

Ricky watched the big biker reach for his gun and

found himself doing the same thing a little faster. Right

as he felt his hand finding the familiar trigger with the

gun on the way up he saw Tim running out the front

door yelling.

"Ricky!! It's alright!! Come on in!!"

In the split second, Ricky knew he would have

smoked the big biker with the speed of his draw. The

big biker hadn't even pulled his gun out. As he slid his

gun back into his waist he noticed the biker at the door

behind Tim had an A.R.15 machine gun that would

have ended things.

ChapteR 79

I followed Bob's directions through the canyon

in the Ford Festiva and couldn't see the addresses to

the houses anywhere. Some of the canyon had houses

on both sides, other parts just one side, and nobody

seemed to have addresses painted on curbs. I pulled

over to a mail box and saw one, I was close. I turned the

next corner expecting to see the fence Bob spoke of to

indicate the right house.

I saw the fence, the two bikers and someone who

walked as fast as I crossing the street, pulling a gun.

I pulled over and parked knowing that was Ricky

pulling the gun. I got out and ran to the fence right as

Ricky went in the front door with someone. The bikers

met me at the fence and I said, "I'm B.J. Where's Bob?

He said you knew I was coming."

The big biker nodded at me, "Yeah, we knew you

were coming, but we didn't know that other guy was."

I walked past the bikers and entered the open front

door. I saw who, I assumed, owned the house walking

back inside the sliding glass door to the backyard and

overheard Ricky yelling at Bob. I walked through the

house and right by the owner and into the backyard

hearing the bikers tell the owner, "It's B.J."

I felt the owner follow behind me into the backyard.

I stopped at the open garage door and listened.

"Bob what the fuck is wrong with you! Are you

spun out of your mind? Why are you risking all of my

shit with a bunch of Bikers standing out front? It looks

like a fucking bust at this house!"

"Don't talk to me like I'm some kind of lame,

Ricky! If I'm spun out it's because I'm the one cooking

all of the shit nonstop while you're kicking it at your

house relaxing and pushing buttons!"

"If you mean handling all of the business with

Tennessee like a pro, than yeah, that's what I'm doing!

While you're over here like a spun duck fucking our

shit up!"

"Ricky! If you're handling that business with

Tennessee, where the fuck is my cut out of it! I'm

fucking broke and haven't slept for three weeks from

doing all of your dirty work!"

"Bob, why would I give you the money? You'll just

fuck it off at the casino! How much money did you lose

yesterday? You should have been sleeping so you could

keep your mind sharp! I have to take care of you like

a kid! I spent your share of the money on a house in

Colton so you can have your own place to live and get

some rest. I deposited the rest of your share in a time

share in Oceanside so we have another place to go to get

away from San Bernardino. You only owe $500 to get

into the house in Colton."

"At least give me the $500 to get into the house in

Colton Ricky."

I couldn't believe my ears. Why was Bob allowing

himself to get so ripped off?

"Bob, why don't you get the money from B.J.?"

I'd heard enough. I walked into the garage close

enough to Ricky that I'd have a chance if he reached

for his gun and said, "Hey Ricky, keep my name out of

your mouth!"

I watched Ricky size me up. The Moment of action

passed.

Ricky nodded toward me and said, "Bob keep $500

of what you sell to him for yourself. Well go over some

things later after you've had some sleep and are in

your right mind. I'm getting out of here to go handle

something with Argenta. Our money is all fucked up

with Tennessee. Too many people are involved. Kind of

like it is here right now."

Ricky nodded to Bob and walked out of the garage.

He'd avoided any eye contact with me. I turned and

watched him walk through the backyard and into the

house and realized the bikers and another Mexican I

hadn't noticed, were all accounted for in the backyard

watching the whole time.

I stepped back into the garage and told the owner,

"Let me talk to Bob for a minute." I closed the door

and Bob said, "You shouldn't have challenged Ricky

like that."

My mind was going so fast and I had so many

things I wanted to talk about and didn't know where

to start... "I heard the way he was talking to you and

couldn't help it when he tossed my name in the air like

that. Fuck Bob, I finally went to sleep a couple of days

ago after 23 days of grinding without any sleep. How

long has it been for you?"

"It's been three weeks for me. But it's worse for me

because the chemicals are constantly getting into my

skin and it makes your brain lock up faster."

"Paul said we can use his boat to cook the dope

in..."

"The dope won't cook right with all of that sea

water in the air. It messes up the process."

"Move down to Orange County with me anyway.

I'll find another place for you to do your thing, and

you WILL make money with me. None of this getting

niggard shit I just heard."

The owner of the residence knocked on the garage

door and opened it. A couple of the bikers and the

Mexican walked inside. I watched the owner introduce

himself as Tim while shaking my hand. The bikers just

nodded.

Tim told Bob, "I want you to meet this guy. He's

been doing business with the Disciples here for a few

years and he's really good people to know."

The Mexican walked over and shook Bob's hand.

"I'm Felipe from Mexico. Mucho gusto."

I studied Felipe. He had a pair of snake skin boots

on, what looked like those old tough skin jeans from

the 1970's and a Mexican soccer jersey. His skin was

very brown from the sun and his eyes were so dark they

still contrasted with his complexion. It didn't seem like

he blinked his eyes much.

Tim did the talking, "Bob, the chemicals are about

to get clamped by the feds and Felipe has a line on

them from Mexico. He said it was alright to introduce

you to him so you can get in touch with each other in

the future."

I watched Bob write down his phone number and

get Felipe's and still hadn't seen him blink his eyes.

Felipe finally said something. "Did that other guy say

Argenta before he left? I used to know someone like

that."

Bob thought about it. "Did he say that name? I

didn't hear it."

The bikers left the garage leaving Bob, Tim, Felipe

and I. Bob walked to where his operation was set up

and pulled out some of the product he had left. Bob

handed Felipe a piece while he set me up with a half

freezer bag full.

Felipe said, "It looks very good. You know what

you're doing better than my people."

Felipe pulled out a golf ball sized lump from his

sock along his snake skin boot and tossed it to Bob.

"That's for you my new friend."

I walked to the Ford Festiva at the same time Felipe

was leaving. At the fence I noticed a black B.M.W.

parked behind me. At my car, Felipe stopped and

looked at it carefully.

"I used to have this car..."

"This car!" I pointed to the antennas.

"This car." He tapped the bumper and started

laughing.

I wondered, does he mean this car! Felipe stuck

his hand out for me to shake and said, "Vaya con dios

carnal."

I stared at him in shock and managed to ask him

right before he sat in his front seat. "Did you lose this

to the police?"

Felipe nodded his head still laughing as he ducked

into the car and closed the door.

ChapteR 80

Ricky raced the corvette through the canyon and

thought about things. He remembered Bob had told

him on the phone a couple of weeks ago that Tim had

hired on some of his old biker brothers as security to

watch his house while the operation was in progress.

Bob had said, "That's the only way he'll let me use

his house. I'm going to pay Tim a sixteenth of what I

produce to cover those services."

Remembering that, Ricky remembered what he'd

just said to Bob and felt guilty for a second. Then he

got over it. It was time to make a phone call to Argenta

to use that information to manipulate the master

manipulator.

Ricky got off the freeway close to Hesperia and

turned right. He thought about the police station he

knew was just to the left. He drove down the lonely

road and didn't realize someone was above him on the

hill watching everything and making a phone call.

Ricky drove the lonely road for a half a mile and

wondered why Argenta had never moved somewhere

else. There's only five houses on this road that goes to

nowhere. It dead ends a mile past the last of the five

houses, Argenta's. Maybe he feels protected by the

police station that's so near. Ricky drove past the other

four houses and saw Argenta's big wrought iron gate.

He saw Argenta's prized 1938 black Al Capone looking

gangster car with the steeple grill. He parked in the

dirt next to it and got out. Ricky pushed the button on

the gate and waited.

Argenta wasn't answering. Ricky heard the engines

coming down the road and turned to look at a caravan

of vehicles coming his way. When they passed the other

four houses Ricky thought they probably took a wrong

turn and will flip a U-turn. Instead, Ricky noticed the

three vehicle caravan all had tinted windows. The first

vehicle was an older Suburban. It pulled into the dirt lot

and backed up against the corvette. The second vehicle,

an Expedition pulled up against the rear bumper of the

Corvette. The third vehicle, a Crown Victoria, flipped

a U-turn and got behind the Suburban. Ricky watched

all three vehicles lower their tinted windows at the

same time. As they lowered, Ricky noticed each vehicle

was packed with Mexicans holding guns in plain view.

As nonchalantly as possible, Ricky turned away

from the vehicles and pushed the button on Argenta's

gate. He looked back and focused on the Suburban. In

the back seat facing him a Mexican had an Uzi pointed

right at him. Ricky studied the Mexican. He had a

Mexican flag bandana tied low to his forehead. Ricky

scanned the rest of the occupants in the caravan and

decided, these are imports from Mexico. None of them

look like local gang bangers. What the fuck is Argenta

trying to do?

"Who is it?"

Ricky turned his attention to the gate and spoke

into the microphone, "Who in the fuck do you think it

is? I just got off the phone with you ten minutes ago.

Open your gate!"

Without even glancing back, Ricky walked through

the gate to the front door. It took another two minutes

before the door opened. Argenta was sitting there in his

wheel chair.

Ricky watched Argenta push a button and maneuver

his wheel chair past him down the slope of few feet.

"Hold on Ricky, I've got to make a phone call."

Ricky watched Argenta look down the lonely street

and followed his gaze. Ricky squinted his eyes and

could see there was a person on top of the hill above

the freeway holding a phone to his ear listening to

Argenta.

Argenta spoke into the phone. "Go ahead and send

them on their way."

Ricky watched the caravan start their cars and roll

up their tinted windows and drive away.

"What the fuck is up with the caravan of guns

Argenta? I could tell all those Mexicans are imports

from Mexico. None of them were the local gangs I'm

in touch with. Are you trying to scare me with a show

of force?"

Argenta laughed... "You thought that was for

you? I've got a collection that needs to get made in

Yucca Valley. If the collection doesn't go well, you'll be

hearing about it on the news pretty soon."

Ricky thought, sure, old man; try that shit on

someone who doesn't know how you operate.

"Ricky. Do you have my half of the Tennessee

profit? It should be $50,000. Give it to me. Is that a

new Corvette you bought?"

"No. I didn't buy that! I know someone who owns

a dealership. He gives me the keys to any car I want to

use."

"How convenient Ricky. Can I have my $50,000?"

"Argenta... Do you really think the $100,000 we

got from Tiny is all profit? We're in the early stages

of this business and it's still developing. I think you

should give us the money for this first run to develop

things."

"Ricky... Did you fall off your bed this morning

and bump your head. Are you feeling any dizziness,

any amnesia...? Give me my $50,000 and thank me for

putting this four state account into your hands."

Ricky laughed and thought, I've got you figured

out old man. You're such a power tripper sitting there

in your wheel chair that I'm going to ride you like a

horse.

"Argenta, let me educate you on this business. The

speed business is expensive. There are so many sketchy

factors that the cost to run it go through the roof. It's

not like other drugs where you buy it and profit off it.

You buy the ingredients, then you have to manufacture

the product, then you have to sell it to people who don't

sleep, eat or drink water. Are you getting the picture?"

"Ricky, stop bull shitting me and give me my

$50,000. I know how the business works. You buy

the chemicals, you make the product, and you sell the

product. It's as easy as 1, 2, 3,. I thought you were

a pro at this game. The only reason I gave you this

account with Tiny is because you're Salina's man and

the mother of her little girl. I didn't think you'd try

and take advantage of me like this. Just so you know, I

can get the shit already made straight from Mexico to

sell to Tiny. So I don't even need you."

Ricky stared at Argenta's old withered up body

in the wheel chair with his thick gold chain and cross

around his neck. He thought, you don't care about

Salina or me. You only want to get back in the business

and being a satanic worshipper has got you back in

business with El Diablo. As far as the speed you can get

from Mexico, it's too late. They're already addicted to

how good Bob's dope is.

"Argenta... I know you haven't been in the business

for a while so let me explain how this last business went.

Each chemical we have to buy is so heavily regulated by

the feds that we have to send someone else to buy it. To

buy it that person has to give up their I.D. and have a

picture taken of their car. Do you think we are going

to take that risk? Obviously not. We get a tweeker to

do it for us but we have to pay them for the service.

That's where the first unexpected payment starts to

drive the cost up. Then you have two other chemicals

that go through the same process. More money spent

to keep our operation in the clear. You with me so far?

Next, we have to find somewhere to make the shit.

You can probably imagine how hard that is. Hey, can

we use your house to mix chemicals in for three weeks

where the shit could blow up? Oh, by the way, you

can't sleep, you can't have anyone over and we'll have

people running around your house with guns the whole

time staring out your windows, but you don't mind do

you?"

Ricky watched Argenta pick his phone off his lap

and put it to his ear. "Did you hear all that?"

Ricky turned and looked at the hillside. The guy

was still there on the phone.

Argenta said, "Is that really how it works? Alright,

thanks, I'll talk to you later. Tell me how that collection

in Yucca Valley goes."

Ricky watched the image of the man on the hill

walk away.

"Okay Ricky. I believe you. How much do you have

to spend on the house to use it?"

Ricky thought, here's where I'm in control. "We

give the house ten percent of the return on the dope.

So for every pound we cook we lose close to a couple of

ounces. But that's not all there is to it. When you cook

the dope it never comes out exactly the same. It's not

an exact science with the chemicals. They aren't always

pure on the black market. That means we expect to get

a certain amount back and it comes back as product less

than we expected."

"Come on Ricky! Now your niggering me! You've

got to tell me the numbers! How much did you have

to spend?"

"We spent $35,000 to get the $100,000 from Tiny.

But like I just said, the dope doesn't always add up

to what it's projected to. It's almost always short. This

time we got back 20% less than we hoped for so we still

owe Tiny that much in weight when he comes back.

I'm going to have Ernie tell Tiny the problem and see

if he will eat it as a loss or meet us halfway. Now you

know how hard this business is. This is why El Diablo

took the heroin part of the deal and gave you the speed

head ache."

Ricky watched Argenta do the math. He smiled to

himself, I gave him enough of the truth that he has to

buy the whole package.

"Okay Ricky. You made $70,000 minus some dope

you still might owe Tiny for. Can I get my half now?"

Ricky pulled out $10,000 and tossed it on

Argenta's lap. "I'll still owe you some, but we have to

work out a better deal so I can pay my operation better

than I am."

Argenta put the money away without counting it.

"Check it out Ricky. I'm willing to bend a little this

first time. But I have to tell you that if I can't get at

least 40% I'm going to take over the account and do it

with dope from Mexico. I talked to El Diablo and he

told me he had me covered there. He also told me the

feds on this side of the border are going to put a leash

on the chemicals. That means everything is going to

get pushed to the Mexican side of the border. The whole

playing field is about to change hands. There are going

to be a lot of networks up for grabs. El Diablo promised

me pole position on access to the chemicals so don't

double cross me or you'll only be hurting yourself.

"I don't do that kind of business Argenta. I'm

straight up."

Ricky watched Argenta look like he bought it. Then

ask, "Ricky... Why are you even in the speed game if

it's this much of a head ache? Why don't you sell heroin

where the money is less complicated?"

"I hate heroin. It makes you go to sleep with your

head on your chest. That's not for me. I'm addicted to

action. I'm an adrenaline junkie. I like the challenge

and I'm a problem solver. Life's too boring for me,

otherwise."

Argenta nodded his head he understood. "Ricky. I

just thought of something. Since Bob is going to live at

my house in Colton, let's have him cook dope there."

Argenta smiled to himself and thought, I'll wire

the place for sound so I can listen in on everything.

"That's a good idea. That reminds me. Let me get

the keys to that house and the keys to the time share in

Oceanside you promised me."

Ricky watched Argenta pull the keys out and

remembered B.J.

"There is one more problem. There is a guy named

B.J. from Orange County who is trying to pull Bob

away to have him for his own cook."

Argenta remembered the tarot card, the eagle. "Tell

me about this B.J."

Ricky finished with, "He's got access to a lot of

the money in the rich parts of Orange County and he's

trying to incorporate Bob into his program. He's a nut,

but he's sharp. He comes out of nowhere like he's not

afraid of dying..."

All Argenta heard out of Ricky's explanation was

that B.J. had the best avenue to the money in Orange

County.

"Ricky. Let's pull B.J. into our program and work

on taking his networks from him. Tell him about me.

Edify me. I'll take care of the rest."

ChapteR 81

I drove out of the canyon on such an adrenal high

that it felt like hell couldn't stop me. I replayed what

happened in as much detail as possible and decided I'd

blown a golden opportunity. I should have followed that

Mexican Felipe who didn't seem to blink his eyes, and

built a bridge with him. At least Bob got his number.

Back in my territory I hit the ground running. I

contacted all of my components to tie things up and

find out what was happening. Paul, Tom and Dennis

were extremely happy with the new product I'd brought

back on a tight rope from San Bernardino. I could see

that Paul believed the story exactly how I told it. He

had already seen enough of my antics. When I got to

the part about Felipe, saying that he used to own the

Festiva, he thought I must have misunderstood. It had

to have been that Felipe owned a car just like it.

I shook my head, "No, he's the reason there's

187,000 miles on it. It was seized from him. I asked

him."

That part was just too much for Paul to believe. I

felt challenged.

Telling the story to both Tom and Dennis I could

see they thought it was farfetched. They didn't dispute

it, but I could see from their body language they weren't

impressed. I had to assume they thought I had to lie

to hold down my territory. As I got to the part about

Felipe and the Festiva, it even sounded hollow to my

own ears. This infuriated me and as I finished the story.

I dared them to doubt me. I felt my pride and honor

falling in love with my anger.

I took that energy all over town and didn't sleep for

another 20 days. I was such a bottom feeder that I found

myself wherever the action was. Whoever was awake

at 4 A.M.? I was there with them. It turned out that

other people thought my territory was their territory!

They also had tales of their heroics! I gave each person

a chance to run down their spracked out program to me

and all they had done for the community, until I caught

them in one of their lies. On one such occasion the guy

was actually using my rules and regulations as his own.

He had a bullet proof vest, a couple of guns and a bunch

of other stuff he told me he'd come upon from someone

in violation. I had already heard how he'd come up on

it. He waited until the guy was gone from his residence

and came in through a window while nobody was

home to steal his shit like a coward. It didn't match the

way he told it so I laid it down the right way. While

I physically showed him how it was done, I told him,

"Do it like a man! Face to face, like I'm doing it!"

The same circumstances repeated itself until I

found myself running around with Huddy! I told him,

"It turns out; I'm an attention whore too!"

