Time of the season

             August 1972

        'You ever trip before Eugene?' Kenny asked as he passed him a joint of Thai stick. They were

sitting out on Eugene's girlfriends Donna's porch in the apartment she shared with her 3 roommates.

A 'Hippie house,' is how she described it.

            The sun was sinking low in the sky on the horizon and Eugene, Kenny and his girlfriend, Emma

were all sharing a joint on the porch. 'Trip? What do you mean?' Eugene replied as he took the joint from

Kenny. 

        Kenny laughed, 'Acid, man. That stuff you sell.' He said. 'No I never have. Most of the time when us

brothers get together it's just reefer and beer. I heard that stuff really fucks with your head, and I already

have some pretty bad nightmares from the war so I've never wanted to risk it.'

            Eugene passed the joint over to Emma. He'd just sold Ken a pound of Thai Stick and a sheet of

high quality blotter acid. Donna was taking a shower getting ready they were going to see a movie. She

had asked him before he left his apartment to pick her up, if he could bring over the bud and the  acid 

for Kenny.

            Emma passed the joint back to Kenny. 'You take that stuff man, it reveals yourself to you, you

know. Breaks down the ego. Besides if you guys don't use it, how do you know its good?'

        Eugene grinned, 'We got a guy actually. White boy, hippie. Named Buzz, got hair longer than

you. Lives out in the woods, we have to call his girl to get in touch with him for him to stop by. But,

goddamn, if Buzz is almost always right, at least that's what our customers say.'

     Kenny passed the joint to Eugene. Eugene was new to all of this drug business, both in selling and

the using, having grown up in rural Georgia to semi-religious parents. He hadn't drank or tried weed or

anything else over in Vietnam, although quite a few of his friends, including Marcus, had. It just wasn't

something that appealed to him. Even before he'd gone over he'd always felt like alcohol tended to

make a lot of people act like assholes. 

        Before he was discharged from the Army in January 1969, he'd gotten in touch with his brother

Reggie in Brooklyn, who agreed to let him move in to the spare room in his apartment. Reggie was 5

years older than Eugene, always a hustler, he'd been working and saving money since he was 15 he'd

left home at 17 to join the Marines and had ended up in The Big Apple.

        Eugene passed the joint to Kenny, 'So you saw some real shit over there?' He asked. Here it comes,

he thought. 'Did you ever kill anyone?' Kenny asked.

        'Yes, I did.' Eugene replied, calm and evenly. 'I did a lot of things over there that still haunt me so

no, I don't think I want to get a glimpse into my inner self.'

        'Fair enough.' Kenny replied, just as Donna came though the door to the outer porch, Eugen still 

felt the same awe as he saw her. Long brown hair, she was wearing blue bell bottoms and grey blouse

and smelled like heaven. 

        'You ready hon?' She asked, as she came up to him ad kissed him on the lips. 'Yeah, I think were

done here.' Eugene said. 'Yeah, I'm satisfied on my end.'

         Eugene got up from his chair, shook hands with Kenny. 'Well I think me and the missus are going

to the pictures. Maybe we can continue this discussion next time.' He said with a smirk as he followed

Donna out.

'Why does he ask so many personal questions?' Eugene asked Donna. They had gone to a 24 hour diner

after the movie and were just finishing up their milkshakes. 

        They'd smoked a joint during the movie and on the way to the diner and Donna took a second to 

respond. 'Who's that?' She said finally. 'Kenny, every time I come by to sell him something all these 

probing questions, "what was it like in the war?" What was it like growing up in Georgia, did I kill 

anyone in the war'' Like I'm on fucking Johnny Carson.' Eugene explained.

        Donna laughed, 'He like's you. He finds you fascinating. You're like 'Superfly' to him. A badass

brother in the urban jungle.'

            Eugene grinned, 'Do you have a plan to get out from under the thumb of the mob?' She asked

him jokingly. Eugene took a Marlboro from his jacket pocket and lit it up, 'No mob with us bloods, we

got a system though, who's who and what's what.' He explained.

        'Oh yeah, how's that work?' Donna asked. 'Alright, I guess since your my girl. Well first off theres

Marcus and Lamont. Marcus served in my unit in the army and Lamont is his boy from growing up in

Warner. Marcus has the connection, so what happened was, Lamont's father, who started the restaurant 

that he runs now, died a couple years ago and left a modest inheritance to Lamont.'

        Eugene took a puff of his smoke and continued, keeping his voice low, 'Now, when Marcus 

found out about the money, because you know how people talk about that kind of stuff, he managed 

to convince him to front him some money to make the initial buy to set up our whole operation, which

is what he did.'

            'Then Marcus brought in Judge because he needed some muscle, a hard cat who wasn't afraid 

to bust some heads. I found out about all this when I first came out here to live with Judge a year ago,

he told me over the phone he was, 'In business with Marcus,' of course he neglected to mention what

business exactly that was.' Eugene grinned.