I took him under the wing and explained how my

life molded me to run down the rules and regulations

I'd implemented. He respected them and that was all

I needed to see. Not long after, he swore to me that he

found someone in violation. We did his job together

and I found myself creeping into a house with him. We

were in the guy's room pulling his safe out of his closet

and my conscience screamed at me that I was stealing

the safe like a coward. Also, could Huddy's homework

be off? Instead of following Huddy out with the safe I

woke the guy up and told him, "Your safe is getting

stolen."

He looked freaked out waking up to someone

in a ski mask asking him if he did all of the things

Huddy had told me. He wasn't answering and I found

myself swinging. I ran out of the house and caught up

to Huddy. Everything went into Tom's walk-in closet,

the bullet proof vest and guns he'd mentioned, along

with Samauri swords, blow darts, num chucks, an

archery weapon, a triple beam scale and some of the

best marijuana on the planet. I ran a check on Huddy's

homework and benefited that the guy was in violation

for selling drugs to kids in high school but found out

he'd just graduated himself. I thought about it and

realized I didn't like doing jobs that anyone other than

I coordinated. I didn't like the powerlessness of not

doing the homework. I wanted to justify the situation

in my own head, not get moved by somebody else's

interpretations.

Dennis had a job for us that fit my criteria. He

explained that Miles brought it to his attention. The

high school that Miles was supposed to be attending

had a 36 year old, who went by Maniac, selling speed

out of the parking lot. Maniac was telling everyone he

was a Hell's Angel and even had a leather jacket with

a patch on it from a chapter out of the desert in Death

Valley. As Dennis explained the story, my instincts were

urging me to hit the brakes. My rules and regulations

were now in control of me. It felt like I'd created a

roller coaster ride full of steep hills, free falling drops

and twisting turns that I couldn't get off of. My pride

wouldn't let me.

Dennis continued to explain that Maniac was not

only building up a following right out of the high

school, he also had a 16 year old pregnant runaway

named Misty living in his garage. He was smoking

speed with her! I listened to Dennis's plan. He wanted to

kick down the door and go in with guns. He said Miles

had told him there should be a half a pound of speed

to seize and we could grab whatever else could be had.

After Dennis was done running down his maneuver I

told him, "You're forgetting the most important thing,

the 16 year old pregnant runaway."

I got off the phone and thought about it. If my pride

didn't have so much control of me, I could let it go. I

could let Dennis handle the mission with Miles... But

they weren't going to handle it right! Dennis wasn't

concerned with the pregnant 16 year old runaway.

What else can I do? Call some type of law enforcement

so they can go in the right way...

My pride flared its ugly head and screamed, you

have too much honor to be an informant! Deep inside

me, where the Truth was, I examined things. There

isn't any honor in this drug business! It's a false honor

you're holding onto! I faced that Truth, but also

another one. I wasn't just going to quit the business.

That meant I couldn't become an informant and stay in

business. That would feel like the ultimate hypocrisy.

Like a wolf in sheep's clothes. I prayed to God about it,

let him know where I was at and what I was struggling

with and placed the problem in his hands, yet still

wanted it in mine. Maybe He can bless me while I try

and handle it.

I went straight to Natasha's house with a plan

quickly formulating. I ran it all down to her and she fit

into the plan nicely. With the mission clarified in our

heads we headed to Dennis's.

At Dennis's, Dennis had a bullet proof vest on and

he and Miles were sporting guns. Dennis pulled me to

the side and tried to chastise me for bringing Natasha.

I brought Natasha back into it and ran down the

program and how it was going to go down.

"Dennis... We're not going to use guns. We don't

need them. If we go in with guns, then we're the

criminals. We're going to stage an intervention for

the pregnant 16 year old runaway and the 36 year old

criminal is going to get in the way."

Dennis explained that the house Maniac lived in

was his Dad's house. The garage was unattached and was

where the pregnant 16 year old runaway was living. We

were hoping that at twelve in the afternoon Maniac's

father would be at work. Miles had explained what

kind of car he drove so we should know if he was home

if it was in the driveway. The rest of the homework on

Maniac was that he was bigger than Dennis at about

250lbs., but he was more fat than shredded up muscle.

I drove the Festiva with Natasha in the passenger

seat and we followed Dennis and Miles in his minivan.

Driving by Maniac's house, Dennis pointed to it. The

father's car wasn't in the drive way. We continued to the

next street and parked our vehicles in a cul-de-sac.

I walked to the house to check it out by myself. At

the door to the garage I noticed a homemade peephole

had been drilled to twice the ordinary size. I looked

through it and could see a dim light from the back of

the garage. I listened. There was a radio playing but I

could also hear a couple of voices. One sounded deep

enough to be Maniac, the other was a girl. I tried the

door handle carefully. It was locked. I went back for the

team.

Natasha was dressed according to the plan in sexy

high heels with straps wrapping up her ankles in a

slinky low cut dress. She and I had decided that if her

appearance alone couldn't get Maniac to open the door,

then she was going to flash a counterfeit badge and

announce she was an agent for missing persons. If that

didn't work, plan B was for her to tell him that this was

the stage before the police got involved, give us Misty

or we're calling the Sheriff.

I watched Natasha get ready to knock on the door

from eight feet away with Dennis and Miles right behind

me. Natasha stood there chewing bubble gum with her

leg kicked out in a sexy pose and I was betting Maniac

would open the door. As soon as Natasha knocked, we

heard the music go down. We heard Misty trying to

keep Maniac from making the noise he was making

walking to the garage door.

Maniac stood at the door looking through the peep

hole for a while and asked, "Who is it?"

We heard Misty tell Maniac, "Don't open it!"

Natasha stood far enough away from the door for

Maniac to ogle her from head to toe. "I'm a friend of a

friend."

We heard the lock being disengaged and the door

opened. Natasha flashed her look-alike badge from her

purse and announced, "Federal Agent from the Missing

Person Division! We're here for Misty!"

Natasha stepped out of the way while I rushed the

door. Maniac was trying to slam the door shut and I

threw my arm inside the closing door so it closed on

my upper arm. Dennis and Miles slammed into the

back of me and our force was too much for Maniac. We

fell through the open door and I was the first to gain

my balance. I fired punches into his chunky face and

Dennis arrived next. He took Maniac to the ground. I

stopped for a second and saw what an ugly mutt Maniac

was, wearing his Hell's Angels vest, jeans and a chain

holding his wallet to them. I felt a bunch of rage boiling

out of me at what a scum bag he was. I threw a couple

of bombing rights and lefts and dropped some knee

shots to his head and then lost it in a black out of rage.

I grabbed the patch he had on his jacket and ripped on

it until it pulled away from the leather. Once I had that

off I went for his chain holding his wallet and ripped

on it until it tore his pants halfway off his fat body.

Miles got into the action and I stepped back. Maniac

was fighting back and yelling, "You don't know who

you're messing with. My Hell's Angels club brothers

are going to fuck you up!"

Dennis responded, "The Hell's Angels have rules not

to sell drugs to kids in high school! You're not a Hell's

Angel! You either stole that jacket or got kicked out of

your club. That's why you're in Orange County!"

I noticed Natasha coming out of the back of the

garage with Misty and a bag full of her things. She

stopped ushering Misty and asked me for the keys to

the Festiva. I handed them to her. I looked back at

Maniac getting beat up on the ground and realized I

didn't want any more part in it. The risk verses reward

was no longer there. I followed Natasha and Misty to

my car.

I drove Misty to her mother's house and stayed in the

Festiva. Natasha got out and I watched her explain the

story. Misty's Mom was overjoyed to have her daughter

back and hugged her and then Natasha over and over.

I was so exhausted and confused from lack of sleep that

I didn't want to meet Misty's Mom. I watched Natasha

walk her right to me.

I quickly took inventory of what I was going to look

like to a person who actually went to sleep regularly. It

was late afternoon and still sunny and warm and I had

a beanie pulled down to my eyes. I had those spracked

out things covered with a pair of Elvis Presley glasses.

I managed to tell Misty's Mom, "That guy's garage she

was living in wasn't any good. Give Misty a lot of love

and don't judge her too harshly. Pray a lot together..."

Tears were running down my eyes and I had to grit

my teeth against the emotions. I drove Natasha back to

her house and went to Tom's.

ChapteR 82

At Tom's the adrenaline subsided and left me

exhausted. I explained what happened and we talked

about God. I explained all of the dreams I was having

and found out he was raised Catholic also. He started

telling me how he interpreted my dreams but I fell

asleep while he was talking.

"B.J. the dream you had with the seeds in it

represents your actions being sown and cultivated.

Trying to control what people are saying is impossible.

It's just as impossible as trying to implement those rules

and regulations successfully. You're playing with fire

and expecting not to get burnt! The vines strangling

you is God showing you what you're going to reap.

An evil thought is Satan trying to get you into an evil

action. Sow a thought, reap an action. Sow an act, reap

a habit. Sow a habit, reap a character. Sow a character,

reap a destiny. The next dream where you see yourself

on a leash is God showing you something also. You're

enslaved by Satan. Your addiction to speed is pulling

you into his power. Satan is using your pain, humiliation

and rejection against you and is only too happy to see

you cover that up with what you see as righteous anger.

You can't see who's pulling on your leash because Satan

is using your own pride to keep you on it. Then your

dream shows you what is happening to you and what

you have to look forward to. That hill you were climbing

and struggling against, showed you that while you're in

Satan's clutches there is no end to the hill you're trying

to climb... B.J.! Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

I woke up on Tom's couch and tried to remember any

dreams I might have had. I came up empty, nothing. All

I could remember was talking to Tom about God and

Good and evil. I felt my ingrained instincts telling me

it was time to count my money over and over, weigh up

my product and see where I was at. It seemed like that

was where I started the roller coaster ride. This time

I didn't want to take that ride. I wondered, how am I

getting so much satisfaction out of it? I saw what usually

followed those activities. I had to find excitement and

then try to control it. I'm getting sick of it! But, what

are my alternatives. I could go back to sleep and wake

up even more depressed. I thought about it for a couple

hours. I couldn't generate any energy or excitement so I

did a small wake up snort of speed and called 420.

I felt the speed starting to work, but not enough.

After the marathon I'd just run it was like putting a

teaspoon of gas in an empty tank. I listened to 420 tell

me that my name was all over town. He was hearing

stories about me from too many people to keep track.

I tried to identify who was saying what and it got

confusing. I listened and tried to figure out how to

problem solve the situation and came up empty. It

was out of control. Total chaos. Totally depressing. I

thought about doing a bunch more speed to try and

garner enough energy to catch up to all of the chaos and

didn't want to for the first time. I wanted to get away

from the amusement park.

After getting off the phone with 420 I thought

about things. A plan quickly formulated in my mind.

I had to stop being so impulsive, and start using my

brain. I had to stop staying up for so long; I had to stop

getting so caught up in everything. It was time to show

some discipline and figure this thing out. I was going

to start this new plan by not doing any more speed this

day. I was going to sleep tonight!

I stuck to my new plan and the day seemed to

drag by. It was boring and depressing. It felt like I was

missing something. Things must be happening out

there that need my attention! I passed out on Tom's

couch at 4 in the afternoon.

I woke up the next morning and it was even worse. I

couldn't get up. I laid there in my cocoon of exhaustion

and it felt like I was locked down by a thick heavy

cloud of depression. I prayed to God over and over and

kept falling into a peaceful deep sleep. I woke up at

midnight knowing something; I knew it like it was

fact. If I didn't change course one hundred and eighty

degrees I was doomed! I went back to sleep.

I woke up at 6 A.M. and felt a little less depressed,

but still exhausted. I didn't want to move. I remembered

my cell phone. I hadn't checked it in a couple of days.

I looked at it and it was turned off. I turned it on and

checked my messages. It took over an hour to listen to

them. A bunch of people needed some product, and a

bunch of people had information about who said what

and what was happening. I didn't have the energy to deal

with it. I tried to forget about it. I couldn't. The part

of my brain that wanted me dead urged, get up! Make

your money! You're losing your grip on the territory!

What are you doing? You did all of that work and

now you're just going to give up? I felt my discipline

eroding. That voice inside me urged, get up! You're so

close! Are you just going to quit? I guess your Dad was

right, you're just a loser! I went back to sleep with those

urges pushing me toward the amusement park.

An hour later I heard Tom's roommate asking Tom,

"What's wrong with B.J.? Why has he been passed out

on our couch for so long?"

Then I heard him leave for work. I got up and faced

that I had to get up, get moving and get out. So much

for not doing any more speed.

Tom and I got sparked and it felt good! It felt like

I could control things again! Tom had a lot of good

advice. I ground my teeth and listened.

"B.J. you were so depressed because doing speed

keeps your brain from producing dopamine. That's the

chemical your brain naturally produces that gives you

pleasure in doing things. You work out a lot, and get

pleasure in it from dopamine. You get things done, like

work, or accomplishments and it's the same thing, your

brain blesses you with a squirt of dopamine. When we

do speed, our brains stop making it. So when you stop

using speed you're extremely depressed and feel like

you can't face things for a while. Eventually without

the speed, your brain kicks in and starts producing it

again. I think you're really close to being there so don't

go on any long runs, keep weaning yourself off the

speed and sleep every night. But you have to get out of

my apartment for a while. My roommate is tripping."

I left Tom's nest and drove a few streets away to

Paul's. Nobody was home and I realized I didn't have

anywhere to go. I pulled out what I now realized was my

enemy, my cell phone, it was the ticket provider to the

amusement park, and made some calls. At each house I

stopped, my discipline slid further from my grasp. As

I felt my grip slip, I found another way to beat off the

depression, through humor. I'll just make fun of myself

and laugh at my own antics. Money started to stack, I

continued to sprack. The harder I ride, the more I slip-

slide, into misery where there is nowhere to hide, but if

I continue to pry, and keep praying to God for wisdom,

He'll help me see things from a distance in my dreams

as if I can fly.

ChapteR 83

I desperately needed another distraction and found

one. I got hold of Huddy on the phone and he had an

important person that wanted to meet me, a man by the

name of Dick Dudley. My homework on Mr. Dudley

came back with a lot of information. Mr. Dudley was a

retired father of two kids our age. Brock, his son, was a

borderline pro snowboarder and knew everyone in the

pot business as a chronic smoker himself. His daughter

Shana knew everyone in the speed world as a punk

rocker. Mr. Dudley himself had owned his own dental

practice and was an orthopedic surgeon. He bought a

block of offices and leased them out to other businesses

to get well off enough to retire. After retiring he spent

all of his time on his drinking and hobbies. He went on a

fishing rampage for years and brought back some of the

biggest Marlin known to man, according to him, from

Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Then, he turned his attention

to selling guns for a hobby. He got himself registered

as a federal firearms dealer, bought a bank style vault

and showed off his weapons to all of his kid's friends.

Huddy told me that Mr. Dudley was an attention whore

like us. Mr. Dudley had everyone his kid's spoke highly

of over to his house to investigate them. According to

Huddy, you'd made it in the scene if you were brought

to Mr. Dudley's attention. Like he was some kind of

underground godfather. I guess it was my turn to kiss

his ring. Huddy went on to explain that Mr. Dudley

was interviewing bottom feeders like myself to take

on a roll in his new project. Mr. Dudley was taking

his interest into the Custom Harley Davidson field.

He had done his homework on the field and found he

could customize them better. He'd already fabricated a

wide glide half-chopper under a Custom Craft business

name. Now he needed an investor for the second one.

Huddy had Mr. Dudley call us into his gated

community from the passenger seat of my Festiva.

Driving up to the gate guard the elegant cobblestone

road shook the little car. I felt like a ghetto super star

sitting there waiting for the security guard. The guard

was dressed in an expensive looking suit and I could

feel the power of money all around me. On both sides

of the closed gate were waterfalls cascading down a rock

waterfall. The gate guard came back and handed me a

pass to enter.

Huddy directed me to Mr. Dudley's house and

Mr. Dudley, Brock and Shana were in the garage

waiting for me. Huddy excused himself to go see a

girl who lived down the street and I met the family.

Mr. Dudley was average size, bald, and had big eyes

that appeared to smile a lot. He looked very ordinary

and dressed casual. Brock looked like a G.Q. model

with short cropped brown hair and a surfer build. He

dressed local to the area in Black Fly and Lost apparel.

Shana was a cute looking brunette that looked a little

grungy and puck rockish. She was wearing a black mini

skirt with a white tank top.

Mr. Dudley shook my hand, introduced himself,

and asked me, "What do you want to drink, A beer, or

something stronger?"

I looked at my watch. It was two in the afternoon.

"I don't drink sir."

Mr. Dudley looked shocked. I was already on the

wrong foot with him. "Shana go get us a beer."

Shana ran in the house. Mr. Dudley walked me

into the garage and watched me. I studied him right

back until I realized he expected me to look around and

comment on his custom Harley Davidson.

I looked at it. It looked like a piece of art, like it

had been sculpted. It was positioned at an angle that

best represented it and I noticed it was parked there

on top of a mirror. It had a chopper look with the

forks kicked out at a rakish angle. It looked longer and

lower than any other Harley I'd seen. The gas tank was

painted powder white with all the colors of a sunset in

ghost flames swirling through an Eagle's face. The seat

looked lower than normal and the back end extended

at a slightly downward angle until the massive back

tire stuck out giving it a very masculine look. The next

thing my eye caught was the fat chrome exhaust pipe.

I looked it over from the rear to the front of it and

noticed how much more polished chrome the machine

sported. Everything that wasn't powder white frame

was polished chrome. I'd never seen a Harley look like

that. I looked back at Mr. Dudley's expectant face and

said, "It's pretty."

Mr. Dudley looked like he was waiting for me to

finish saying something, like it's pretty... incredible. I

noticed that Mr. Dudley had walked right to a certain

spot in the garage when we entered it and assumed it

was his station. I looked at the wall to the right and

there was a black and white poster of someone spraying

a machine gun. I looked closer. The man doing the

shooting was in a shooters stance with his legs bent to

hold on while a fusillade of bullets erupted from the

gun, but you couldn't see the man's face. The picture

was taken so you only saw the man up to the neck. It

had to be Mr. Dudley.

He noticed me looking at the poster and smiled.

I saw him about to tell me something and I walked

toward his custom Harley. I asked his son Brock, "Why

is it on a mirror?"

"The frame's well joints are polished. You know

how where the frame comes together there is usually

the rough welded area? Ours are polished smooth. It's

a show bike. That's how you show these kinds of bikes,

on a mirror."

Mr. Dudley walked over and I had to stop myself

from walking back to where his station was to reexamine

the poster. He said, "I keep telling Brock it's a

motorcycle, not a bike. Brock used to race B.M.X. bikes

and calls everything a bike that's on two wheels."

I watched the father and son share in the joke and

couldn't help but walk back to look at the poster.

Mr. Dudley followed me back over to his station

and said, "You can't keep your attention on one thing

can you?"

I looked at the poster and decided again that it was

probably Mr. Dudley. "Is that you?"