        'So you guys haven't had any run-ins with the Berardi's?' Donna asked. Eugene raised an eyebrow,

'Who?' He asked. 'The Berardi's they're the big Mafia family in town. From what I've heard, they don't

deal drugs themselves, the boss Carmine is old school like that, but they collect a tax on anything illegal

sold in the city.'

        Eugene took another drag of his smoke, 'And how do you know something like that?' 'Well, when

I first moved out here from California for school, couple years back I was dating this guy named Barry.

Big beard, long hair, real laid back hippie guy, he was from Oregon I think. Ran this little hippie shop in

town, 'Present tense,' it was called I always liked that name. Anyway he sold incense, bongs, records, 

tapes, and if he knew you well enough, the best grass anyone in this town had seen. I mean this was

serious high grade stuff. And I mean he was moving a lot, bales, selling it to other dealers who sold

it to college kids, at parties, music festivals. Anyway, long story short, we were dating like I said, every

thing was cool, then one day, I call his apartment one morning, no one answers. I go over to there and

everything's just gone.'

                        'I go to his store downtown right? see if he's there, is empty, cleared out. Most of it

anyway he left a few things. So I go home, hang out a little with my roommates, get stoned and 

eventually who ends up at my apartment but Steve, Barry's roommate. I ask what the hell happens and

he tells me, Barry had been at Present tense late one night, a little after 9 when he closed the shop. He

gets a visit from a burly guy, a 'Tough guy,' was how he described him. This tough guy tells Barry he

knows how much money he's been pulling in from selling all that reefer. However if he wishes to 

be able to continue selling that volume of reefer in town and have both his kneecaps intact he's going

to have to cough up 5,000 a month to Carmine Berardi.'

            'I guess that really freaked him out, he told the man he would and then grabbed everything he

could all the things he might need, all the cash, and got out of town. He basically told Steve he wasn't

into that kind of scene, guys with gun's kind of thing. So he just loaded up the VW bus and headed back

out there.'

                'And he never said a word to you?' Eugene asked. 'Nothing. I thought about trying to contact

him after but part of me thought maybe this is just the way it was meant to be for us.'

        Eugene was quiet for a moment, 'So how did these mob guys find out about him?' He asked finally.

Donna laughed, 'Well, Barry was pretty in the open about everything. Selling, smoking, and he would

sell to just about anyone who came up to him and asked weather he knew them or not.'

            He considered that for a moment. 'Alright, can you drop me off over at Lamont's on your way

home? I'll catch up with you after.' 

           It was a perfect cool summer night as Donna pulled out of the diner parking lot in her cadillac.

They had one joint left and she told Eugene to spark it as they headed down main street toward

Lamont's Bar and Grill, where Eugene was going to meet Judge to give him 300 dollars he owed him

from the week before.

            He took the first toke from the joint and passed it over to Donna, who took it with one hand. Just

as he did, their car got lit up by the flashing blue lights of a police cruiser. 

        'Shit.' Eugene said, as Donna pulled the car to the side of the road. 'Don't sweat it, just let me do

all the talking.' Donna replied as she pulled the car to a stop and turned the engine off. The cop walked

slowly over to the passenger side of the car, Donna rolled down the window, and a waft of smoke came

out. 

        'License and registration, please.' The cop said, surprisingly not remarking on the odor. Eugene 

opened the glove compartment and got the document and handed it to Donna who gave it to the cop

along with her license. 'Let's see some I.D. on you too sir.' He said to Eugene, who took out his wallet

and gave it to the Donna who gave it to the cop.

            'Do you mind telling us why you pulled us over officer?' Donna asked as polite as she could. 

'Just sit tight here, I'll be right back.' He replied, ignoring her question as he walked back over to his

cruiser. I gave him my New York license, Eugene thought, he's going to ask me questions about that. 

And of course, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was the government, FBI, maybe to get him 

so he can get them to Marcus, and the biggest fish, Marcus's supplier, who none of them knew anything

about.

            'What did you do with the joint?' She asked as the cop went into his car. 'Put it out, I stuck it in

my sock, I wasn't sure what to do.'

        'You don't have anything else on you, do you?' She asked. 'No, I sold the rest of what I had to long

hair over at your apartment.'

    She grinned, 'Good, nice.' She replied, feeling pretty good about the whole thing so far, considering 

the circumstances. If this guy was going to seriously bust us he already would have, she thought as they

waited in that time that always seemed to be an eternity when you were pulled over by a cop and were

waiting for them to return from their car.

            She felt fairly calm as he returned to their car and gave Donna back their ID's, then as Eugene

was taking his back from Donna, the cop shined his light on him. 'So you're from New York? What's 

you're business in Warner?'

            What kind of weird Nazi question is that? Eugene thought as he replied. 'I moved here from 

Brooklyn about a year ago, I live with my friend Judge now.'