I finally looked right at Mr. Dudley again. His face

looked irritated. I smiled and said, "I have A.D.H.D.,

is that you in the poster?"

Mr. Dudley smiled like he was trying to figure out

if I was just kidding with him or if this was really me.

Then he looked at his son like they were sharing in

another joke together. He asked me, "Do you know

what kind of gun that is?"

"No I'm not a gun buff. I could guess it's an AR15

or an Uzi."

"Wrong! It's a street sweeper that has been modified.

It's illegal to have it on automatic like that."

I understood. Brock took the picture of his father

breaking the law in a humongous way. What a daredevil.

I guess I better look impressed.

Shana came back with three beers and I declined

mine. I took a furtive glance at Mr. Dudley and it

looked like I was disappointing him at every turn.

We went inside and the first thing I saw as we

entered the front door was the bank vault. It looked like

two refrigerators standing next to each other with one

of those wheels to turn to open it. I stopped walking

and stared at it. "Can I see what's inside it?"

Mr. Dudley stopped walking and looked at his son

for a second and then walked back to the vault. He got

down on one knee and dialed the combination. Then he

remembered something and looked up at me and said,

"I forgot that the alarm is armed. I can't open it or it

will trip the alarm and the Sheriff will be here within a

couple of minutes."

I nodded my head to show him I understood and

we went to the living room to sit down. He sat on a

recliner facing where I was to sit on the couch and

Brock and Shana sat on another couch where they could

watch their Dad operate. Directly above Mr. Dudley

was a massive marlin mounted on the wall.

It was time cut through the red tape. "Mr. Dudley.

Why did you want to meet me?"

It looked like Mr. Dudley had to force a smile

to cover up his irritation with me. "B.J. Do you do

everything like this, directly to the point? Have a beer

and relax."

"I don't drink. I guess I'm uncomfortable because

I don't know what you want with me. I don't know

who you are so I'm trying to learn things about you by

observing your surroundings."

I watched Mr. Dudley take on the concerned look

of a clinical psychologist. He leaned forward like he

was attending. "You've had a rough childhood haven't

you?"

I thought, here we go. What has he heard? How do

I probe for that information?

"Mr. Dudley. I'd say I've got to the point where I

would summarize my childhood as exciting."

Mr. Dudley forced that smile of his for a while... "I

hope you don't take offense to this, but I've done some

homework on you. Your story intrigues me. I've heard

that your father was an abusive alcoholic who beat you

and your brother up pretty bad at times. And I don't

mean with a belt..."

I felt his concern breaking a wall down. Maybe he

does care. How can I probe further...?

"Mr. Dudley... Do you believe everything you

hear?"

Mr. Dudley looked even more concerned and

thoughtful. "No... I don't believe everything I hear, but

I do believe something like that must have happened

because it fits with the rest of what I've heard. Excuse

me for being so blunt, but I've heard that you sell speed

and marijuana, and you do it in such a way that it has

come to my attention."

I waited Mr. Dudley out, wanting to hear about the

way I do things. I was comfortable in the silence. I tried

to mirror Mr. Dudley and leaned toward him the same

way he was leaning toward me.

Mr. Dudley looked less comfortable than I. I guess

I wasn't giving him enough to work with. It felt like

my silence was forcing his hand. He took on a dignified

look and tried to make me more comfortable.

"B.J. I've played both sides of the law myself. When

I was in the field as an orthopedic surgeon, I was able to

obtain pure cocaine with my license. I met a cartel level

gun and drug dealer and even obtained an old western

gun from him for my gun collection. One of these days

I'll show it to you. You've already seen the poster I have

in the garage, so please feel comfortable talking to me.

I want to help you."

I just stared at him, mirroring his every move until

he continued.

"B.J. another thing that intrigues me about you is

that I've heard that you talk to a lot of people you do

business with about God and the Bible. How does that

go together with what you do for a living?"

I felt all of my resentments surfacing...

"Mr. Dudley. If you know God and the Bible, you know

that everything that is good comes from God. Everything

bad, comes from the devil. It's a constant spiritual war

between good and evil. With that said, the Bible shows

us how God works in mysterious ways and uses people

nobody else would expect. A prime example is the

story of Saul. Saul worked for the Jewish leaders for

the Pharisees and persecuted Christians to try and kill

their momentum and uprising. God revealed himself to

him and showed him the error of his ways. From that

point on he became Paul and represented Christ Jesus

by writing most of what became the New Testament

of the Bible. He showed the world the meaning of the

word Love and that it comes from God in his letters to

the Corinthians, Galatians, and Thessalonians..."

"But B.J. if you know all of that, then why do you

sell drugs?"

I thought about it. How do I tell him I've been

on the streets, desperately seeking other options, yet

finding them in the underground drug culture... What

else could I do, panhandle and preach at the same

time?

"Mr. Dudley, I've been traveling through hell

and running into other people who have been abused,

raped, put down and have never been shown where real

love comes from, then, since I know where it comes

from, I try to be a messenger as much as I can. I believe

that God uses people, and brings people together to

pass His message along. The people I run into might

not be receptive to the words coming out of the same

mouths that abused them. They might have lost faith

in their parents, their preachers and their government.

They might be more receptive to someone else going

through what they're going through... I guess I'm

still fighting against something too, mostly hypocrisy.

People who say they believe in God and then put you

down like they are without sin. The Catholic priests

who molest, the politicians who lie and steal but cover

it up with finding fault with others to support their self

righteousness, the police and courts who steal, cheat

and bend the law however they want in the name of

righteousness, the tax collectors and tax payers who

cheat and then feel righteous because they give 10%

to the church. Even some of the churches, for judging

people so hard and then not even practicing what Jesus

taught, to help those in need rather than condemn

them. The thing with me is I know I'm a sinner. I know

I have a bunch of chips on my shoulders. I also know

that God is going to show me my own hypocrisy. This

road I'm on right now is just a section of my journey."

I finished talking and felt my passion bubbling at

the surface. I realized it was giving me far more energy

than the speed I used!

I studied Mr. Dudley and he looked impressed! He

clapped his hands and said, "Bravo, bravo. Well said."

I felt a lot more comfortable, like I fit in. Even in

Mr. Dudley's mansion.

"B.J, I would like to help you make it to that next

section of your journey. We can call it the Promised

Land if you want. I'm the fabricator of some of the best

custom Harleys on the planet. That one you saw in the

garage is my first one so you're on the ground floor with

me. I'm giving you the chance to be my partner but it's

going to take a commitment out of you. You're going

to have to come over here and treat this business deal

like a job to show me you're serious. Are you willing?"

"Of course I'm willing! I've been trying to find a

legal business to get involved in for what seems like

forever! What do you want me to do?"

"I would need you to invest $12,500 in my next

custom Harley. You would have to come over here every

day, Monday through Friday, just like a regular job.

I'm going to teach you about the Harleys I'm building

until you know them well enough to represent them

with my son and I."

ChapteR 84

I drove to Mr. Dudley's the next morning, got a

pass from the gate guard and entered the gates.

Mr. Dudley and Brock were waiting for me in the

garage. I pulled the Festiva in between Mr. Dudley's

V-12 Mercedes and his Wife's B.M.W.850 in the

driveway.

Mr. Dudley met me and said, "Why don't you park

behind Brock's truck."

I looked at Brock's raised Ford F-350 with the four

door extended cab, custom grill and added-on suspension.

It was parked along the curb. There wasn't any room to

park behind him. That left around the corner from the

house. I parked over there and walked back.

Mr. Dudley was standing next to his custom Harley

creation with that smile of his. It felt like he was waiting

for me to fawn over it and validate what an amazing

fabricator he was. He had a camera in his hand and

Brock got on the Harley and put on his skull cap helmet.

Mr. Dudley took some pictures and we went inside.

I sat back on the couch exactly where I had yesterday

and watched Mr. Dudley set up a video.

It was a Harley Davidson video. As it played,

Mr. Dudley talked about himself.

"I grew up in San Bernardino. I remember when

the biker gangs started after the war. I personally know

some of the boys who came back from the war and felt

like they needed another club after the government left

them high and dry..."

I listened and thought, okay, you're a doctor/dentist

during the week and a biker on the weekend but you're

a part of the real thing in San Bernardino...

I watched the video and saw all kinds of custom

Harleys, and then Mr. Dudley's. His did look like one

of the very best ones, if not the best.

Mr. Dudley saw my reaction and pulled out a couple

of Harley magazines and flipped through the pages

until he found his creation to show me., impressive.

Mr. Dudley and Brock walked me to Brock's

room. Brock got on the computer and pulled up an

agreement. It had my name on it and described my

investment. I read the agreement. It stated that if I

invested $12,500, I would get an estimated return of

between $3,000 to $6,000 on my money when the

Custom Harley he'd already built sold. The term

estimated it would take approximately 3 months to

sell the Harley. I had that much in the frame of the

Festiva. I handed over the cash, signed the agreement

and got a copy.

I came over the next day with a list of questions. I

wanted to know why, if I was just an investor like the

contract said, he wanted me to come over every day. He

told me that I was being given the chance to be more

than an investor. He said that he had the hope that

he might get a contract for a T.V. show about custom

Harleys, or maybe franchise his business ideas into

dealerships across the country. That was enough for me.

I got called through his gate every day, showed up for

work, polished his Harley, learned about it in detail,

watched the second one, a fat boy softail, get fabricated

and compiled a portfolio to advertise Custom Craft

Harley Davidson's.

ChapteR 85

Dad. What do you plan on doing with B.J.?"

"Nothing. The courts already have plans for him.

He's got prison time hanging over his head. He won't

have a leg to stand on to try and sue me for the money,

he's a drug dealer!"

"Dad, you know I sell pot. What's the difference?"

"Brock, you only sell pot to get yours for free. That's

kind of like buying alcohol for someone and getting

a few beers out of it for buying it and making the

delivery. B.J. tries to control the trade. He's a control

freak! He's digging holes all around himself and is sure

to fall into one of them. Now I'm going to teach him a

lesson about control, and who's town this really is, and

push him into one of those holes."

"Did you do this to teach him a lesson, or did you

need his money?"

"Both. I spent all I could for Custom Craft on

advertising to put the wide glide in that video and the

magazines."

ChapteR 86

Every day I went to Mr. Dudley's house and

studied his custom Harleys until I could talk about

his fabrications as if I'd built them myself. At Paul's

I'd practice running down my portfolio to him.

How the 96 cubic inch motor transferred the power

through the gears like a dragster. How the drive train

held the Harley to the ground for added handling. How

his Harleys were different from the competition in a

better way and the difference in the design to give it its

own look. Paul asked me how we were coming along

on selling the wide glide, was it going to sell within

the next month to meet the three month expectation? I

told him about the annual Harley River Run that was

coming up in a few weeks and that it would probably

sell there.

For the next week I went to Mr. Dudley's house and

prepared for the annual River Run. I learned that Harley

Davidson riders from all over the U.S. were making the

trek to Nevada to celebrate together. Amongst the huge

partying gathering there was going to be a trade show

of Harley Davidson apparel. Mr. Dudley was going to

have a prime station to represent his two Custom Craft

Harley Davidsons he'd fabricated. I had my portfolio in

my lap and could see myself right there at the station

closing a deal on our custom Harleys. Then my phone

rang. It was Miles.

"B.J.! Dennis is in jail. He's being charged with a

bunch of strikes for home invasion, mayhem, extortion

and grand theft."

I remembered how Dennis had told me that after

I left, he and Miles looked for Maniac's speed. They

couldn't find it and drove away with his car thinking

it might be stashed in it. I wondered if they caught

Dennis driving it. "How did they catch Dennis?"

"I don't know. We left Maniac's car in an

underground parking lot at a hotel. What I do know

is that the police came right to Dennis's house and

arrested him. I found out from his wife, Denise, the

details of his charges. He's facing a life sentence. What

do you want to do?"

I thought about it. It felt like an avalanche was

about to fall on us if we even moved.

"I don't know. Just sit tight. Don't get caught up in

it or you'll end up with Dennis in jail. If that happens

the D.A. will try and force you to cooperate and talk

about it. If you don't, you'll be fighting the same life

sentence as Dennis."

"But B.J.. We have to keep Maniac from showing

up to court! Or Dennis will catch a life sentence!"

I thought about it. Miles wasn't where I was at

in my journey. His mentality wasn't where mine was.

How do I bridge the gap? How do I get him to see

things through my eyes?

"Slow down your roll Miles. Check it out. Maniac

opened the garage door. We didn't kick it down. Then

we ushered Misty out of the garage. She's a pregnant 16

year old runaway. Maniac tried to stop us and got beat

up. If you try to get involved in this mess by trying to

keep Maniac from showing up to court, then the focus

will be on us being the criminals. We have to let Dennis's

attorney call Misty as a witness to explain her part in it

so it's on record that Maniac was harboring a pregnant

runaway minor, and furnishing her with speed. If all

of that gets explored, it will change the complexion of

things. Do me a favor. Keep all of our names out of this.

Keep your mouth shut and be patient."

I got off the phone and felt powerless. I walked

around Mr. Dudley's garage and wondered, what if

Miles gets too involved and gets busted, what if he says

anything to the police?

I sat on Mr. Dudley's wide glide custom Harley and

prayed. God, what am I supposed to do? What's the

right thing to do? I don't know if I'm doing it right,

help...

Natasha called. Unlike Miles, she understood what

I was talking about and found a way to help.

"I'll go to Misty's house and talk to her mother.

She'll help. She hugged me and thanked me in tears

when she heard how we got Misty out of the garage.

We'll get Misty to make a notarized statement that she

was living in Maniac's garage and that he was smoking

speed with her. That should at least discredit Maniac,

whose real name is Josh."

I got off the phone with Natasha flooded with

emotions. What a girl! She's on the same page as me.

I looked up to God and got on my knees and prayed

again. This time in tears. God... I know I need your

help. I'm stuck in this muck and am trying to find my

way back. I just don't think I'm strong enough. I can't

stop fighting. I don't know what's wrong with me.

Why do I fight so hard for power and control?

I looked up as Mr. Dudley walked into the garage

and saw me on my knees. I wiped the tears away from

my face and turned the other way to compose myself.

"What's wrong B.J.?"

I turned and faced Mr. Dudley. "I can't go with you

to the River Run."

They left without me and I felt all of that restless

energy pulling on my spirit again. It was time to call

Bob.

I found out that Bob had his own one bedroom

house in Colton. He sounded a lot less spun out, like

he wasn't talking straight out of the side of his neck.

I told him that and explained how during my 20 plus

day runs, I actually witnessed my own brain go from

thinking and functioning, to just being an impulse

message sender. He laughed and explained in his words

how he'd examined the same process and I knew I had a

brother in arms, at a similar spot in his journey. I found

myself so moved that I started talking to Bob about God

the father, His Son Jesus Christ, and His Holy Spirit.

I told Bob I knew I had God's Holy Spirit looking out

for me with Guardian Angels. I found myself so moved

that the Truth started flowing from my mouth. "Bob.

We're serving the wrong master in this speed game.

We're working for Satan right now."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I felt

ashamed of myself.

Bob responded, "I'm just now figuring that out,

too. I thought about how I had the Devil's Disciples

watching my back at Tim's house in the canyon and saw

my part clearly for what it is. I'm making and spreading

chaos and death. I'm sick of it but don't know how to

get off this ride. The guy whose house you came to in

the canyon, Tim, he used to be a Devil's Disciple. He

believes in God and separated himself from his Devil's

Disciple brothers, but still can't break all the way off

from them. I think it's the excitement and ingrained

behaviors that make it so hard to let go and find another

life to live. I've also looked at it and found that most of

the gangs I've ever known are tied to some form of 666

as their calling card. Most of the gang members don't

fully understand that until it's too late for them to get

off the ride. Some of them try and bring God into it and

change the ride, but they usually get looked at like they

are weak or getting soft. Then they have to prove that

they're not. They can't get out until it's too late."

I thought about it and didn't know where else to go

with the God matter...

Then the issue with Dennis popped into my head

and brought that stress to the fore. I explained what

happened with Dennis and the details. Bob had another

angle to consider. He told me he grew up with a couple

of Hell's Angels from San Bernardino. It sounded

like they were a couple of integral components. He

explained that they might be able to help. They might

be able to get in touch with Josh, A.K.A. Maniac and

work out an understanding that would benefit all the

parties involved.

ChapteR 87

Bob hung up the phone and thought about what

B.J. had said. It's weird how we both realized at the

same time we're both serving Satan in this speed world.

I've never thought about it like that. It's always been

about money, power and excitement. How could I have

missed all of the signs? Why did it take so long for me

to see the writing on the walls? I guess it took actually

seeing the Devil's Disciples patches to spur those

thoughts. Now that I know this, what do I do? I live in

the desert where there isn't that much happening and

this speed thing is all I know.

Bob felt his epiphany eroding and his attention

returning to business. He thought about how Ricky

had used him to manufacture the product like a sweat

shop slave. Then how he had come up with a new plan

to take some of the pressure off himself by incorporating

another person to help make the product.

Bob thought about how he'd decided that since

Ricky wasn't paying him, it was time to get paid on his

own. He thought about the deal he was giving Skip. It

seemed more than fair. He remembered how he'd told

Skip, "If you take care of business for me righteously,

I'll build you up into a bigger component. I'm giving

you the ingredients for free and you get half of the

finished product and I get the other half. Don't screw

me or you'll only be screwing yourself."

Bob thought, if Ricky was giving me half, I'd have

a ton of money!

Bob remembered how Skip had said, "I'm straight

up holmes. I'll tell you exactly like it is. That's how I

do things."

Bob thought, it's time to find out. He should be

done with the first batch by now. It's time to call him

to check.

"Skip. It's Big Bob. Are you done with your project

yet?"

"Big Bob. I had a problem. There was a small fire

and it burned up some of the product. I only ended up

getting a little bit of good product. It's not much. But

I'll split it with you if you want to bother with how

little there is to split up..."

Bob felt his grip on the phone tightening. He

remembered how John had been manufacturing

product in a small way for the last ten years. He used

to work with some of the Hell's Angels. How could

he fuck off my shit like that. We were supposed to get

about $3,000 worth of product each. He's fucking me

and he has to be lying!

"Skip... I'll call you back."

Bob slammed the phone down and paced the living

room. He felt his brain pulsing with impulses and

reacted on the first thought; I should call B.J. and have

him regulate Skip! He picked up the phone, and then

set it back down and thought some more. Why don't I

call Johnny Chamberlain and Chrome Jeff over at the

Hell's Angels headquarters? They used to do a lot of

business with Skip. If I get them to come over, I can

kill two birds with one stone. B.J. needs me to see if

they can help him with his problem in Orange County

with Maniac, and I can ask them what's up with Skip.

Bob heard the Harleys pull up in front of his house

and opened the front door. He saw Johnny Chamberlain

and Chrome Jeff on their hogs at the gate to his driveway.