        The cop noticed his army jacket, 'You were in the service?' 'Yup, 25 infantry, July 1968-June 1969.'

He replied. 'At the station we sometimes get reports from the FBI, you know, alerts. We got one 

recently about a crew, moving large amounts of Marijuana, Acid, Hashish, and coke into the city. Said

they were veterans, mainly black veterans.'

        Eugene kept his composure, 'I don't know anything about that.' He replied his tone even. 

The cop shined his flashlight in his face, 'And you two don't have any drugs or anything else illegal

on you, do you? He asked.

            'No, sir.' Eugene replied. 'Definitely not, officer.' Donna said. 'Well you two stay out, of trouble.

The cop said. 'On the right said of the law. Have a good night.' And walked back to his cruiser.

            Donna turned on the engine and slowly pulled away. 'Do you really think the FBI has a file on 

you?' She asked she drove past the cop, 'No, I think he was just fucking with me. I wonder if the 

Berardi's sent him over, try and scare us.'

            'Would they do that?' She asked him. 

'I don't know, but that story you told me about your friend Barry has got me thinking.'

Meanwhile across town

            Marcus Henderson took a draw from his flask, put it back into the pocket of his

Army jacket, and took a pull from the bottle of Coors he was drinking. He was in the dining area

of his friend Lamont's restaurant, sharing a beer with his friend Judge while they waited to Lamont

to finish closing up his kitchen. 

        The dining room at Lamont's bar and grill had closed at 9, it was now a little past 11 and his dish

washer for the night, Gerry, still had a large pile of hotel pans and other dishes from closing time. 

Earlier Lamont had told Marcus and Judge to come by around 1030, because he figured he'd be 

finished closing up the kitchen by then.

            Now Lamont, frustrated by Gerry's lack of progress, had gone back and started loading the dish

machine himself and was having Gerry put the things back. Still, Marcus had sneaked a peek in the 

back dish area when they first arrived, the pots and pans were stacked sky high, with an almost equal

amount of plates from service a couple hours before.

            Marcus got up from his chair and walked into the kitchen yelling to Lamont, 'Why don't you

just let everything soak and let the morning crew take care of it?' He said jokingly.

        'Motherfucker I am the goddamn morning crew!' Man get the fuck up out of here!' Marcus 

laughed as he walked back over to the table with judge. 'Man, he's not out of there in 20 minutes I say

we head over to Chapman's without him.' He said as he took a cigarette out his coat pocket a lit up.

        'While I still got to meet Eugene, he's got that thing for me.' Judge replied. 'I told him to swing by

here after he got out of the movie with his girl.'

            Marcus took a drag of his smoke, 'Oh yeah, Donna, that hippie chick. I like her man, she's real 

wild, a free spirit. Don't they believe in that free love shit, those hippie types?' He asked Judge.

        'Man, I don't know nothing about that. Anyway that's your boys girl why you want to do him like

that?' Judge asked, knowing full well the reason.

        'Shiit, my man ain't need to know nothing about it. Anyway, that's their whole lifestyle you know,

free love, communal this and that. I think I could see myself getting behind this whole hippie life

style.' Marcus said finishing off the rest of his beer.

        He opened another one from the six he had brought in with him, and took a swig from it. 'You

want one?' He asked Judge. 'Nah, man I'm still working on this one. Man, you keep drinking like that

you're going to have a hard time making it through the door by the time we go out.'

        'That's why we gotta get this damn show on the road!' Eugene said, taking his flask out and taking

another long draw.

        'Having a good time gentleman?' Marcus and Eugene heard the man's voice before they noticed

he was standing a few feet from their table. He was dressed in a dress shirt with a gold chain and behind

him was another man dressed in a similar fashion. It looked as though they'd come right through the 

kitchen, and then Marcus remembered, he'd come in through the backdoor in the kitchen earlier and 

propped it open with a rope. They had the rope to open it for when the restaurant had deliveries, but

Lamont had always told Marcus and all his employees to keep it closed otherwise.

        'Who the hell are you?' Marcus said, confused and annoyed. 'I'm glad you asked!' The man said.

'I'm guessing that one of you is Marcus Henderson and the other is Judge Freeman.'

        Marcus and Judge both looked at each other, shocked. 'The two of you served in the 25th infantry

regiment in Vietnam with Eugene Washington. I'm guessing Lamont Alexander is in the back doing the

dishes. You know I think we walked right by him he didn't even see us!'

            'What is all this about?' Judge managed to ask, being the more sober of the two. The man 

walked right up to their table, 'Down to business I like that. Well the thing is the two of you, Marcus,

Judge, and of course who can forget, your supplier Marcus, Parker 'Low Key' Johnson. You guys are

moving a lot of dope in this city.' He had a city accent Judge couldn't place, sounded like New York or

Philly.

        'Now, we got no problem with that, but the thing is anyone in this city making the kind of money

youse is making, they got to pay the tax.'

    'The tax?' Judge asked.

'You see, my boss Carmine Berardi, he runs this city. And every dollar, every dime, nickel, hell every

fucking penny that's someone makes on the black market we get a piece of it. Been that way, over 50

years now.'

        'So basically, the party is over. From here on out, render onto Caesar the things that are Caesars,

which in your case we'll call it 5 grand a month. This month is half over to I'll let you start next

month.'

            'What if we say no?' Marcus asked, as Judge gave him a dark stare, forgot how confrontational

he gets sometimes when he's drunk, he thought.

        The man simply smiled, 'Well, what happens then is anonymous tip telling them about your stash

spots on 93 high st, 42 Abbot st and 197 Davis street and they raid all of them. Plus this restaurant 

would probably be seized too. Also most likely the FBI would be informed about Mr. Parker Johnsons

involvement in a wholesale narcotics trafficking operation, and then they'd go out to where he lives,

in the woods right?'

            The man walked over, 'He lives with his mother right? Gladys? 65, diabetic, has a hard time

getting around, I can't imagine she'd react too well to a bunch of goons breaking down her door.'

            For once Marcus was speechless, 'Or, we could just burn this fucking place down. Dissappear

all three of you. But, look! We don't want to do that. We want you guys to keep making money so we

can keep making money!' He gave a big fake smile.

        'Alright,' Judge said. 'We'll pay.' 'Finally!  A man of reason.' The man said. 'I'm Bobby Carbone

by the way.' He took a card out of his wallet and slid it over to Judge. 'Call this number tomorrow for

instructions. Around 630 in the evening. You two have a nice night, we'll show ourselves out.'

        As the two men headed out through the kitchen, Judge examined the card, 'Cohen's Deli.' It

read with a number on the bottom.

            As they walked out Marcus and Judge both had a stunned expression on their face not sure

what to say.

            'I've never even told my girl the name of my connect.' Marcus said finally. 'And he knew where

each of our stash houses was?'

            Judge nodded, 'That's why I said ok. We still going out tonight?' Marcus extracted his flask from

his jacket and took a swig, 'You damn right we are.' He replied.

            Donna pulled in around back of Lamont's restaurant as Eugene had instructed her to. 'Alright 

thanks for the lift I'll call you later,' Eugene said, giving her a quick kiss before stepping out of the car.

Donna hesitated before leaving, 'Are you sure you want to go out? What about that cop?' Eugene 

sighed.

              'I know that was weird. But I think he was just trying to scare me, fuck with me. They like to

do that with us negros.' He said smiling.

            'But I'll be ok, I'll talk to you tomorrow.' He said. 'Alright, sounds good, goodnight.' She said

before driving off. As he approached the back of the restaurant he noticed the kitchen door was propped

open by the rope, Eugene laughed to himself, Marcus. He always did that, weather he was just visiting,

or coming by at close to wait for Eugene to finish off his shift.

            As he came up the steps through the back door to the prep area and the kitchen, he could hear

the dish machine working, and the sound of dishes being stacked. 

        'That's why I told you need to soak the pans in hot water!' He heard Lamont roar to the dishwasher 

as he walked past the dish station, where a considerable pile of pots and pans still sat. 'Now all the stuff

is all crusted on there!'

                As Eugene came out of the kitchen to the dining area he saw Judge and Eugene sitting at a 

table in the back, having a beer. As he walked over he could tell by the expression on both of their faces

that something was not right.

            'What's up fellas?' Eugene said shaking hands with Marcus and then Judge. As he sat down he 

reached into his jacket and extracted the 500 that he owed Judge and passed it over to him. 'Sorry I

was a little late stopped over at this diner to have something to eat.'

            'That's alright brother, we got bigger problems to deal with now.' Judge said and explained what

had just happened moments before.

            'We need to have a talk about this,' Eugene suggested. 'See if we can sort it out.' Marcus stood

up, 'Agreed, but first I saw we got out and get nice and drunk.' He said taking a draw from his flask,

noticing now that it was almost empty.

        'What about Lamont?' Judge asked, smiling knowing what Marcus's response would likely be. 

'Man we sit here waiting for them to sort that shit out back there, motherfucking sun by up by the

time we done waiting!'

            He turned, popped his head through the kitchen, 'Lamont were leaving without you!' He shouted

into the kitchen.

            Judge and Eugene stood up and as they walked past the dish machine through the kitchen they 

heard Lamont yell to Eugene, 'Yeah, well you're an asshole!'

        'I know.' Marcus replied, laughing as he walked out the back door.

        They only went to a couple places before deciding to discuss the situation at a small hole in the

wall bar called, 'Reds', near the bridge with Franklin. It was a narrow establishment with a bar and a

few tables in the back. Robert 'Red' Jackson was an old associate of Marcus's father so Marcus felt it

was a secure place for them to talk about their new forced business partners.