Johnny looked like a monster at over 6'4" and at least

250 lbs. standing over his hog like it was a little toy.

Jeff was a little smaller at 6 feet and about 200lbs. Bob

walked to the gate and opened it.

They drove through the gate and followed the

circular driveway and parked close to the front door.

Bob watched them both take their skull cap helmets

off. Johnny had long brown hair pulled back in a pony

tail over a shaved good looking face. Chrome Jeff had

long blond hair in a pony tail with a three inch goatee

only on his chin. Bob walked up and shook hands.

"It's been a few years. How have you been?"

Inside the house Bob ran down the details of both

situations.

Chrome Jeff was the first to respond. "Bob. It

sounds like B.J. just thinks we're going to come in and

clean up his mess."

Bob shook his head and wondered, did I not just

explain it right. "It's not that he wants you to clean

up his mess... I thought since this Maniac was flying

your Hell's Angel's patch, and that since he was dealing

speed to kids out of a high school parking lot, and since

he had a pregnant 16 year old runaway living in his

garage he was getting high, you might take an interest

in it, and even take offense."

Bob watched Big Johnny reach his big arm across

the couch to stop his partner Jeff from talking so he

could. "Bob. Excuse my partner here. I heard what you

said. It sounded to me like this B.J. didn't even ask for

our help, you mentioned it to him as a possibility. Now

with that straight, let me tell you why my partner is

so jumpy. We've been all over this town cleaning up

other people's messes lately and have come to find out

that we've got a lot of dirt on our hands. There seems

to be a lot of weird shit going on lately. You know

the feds are squeezing access to the chemicals we're

so fond of, right? Well, we thought we had that angle

covered with a Mexican connection on the other side

of the border. Now he's telling us that their operation

is shutting things down for a while because there is a

leak somewhere they have to seal. He said they have to

do some fumigating to clean up their books. I guess

that means they have to deal with whoever is spreading

bad attention towards them. Now that nobody can get

to the chemicals, we're taking on the same strategy as

that Mexican's click. We're staying out of things for a

while. Anybody doing things right now is going to get

all of the attention. The feds are not only regulating the

chemicals with an iron fist, they're all over the place

watching things, talking to their informants, and there

seem to be a lot more of them all of the sudden, and in

general cleaning house and arresting everyone. There

are all these new task forces working with the feds and

the D.E.A. and it's time to take a break. That's why we

don't want to get too involved in anything right now."

Bob watched Chrome Jeff just have to say something.

"He's talking about Felipe from the Michoacán cartel...

Tell him about that local gangster, the one that goes by

little man, Johnny..."

Bob watched Big Johnny look at his partner in

irritation. "Why do you have to put everyone's name

out there like that? You know doing that is an indirect

way of informing."

"That's what everyone does to us! You don't have

to worry about Bob. He keeps an iron clad lid on

things."

Bob watched Big Johnny shake his head in frustration

at his partner. "That's true about Bob, but you have to

learn to keep people's names out of your mouth... Now

this little guy my partner decided to mention, he isn't

little at all. He just got out of prison a few months ago.

He's a straight gang banging gangster. From what I've

learned about him, his brother was one of those made

men from the heavy part of San Bernardino. His little

brother that just got out goes by L'il man. He watched

his older brother get murdered many years ago. He

watched one of their enemies run him over in the street

and then flip a U-turn and run over him again to make

sure he was dead. Since then, the little brother went on

a rampage and has already beat two murder beefs on

his enemies. Now I think he's a made man. The reason

I say that is because he's the only one who has access

to the chemicals we love so much. Check out how he's

locking down the program. He's offering the chemicals

to all of the good cooks for free on the condition that

he gets half of the finished product. Nobody is going to

try and burn or bull shit him because everyone knows

he has an army of killers behind him. I don't know

how he thinks he can do all of this while all of law

enforcement is watching so close. I tried to tell him

what was happening but he didn't seem concerned."

Bob thought that's the same deal I just tried to give

Skip and he burnt me. Then he wondered, "Did you

accept L'il man's offer?"

"Nope. We're an independent club. Now that I've

explained the big picture to you I can look at the little

one with B.J.. The problem is we'd have to bring the

issue up at a meeting first. I can tell you that what

will come up is that nobody knows who this B.J. is.

Some of our elders will probably wonder if we can trust

B.J. They'll say that we might be getting involved in

something that will bring law enforcement right to our

club."

Bob nodded his head that he understood. Then

thought about Skip and had an idea. "You guys know

who Skip is right? I heard he used to ride with you guys

and cook dope for you."

Bob watched Chrome Jeff's face get angry. "Yeah,

we know Skip. He's a back stabbing thieving lying

piece of shit!"

Bob watched Big Johnny nod his head in agreement.

"We took his patch off his jacket and kicked him out of

the club a couple of years ago."

Bob said, "That piece of shit is trying to burn me.

What if I have B.J. regulate him? Will that get your

club to trust him?"

ChapteR 88

I spent the next couple of days on Paul's couch.

Then, that got uncomfortable. It felt like I never really

got any real sleep or peace, I was intruding on their

space. I asked myself, why I don't just rent my own

place so I can get away from it all. I thought about it

and told myself, I'll get a place after I figure out this

Dennis thing.

I spent the next two days at Tom's on his couch.

The same thing happened. It felt like the walls were

closing in on me. I thought about it, maybe I should go

to San Bernardino for a while, Bob does have his own

place now...

I called Bob. He gave me directions to his house

in Colton and I was on the freeway in the Festiva five

minutes later.

On the way I called Mr. Dudley. He and Brock

had just got back from the river run and I asked if the

Custom Craft Harleys had sold.

He told me, "They could have sold. We had a bunch

of interested parties that wanted to buy them... But we

forgot one thing."

I asked, "What?"

"We forgot about credit. We didn't have a credit

system worked out for people to buy them. Not everyone

buys things cash like you do. We did meet another guy

in the Custom Harley world who is going to help us

shore up that end of things. His business name for his

custom Harleys is Steel Stallion. We are opening up a

shop together in a dealership in Irvine. We're going to

be right across from a B.M.W. dealership. We'll have

our two Custom Craft Harleys on the show room floor

on pedestals. I'm confident they will sell within the

month now that we have a credit system in place to

document everything legitimately."

I got off the phone and wondered where I stood

with Mr. Dudley now that he had another partner. I

pulled over at the exit Bob told me his house was at

and stopped at an In and Out Burger. While waiting

for my order I saw a Crown Victoria with double tinted

windows cruising by slowly. At first glance I thought it

was an undercover cop. Then, I noticed the vehicle was

slightly lowered, and it had deep dish rims that gave it

a gangster look. I couldn't see through the blacked out

tint, but I got the impression there were a couple of

neighborhood gangsters inside the vehicle. It felt like

they were studying the area. I got my order and drove

a street away to where Bob lived and ended up behind

the Crown Victoria.

It stopped in front of Bob's. I watched a short

Chicano get out of the passenger seat. I pulled over a

few houses behind them. The Chicano looked about 25

years old; he was wearing a Pechuco gangster pin stripe

suit. He looked straight at me so I popped the hood of

the Festiva and got out like I was checking the oil. I

stopped looking at him while he was at Bob's gate and

grabbed my SKS gun I had hidden by the battery and

put it along the waist of my pants so my shirt could

cover it. I got back in the Festiva and saw Bob letting

the gangster in the front door. The Crown Victoria was

driving away. I pulled up to where it had just left. It

felt like the gangster had an arranged meeting with Bob

but I wasn't sure. I got out and followed my instincts.

I hopped the waist high gate and managed not to

lose my piece tucked against my waist by flexing my

stomach muscles to hold it in place. Then, I walked

toward the front door and decided to pick up a hose off

to the left. I turned the water on full blast and began

watering the part of the yard that had dirt. I knew that

hopping the gate made enough noise for Bob and the

other guy to hear and I knew that turning on the water

would also alert them to my presence. I looked around

the front yard to examine the angles best suited for

watering and kept an eye on things. Inside the gate

was a circular drive way that fit about four cars if you

parked them in line. From where I was with the hose

there was about that much more room where a large

tree sat in the middle of a bunch of dirt. I found the

angles to water from so I could see Bob's front door and

the entrance to his street I'd just driven.

A few minutes later the front door opened. I kept

watering from my post and noticed the Crown Victoria

had circled back and was driving back toward Bob's.

The gangster looked at me and nodded and walked with

Bob to his gate. Bob opened the gate and I watched the

gangster duck his head into the passenger seat.

Bob walked back while I turned the hose off and

we went inside. The first thing I did was check his new

residence out. I wanted to know what the escape routes

were like. Upon entering I noticed the front yard was

twice the size of the house. It was a one bedroom. From

the front door I saw the entire one story structure. The

living room was as soon as you stepped in, a bathroom

and the bedroom was off to the right, the kitchen was

straight ahead. I walked to the kitchen and looked out

the window to check out the back yard. It was pretty

small. I could see that if you hopped Bob's backyard

fence you'd be in another back yard that fronted the

next street. From there you could get to the next street

I assumed the Crown Victoria had circled.

Bob broke into my assessment of his place. "Are

you checking the perimeter for routes in and out?"

"Yep... Who was that gangster?"

"He goes by L'il man."

"What did he want?"

"He came to introduce himself. He ran down

the new program to me. He said that nobody except

him has the authority in this territory to supply the

chemicals we use to make speed. He's giving everyone a

fair warning and giving them the chance to do business

with him. He wants to give me the chemicals for free

but it comes with a price. I'd have to give him half of

the product."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I couldn't do anything until I talked to

you and Ricky. He told me he already talked to Ricky

and that Ricky understood the new program. He told

me he wanted me to talk to you about it."

I nodded my head. "What's up with the Hell's

Angels? Did you talk to them?"

"Yeah. A couple of their heavy hitters came over

here yesterday. The bottom line is that they have to

bring it up at a chapter meeting and they predicted that

their elders would veto it because you're an unknown.

They're scared of the bad attention they could get from

getting involved."

I looked at Bob and felt my temper losing it.

I shook my head and decided I needed to check out

his backyard from his fence. On my way I asked Bob,

"Haven't I done enough already to get recognized as

someone who can be trusted?"

In the backyard I thought about it. Why was I

counting on the help Bob had almost promised with the

Hell's Angels? Was it because I already envisioned them

pulling up to Maniac's house with about 20 hogs to talk

some sense into him? Probably, the stress of watching

Dennis catch a life sentence made me feel powerless.

It was right next to the feeling of powerlessness I had

with my investment with Mr. Dudley. From Bob's gate

I looked for a dog in the backyard facing his. There

wasn't one. Upon further inspection I noticed that if I

hopped Bob's fence into the next backyard I'd be stuck.

In that backyard there was a garage instead of a fence

to hop over to get to the next street. I looked at the

backyard next to theirs and saw that one allowed access

to the street over their fence. So I'd have to hop two

backyards to get to the street. It was good in that it

made Bob's backyard hard to ambush, and there was

still a way to use it as an escape route. I looked back at

Bob.

"B.J. I've got a job for you. It will help me out, and

get your foot in the door with the Hell's Angels."

ChapteR 89

Ricky pushed the button on Argenta'a gate, and

looked back at the hill above the freeway and wondered,

does Argenta have his problem solver watching again?

Not this time. The gate opened immediately. Ricky

walked through and saw the front door open and

Argenta cruising his wheel chair down the ramp and

thought, now that L'il man is taking over the territory

you're in a hurry.

"What are you going to do about L'il man

Argenta?"

"What are you going to do about him Ricky?"

Ricky thought nothing. I can't do anything.

Too many gangs are involved, too many soldiers are

available. I don't want to become an example of what

happens to those who get in the way.

"Argenta, L'il man has these streets on lock. He's

in charge of them. There isn't anything we can do but

watch and wait for things to develop."

"I'm going to talk to El Diablo about that."

"Argenta, you have to understand something. El

Diablo might wield the most power in Mexico but

that's where his power runs out. These streets belong

to the gangs that run them. The shot callers are getting

sick of all of the problems speed is bringing to the

table. Now that the feds are putting a clamp on the

chemicals, they've found a way to organize a more iron

fisted program."

"We'll see about that."

ChapteR 90

I followed Bob's directions to Skip's trailer park and

listened to him tell me about Skip. The vital things

I listened to besides what a scum bag he was had to

do with his physical capabilities. He was about 40

years old, didn't take care of himself by working out

or eating right, was less than 6' and less than 170lbs.

Bob described him as non-athletic, nor did he seem to

be much of a fighter. He told me that Skip never had

anyone over because the trailer park was one of the nicer

ones and was mostly a retirement community. It was

all by itself at the top of a hill and there was only one

road there.

At the bottom of the hill there was a Home Depot

and a few other businesses in a large parking lot. Driving

by I commented to Bob that it would have been nice to

have someone in the lot watching for police. A couple

minute warning is usually enough. He directed me to

Skip's unit and I parked around the corner.

I got out of the Festiva and Bob asked, "Aren't you

going to pop the hood and grab your gun?"

"Nope, what are we going to do, shoot him and

catch a murder beef? Don't worry about it. Just ask him

what happened and we'll wait for things to fall into

place."

On the way to Skip's door I thought of something.

We should have grabbed some fast food to have in our

hands. Seeing it, Skip would have dropped his guard

a little. I felt my nervous energy turning into focused

adrenaline.

Skip made the mistake of opening the door. I looked

right into his blue eyes and he looked like he was as

wired as a person could get. He had blond hair and

an unhealthy chiseled face. His cheeks sank in on his

bone structure, giving him the appearance of a walking

skeleton. He had a lanky long build for being right at

6 feet and somehow looked dangerous despite his lack

of size and power. He took on an angry look and I could

feel the evilness radiating from his insides.

"Bob I told you to call before showing up at my

place!"

I closed the distance between Skip and myself by

stepping to the side of Bob. Skip looked at me for a

second and I watched him look back at Bob. I was close

enough to engage but I didn't want things to start on

the porch so I looked past Skip into his residence. His

kitchen was to the left as soon as you entered and it

had a hardwood floor. The living room started behind

him about four feet away and I could see a table on the

carpet right where the hardwood tile stopped. It was

one of those tables that have a glass surface over the four

pieces of wooden legs. Underneath on the bottom glass

piece there was a rag over the top of something. I was

guessing it was a gun.

I watched Bob figure out what to say. "Skip, I want

my half of the shit."

It didn't look like Skip was going to invite us in so

I squeezed through his front door and bumped him out

of the way. Bob followed me in. I walked right to his

kitchen and kept my eyes on Skip and asked, "Where

was the fire? I don't see where the fire was."

Skip didn't look like he knew what to do with Bob

crowding him. I looked at Bob and he looked like he was

ready, but waiting for me. I saw Skip look at that table

I'd noticed and closed the distance to it and looked at

it with him. He looked back at me and noticed where

I was looking.

I told him, "You want that gun down there don't

you."

I was so close to Skip that when I exploded a right

handed bomb into his chin; the rest of the punch took

him off his feet. He bounced into the wall where his

head connected and crumbled to the hardwood floor.

He was out cold. Bob and I dragged him into the living

room and I thought about the loud thump thump noise

that was just made from Skip hitting the wall and then

the hardwood floor.

"Bob hold on to Skip, I'm going to go smoke a

cigarette out front to see if that noise got any of the

neighbor's attention."

Out on the porch I didn't see any of the neighbors

looking out their windows. I took a walk to check

behind his unit and didn't see anything either.

Back inside I noticed Bob had found some rope and

was tying Skip in an interesting knot. The couch had

been moved and Bob told me while he worked, "He

had another gun, this rope and some sick porn videos

from the orient of kids getting tied up. I learned how

to use rope in the Navy so Skip's going into my favorite

knot."

I watched Bob. He had Skip, who was still knocked

out, on his stomach. He was tying the rope around his

neck so the rope continued down to his legs, where he

made another loop at his ankles. He tightened up the

difference until Skip was arching up like a banana. It

looked like if he fought against the rope it would add

more pressure to his neck and strangle him. It didn't

look comfortable. I looked at the gun and the videos.

There were two videos. On the cover of one of them

both boys and girls who looked between 10-16 were

in chains, handcuffs and rope similar to the one Bob

was using with scared looks on their faces. I never

knew that kind of thing existed. How could the world

accept it? I looked back at Skip and saw he was waking

up. My mind spun all kinds of possibilities. Didn't

this piece of trash deserve to die so he couldn't ever

hurt any kids? I thought about it and wished I had a

vial full of a chemical that would wipe out his mind

so it couldn't process any more of his predatory evil

thoughts. Instead, I soccer kicked him in the face and

felt his nose breaking.

Bob explored Skip's room and came back with a

box full of stuff and told me, "These are the chemicals I

gave him. He didn't even use them yet!"

I watched Bob put Skip's guns in the box and

thought of something. Dennis is fighting a life sentence

for taking stuff from Maniac. I looked at Skip and

realized I didn't want any part of his stuff.

"Bob. I'm not driving that stuff out of here."

"B.J. These are my chemicals! I'll split it with you.

There's $6,000 worth of product here, plus the guns."

"I don't want it."

I couldn't believe what I was saying. It was coming

from somewhere else. Somewhere that was sick of the

sick shit and repulsed by it. I looked at Bob's confused

face and felt the good in me start to erode again. Those

impulsive urges screamed, take it! It's money! You take

all of these risks for it, now take it!

Bob looked at me like he understood. "What do

you want to do?"

"Call up the Hell's Angels and tell them to come

get it."

ChapteR 91

Back at Bob's house I fell asleep on his couch while

Bob called the Hell's Angels.

My dreams were dark and foreboding. Instead of

seeing my restless spirit full of energy, running away

from everything in a frenetic circle of motion, I was

stuck in slow motion. I felt myself running in the

dark but it felt like I was stuck and couldn't get any

traction, like I was running in mud. The harder I tried

to get away from the darkness and the evil feeling that

enveloped me, the deeper my legs went. I was sinking

and fighting against it, up to my waist now. I tried as

hard as I could to see myself from above and it didn't

work. Instead, I felt my body sinking further down.

My arms struggled through the mud reaching out for

something, anything. I had to find something to pull on

to get out of the sludge... I heard Bob telling someone

what just happened at Skip's on the phone. Then later I

heard someone come over.

"Bob, why in the fuck would you call the Hell's

Angels to come get those chemicals and guns; those

were my chemicals to begin with!"

"No they weren't Ricky... Those were my chemicals.

I had to pay myself something for making all of that

product for Tiny. You weren't paying me! I still don't

have any money!"

"I don't want to argue with you, Bob. We've got to

take a break and get away from all of this shit. It feels

like the walls are closing in on us. Let's go to the time

share in Oceanside I bought us. I've got the keys. Let's

take B.J. and get everything ironed out between all of

us and come up with an understanding..."

"When?'