            Judge lit up a smoke, they had a pitcher of beer between them, 'I mean how the hell did he know

all of that shit?' He said, shaking his head. 'It almost sounded to me like they had been watching us for

weeks now.'

            'They have.' Marcus said. He filled up the rest of his glass of beer. He'd been drinking steadily

since they'd left Lamont's restaurant and now it almost seemed like he'd been so far gone that it had 

made him sober again, Judge thought.

        'I should have seen this coming,' Marcus began. 'I guess I forgot about them. My father ran a little

numbers operation in town in the late 50's early 60's, nothing big, but he did alright. Reason he stopped

however, was these clowns.  'Those assholes were worse then the I.R.S.' he once told me. He said 

between paying off the Berardi's, it was a different boss then I think, and paying off the cops it just 

wasn't worth it.'

              Judge shook his head. 'But it's worse for the people that don't pay.' Marcus continued. 'Few 

years back, around 65, these Cubans came to town, brothers. Opened up a little shop you know, stuff 

from the home country, except they were selling a little more than that. Word got back to the Berardi's,

they send their guy over to give them the rap they just gave us, these brothers basically tell the guy, 

'No way, it's a free country. We don't have to pay anybody.' Guy leaves, says ok, next night, the store

has a massive fire, burns to the ground. They find the  bodies of the two brothers in the rubble the next

day shot execution style in the head.'

        Eugene sighed, 'So we did the right thing, for now.' He said. Judge and Marcus nodded in

agreement.  'And we definitely don't have the numbers to take the guy on in a war, especially if he

has the cops on his side.'

            'So we watch them, just like he watched us,' Judge remarked. 'Make them think we're just going

along with it all, meanwhile we keep an a close eye on them. Gather intelligence on them just like over 

in 'Nam, and wait for them to make a mistake.'

       'I agree.' Marcus said. 'Meantime, I think its probably for the best that we keep this whole 

arrangement among the 3 of us. At least until we can get a little handle on these guys.' Judge and

Eugene nodded in agreement. Marcus knew he didn't want to tell his wife Rhonda about it, she and her

sons were helping her move a lot of product, he wasn't sure what she of they would think about this. 

Still the more he thought about it, he didn't see much of an alternative.

2010

3 weeks later

        It's nice out here, Mojo thought to himself as he gazed up at the night sky. He was on his friend

Elbourne's deck enjoying a hand rolled cigarette. I could almost see myself living out here, he thought

to himself. Maybe if I was retired, or had a whole lot of money, he thought, basically a situation where

I didn't have to go out much. Elbourne's house was a good 30 miles from Warner, in fact it was almost

smack dab in the middle between Warner and his dealer Eddie's house.

        Elbourne had invited Mojo over the night before for an informal party/ jam. Elbourne was the front

man for his bluegrass band Rapid Flank Movement or RFM, who recorded most of their material at 

Cloud City, Mojo's recording studio.

            'You sounded real good out there.' 'Mojo' Said to Elbourne. 'You as well sir, it was good playing

with you again.' Indeed, between the bud he'd smoked, the beer, and the joy of playing music he had

almost forgotten what had been troubling him- his dwindling supply. In fact, when he thought about it, 

Elbourne's deck reminded him of the last time he'd been up at Eddie's house, when he'd accused him

of giving out a 'Narc', vibe, of 'Playing', him. It had scared the shit out him at the time, but later, he'd

managed to rationalize the situation a few ways, Eddie was drunk, maybe even snorting a little of his

own supply on the side, getting paranoid.

        Now, as he felt his own paranoia he return, he was starting to wonder, what if Eddie was right? Not

about him playing against Eddie, but someone playing against him. Usually, the week before he was 

going to go up to see the Source he'd give him a call. They wouldn't say much he'd just ask if it was a

good time to come up and the day and time he was going to come. It was now early Saturday morning,

and Eddie 'The Source' had still not answered or returned his calls.

        Some of his biggest customers, some from out of town, were already calling him asking when the

next shipment was going to come in. He'd told them all the same thing he always told them, he would

get more soon, and give them a call as soon as he did.

            Elbourne was sitting across from him on the deck, plucking his banjo. And Roady? What was

the deal with him lately? Asking so many questions about this supplier? He'd known Roady since he 

first sold him a 20 bag in ninth grade, but they'd never been particularly close, they mainly connected

through drugs and mutual friends.

            Mojo put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table in the middle of the deck. 'I can see why

you like it out here,' Mojo said to Elbourne, his wife Sara was by his side. 'Don't have to deal with

people's bullshit. Which reminds me I wanted to ask your opinion, Elbourne, because I feel like I

can trust you to be honest with me. What your opinion on Roady? I knew him in high school and I 

know he did some shady things to people back then, I guess I was just wondering if he's still like that

now.'