"Right now. Let's wake B.J. up and go."

I got up from the couch. "You don't have to wake

me up. I was listening."

I walked to the bathroom feeling vulnerable. Like I

didn't have enough control over anything. I looked at my

watch and realized I was only on the couch for four hours.

Not much of that was real sleep and I didn't feel rested. I

felt groggy. I pulled out my speed and looked in the mirror

and thought, this weaning myself off speed isn't working.

I feel like I'm being guided by an unseen force without

enough control of the situation. Like I'm on auto pilot...

I snorted line after line until I felt that same old

relentless energy returning that let me know I was

ready to compete. I was wired for sound again.

Back in the living room Ricky and Bob just got

finished snorting some lines and Bob finished telling

Ricky about Skip's house.

"I heard you knocked Skip out with one explosive

right hand..."

I liked the respect Ricky was showing me and

deflected it toward Bob. "Yeah, it crumbled him. But

you should have seen Bob here. He tied him in a knot

that had him in a circle with the back of his heels almost

touching his head. We could have taken him outside

and rolled him down the hill to Home Depot."

We laughed and cut it up some more and I saw

myself as if from a distance laughing and cutting it up

with Ricky, who always ripped Bob off, and I knew

would turn on me at the drop of a dime...

ChapteR 92

I followed Ricky's Corvette in the Festiva with

Bob in the passenger seat. We drove into Oceanside

and followed some streets to the coast to some beach

parking. Ricky pulled over and parked 50 yards from the

timeshare and I tucked the Festiva behind his Corvette.

The street we were on was about 100 feet above the

beach below. We were in the middle of two piers and

there was a boardwalk of pavement beach goers used to

walk, skate, roller blade and ride bikes on.

We got out of the vehicles and Ricky said, "There's

Argenta and El Diablo."

I studied the timeshare's parking lot. There were

valet parkers and bell hops dressed in tuxedos at the

ready to guide clients from their vehicles into the

lobby. There was a Hummer limo with blacked out

tinted windows next to a white van with blacked out

tinted windows. Both were blocking other vehicles

from entering. Upon further inspection, some of the

other vehicles seemed to be part of the same caravan. A

Mexican in a black pin stripe suit that looked straight

out of a scarface movie stood next to someone in a wheel

chair.

Bob said, "That's Argenta in the wheel chair."

We watched El Diablo wave the valet parkers away

from them while he talked to Argenta like he owned

the timeshare. He wasn't in a hurry.

Ricky said, "What a bust. It looks like a scene out

of a mob movie."

A couple of Mexican hoods got out of the cars

behind the Hummer and got in the Hummer and

Argenta's white van. El Diablo instructed them where

to park and pointed our way. We watched the Hummer

creep down the street toward us. The driver passed us

and parked about 50 yards away where another street

intersected the street we were on. The driver didn't get

out. I assumed he was staying put to keep watch. The

driver of the white van flipped a U-turn and parked in

the same fashion the other way. We watched El Diablo

instruct the rest of the procession, one by one, where to

go. Then we watched him and Argenta walk into the

lobby.

ChapteR 93

"Argenta. What are you so worried about? This

little man isn't going to last on the streets long. I've

tried to find out his real name and couldn't, but trust

me; I've seen his kind over and over. All you have to

do is think about what they call themselves. Some of

them call themselves Puppet. So you figure out how to

be their puppet master. Pull their strings. This little

man sounds like he grew up too young. Like he started

using drugs and gang banging for his streets before he

ever matured. Those kind of people die young or end

up doing life in prison by the time they're 25 years old.

You just have to be patient. Bide your time and look for

opportunities to steer your enemies into trouble from a

distance. You'll last, they won't."

"But El Diablo, what if little man dies, or goes to

prison, and the streets just replace him with someone

else?"

Argenta watched El Diablo slam his fist against

the table in anger. "They will try to replace him! But

you're not seeing the big picture. They are fighting a

losing battle. California is locking them all up. That's

why there are 36 prisons with over a quarter million

in population. You have to think like I think. Satan

is using them to hold down a street. Satan is using us

to strangle the world! As long as drugs are illegal and

we control the demand for them, and, we stay alive

and free, we win. Right now I have a relative who I

sent to California to work as a prison guard a few years

ago. He's creating a prison mafia of prison guards as

we speak. Whose winning, me or little man? Argenta!

Are you forgetting what we did in Tennessee? Do the

same thing in your area. Remember the diabolical plan

I mentioned to you last time? I brought you an arsenal

of weapons from Mexico that have hundreds of murders

on their firing pins and barrels. Get those weapons in

the hands of your enemies. Let them take the fall for

those murders...The other part of my diabolical plan is

shrouded in legitimacy. If you pass it on to drug dealers,

you can attach your tentacles to their networks. It's a

multi level marketing plan that is in combination with

a telephone service provider by the name MLM. You

sell it as a legal business that you can retire on because

the income is residual. Drug dealers have networks they

sell their drugs to so it will attract them because they

already know enough people to earn what looks like

easy money. They will get all of their clients to switch

services and take on a level of the marketing where they

repeat the same process again and again. You and I keep

all of the money from it and we see a clear picture of

their drug networks. Argenta, you have to think like an

insidious spirit to serve Satan at the level I do. I've also

brought you the best speed on the planet to manipulate

with. You saw how it worked in Tennessee. Go with

Satan."

I brought my carry bag with my clothes in it and

put it in the suite Bob and I were to go in. Bob looked

pissed off at Ricky and told me he needed to talk to him.

I gave them some space and walked down to the beach.

I found a mountain bike rental shop and rented a bike.

It felt good to pedal away some of my excess energy

and discontent. I rode the boardwalk on the beach and

found a route to circle past the timeshare and look for

El Diablo's caravan. I found Argenta's van. Somebody

was in it watching. I rode past the timeshare to where

the Hummer was parked and saw a Mexican attentively

watching the perimeter from the driver's seat. I pedaled

away and explored further inland and found another

one of El Diablo's henchman posted in another car

watching. A half a mile away at another intersection

another henchman watching. I pedaled further away

and found two more of El Diablo's vehicles at locations

to watch from. I wondered, did he use a map to find all

the best vantage points? On my way back, the vehicles

were gone. I made it back in time to see the Hummer

picking up El Diablo in front of the timeshare with his

caravan of vehicles behind him.

Bob watched B.J. get on the mountain bike and

ride away.

"Ricky! What the fuck is going on? I thought

we were coming to this time share to get away from

everything! Is this even our timeshare, or is it Argenta's

or El Diablo's?"

Ricky avoided eye contact.

"Argenta owns a master suite upstairs. We own

these two downstairs. I didn't even know El Diablo was

meeting Argenta here or I wouldn't have brought us.

I don't think El Diablo is staying here. He's probably

staying somewhere else."

I returned the mountain bike and went into our

suite to shower. I got out of the shower and Ricky

knocked on the door.

"B.J. Our host, Mr. Argenta wants to meet you.

He's upstairs in room..."

Walking upstairs I realized I didn't know much

about Mr. Argenta. Bob hadn't said anything about

him and Ricky had said little. Just that he was mob

related. I knocked on the partially open door.

"It's open! Come in."

I pushed the door open. Mr. Argenta was facing me

in his wheel chair. I noticed the big gold cross on his

neck. Then I noticed his bed. It was full of automatic

weapons. Then I noticed a table with a big pile of speed

and an open brief case on it.

I looked back at Mr. Argenta and saw he was

following my eyes.

"Do you want any of those machine guns?"

"No."

"Do you want any of that speed?"

"Yes."

I looked at the pile of speed and estimated it at a

pound. It had a purple color to it and I'd never seen any

like it before. I smashed up enough to snort two good

sized lines and inhaled them.

I felt the same pain along my nasal membranes

traveling into my brain that had my eyes burning like

that first time with Paul. I clamped my teeth against it

like I had at Paul's and watched Mr. Argenta grab some

papers out of the brief case.

"I have a legal business for you if you're interested.

You can take the networks you have built up in your

drug empire and turn it into a legal one. You take your

five biggest components and have them switch their

phone service to this company. Then you have them

lock in their five biggest components to do the same

thing. That's how this service does its advertising.

Word of mouth and multi level networks. Since they

advertise that way, they save a ton of money in costs

and pass that on to the consumers. That's what makes

it so easy to get people to switch services, you're saving

them money. Nobody argues with that kind of savings.

Once you build up three levels of five people getting

five people under them, you make $600 a month in

residual income for the rest of your life as long as your

networks stay on the program with our company. Once

you get five levels of five under you, you're over a $1,000

a month in residual income. It's a no brainer."

Mr. Argenta handed me the M.L.M. phone service

provider brochures. I looked it over and saw that

Standard and Poor's had given the new company a strong

rating. The rest of the information explained in more

detail what Argenta had said. I thought about it. It

looked good but I didn't have time to dig another hole

to have to get out of. I thought about my investment/

partnership with Mr. Dudley and looked back at the

pile of speed, like it could somehow help me problem

solve it.

"Can I buy some of this speed and take this M.L.M

stuff with me to study?"

"Sure."

ChapteR 94

I drove back to Orange County with Bob and

stopped at Paul's house, and then Tom's to dump some

of the new product off. At Tom's he filled me in on

what had transpired with Dennis.

"B.J., Natasha is in jail. She showed up to court

for Dennis with Misty's notarized statement. The

D.A. took her into custody as an accessory to Dennis's

crimes. It gets worse. The D.A. is taking the position

that it hasn't been proven Misty was in the garage,

so her notarized statement isn't admissible. They are

saying it's all a fabrication. The worst part is Natasha

has cancer. I guess she found out a while back and hasn't

followed up on it. I think it's spread too far and is too

late. I'm sorry B.J."

I drove from Tom's to Mr. Dudley's new dealership

trying to analyze which problems to focus on. I couldn't

face that Natasha was in jail with a cancer that had

spread too far. It reminded me of losing my Mom. I felt

the tears sliding down my face and bit down against

the pain.

I found the B.M.W. dealership and looked across

the street. There was a sign at the top of the building

that said, STEEL STALLION/CUSTOM CRAFT

HARLEY DAVIDSON. I pulled into the parking

lot and realized the front of the dealership was full of

windows so customers could see Mr. Dudley's custom

Harleys being showcased on pedestals. I started to get

out and Bob stopped me.

"B.J., don't go in there. Your mind has too many

problems on it. Take a break and get some rest before

you do anything. Maybe you should give this problem

with Mr. Dudley to someone else to research what's

happening."

I thought about it and knew he was right. I wasn't

doing the homework on things anymore. I was just

impulsively walking into things. Like my brain wasn't

telling my feet where to go. That unseen leash I'd

dreamed about had to be the one pulling me. Those

vines I dreamed were strangling me, were all around

me. The chaos was in control of me.

Bob got on the phone and I listened to him talk

to one of his Hell's Angels associates. The guy he was

talking to said he was in San Diego. Bob got off the

phone telling the other end that he'd get right back to

him.

"B.J. why don't we have a couple of the real Hell's

Angels go into Mr. Dudley's dealership and act like

they want to buy the custom Harley that holds your

investment."

I liked the idea. Bob got back on the phone and we

found out they would be in San Diego for three weeks

attending some other business. On their way back

they'd stop at the Harley dealership.

ChapteR 95

Argenta sat in front of his mirror flipping tarot cards

and listening to the audio recording of Bob talking at

his house in Colton. He thought about the research

he'd done on all of the names of the Hell's Angels

and Devil's Disciples he'd written down. He thought

about how he'd hacked into their phone records and

compiled a list of who's who among their networks.

He thought, now I just need B.J. to call me back! Why

hasn't he called? If he doesn't call me back today, I'm

going to have to call Ricky's cousin Ernie and make

him my spy.

Argenta flipped another tarot card, the goddess

of fire. He smiled and thought about how he used to

control so many women with heroin and how he was

going to use women to lure either B.J. or Ernie into

his control. He thought about his plan. I'll allow one of

them to use my black 1930's era gangster ride with its

Al Capone look. I can even lie and tell them that it was

the car used for the Valentine day massacre in Chicago.

It is a replica, they won't know the difference. Then I'll

tell one of them about how I used to control the drug

trade and have all of the beautiful women working for

me as prostitutes. I'll teach one of them how to go to

a strip club and reel pole dancers into their fold. I'll

give them some of the speed El Diablo gave me and it

will be simple. Every pole dancer who uses speed will

be loyal to the provider of the best product like before!

In return for my favors, I'll require more information

on this area's speed trade so I can play chess with that

information like I did in Tennessee!

The next morning Argenta followed his ritual and

sat in front of the mirror to flip tarot cards. The first

card was the Eagle... The second card was the Snake...

The third card was Fire! Argenta looked at himself in

the mirror and decided that B.J. was the Eagle and

Ricky was the Snake and the fire represented the pit

they both needed to get burned in! That means I am to

use Ernie as my spy, and to hell with B.J.!

Ernie pulled up to Argenta's gate and parked his

truck. He pushed the button on the gate and looked

at Argenta's black 1930's era G. ride. He studied the

silver steeple grill and the long black hood that ended

at the narrow windshield where the visors inside were

folded down. Ernie pictured himself driving behind

those visors sheltering him like a Mafioso.

Argenta watched Ernie pull up from his living room

window and smiled. He patted the machine gun and

the keys to the car on his lap and started laughing.

The gate opened and Ernie let his fingers slide

against the flaring hood toward the front door and

noticed the G. ride had suicide doors and a running

board underneath them. He pictured himself sitting

in the driver's seat with the door open and his feet on

the floor board with a machine gun in his hands facing

an enemy. He thought, what an impression that would

leave!

Ernie stopped daydreaming and saw Argenta's front

door open.

"Stay right there Ernie!"

Ernie watched Argenta's wheel chair come toward

him and noticed the machine gun in his lap.

Argenta tossed the keys to Ernie and said, "Open

the door and sit down in the driver's seat."

Ernie sat in the driver's seat and turned to face

Argenta with his feet on the running board like

he imagined and accepted the machine gun from

Argenta.

Argenta watched Ernie hold the machine gun in

both hands and thought, that's right, you're almost

there..

"Ernie. Put the machine pistol under the front seat

and come inside with me."

Ernie followed Argenta inside to his computer. He

noticed a glass tray with a pile of purple speed on the

table next to the computer.

Argenta watched Ernie look at the pile of speed and

urged, "Go ahead and get high. Then I want to show

you some whores on the internet.

Argenta pulled up Mr. G.'s strip club web site.

"Look at these beautiful whores Ernie. Look at

how vibrant this one looks. I'll bet you that she uses

speed."

Ernie looked at the girl being featured as

Mr. G.'s star, by the stage name of Piper. He stared at

the white girl with the brown hair and brown eyes. She

looked about 6'1 in 6 inch stripper heels stretching

her long legs in different poses holding the stripper

pole. Argenta flipped to another of Mr. G.'s featured

strippers and found a sexy Latina who went by Vivid

doing her thing on the stripper pole, then another one

who went by Vixen.

Wired up on the speed he just snorted, Ernie stared

at the intoxicating, almost nude dancers. He thought,

I want them so bad, but I've never had any luck with

them before. How can I get one?

He asked, "Argenta, I'm not good looking enough

to get with girls like that."

Argenta slammed his fist against the table like El

Diablo had done to get Ernie's attention. "Ernie! I wasn't

even as good looking as you are when I was your age.

Let me tell you something I learned that allowed me to

get all of my whores and power. I realized that everyone

in the drug culture is running from something, even

these strippers. They are chasing excitement to avoid

whatever it is they're running from. All you have to do

is give them some excitement, and then you're a god.

Here is what you're going to do. You're going to drive

my Al Capone car to Mr. G.'s every night. You're going

to offer Piper, Vivid and Vixen some of this speed. They

will fawn over you because it is the best speed on the

planet. You play it cool for a few days until they notice

the gangster car you're pulling up in. Then you start

letting them know that you're working for the new

mafia in this town. You tell them that you're helping

this new mafia take over and reorganize things. Tell

them that all of the speed cooks are going to work for

you. Add some danger to it and tell them that those

that don't are going to be removed..."

Ernie thought, that sounds like what L'il man is doing

and I know all of the cooks he's hit up with his offer.

Excited, he told Argenta, "I know all of the cooks!"

Argenta laughed to himself, look how easy he is to

manipulate! So much for B.J. and Bob, it's too late for

them. It's time to extract information.

Ernie watched Argenta pull out a list of names and

addresses.

"Ernie. I need you to assist me. Tell me all the

names of these cooks..."

ChapteR 96

Ernie pulled the black Al Capone G. ride into

Mr. G.'s parking lot and circled it. He noticed

a separate parking lot in the back that said it was

for employees only. Ernie thought, that looks like

where all the strippers park. I wish I could park back

there so they could see me getting out of this car. Then

he remembered that Argenta had said, "Just park as

close as you can to the entrance and wait inside the

car. At 4'oclock the strippers will start arriving for

their shift and see you."

Ernie looked at his watch. 3:45. He parked in the

front and waited.

He watched an expedition pull up. Piper, Vivid and

Vixen got out!

Piper walked to the entrance first with a pair of

black stretch pants and her stripper heels in her hand.

Vivid and Vixen walked behind Piper in their stripper

heels and sheer dresses that showed their G strings

underneath.

Ernie opened his door and held the machine pistol

in his hand.

Ernie polished the machine pistol with a rag and

watched the three strippers stop and stare at him. He

watched Vivid say, "What's up gangster? Nice ride.

Are you coming inside? Do you want me to dance for

you?"

Ernie felt himself nodding his head and calmed

himself down and tucked the machine gun under his

seat. "I'll be inside in a few minutes. I've got to make

an important phone call first."

Walking in the strip club Piper laughed, "Who was

that fronting himself off like he's a gangster?"

Vixen said, "I know who that is. That's Ricky's

cousin Ernie. I wonder if he recognized me... Probably

not. He's always been so shy and dopey around girls. I

think he's a virgin. His money will be easy to vacuum

out of his wallet. I'll tell you something else, he's not a

gangster. His cousin Ricky, on the other hand, is pretty

gangster. I wonder if that's where he got the antique

car."

Vivid said, "The real gangster around here is my

homeboy L'il man."

Vixen said, "It's too bad that he won't last long. All

the real gangsters go back to prison."

Ernie walked into the club and remembered how

Argenta had told him to find a table in the back against

a wall. He found one and watched the strippers start

their shift by taking turns on the stage. He watched

Piper's routine and thought, I'll do anything to be with

you.

Piper finished her warm up dance routine and

picked up the rest of the cash on the stage. She looked

up and saw Ernie in the back and walked over.

"Do you want a dance? It's twenty five dollars."

Ernie thought about what Argenta had said. "I

want to pay you in the best speed on the planet. It's way

better than anything else around. I get it for free."

"Okay honey. Why don't you give me a little money

and a put a little of that speed away in one of the bills

so I can see if it really is the best."

Ernie did as he was told and Piper came back ten

minutes later.

"You were right. That is the best speed I've ever

done. Now I'm going to show you my appreciation."

Ernie watched Piper gyrate her sexy body higher

and higher up his body until she was standing on the

chair he was on and holding a bar above her head for the

strippers to use for balance. Ernie watched her lift her

leg above his shoulder and bring the inside of her thigh

toward his face. She humped the air closer and closer.

Ernie stared at Piper's shaved crotch underneath her G

string as it came closer and closer to his mouth. He

reached his hands behind her ass to pull her to him.

Piper slapped his hand and said, "You can't touch

me. You see that bouncer over there. He'll throw you

out. I can touch you but you can't touch me, okay."

Ernie looked over and saw the muscle bound

bouncer staring at him. "Okay."

Piper erotically climbed tantalizingly close to

Ernie, within an inch of contact and whispered, "Do

you like me honey?"

Ernie responded, "I love you."

Piper wiggled intoxicatingly close to Ernie's face

and whispered, "Do you see something you like?"

Ernie responded, "I see something I love."

Piper finished her five minute routine and said,

"That's it honey. I have to go back to work."

Vivid came over next.

Ernie noticed that she danced a little less exotically

but he didn't mind. He stared at her shaved pussy

underneath the sheer G string humping inches from

his face.

"You're making me wet baby. Do you want to taste

me?"

Ernie responded, "Oh my god yes."

Ernie drove away from the strip club and went

right to a liquor store. He looked at the magazine rack

and found three magazines. He drove straight to his

house and dove into the nude magazines and entered

a fantasy world where he thought about what he could

say to Piper, Vivid and Vixen the following night. Ernie

thought and thought. What can I say to get one of them

to come home with me? Ernie looked at his watch and

realized it was already 3 in the afternoon. Without even

showering he dressed in the same clothes and ran to the

G. ride to head to Mr.G.'s

"Do you have some more of that speed for me

Ernie?"

Ernie watched Piper climbing all over him and

mumbled, "Yeah... I've got a never ending supply for

you. I'm working for the new mafia in this town. We're

going to get rid of all of the dope cooks who don't go

with our program..."

The same thing happened with Vivid and Vixen.

Ernie went home by himself and went straight to his

room to his magazines.

Vivid called L'il man and explained what Ernie had

told her.

Vixen called Ricky and explained what Ernie was

saying.

ChapteR 97

Ricky gunned the engine in his corvette and

thought, "I should have had Tony whack Argenta before

he went to New York!" Furious with himself at letting

things get out of hand to this point, he parked in front

of Argenta's gate. He noticed Argenta's black 1930's

era G ride was missing.

"Argenta, what the fuck were you thinking? Ernie

works for me, not you! I know how dumb he is so I

don't give him any real responsibility. I don't give him

the chance to ruin everything like you did. I was about

to send him to Tennessee to keep an eye on Tiny while

we're in this drought with our speed production."

"Send him to Tennessee then. I don't need him

anymore."

"Argenta! Didn't you hear what I said on the

phone? Ernie told all of the strippers he's working for

the new mafia in this town! He also told them that all

of the speed cooks were either going to cook dope for

the new mafia or they were going to be removed from

the program! Did you tell him to say all of that?"

"Of course not! I didn't know Ernie was that kind

of idiot..."

Ricky stared at Argenta and took some deep breaths

to calm the rage bubbling inside trying to escape. He

thought, I've always problem solved things others

thought were impossible. I'll do the same thing with

this problem. I just have to visualize everything in

minute detail...

"Argenta, do you want me to get your 1930's Al

Capone car back for you?"

ChapteR 98

At Bob's house I was in no man's land. The purple

speed wasn't allowing me to sleep and my problems

weren't allowing me a break from the purple speed.

For two weeks I tried to analyze what to do and

was continually overwhelmed. My mind constantly

envisioned Natasha in jail fighting heavy charges and

dying of cancer, Dennis in jail facing 25 to life and

Mr. Dudley being cryptic on the phone about why my

investment wasn't selling. I couldn't come up with any

solutions. It was such a rough trade for me that when

Bob asked me something simple like, "Do you want to

go get something to eat?" I'd get stuck thinking about

it like my life depended on making the right choice.

I felt my control and influence slipping away and

called Tom to see how he was doing. He sounded

terrible. He was spun and mumbled the whole time. I

listened intently and somehow made sense of what he

was saying.

"B.J. I'm glad you called. I haven't slept in almost

four weeks... I've been bunkered down with my troops

and we've been waiting for your call. Communications

have been down for weeks and we've been out of food,

we've been rationing the water but we're almost out

of it. Headquarters hasn't been getting back to us and

I can't keep the troops together. Morale is at an all

time low. We need some more of that purple nurple to

reorganize an exit strategy. Are you going to bring the

helicopter and drop some rations any time soon?"

After I hung up the phone I didn't know if I should

laugh at how baffling this life is, or cry about how sad

it is. Did I really want to bring my friend any more

speed?

Bob broke into my reverie.

"B.J., that gangster L'il man is coming over with

his homeboy Hector. They asked if it was okay to give

some strippers our address to come over. I gave it to

them."

ChapteR 99

An Expedition pulled up and I watched three girls

close the doors on it. The first two girls I looked at

demanded my attention by the way they were dressed. I

noticed they were both Latina. They were both dressed

in six inch spiked stiletto heels, short skirts and tops

that barely held on to enhanced breast. They both had

a little too much make-up and looked like professional

call girls. Then I noticed the other girl. She looked Irish,

with beautiful long brown hair. I watched her walk

through the gate wearing white Converse shoes, black

stretch pants and a white T shirt that had a Mr. G.'s strip

club emblem on it. Even the way she walked was erotic.

We met the strippers and when I shook the Irish

girl's hand I got lost in her brownish green eyes and

didn't want to let her hand go. "Hi B.J. nice to meet

ya, I'm Piper."

I watched Vivid put one of her C.D.'s in the

stereo and the trance music started the party. I started

throwing darts and felt the hypnotic music releasing

my stress and opening the doors to my spirit.

I felt Piper watching me throw darts and every time

she stopped looking at me, I looked at her. It went back

and forth a few times. Then I noticed her looking at her

friend Vivid while she asked Bob, "Do you have any

dope?"

I laughed at how bold Vivid was and looked back

at Piper laughing and our eyes locked. It felt like there

was a magnet between us and we sat facing each other

on the carpet. I couldn't pull my eyes away from her

deep eyes and said, "You don't look like you're from

around here, you look like you're from the beach."

I saw a spark of excitement in Pipers eyes that she

expressed through her face in a beautiful smile... "I was

going to say the same thing to you. You look like you

just got out of the ocean in Dana Point with your nylon

board shorts without a shirt on. How do you stay so

buff doing speed?"

Piper punched my chest softly and I again felt my

spirit pulled toward her like a magnet.

"I work out a lot to process things and I drink ensure

protein drinks and eat every other kind of protein bar I

can get my hands on... How did you know I was from

Dana Point?"

I looked right into Piper's eyes and realized we were

leaning closer and closer to each other. She laughed, "I

drink ensures, and eat protein bars too!"

I needed to know more. "Piper... What's your real

name and where are you from?"

I watched Piper pull away from me a little and saw

the pain in her deep brown eyes. Then I saw her find

comfort looking back into my eyes. "My name is Sarah.

I'm from Dana Point too... Then I moved to Newport

Beach... Then out here to the middle of nowhere. I

don't know what I'm doing out here."

I saw Vivid out of the corner of my eye trying to get

Piper's attention and succeed. "Why don't you two get

a room or something?"

Piper slapped Vivid's leg as she walked outside.

Vivid said, "I'll be right back, I have to make a

phone call."

ChapteR 100

"L'il man, it's Vivid. No, Bob doesn't have that

purple stuff. He's got some he said he cooked himself.

The shit is the bomb though. You should definitely

have him cook for you... Alright, okay, I'll keep my eye

on things, are you going to get here before we have to

go to work? Alright, bye."

ChapteR 101

I walked Sarah into Bob's room and shut the door.

She walked to the bed and sat down and I sat next to

her and looked into her eyes again.

I asked, "What happened to you? Why are you out

here in the desert?"

Sarah told me and tears flowed from her eyes.

"I was drugged by a guy named Bob Prescott at a party.

I think he put G.H.B. in my drink. He took me home

and raped me all night. He hurt me... I started using

speed right after and have been running from everything

ever since."

I listened to Sarah's story and couldn't believe how

closely the running part mirrored mine.

"I got into stripping and still love how much power

it gives me... But I still feel like the loneliest girl on the

planet. I haven't let anyone get close to me and haven't

had a boyfriend this whole time."

I told Sarah my story from the beginning, got to

the part with Bob Prescott ratting us off and the speed

roller coaster ride since, up to the current chaos in my

life.

Bob knocked on his bedroom door and I heard the

trance music get turned down.

I opened the door a few inches, "What's up?"

"B.J. my Hell's Angel associates just pulled up.

They're out front and don't want to meet anyone else.

They have something to tell you."

I walked outside with Bob and saw two bikers

parking their Harleys in front of Bob's gate. I shook

hands.

"B.J., I'm Johnny Chamberlain and this is Chrome

Jeff. It's nice to meet you. We've heard a lot of good

things about you from Bob. We went to the Harley

Dealership in Irvine. I checked the two custom Harleys

out that were being showcased on pedestals. When an

employee came to help me I told them I wanted to buy

the wide glide half chopper cash for the president of

the Hell's Angels for his birthday. The employee didn't

know what to do. He got the manager and we went

over the same thing with him."

I could picture the employees at Mr. Dudley's

dealership in awe of the hulk in the Hell's Angel jacket

I was looking at. I had to make sure of something. "You

tried to buy the Harley with the white paint job with

the eagle on the gas tank."

"That's the one. The manager explained that

we couldn't buy the two Harleys being showcased

on pedestals for cash. They weren't for sale like that.

The manager explained that we could put a down

payment on either one and it would get built within

two months. I asked why we couldn't just buy it

cash right now so we could give it to the president

of our Hell's Angels chapter in time for his birthday

in a couple days. He explained that those two custom

Harleys were prototypes. He said they offer a chrome

exchange program so customers can come in and see all

the chrome parts on the prototypes and customize their

Harley the same way. I asked the manager if he'd sold

either Harley on an order yet and he got suspicious. I

tried to fix it by telling him I wanted to know to see

how long they had to wait for it to get built... Sorry

B.J., but your investment is a sham."

I saw the Crown Victoria I'd seen the last time

creeping toward us... We all watched it drive by.

Bob said, "That's L'il man. He wants to talk to B.J.

and I."

I watched Johnny Chamberlain watch the Crown

Victoria drive away and shake his head. "There is

something else I've got to tell you. While we were in

San Diego on business yesterday we got a call from

our club headquarters. Two of our cooks got raided

and one of the Devil's Disciple cooks got raided. All

three of the cooks talked to L'il man about getting the

chemicals from him and refused. We aren't jumping to

any conclusions yet, even though it looks like the pieces

fit. We've got sources checking on where the leak is

coming from and will know what's happening shortly.

Be careful."

I watched Johnny Chamberlain and Chrome Jeff

kick start their Harley Davidsons and ride away. I

followed their path and read the back of their Hell's

Angels jackets signifying they were the San Berdoo

chapter. I looked back at Bob's front door and saw

Sarah, Vivid and Vixen walking out.

Sarah hugged me and said, "B.J., we have to go to

work at Mr. G.'s. I'm going to pray a lot like you told

me and I'll pray for you. Please pray for me."

I watched the girls get in the Expedition and drive

away and prayed, God help me, I'm a confused speed

dealer and Sarah is a confused stripper, guide and

protect us back toward your light so we can find our

way through this darkness.

As soon as my prayer was sent, I saw the Crown

Victoria again. It parked for a second right in front of

us and L'il man got out and the Crown Victoria drove

away.

ChapteR 102

Ricky accelerated through each gear of the Corvette

taking the tach to the redline to feel the power surge,

until he was in the same zone. Every turn he drove

through, he pushed the Corvette as close to the point

of no return as possible to sharpen his reflexes and

mind. He got off the freeway and drove by the gang

neighborhoods to the Boy's and Girl's club and turned

toward the park. He parked and saw the tables he knew

the gangs used at night to post up on to sell drugs and go

over other crimes. He thought about what he'd heard, a

gang member high up in the ranks who went by Puppet

held down this park at night and left his blue bandana

on the tables during the day to mark his spot. Ricky

looked around, it was clear, nobody was watching. He

picked up the blue bandana and a couple of cigarette

butts and hustled back to the Corvette. Accelerating

away he went over the rest of his plan visually. Vixen

is going to smother Ernie with promises of love and

get him to drink some Vodka with the sleeping pills

in it at 10 P.M. By 10:30, Ernie should be passing out.

Then Vixen is going to help the bouncer escort him to

his car...

Ricky pulled the Corvette into Mr.G.'s and looked

at his watch. 10 P.M. He saw Argenta's car and got into

it and backed out and continued to drive backwards

around the parking lot to the back to the employee

parking. He found a spot for the car right next to the

garbage dumpsters. He got out and looked around. It was

dark and dank and nobody was watching. He breathed

in the night air and the foulness of the dumpsters was

almost too much. He felt his rage building, why do I

have to deal with this shit? I always have to fix other

people's problems! Now I have to hide out behind these

stinky dumpsters!

Vixen watched Ernie slumping in the same seat

he'd been in for the last two weeks. She whispered to

Vivid, "I think he's almost out of that dope anyway, but

we better check."

Ernie watched Vixen whispering to Vivid and

imagined her saying; he's too ugly to have sex with.

Ernie thought about the last two weeks. I haven't slept

since Argenta sent me on this mission and I've failed. I

must not have enough charisma or brains to figure out

how to be a kingpin. God, why am I such a loser? Why

did you make me so ugly?

Vixen pulled the pills out of her purse and opened

them into the glass of Vodka and walked to Ernie.

"Here honey, drink this and stop looking so sad... If

I didn't have a boyfriend, I'd go out with you."

Ernie looked into Vixen's eyes and drank the Vodka.

He set the cup down on the verge of crying and said,

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

"No sweetie, I'm telling you the truth."

Vixen watched Ernie's eyes struggle to stay open.

Vivid whispered, "One of us should get his money and

dope out of his pocket. I'll go flirt with the bouncer to

distract him."

Vixen reached into Ernie's pockets and Ernie

mumbled and slumped further into the table.

"It's okay honey, just go to sleep."

ChapteR 103

I studied L'il man while shaking his hand. He was

only about 5'7 but I got the impression size didn't

matter with him. I guessed his age at 25. This time

he was dressed like a street gangster in Nike Cortez

shoes, black socks pulled up high enough that his long

baggie blue shorts covered them below his knees with a

white tank top. He had his neighborhood and his gang

tattooed on his arms and shoulders. I saw a puckered

knife scar on his forearm and a bullet wound on his

shoulder. He had short cropped hair and brown eyes

that I couldn't look away from once I got there. I saw

the innocence of a kid mixed with a lot of pain; and

the rage of a man all mixed together in his deep brown

eyes.

Inside Bob's, L'il man asked me, "What's your

specialty B.J."

I got the impression I was supposed to say I was

Bob's problem solver, or I was a speed and marijuana

dealer. I didn't say anything.

L'il man said, "The reason I ask is to see if you're the

one I should be talking to about getting Bob on board

cooking speed for me."

I stared at L'il man and Bob. As usual, Bob wasn't

talking, I offered, "Bob's his own man."

Nobody said anything for a few minutes. I looked

at Bob and knew he wasn't going to put any of our

business out there so I did carefully. I went on to explain

how things had been, how he'd been getting niggard

by Ricky and how I'd been trying to get him to come

to Orange County to operate with me."

Bob said, "It hasn't always been like that with

Ricky... Not until he got involved with someone he

shouldn't have."

L'il man studied me to see if I had anything to

say. I thought back to the timeshare in Oceanside and

wondered if he was talking about Argenta. He'd never

said much about it.

Bob continued, "L'il man, I can't take you up on

your original offer. I don't want to be beholden to

anyone."

L'il man said, "What if I sell you the chemicals and

you kick me down whatever you think is righteous. If

it works out, we'll keep doing it that way."

Bob looked at me. I thought back to that night on

Bob's boat so long ago where I tried so hard to make

what now looked possible, happen. Then I thought

about the phone conversation I'd had with Tom and

how bad he sounded. I explained how I felt about the

speed business from my heart.

"I don't know if I want to stay in this business.

Everyone I'm selling speed to is falling apart."

I elaborated further and included my own slide.

L'il man responded, "That's how it used to be with

me. I used to let my conscience in too far. Then I saw

my brother get run over by a car right in front of me.

Now I look at it the way you're supposed to, like a

business. You just have to get yourself to the next level

of the game. Stop selling to your friends. I only deal

with convicts."

Bob looked at me and I could see he wanted me to

buy the chemicals. "B.J. how does this sound. We set a

goal to work as hard as we can for a year and get out if

we want to at that point – well off enough, too."

L'il man said, "As far as your friends you said are

spun out in Orange County; some of them will go get

treatment and relapse again and buy dope from someone

else if you don't sell it to them, some will go to prison

and get back out and get back into the life. Once you're

in, there's almost no getting out. I only know a few

people out of a hundred who have made another life

after getting as far into this business as we have, and

they got help from churches."

Bob nodded his head. "He's right. Why don't we try

moving the product somewhere else where it's worth

more. Like another state. That way you won't be in the

middle of all of your problems in Orange County. You

can get some space to breathe and figure those problems

out. I've at least got to make some money to get my

own place. I don't trust this one."

ChapteR 104

Ricky watched Ernie getting carried toward

Argenta's G. ride. The bouncer and Vixen had one of

his arms around their shoulders and Vixen pulled out

the keys and opened the driver door.

The bouncer struggled to hold Ernie up and said,

"Open the back door so we can slide him in. I don't

want to have to fit him into the front seat with the

steering wheel."

Ricky watched them put Ernie in the back seat,

close the door and walk back to Mr.G.'s back door. He

put on his gloves and pulled the scalpel out of his sock

and climbed out from behind the dumpster. He opened

the door and pulled Ernie's legs and felt his anger

slipping away. He found himself staring at his nephew's

face and thought for a second. If I don't whack him the

word will get around that he ran his mouth about all

of the cooks being removed. He's going to look like

a police informant when they all get raided by law

enforcement. Then people will connect the dots that I'm

Ernie's Uncle and it will look like I'm involved... Ricky

felt his temper erupting and brought the scalpel to his

nephew's neck and felt the hot blood soak his gloved

hands. He felt the scalpel slip deeper and lost the grip

on it. He fumbled for a grip and realized he was pushing

the scalpel deeper into his nephew's neck. He felt blood

spraying all over himself and realized the scalpel sliced

open his nephew's carotid artery. He fought for control

of his temper and gathered the scalpel and put it back

in his sock, soaked in blood. Then he wiped the blood

from his face with his shirt. He pulled his nephew all

the way out of the car and dragged him in between the

two dumpsters and remembered the plastic bag in his

pocket. He pulled it out and dropped the blue bandana

and cigarette butts next to his nephew and walked to

Argenta's car. He backed out and made sure he ran over

his nephew's blood, hoping some would stain the frame

of Argenta's car. He thought, everything will point to

him and the neighborhood gangsters...