            'Oh yeah?' Elbourne asked. 'Yeah, he's been acting kind of strange lately, asking me all these 

questions about my supplier. Giving me kind of a narc vibe.' Mojo said, borrowing Eddie's term that he

knew Elbourne, as a hippy, would also appreciate.

            Elbourne sighed, putting down his banjo. 'My friend, I would say that you should definitely 

heed that instinct your having, because, to be honest I don't really care for the man at all.' He explained.

'Really?' Mojo replied. 'Why?' Elbourne seldom had something bad to say about a anyone, most of the

time.

            'Well, where to begin,' Elbourne said. 'First of all he's a total womanizer, and will essentially go

to bed with anyone female he finds even vaguely attractive. I've seen him flirt with girls, had to be 16-

17  years old.' Elbourne and his band, RFM, had toured a few times with Roady and the Mariners. 'He

doesn't care, he's even slept with the wives and girlfriends of members of his band. That's why they 

often have a new drummer or bassist for example. More than a few times he's gotten into fights with

guys from his band because they found out he was having sex with their partner.'

            Mojo nodded, he'd heard about some of that. 'And, he's got a real bad drug habit, were talking

pills, coke. He's got this whole set of friends he hangs with, not from the band, that are also into that

stuff and they go and do all kinds of stuff, break into drug dealers houses to steal a scale or something,

they'll go out into the country and take the money from those boxes they have at farmstands, real petty

stuff.'

            'Damn.' Mojo said. 'Yeah its pretty bad. Their guitarist, Storm, is a good friend of mine, he's 

been up here a few times. Says he does it all the time now, that some of those break-in's, these coke/

pills dealers turn him on to. They'll tell him and his friends about a dealer they know he could rob, or

a place to break into and he'd pay him, usually in drugs. These Moldovans in Franklin, they move

coke, pills, x, sell guns. What I've also heard is they have a lot of guns themselves and like to rip off

dealers from time to time.'

        Mojo took a tin from his jacket a lit up a joint. 'Man,' He said. 'Now I don't even really want him

in my studio.' He passed the joint over to Elbourne.

        'I would never invite him here.' Elbourne said taking a hit. 'Shit that's why I got my guns.'

        Roady sat in a booth by a window in the metro diner feeling dirty all around. The whole business

struck him as dirty. Shady. The kind of thing that he wouldn't want someone to do to him. Yet he had

just done it, done something that would set things in motion that he knew would get ugly. Accusations

would be hurled, and rightly so, against him. If, of course, Kyle's plan succeeded as thought it would.

        He sipped his coffee and took a bite of his blueberry pie. 'Just think of it like your James Bond,

and Mojo is the KGB asset you think to track. Like a secret agent mission.' All of Roady's attempts at

finding out much of anything about Mojo's source from the man himself had failed, so Kyle had told

him about a simple alternative, a GPS tracker. Used by companies with large fleets to track their 

vehicles, all he needed to do was place it on his car and Kyle and his gang would be able to track 

Mojo's every move.

            'The next time he goes up there, boom, we know where it is.' Kyle had said. He had the guys,

who had the guns, all they needed to do was go up there, show the steel, and get the guy to show them

where he had the stash. At least that was how Kyle had explained. He and his gang had done it plenty

of times, usually they tried to choose someone who wasn't connected, who couldn't retaliate. The truth

was Roady saw quite a few flaws in Kyle's plan. What if the guy had a gun? What if the whole stash

was in a safe, and he was the only one with the combination. He couldn't imagine anyone who dealt

that much drugs and lived out there would be totally oblivious to this happening to them.

        He finished his coffee and took out his cell phone to see if he'd had any calls. None so far. He 

opened his messages and typed one out to send to Kyle, 'Mission complete.' thinking about what he'd

said before about the whole thing being like a secret agent mission. I had been fairly simple placing the

tracker on Mojo's car as he always parked a couple of blocks from the building the housed his recording

studio, right on the street.

        'We just don't like the way your energy is right now, is really starting to effect other members of 

the band. We took a vote and even though we love you we feel like we need to part ways for a little

while.' His friend, Storm Cinder, with whom he'd founded the Mariners 20 years ago had told him. 

Roady hadn't been surprised. The truth was he hadn't really been feeling it very much for a long time 

playing with them. When they'd first started getting big, playing Chapman's, other venues around town,

and even a few shows in NYC and Boston, Roady was convinced they were going to big it big. Real

big, national stardom.

            His girlfriend, Marcy and even Storm and some of his other bandmates seemed to think so to, 

and more than a few times he'd heard that someone from a major record label was looking at them

seriously. But it had never really panned out the way he thought it would. They made a few albums with

local record labels and, later with Mojo's record label, even played a few shows in Boston and NYC, 

but they were still really just a local band. 

            The diner only had a couple other tables this early afternoon and a light rain fell as he sipped 

his coffee watching life go by outside. When was the next time he'd go to re-up? Roady thought. Once

a month if he had to guess. Well, either way it should be obvious with the tracker on there, he thought.