ChapteR 105

L'il man got in the passenger seat, and I started the

Festiva and asked, "Where am I going?"

"Get on the freeway and go toward Hesperia. I'm

calling Hector and telling him to go get the chemicals.

I'll have him meet us at his house."

I followed the directions and listened to L'il man

leave messages for Hector to call him.

I got off the freeway and followed directions.

"B.J., Hector might be at the park talking to

Puppet to get to the chemicals. You see that Boy's and

Girl's club up there on the right? Turn left up there and

the park is on the right."

I pulled up to the park and watched L'il man get

out and walk over to a congregation of neighborhood

hommies sitting and standing around two tables.

I could see how much respect they gave L'il man by the

way they maneuvered out of the way for him to talk to

who I assumed was Puppet sitting on the table. The

rest of the hommies watched the area and looked at me

sitting in the Festiva. I watched L'il man walk back and

get in the car.

"Drive down the street, he might be at the safe

house."

I followed L'il man's directions and circled the

house while he looked for anything unusual. He had me

park around the corner from the house and come with

him this time. We went into a garage and I counted

twelve other neighborhood hommies stop doing what

they were doing. L'il man left me in the garage and

went inside the house. Every one of the hommies were

staring at me. I backed up against the wall next to the

door I'd just entered and waited. I took an inventory of

the hommies. Most of them were youngsters between

16-20 years old. They were all dressed the way L'il man

was. I could feel how much they wanted to be respected.

There was one that looked like he had the most influence

talking to another hommie his age, watching one of the

youngsters walk toward me and ask me something.

"What kind of gun is that you have in your

pants?"

I patted my shirt and said, "I'm not here for show

and tell."

I watched the older hommie watching say, "Little

Chuco, he's here with L'il man on business..." Then he

went into a bunch of Espanol I didn't understand.

I watched L'il man open the door from the house

and stop to talk to the hommie who'd just called L'il

Chuco away from me.

L'il man walked back to me and nodded toward the

door it was time to go.

"Let's just go to his house and wait for him."

I followed directions back to the freeway. I drove

about five more miles and got off at the last exit in San

Bernardino. L'il man directed me across some railroad

tracks to the last street next to a wild and rough looking

foothill. I waited at the light and looked to the right.

There was a desolate lonely road going nowhere that

way. Across the street was an empty gas station.

"Make a left right here. Drive the speed limit

because there is a police station a quarter mile down

on the left. Hector's house is a mile or so down on the

right."

I parked and watched L'il man run to a house. At the

door someone answered and he waved at me to come.

"Hector isn't home but his sister said we could wait

here for him."

I sat down on a couch in the living room and

realized how exhausted I was. I wanted to sleep but

thought, how do I sleep in these conditions? Now I

have to rough ride it until I get these chemicals, then

drive with them back to Bob's where he just said he

didn't feel comfortable anymore, and then to Orange

County where I have all those vines trying to strangle

me and nowhere to go. I looked at my watch, 5 A.M.

"B.J. do you have any dope? My tolerance is built

up to mine."

I looked at L'il man and nodded my head. "I'm glad

you asked. I didn't know if it was okay to break anything

out here and get high. I'm on my last leg myself."

I dumped a little pile of the purple speed on a glass

tray and noticed L'il man react weird. I smashed up some

to snort and welcomed the stinging pain awakening my

exhausted body.

"Do you mind if I ask you whose dope that is?"

"It's not Bob's dope. It's one of Ricky's associates.

I don't know anything about the guy other than Ricky

saying he's mob related."

I explained the scene in Oceanside until my phone

rang.

ChapteR 106

"B.J., it's Piper. I had to call you. Someone got

murdered at the strip club and I'm scared. I don't know

if this has anything to do with you but the guy who

got murdered was saying that all of the cooks are going

to get removed or something. I thought it might have

something to do with you and Bob so I wanted to warn

you."

I watched L'il man listening to my phone

conversation intently.

"Piper, who was running their mouth about all of

the cooks getting removed?"

I thought about what Johnny Chamberlain said

about the cooks getting raided by law enforcement.

"I don't know if I should say his name or not. Vivid

and Vixen are telling me not to get caught up in it."

L'il man said, "Tell her not to say anything. I already

know who it is."

"Piper don't say anything. Stay out of it."

I hung up the phone and called Bob. His cell phone

went straight to voice mail. I tried the house phone, he

didn't answer.

"L'il man I've got to go to the house in Colton to

get Bob out of there."

"You don't want to leave right now. That police

station we passed is having a shift change right now.

They are all driving over to the neighborhood we were

in on the way here. Wait a couple of hours and it will

be clear."

"I can't wait."

I got off at Bob's exit in Colton and saw the

C.R.A.S.H. team parked in the IN N' OUT parking

lot. There was a white van and four other undercover

cars and almost a dozen officers dressed in bullet

proof vests and outfits signifying the operation they

worked for huddling up together like a football team.

I drove past them and turned at Bob's street. Johnny

Chamberlain and his partner were kick starting their

Harley Davidson's and pulling away. I drove by Bob's

and noticed him closing his door and followed behind

the Hell's Angels. At the end of the street they went

left and I went right. I parked the Festiva and ran back

to Bob's.

I hopped his fence and saw the C.R.A.S.H. team's

procession turn the corner. I ran to the front door and

Bob opened it right as the white van screeched to a stop

in front.

I ran past Bob into his house and told him to follow

me right as we both heard, "FREEZE!! SEARCH

WARRANT!!"

I ran to the kitchen window with so much adrenaline

flooding my body that I somehow climbed and dove

my body through the open window. I felt my legs pull

the window off its track and land on me as I fell in a

heap on the ground. I got up and looked back for Bob.

He was letting me escape and walking back to the open

door the task force was just getting to. I ran for the

fence and practically hurdled it and ran for the next one

and the next one.

I drove the back streets for a few miles and found

the freeway. I waited at a street light and saw an on-

ramp to the freeway heading back toward the Orange

County beaches and another one heading the other way

to Hector's. I didn't know which way to go. I felt my

arms stinging and looked at them holding the wheel.

They were bruised and bleeding from the fences. My

body was weary and my mind was exhausted. The light

turned green and I still hadn't decided which freeway

I was going to take. I drove past the first on ramp and

turned into the second one.

I got to Hector's house and L'il man opened the

door.

"I made it, Bob didn't. I've got to get some sleep."

Hector's sister let me take a shower and use Hector's

room to sleep. As soon as I laid down on his floor I was

asleep.

ChapteR 107

I woke up on the floor. I heard the front door open.

My throat was so dry I had to choke to get some saliva

going. I went to the door to use the bathroom and get

some water and heard Hector and L'il man talking.

"Did you bring the chemicals?"

"No. I brought them to the safe house. I got a call

and heard that Ricky is telling everyone that B.J. is

a federal agent and he's the reason all the cooks are

getting raided."

Hearing I was being labeled a federal agent didn't

help my dry throat any. I sat on the floor and took the

safety of my gun and set it next to me and pulled out

my speed.

I watched the bedroom door open and Hector and

L'il man come in.

I watched both Hector and L'il man look at my gun

next to me and then me right as my phone rang.

"B.J.. It's Johnny Chamberlain."

I put the phone on speaker.

"I just left Bob's right before he got raided."

I kept my eyes on Hector and L'il man and said

into the phone, "I know. I got there right as you were

pulling out."

"Did you see the van that pulled away before us?"

"No."

"That was one of our partners dropping off that

flask of chemicals you and Bob left for us to pick up at

Skip's. Bob put it in his room. If you pulled up right as

we were leaving, how did you get away?"

"I jumped through his kitchen window and jumped

a few back yard fences to get to my car. I had it parked

at the end of his street."

"Oh... B.J. we found out who the informant is."

"How?"

"We know someone who works for the Sheriff as

a dispatcher. She knows all the details of what goes

on within the police force. We traced the number she

gave us to an address. The owner of the address is Mark

Argenta. Do you know who that is?"

I watched Hector react to the name. "I know who

that is. He lives right down the street."

I watched L'il man think of something. "B.J., who

is that you're talking to?"

"Johnny, let me figure some of this shit out and get

back to you. Thanks for the heads up."

I hung up the phone and didn't answer L'il man.

Silence filled the air in the standoff.

Hector filled it. "Was that one of Bob's biker

associates?"

I nodded my head. "Something like that."

I watched Hector tell L'il man, "Let me talk to you

in private for a second."

I watched Hector and L'il man walk out of the room

and close the door.

ChapteR 108

Hector looked at L'il man in the living room and

said, "Let's go get the AR15 machine gun out of my

garage and see if B.J. will use it to blast Argenta."

ChapteR 109

I snorted a nose full of speed and felt my mind

racing with images. I remembered meeting Bob on

Paul's boat and telling him I'd be a tool he could utilize

to clean up problems in his backyard. Argenta leading

the police to him and a bunch of his biker associates

qualified as a problem and my word to clean it up was

on the line. I saw images of all the other jobs I'd done

since meeting Bob on Paul's boat. They rolled through

my mind's eye like a movie screen. It started with the

collection I made for the pot money I was owed. I saw

myself loading up the back of my truck with the dryer

and fishing poles. Images flashed through my mind of

going to Bagel's house, then Yerga's, then 420's, then

Dennis's, my rules and regulations, then Maniac's, then

Ricks... I felt all of that Momentum and felt qualified

to take out Argenta.

I heard Hector's front door open and watched

Hector walk in with a machine gun in his hands with

L'il man right behind him. I looked at the machine

gun and saw something that looked like a net attached

from the bottom of the trigger along the bottom of the

barrel.

"B.J.. This is our neighborhood's problem solver.

You see this net. It catches the shells that get ejected so

there isn't any for the crime scene detectives to pick up.

Come with us and I'll show you the hill we can climb

to check out Argenta's house."

I followed Hector and L'il man to the hill above

the freeway. The sun was out and I still hadn't drank

any water. I was dry gulching my way up the hill and

looked back and saw the police station didn't have any

action. L'il man had said shift change was at 6 P.M., I

looked at my watch, 12 noon.

I followed Hector and L'il man to the other side of

the hill and stopped out of breath at what looked like

the edge.

"B.J.. you see where those houses start down

there."

I looked and saw the first house about a hundred

yards away.

I watched Hector reach into his pocket and pull out

a small pair of binoculars. He handed them to me.

I looked through them and looked down the lonely

street. It looked like it was headed to nowhere. I asked

Hector, "Where does the street go?"

"It doesn't go anywhere. It dead ends a half a mile

or so after Argenta's house. His house is the last of the

five. Do you see the black fence in front of his house?"

I looked and found it. There was a wrought iron

gate that looked like it was ten feet high. At the top of

the gate it looked like pitch forks of black steel pointing

toward the sky. I raised the binoculars and looked at the

foothill behind Argenta's house. It looked like it was on

fire. I pulled the binoculars away from my eyes to see

if they were playing tricks on me. The hillside was a

burnt orange and did look like it was on fire.

I looked at my feet to the edge of the hill I was

standing on and saw a ledge about ten feet below me.

There were a bunch of cigarette butts. I imagined

someone sitting there watching the same house I was.

I wanted to climb down there but didn't want to have

my back to Hector and L'il man. I thought about it and

realized there were too many people involved in this

mess, I needed to buy some time.

I realized while I was studying Argenta's Hector

had gotten behind me about ten feet. I looked and saw

he had something in his hand. It was a hypodermic

needle. He was fixing a shot of speed in a spoon.

He looked up from his task and saw me looking at

it, "B.J., You could wait at the end of Argenta's street

until he comes out and opens his gate. We could stay

up here and call you to tell you when. You could catch

him pulling out and dump the whole clip from the

AR15 on him. Do you want this shot of dope to wake

all the way up to handle the business?"

I felt that same disgusted feeling under my skin I'd

felt at Skip's. "No I don't want that shot of dope, and

I don't like your machine gun strategy. I've never used

one and I can picture spraying it all over the place and

hitting those houses."

I made the mistake of patting my handgun and

Hector jumped on it.

"Are you just going to carry that little gun around,

or are you ever going to use it?"

I looked at L'il man to see his reaction and he was

a statue.

Hector continued, "B.J., I know you can handle

this job after all of the other stuff I've heard about you.

I know you're not going to let Argenta get away with

sending your partner Bob to prison, are you?"

L'il man was still a stoic mask, but he stepped closer

to Hector.

Hector continued, "B.J., I know you're not going

to let that Satan worshipper take your operation out,

and just let it go."

"Satan worshipper? What are you talking about?"

"B.J., You can't tell me that Bob didn't tell you

about Argenta. You didn't know he used to be a big

shot around here in the 80's and that he got put out

of business for getting young girls addicted to heroin

and turning them into prostitutes? He got back into

business by being a Satanic worshipper and hooked

up with El Diablo in Mexico. How did you not know

that?"

I looked at L'il man and remembered just telling

him a little about Oceanside. It had to look like I knew

more about Argenta than I really did.

L'il man said, "B.J., trust and believe that if you

don't take out that evil piece of shit, our neighborhood

will. We're just giving you the first chance since you're

Bob's partner."

Hector said, "This is your chance to make a big

name for yourself, B.J. Can you handle it?"

I thought about it and struggled to keep my impulse

message sender from nodding out of pride. It took all of

the strength I had left to articulate something I held as

close to the truth as I could recognize.

"All of the jobs I've done that were successful in the

short term took a lot of planning, my own planning,

not someone else's."

I stopped myself. I caught what I'd said about

my jobs being successful in the short term. Weren't

even those the vines that were strangling me? Even

if I handled this, wouldn't I just end up in similar

circumstances again and again in this drug business?

L'il man asked me, "How would you execute

Argenta?"

"I'd watch him from up here for as long as it took

to cover all of the angles. I'd want to know who lives in

that house with him. If he lives alone, I'd look for a way

to handle it without a gun because this exit strategy

next to the police station sucks for a big bang exit. If

he doesn't live alone, I'd watch him for a few weeks, or

however long it took to find out what his schedule is

like. Where he goes and when until I could dissect a

spot ideal for the job."

L'il man nodded his head like he could respect what

I just said.

Hector shook his head and said, "We don't have

that kind of time. The murder at Mr. G.'s is going to

bring a ton of law enforcement heat. It needs to go

down quickly. B.J., I've got a Ducati speed bike that is

legally mine from a salvage yard. I'll let you use it to go

past Argenta's house and you could park it and do some

recon on foot. You could make your way to his backyard

and watch his house to see if you see anyone else. If you

can climb his fence and get it done your way, it's a done

deal."

ChapteR 110

Felipe listened to the conversation about Argenta

from just out of view on the ledge below. He heard

B.J.'s name and remembered the white guy he met in

the canyon who had the Festiva when Ricky mentioned

Argenta's name. He heard B.J. and the other two leaving

and climbed back to his perch and lit another cigarette

and waited patiently.

An hour later, he watched B.J. ride up and down

the street on the speed bike. The third time B.J. went

by Felipe used his binoculars to see B.J. park the speed

bike well past Argenta's house. He watched B.J. enter

the foothill and struggled to see him through the

brush and couldn't. For two hours Felipe imagined B.J.

hopping Argenta's gate. He expected to hear the report

of a gun being fired any time. Instead, he saw Argenta's

front door open. He watched Argenta come through

the front door in his wheel chair and saw a little girl

behind him. Felipe studied the little girl pretending to

push Argenta's wheel chair and remembered his niece

Maria. The little girl looked just like her when she left

for California at the age of 11. She had the same brown

curly hair and the same smiling face.

ChapteR 111

I rode the speed bike and felt all of my adrenaline

surging. I rode up and down Argenta's street and

imagined an exit strategy. There looked to be enough

time to get the job done and race to Hector's garage to

hide the Ducati. As I rode I thought about Argenta. He

was in violation of my rules and regulations. I could do

this job. I parked a couple hundred yards past Argenta's

and walked into the foothill.

I got to Argenta's wrought iron gate and looked for

signs of a security system. I didn't see one. He must feel

safe with a ten foot high gate. His backyard had a large

pool and spa in it and there wasn't a dog. I looked at

the one story house and looked for signs of other people

living there. There was a kitchen window I could see

in from an angle. With the binoculars I could see two

glasses and two plates on the counter. There was a living

room window, but the drapes were closed. There was

a bedroom window but the drapes were closed. I was

getting the feeling that Argenta usually lived alone.

I stayed there for over an hour imagining myself

climbing the gate and entering the house. I felt the

Momentum of my thoughts at the edge of tipping over

into an action. Then images of my grandfather's face at

the airport flashed. I saw his face and heard him telling

me, "Nothing good can come of this drug business...

Remember, your Mom is up there watching you."

I imagined my Mom watching and asked, "what

do I do?" I pictured her telling me not to do it. Then

I pictured just riding the speed bike all the way back

to Orange County. Then, I saw Argenta injecting a 15

year old girl with heroin. If my Mom knew that would

happen would she want me to do it? I felt my spirit

struggling with what was right and what was wrong.

Who would I be serving if I killed Argenta? I prayed

and asked God, "Do you want me to rid the world of

this evil person? Show me a sign so I know what to

do!"

I heard Argenta's front door open. I ran to the

Ducati and started it and waited. I watched Argenta's

front gate open and his white van backing out. I pulled

my handgun out and held it against the throttle with

two fingers in control of the gun and three in control of

the throttle and headed toward him.

I saw the white van back out and drive toward the

freeway and caught up to it. I pulled even with the van

and looked at Argenta's face and pointed my gun at

him as I pulled further ahead of him. Then I saw the

little girl. I looked at her and imagined that was my

Mom at her age.

ChapteR 112

Felipe watched Argenta pull away from his house.

B.J. was pulling up to the van and pointing a gun at

him. Instead of seeing the spark of gunfire and hearing

the pop of the gun exploding, B.J. put the gun away

and raced past Argenta's van. He watched Argenta stop

the van and flip a U-turn. Felipe ran down the hillside

and got in his black B.M.W. and drove down the street

to his destiny.

Felipe parked in front of the gate and saw Argenta

power his wheel chair through the front door, leaving it

open. Felipe jogged through the door and caught up to

Argenta on the phone.

"Let me have the phone and let's go outside to your

beautiful pool."

Argenta watched the phone get taken from him

and his wheel chair being pushed into the backyard.

He watched Felipe pull out a hypodermic needle and

wished there was some strength in his frail body to

fight with.

"Argenta, since you like to inject young women

with needles full of heroin, I thought it would be

poetic for you to die that way also. The problem is,

your death will be a lot easier than the one you put my

niece Maria through. She suffered a lot more than you

did as a prostitute in your world away from her loved

ones in our world in Mexico. So all I can do is tell you

that this needle full of heroin you're about to feel enter

your blood stream is the same amount we tested on a

900lb. bull. The bull we chose to test it on was past his

prime and out of testosterone. Kind of like you. It took

a half an hour for the bull to die, so I figure you've got

about 4 to 5 minutes."

Argenta watched the needle slowly get closer and

closer to his vein and felt it puncture his arm and felt

the squirt of fluid from the needle. He felt his body

getting warm and thought, this isn't such a bad way to

go. Then he felt Felipe push his wheel chair to the edge

of the water and imagined his worst nightmare coming

true. To drown.

"Let's see if you can swim Argenta."

ChapteR 113

I went back to Hector's and Bob called from jail.

I found out he was being charged with manufacturing

speed. I asked him what was up with Argenta and he

filled in all of the missing pieces. He gave me some

advice, that I should go back to Orange County and

get an attorney on retainer for the case I was still

running from, and see if I could also get help with

my investment problem with Mr. Dudley. I told Bob

I would follow his advice and look into getting him an

attorney also. As soon as I got off the phone, L'il man

ran into Hector's house and told us a bunch of cops

were in front of Argenta's.

We ran up that hill to watch and got there in time

to see Felipe in handcuffs getting put in a squad car.

Crime scene detectives, child protective services and

the coroner showed up. We watched Argenta's body

bag get walked to the back of a van...

ChapteR 114

I got back to Orange County the following night

and went to Tom's. As soon as I entered, it felt like a

dark cloud of death hung in the air like a cloak. Tom's

roommate looked at me with a stink eye, like I had just

ridden up on the pale horse of death. I absorbed my

part of the blame due. He informed me that Tom had

finally gone to sleep after 28 days without any. Tom had

come clean with his speed habit, lost his job and was

looking for a rehab. I respectfully excused myself and

unhitched my horse.

ChapteR 115

I went to Paul's next. It was three a.m. when I drove

up his street. I could hear power tools going full blast

and couldn't believe my eyes as I approached. I pulled

over and observed a baffling spectacle. Paul had his boat

parked in the driveway with a tarp built over the top of

it almost to the point it completely circled the entire

boat. He had lights going underneath the tarp as if it

hid what he was doing. All it did was make it look like

they had a secret mission going underneath a glow tarp.

I watched Paul in his half closed garage cutting wood

and saw a team of three people working on his boat

underneath the glow tarp. Paul ducked his head under

the garage door and walked some wood to the boat and

knocked on it. One of his worker's looked like he was

used to that knock system and popped his head out of

the boat to accept the wood.

I walked into Paul's garage while he was cutting

some more wood. He didn't notice me duck under

his garage door, he was too busy with his loud task.

His face looked like it was stuck. Like he was barely

holding on to his sanity, but somehow was. When I got

his attention I saw his face change from holding on to

that sanity, to shock, fear and confusion. All of those

emotions flashed by in an instant and I watched his will

power manage to compose himself back to just barely

holding on.

"B.J.! You scared the shit out of me! What's up?"

I looked at Paul and realized our situations were

reversed. He was where I usually was. Locked and loaded

at the edge of his seat. I was the one who couldn't keep

up. My spirit was spent and I was exhausted. It took

every last drop of energy I had to explain a few things.

Paul did what I usually did, assessed things, chiseled

through them, and moved on.

"So Big Bob is busted for a manufacturing case...

I'm glad I got another speed connection while you

were gone. That glass I've been getting is a good seller,

everyone loves it. But that purple shit you brought

back from Oceanside is the best shit I've ever seen. It's

so good I don't even sell it. I use it to have those guys

work on my boat 24/7. Can you get any more of it?"

I mumbled, "The piece of shit I got it from in

Oceanside got murdered by the guy who used to own

the Festiva. I'm too tired to explain. It's all over the

news though, check it out."

I watched Paul's expectant face waiting for me to

explain more. I couldn't. I just wanted to rest and that

didn't seem possible at an apartment with a glow tarp

in the driveway. From where I was standing inside the

garage I noticed some new construction. It looked like

Paul had built a small enclosed wooden room that I

assumed was a bathroom. He saw me looking at it.

"I built that room. It's an escape hatch for Gina.

She's been getting on my case that I'm a bust with

this boat in the driveway for the last three weeks. So I

built the tarp first and then the escape hatch. I couldn't

stop re-decking my boat in the middle of the job so I

improvised. Here let me show you."

I stepped inside the wooden room. There was a table

with one of those large water dispensers on it with a

funnel attached to the top of it. I sat in the same swivel

chair I used to spin circles on and looked at the ladder.

It went up to the escape hatch. Paul explained.

"I cut a hole through our closet so Gina can climb

down and dump any speed I leave her in this jug of

water."

I laid my head down on the table and felt like

crying.

ChapteR 116

The next morning I woke up on Paul's couch from

a nightmare and didn't know where I was. I sat and

thought about things. Images of jumping through

Bob's kitchen window flashed by, then Hector's house,

the hillside, stalking Argenta on the speed bike, Felipe

being escorted in handcuffs into a squad car, Argenta

being carried in a body bag...

I sat there and realized my hand instinctively

searched the pockets of my pants and found my wallet,

and then my speed. I wondered why I cared about it so

much. I pulled the speed out and looked at it. There was

about an ounce and a half of the purple looking ice left.

I got stuck just sitting there looking at it wondering if

I was going insane, or was I already there.

It didn't feel like I had any control of my thoughts.

It felt like Satan was shoving them in front of me to

ruin me further. Thoughts came at me in a flood, Bob's

in jail, Argenta's dead, Mr. Dudley owes you money,

you have nowhere to live, you have no reason to live,

what are you going to do? I felt these thoughts force

their way into my subconscious and tried to build a

barricade against them. Instead of letting them in, I

told myself that Satan was disgusted with me for not

doing his bidding with Argenta.

I didn't even notice Paul standing next to the couch

watching me.

"B.J., are you alright? You look like you're almost

catatonic sitting there staring at your speed. I went to

the bathroom an hour ago to shower and saw you in the

same position you're in right now. What happened to

you in San Bernardino besides Bob getting busted? By

the way, do you want to sell me any of that speed?"

I realized my back was hurting from sitting in the

same position for so long and lay back down and told

Paul. "Get on your computer and look for news in San

Bernardino."

I heard Paul pecking away on the computer and then

him reading. "Two murders may be related to a mob

war brewing over the control of methamphetamine.

Authorities are investigating whether a murder at

Mr. G.'s strip club in Rialto is related to what is being

ruled as another homicide in San Bernardino a day

later."

I sat up and watched Paul turn on the T.V. in time to

watch a channel 9 news report. Felipe was being escorted

from a police car to the jail and the news reporter was

saying, "Felipe Nevarrez, a Mexican National, is being

held on murder charges. Investigators believe it is a

drug related mob hit. It's unclear at this point if it's

related to another drug related mob hit that happened

just days earlier at a strip club twenty miles away."

I forced myself to get up by finding a reason to be

grateful. That could have been me in handcuffs facing

a life sentence. I explained it all to Paul and realized

my problems were cut in half. I was done with the

speed business! All that was really left was dealing with

Mr. Dudley and getting an attorney for Bob and I. Paul

had an idea.

"I know a good attorney you can call. You can see

how much he wants for a retainer to take the case you're

on the run from. He can work out a deal with the D.A.

and let you know what it is so you know what you're

facing and like Bob said, he can advise you about your

business deal with Mr. Dudley."

I took Paul's advice and called Mr. Simon Barries. I

explained that I had been on the lam for almost five years

for selling marijuana and got into my investment with

Mr. Dudley. Mr. Barries made the pot charge seem like

it wasn't a big deal and told me to bring my investment

contract with Mr. Dudley along with a $5,000 check as

a retainer.

Paul and I went into his garage so I could weigh

up the speed for him and I found I just couldn't sell it

all to him. The more I wondered about it, the more I

wanted to keep some for myself! I fought with myself

over whether I should keep a half ounce or a quarter

ounce and settled on a quarter ounce as if I'd shown

some real discipline. I snorted a couple lines and had

an idea. Why don't I go to Mr. Dudley's and have him

write a check for my attorney?

ChapteR 117

I drove the Festiva over the cobble stone drive and

waited for the gate guard to let me in. Images flashed

through my mind of coming over to Mr. Dudley's house

every day for months to learn about his custom Harleys.

I drove through the gate and imagined how I must have

looked from above driving a cheap little car into a gated

community with mansions and wealth all around me.

I wondered, how could Mr. Dudley justify scamming

me the way he did with promises of getting me to the

Promised Land?

I parked around the corner where Mr. Dudley

always put me and saw that Brock's truck was gone.

I wondered, maybe they're at the dealership, I should

have called. I walked to the front door and stood there.

I didn't have anything planned, what was I going to say.

I thought about walking back to my car for a second.

Then I knocked.

Mr. Dudley answered the door. He was dressed in

his pajama bottoms and a white wife beater tank top. I

watched the expression on his face flash from irritated

to compose.

"B.J... What are you doing? You should have called

first."

I stared at Mr. Dudley's composed face covering up

all of that fraud he had inside of him. "I need to talk to

you about my investment."

Mr. Dudley hesitated for a second and then let me

in. I sat on the couch in the same spot I always had

while he poured himself a drink. He came back and sat

down in the recliner he always sat in.

"What about your investment?"

I watched Mr. Dudley compose himself the same

way he had all those months ago. He was leaning

toward me like a clinical psychologist, like he cared. I

was done with the charade.

"Mr. Dudley, you're a fake and a fraud."

Mr. Dudley's expression didn't change much but

I realized he must have already considered an exit

strategy. Then it hit me, his plan had probably been to

utilize the police if this came up. I watched Mr. Dudley

take on an indignant look.

"Excuse me?"

"Mr. Dudley I would like you to write out a check

from my investment to my attorney. Write it out to

Simon Barries."

I watched Mr. Dudley look at his phone, then at

me.

"Your investment hasn't sold yet. How do you

expect to get paid?"

"My investment is a sham. Your two custom Harleys

aren't for sale. They're prototypes for a chrome exchange

program you offer customers. If customers want to buy

one of the two Harleys, you have them put some money

down to hold it while you have it built."

Mr. Dudley nodded his head, "You sent in those

Hell's Angels from San Bernardino didn't you?"

I maintained a stoic mask and stared at Mr. Dudley

until he got uncomfortable. He got up from his

recliner.

"Let me get my check book out of my room."

I watched him walk into his bedroom and thought;

he's going to call the police.

He didn't. He walked back with his check book. "I

can only write a check for $5,000 and that won't clear

for a few days so don't deposit it immediately. How do

you spell your attorney's name?"

ChapteR 118

I drove to the address I had for Simon Barries

in Newport Beach and thought about it, I had my

investment contract with the terms on it, proof that

the investment was a sham and now a check to an

attorney as a partial payment. It felt like I was in pretty

good shape compared to what would have happened if

Mr. Dudley would have got on the phone to call the

police. I would have had to run out of his house to

continue being on the run. Why hadn't he? I looked

up, thanked God and said a prayer.

Simon Barrie's office was right off P.C.H. in South

Newport on a little cliff with an amazing view of the

beach. His office was elegantly constructed of mahogany

wood mixed with Italian marble and tile. It felt like I

was entering the office of a power broker. I checked in

and waited my turn.

I studied Mr. Barries behind his Mahogany desk

from my seat a few feet away. He was bald, wore glasses,

didn't have a descriptive look, but looked well studied.

I looked behind him along the wood paneled wall and

noticed his credentials were posted. There was a Harvard

Cum Lade Valedictorian diploma and a legal degree

from Columbia Law School. I realized he was positioned

behind his desk without the view out a sliding glass

window we, in the chair across from him, were offered.

I looked that way and again saw the beautiful view of

south Newport Beach, and again said a silent prayer for

guidance. I looked back at Mr. Barries and handed over

my Custom Craft investment terms first. I watched Mr.

Barries read it quickly and state, "It looks like a pretty

rudimentary set of conditions stating that you invested

$12,500 with the fabricator of Custom Craft Harley

Davidson's, a Mr. Dudley, with the a projected return

on your investment of $3,000-$6,000 in a projected

three to six months."

I handed over the five thousand dollar check next.

Mr. Barries studied the check and then looked back at

the investment terms. He looked confused.

"When I spoke to you on the phone you mentioned

you were being swindled by this Mr. Dudley. Did you

work it out amicably?"

I reiterated how things went. Mr. Barries looked

like he was concerned and continued to look at the

check. Then put it away.

"I don't want you to have any more contact with

Mr. Dudley. Let me contact him and advise him that

I'm representing you. That might help. If it doesn't,

and he refuses to pay you the rest of your investment,

it might cost you more for my services than it's worth

to you."

ChapteR 119

Outside of my attorney's office I replayed what

Mr. Barries said about how it might cost more than

it's worth to get my investment back. I thought about

how hopeless all of my travels had been since using

speed. Now, instead of climbing Mount Everest, like

my empire building felt in the beginning, it felt like

I had chiseled the deepest, steepest, most twisted hole

straight down and didn't know how to get up. I pulled

out my phone and called my brother.

I heard his voice and didn't know what to say. He

sounded so vibrant... And normal. My voice was so

hurting, it was cracking. When he heard it, it felt like

he understood exactly how disillusioned I was by the

tone of my voice and told me to come to his apartment

for some rest. He gave me directions to an apartment

he was renting on top of a hill in San Clemente. He was

living with Lance.

I got there and turned on the T.V. and began

explaining my travels. Within ten minutes the news

reported some of the business I was explaining and

showed images of Felipe Neverrez in handcuffs on his

way to court.

When I was done explaining everything I laid down

on the couch and stared at their 500 gallon fish tank.

There was a fish swimming from one end of the tank to

the other nonstop 24/7. He looked eternally vigilant

and territorial. My brother said it was an Arrowana. As I

lay there watching the always watchful, always moving

fish, I thought, this is the first time I don't have to be

like that fish, I can really rest. There isn't a glow tarp

out front in the driveway with a bunch of speeded out

workers hammering away in the middle of the night!

I prayed, and then fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

My brother had so much love in his heart that

I felt it surround me in his apartment on his couch.

I slept through one full day, then another, then another.

Somewhere in my subconscious I felt a fight going on.

I started feeling the urge to run to the bathroom, pull

the bag of speed out of my pocket and flush it! Over and

over I felt myself on the verge of following those urges,

getting up and running to the bathroom. I felt myself

coming to the decision that it was the right thing to

do, that I had to do it, and then even visualized doing

it. Then I'd fall back to sleep and start over.

Finally, I got up. I walked to the bathroom and

made it to the counter top and looked at the toilet.

I pulled my speed out and hesitated. I felt those urges,

just do it! Throw it in there! Then, urges from another

direction, don't! It will ruin it! Then, me admitting to

myself, it's garbage! Throw it in and flush it!

I listened to me finalize the deal and felt my arm

sling the speed toward the toilet. At about the same

time I realized nothing was in the toilet but water,

I looked at my hand. At the very last millisecond

possible my pinky finger clutched that little bag of

speed. Instead of getting disgusted with myself, I stated

cracking up. I looked in the mirror and laughed. It felt

like a good healthy laugh, but it wasn't. I imagined

how hard I'd battled from the beginning, sleeping in

the rafters, going all the way to the Mexican border

for a pot connection, the way I'd met kingpin Bob,

my rules and regulations, and everything else. I saw

myself in desperate times pulling off desperate actions

and patted myself on the back and told myself, it's

okay, you did the best you could. As soon as I did that

a flood of urges came at me, just do a couple lines to

come up with a plan! It's either that, or you'll just be

a loser on your brother's couch! You're a battler, don't

give up! Keep chiseling! Keep fighting! You're not a

quitter!

I nodded my head that I was a chiseler... I was a

fighter... Not a quitter! I lined up a couple of lines and

snorted them before I could contemplate it too much.

As soon as I did them, I looked myself in the mirror,

right in the eyes, and knew I'd just bought my own shit

while watching my pupils grow. I could feel the purple

speed's hooks digging back into me and grabbing

another hold. I looked at the toilet and realized I'd

flushed all of the pure love urgings from above, instead

of Satan's dandruff I had in a plastic bag. As fast as

that thought flashed by, urges came from that dark

direction, hide your speed, establish yourself, figure out

a strategy!

I went through my stuff and found a snake light

and put the rest of my quarter ounce of speed where

the batteries would have gone and laid on the couch

and gritted my teeth and hated myself. It got worse

when my brother and Lance came home from work.

Now I had to fake that I wasn't high! It felt like the

ultimate betrayal to do that to my brother. I had to go

from grinding my teeth and staring at the fish tank

with a focused confused hateful scowl, to being okay,

I'm alright, how was your day, man that was some crazy

shit I went through in San Bernardino...

My brother noticed the difference and gave me the

benefit of the doubt that I'd finally gotten enough sleep

and I was back to my dedicated self. Lance knew. He'd

stopped tweaking for all of those years except for the

rare time, he knew.

They went to bed and I laid on the couch with

that purple speed in my system making me absolutely

hate myself! For hours I replayed what happened in the

bathroom. I examined how for three days those urges

of love and peace filled my spirit from above and were

wiped out in seconds. The harder I looked at it, the more

I felt like I'd been tricked. I'd gone into that bathroom

to throw the misery away, not get wired! I don't want

to be wired!! I magnified on it and felt my face scowl

deeper and deeper into confused anger. My teeth were

clamped down and it just got worse as I looked back on

things and magnified them.

Hours later the birds started chirping. I heard them

and forced myself to get up and go outside and find

reasons to be grateful. My brother's unit was on the

second story and the view was extravagant. I could see

the ocean with the sun just popping up above the water.

I started mimicking one of the birds whistling and got

it to call back to me. I walked down the stairs and sat

down on a rock next to a stream with rocks in it and

continued to bird whistle. I looked at the apartments

and realized they were done in a Tuscan Architecture.

Each apartment had hues of tan and brown colors and

had a master balcony with wrought iron that opened

up with an arch that rose above it, then another arch

above that one to the roof line. I noticed the massive

palm trees in between apartments and kept returning

the same bird's whistle. I looked up to see which little

bird I was whistling to and saw a bunch of them fly

away like they had just been warned of approaching

danger. I heard the screech of brakes and looked at the

parking lot to see a caravan of law enforcement vehicles

converging thirty feet away. I sat there and recognized

detective Pincher leading the charge.