        Man, maybe I need to cut back on the grass, Mojo thought as he pulled into his driveway, I've been

feeling paranoid ever since I left my studio. No, scratch that, he thought as he put the car in park, 

grabbed his backpack from the front seat and got out, since I went to put more money in the meter at

around 3. 

            This sense that someone was watching him. He'd gotten into the studio around noon, he didn't

have anyone coming in to record, he mainly just wanted to get out of his house for a few hours. Eddie

still hadn't rung him back, and he had a theory that maybe if he was gone for a few hours the call would

finally come in.

        He was down to his last little bit of everything, weed, coke, pills, ectasy. acid. He'd already had to 

tell a couple customers that it was coming and he would let them know as soon as it came in. I got to

get some cameras to put outside the studio, and one for my car, Mojo thought as he unlocked his front

door and walked into his house.

        Mojo put his keys on the hook he had in his kitchen and put big backpack on the chair next to the

table. As he walked over to the living room he saw with satisfaction that his answering machine's red 

light was blinking, he pressed the button to listen.

        'Hey man, sorry it took a while to get back to you, your good to come up. Just call me when your'e

going to be coming.' Shit, Mojo looked it the clock, it was a little after 5. He'd told his friend Jenny he'd

meet her for dinner at 7, but he needed to make this re-up, he knew. He was already starting to worry

that some of the customer he'd told to wait for him would have already started looking elsewhere. He

didn't blame them, that was just business, but he couldn't afford to lose business himself.

        Mojo picked up his phone by the answering machine and dialed Eddie's number. It rang a couple

of times before he answered, 'Hey buddy how's it going.' Eddie said. 'Good, look I was wondering if

I could actually come up tonight.' Mojo asked.

    'Ya, vato, I think we can do that. There's something I need to tell you when you get up here.' Eddie

explained. 'Ok, sounds good I'll see you in a few. Bye.' Mojo said. I hope Jenny understands, Mojo 

thought, as he went upstairs to his room to get his re-up money from his safe. If I go up now, obviously,

there might be traffic going up, but if he didn't spend too much time up there, maybe he'd still have time

to meet Jenny at the satellite by midnight. 

            If she's still up by then, he thought as he went into his room and went into his closet where he 

had his cash. As he got the money out of the safe, counting it to make sure it was enough and closing it

back up, he felt it again, that someone was watching him. He knew it was entirely possible some law

enforcement entity was keeping tabs on him, but he hadn't felt it so strongly since he had returned from

Elbourne's house the night before.

              Mojo took a bud from a bag of sativa in the top of his dresser and rolled a joint on the tray he 

kept on there, she's up late a lot, he thought as he finished it up. I think there's a pretty good chance she

will still be up when I come back, he thought as he made his way down the stairs. He picked up his 

backpack from the chair, slung it over his shoulder and grabbed the cordless phone and dialed Jenny's

number. 

        Can't cancel in a text, he thought as it rang, too dismissive. 'Hey Mojo.' Jenny said as she picked

up. 'Hey, look I'm sorry to tell you this now but I was wondering if we could reschedule tonight, I have

something I just can't put off tonight. I'm going to be back in town later tonight, maybe around 11 or

12 if you want to grab a drink.'

        She was silent for a moment, 'Yeah, sure no problem. Yeah I might be awake up call me when 

you're on your way back to make sure I'm still awake.'

        'Again, I'm really sorry.' Mojo repeated. 'It's no problem.' She said. 'You do what you got to do

man. I'll talk to you later.' She said. 'Ok.' Mojo replied and hung up. Was she mad? He thought as he

took his keys from the hook and locked the door on his way out, hard to say. How can you ever really

tell?

May 2007

Wisconsin

        Eddie Pena took the right hand turn that led to the country road that led to his house feeling good

about where he was in life for the first time in a while. A few years after getting out of prison, he had 

used a contact of his to assume a new identity- Charles Hall. 

        Eddie had very rarely had legitimate employment, and increasingly he felt it was an impediment

to him. So he'd obtained the papers, drivers license, social security card, and became Charles Hall. He

liked the way it sounded, like an old school pirate. He had enjoyed his simple life in the Midwest since

moving out there after he'd gotten his new identity. He'd decided to rent the house, in case he had to 

leave in a hurry for some reason, and he'd come to enjoy tending to the impressive garden he'd curated,

and working at the local farmers supply store.

      Still, as Eddie house came into view, he knew something was wrong. The lights were on. On the 

first floor and on the second floor. Later, as he played the incident back in his mind, he'd wondered if

things had been different, if they'd showed up during the day and he hadn't seen the lights on, if they

would have gotten the drop on him.

        He drove past the house for about a mile, and finally turned into a field and parked it behind a

barn. Fuck, he thought as he killed the engine, my guns are back at the house. He knew who the people

who were waiting for him in the house were, and they sure weren't there to give him a surprise party.

He had this bowie knife on him, if I can kill one with that I can definitely get a gun from him to kill

the others. 

            He looked at the clock on his dashboard, a little past nine, twilight time. Fuck it, he thought, let

them wait a little. A first, seeing the lights on, knowing that the threat was there, he'd been scared. Now,

he was excited. This was a chance to test his skills.

            'I'm telling you, he gets off of work at around 8:30, drive back here takes him about a half hour,

he should be here soon.' Jorge said to Ramon. They were waiting in Eddie's kitchen drinking beers, just

a couple, Ramon had said.

            Loosen us up a little, he had suggested. 'Man, it's almost 2 in the morning.' Ramon said. 'What if

he's out of town?' 'Look, we try to put this off today we just have to come back here tomorrow, wait for

this asshole again tomorrow. Do you want to do that?' Jorge asked.

        Ramon took a swig, 'Nah, man. Fuck it I'm gonna see if this guy has cable.' And wandered into the

living room. 'Stay sharp man, he could come any minute.' Jorge reminded him. 

        'Its alright,' Ramon replied. 'We got the terminator out there keeping watch.' Jorge grunted. The

'terminator,' was Rafael Cortez, a contract killer from the cartel. Their boss, Dave Jiminez, didn't want

to take any chances with this one. 

        'This guy is fucking deadly.' He'd told Jorge. 'You got to be careful, don't let him get too close.' 

That was why he'd brought in Rafael, a stone faced individual, who only spoke Spanish. Jorge and

Ramon spoke English and Spanish but tended to converse in Spanish. Rafael seemed to have little to 

say in either tongue, and had suggested taking the watch outside on the porch.

        Jorge could hear the television from the living room, I guess the guy had have cable, he thought,

feeling restless sitting in the kitchen. Fuck it, I'm gonna have a smoke, he thought taking his pack

out of his pocket and walking out the front door.

        The first thing he noticed was Rafael, the supposed stone cold killer, slumped in a sitting position

with his hat on his face. What the hell, Jorge thought, walking over and removing the hat and seeing

that Rafael's throat had been cut, that was when he felt the cold steel on the back of his head.

        'Who else is with you?' The voice behind the gun asked. 'No one, it's just me.' He felt a heavy

blow as the man brought the gun down hard on his head. 'Ow!, damn! He's in the living room watching

tv.'

        Eddie raised the gun then and fired a shot into Jorge's head, leaving the body next to Rafael's. As 

he came in through the front door, he could hear the sounds of the TV on in the living room. He crept

closer, surprised as he came in through the kitchen that there was indeed a figure seated at his chair,

watching his TV, unaware of the gunshot outside.

        Eddie walked in calmly, raising his pistol to the man's head. 'Hey man- the man began before 

Eddie fired two shots into his brain. How the fuck did they find me out here? He thought to himself, his

ears still ringing, as he went into the kitchen and fetched himself a beer.

        Eddie woke up with a start, forgetting where he was for  a second. He had been at his computer,

listening to Kyle and one of his brothers talk about their plan to come up here and rip him off. The 

brother was having doubts, two many things they didn't know, did the guy have a gun? Where the

drugs actually were in the house, if there were any booby traps or anything like that.

        Kyle had brushed off these concerns, insisting that the prize at end was worth anything that might

be in their way. Eddie had been amused by that one. He'd been watching Kyle and his crew of 

Moldovans for the past 4 months, actually a friend of his who was a private investigator had been doing

the watching.

            First he'd started with Mojo. 6 months ago Eddie had had a real bad nightmare. The Feds, DEA,

FBI, CIA, all of them had found out about his house, about the shipping containers in the woods in the

back, and what they contained.

        In the dream, he'd been fast asleep when they came and he woke up to a submachine gun pointed 

at his head. He'd only woken up after they were leading him outside in handcuffs, still in his under

wear for some reason. 

        The dream had simply been too powerful for him to ignore, and so he'd called his friend Ibrahim,

and asked him to keep an eye on Mojo. Eddie trusted Mojo, to a certain extent, at least he knew he

wouldn't be dumb enough to try to rip him off or anything like that, but he worried about some of

the people in the music business he did deals with, and he worried that he would talk, say something

to the wrong people.

        It had happened to him 4 years ago in Wisconsin and he still hadn't figure out how they had

tracked him down there. Of course the cops out there probably wanted to talk to him as well. He'd

even pondered, just after it happened, of calling them, telling them he'd killed some men who'd

broken into his house, self defense.

        Of course then when he pondered that, he realized that once the police checked the backgrounds

of the guys who he'd killed, all gang bangers from East LA, which would only lead to more questions.

So he'd taken the money he'd saved from the moves he was making out there, pulled up stakes and ran.

        Now Mojo is coming up here and soon they'll know exactly where to find me. That's just fine

by me, I could use the practice, Eddie thought.