Not surprisingly Caldwell was ticked and possibly embarrassed, though hardly anybody knew of the family connections. He came in screaming Monday morning, demanding Ernie dismantle the idiotic mess immediately. It had been erected on the road allowance in front of the grow facility late on Saturday night so that locals, including the Hullbrooke Gazette photographer, had all of Sunday to take it in.
Of course somebody had to call the local police. Lazlo was not happy with that move at all, and Ernie figured it must have been one of the neighbors upset with the increased traffic. The cruiser came to a full stop right in front Ernie who was pulling the first of the goat heads off its spike.
“Morning, Chief.” Ernie knew Jim Thorpes from way back. He was the eldest brother of Ernie’s best friend in high school. They’d always called him Chief, even before he became a policeman, and now that he headed up the local unit, most people didn’t even know he had a first name.
“Heard you were workin’ here, Ernie. So what have we got? Guardians been at it again?”
“Looks like it.”
“Nothin’ explosive?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Now this thing here,” the chief said, pointing. “This could be a hazard to drivers.” By this time the battery-generated pneumatic apparatus was losing power and the devil was more or less just writhing on the roadside.
“Could be, but I think the traffic’s diminished,” Ernie said.
“What the hell are these though?” the chief said, looking at the skinned goat head in Ernie’s hand. “Shit! You think they got a 3D printer?”
“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say yes.”
“Now that bothers me. It really does. One thing I always counted on was their lack of digital savvy. Hell, next thing you know they’ll have more guns. Shit, they could be all over the internet or screwing around with robotics before we know it. No sir, I do not like that one bit.”
Ernie nodded. “Could get interesting.”
“So does CannRose want to lay charges?”
“No. They just want it to go away and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Good man! No use uppin’ the ante. Gazette’s gonna run the photo I hear. Should keep ’em happy for another couple of years.”
“Probably.”
“Well, just checkin’ up on things.”
“Keepin’ the peace.”
“You bet. You have yourself a good day, Ernie. Oh, nice job on the terraces by the way. Hilda raves about you.”
“Thanks,” Ernie said. Jim Thorpes was Mrs. Cranston’s cousin.
PART SIX
Cloning
Oh Greedy Knives! No matter the handle’s fine filigree, the steel of stagger and drop is your lot. We are so many. Do not waste us in pieces and slivers, or carve and align us to where we are not. You think by dicing, by splicing, you will gain an upper hand. This game is the age of stars and just as complex. With each tiny cut you slice off your own finger. Oh Greedy Knives, there is no winning. We weep. We weep that you may still the blade, let the blessed be and see the splendor.
from Cannto V, Cannabidadas
Chapter 26
“So, not that I ever planned on leaving anything for posterity, but here they are: general cleaning procedures for everything but the grow rooms. I can get those to you in a week or so. Would that work?” Ernie laid out the paperwork on the desk.
“Peachy. Just splendid!” Percy, the new quality assurance officer, was effusive as he peered more closely at one of the pages. He was a little older than Ernie, effeminate and an elegant dresser. His tastes were more subdued, more refined and possibly more expensive than Caldwell’s. That would soon be irrelevant. Ernie found out Percy was introducing “proper gowning,” so everybody working in the production part of the facility would be wearing scrubs and lab coats by the end of the month. And of course it wasn’t the man’s taste in clothes that pissed off Caldwell, or the fact the guy was educated, logical and had diplomatic people skills. It was that the CannRose board had hired him in a unilateral move. That’s what really got up Caldwell’s nose. He fumed around the facility making snide remarks about the board’s heavy-handed players, “a bunch of draconian geriatrics.” The new QA officer barely noticed.
“Bravo! A man with a grasp of the written word!” Percy exclaimed, putting the page back on the pile.
“General liberal arts. A dying education track but it still comes in handy,” Ernie said.
Ernie had seen the trail in and out of the new QA guy’s office all afternoon, people sighing heavily, holding the pages they were responsible for and slouching back to their work areas to make corrections. You had to hand it to Percy, he was whipping the place into shape. Administratively speaking that is. Even the DOH had been impressed enough with Percy they were willing to back down on pulling the registration. The threat of nasty litigation from Luther and the gang at the law firm didn’t hurt either. Ernie heard the state was giving CannRose-Medi another four months to clean up its act.
“Lots of paperwork, huh?”
“As I’ve mentioned to the others, it’s a magnum opus.” Percy pointed to the large three-inch binder sitting on the new filing cabinet. Apparently it would be full to overflowing in a couple of months with instructions on how to do absolutely everything that mattered to the DOH. The filing cabinet would be full too, with sign-offs, harvest, curing and packaging records, test results and of course sanitation records.
Ernie sat down because it looked like Percy needed a break. He could always tell when people wanted to talk and it made work go by so much faster. Shootin’ the breeze was Ernie’s second vocation, after cooking.
“So do you live around here, Percy?”
Percy lived with his husband Gavin not far from Rosefields. But up until a few months ago, he was only there on weekends and holidays because he’d been working in New Jersey in the pharmaceutical industry. It turned out Ernie was well acquainted with Percy’s house. Long before Percy and Gavin renovated it, Ernie’s first girlfriend had lived there. His mom had always liked Trina, and Trina’s folks had liked innocent and trusting Ernesto. Those were the days.
“So are you going to stay here or are you the high-priced fixer and on to new pastures once you’ve cleaned up this mess?”
“My dear man, I’ve taken a considerable cut in remuneration but the plan is to indeed stay here.”
Percy, like Ernie himself, had become a reject from another world. He’d refused to sign off on some cost-saving measure at the pharmaceutical company. He perceived with a high degree of certainty that the cost savings would create a risk down the line. Not good. Not safe. Not healthy. The section VP disagreed and decided the product was not the liability. Percy was. Guards arrived to escort him out. A bit of a shock. But here he was getting in on a whole revolution. No matter what you called it, ganja, dagga, bhanga, bobo bush, or even the albatross of the DEA, it was making a comeback. One by one, the states were saying no in a whole new way, as in “No. Go blow prohibition out your ear!” Percy was delighted.
Percy’s mood suddenly changed though, and he asked Ernie in a conspiratorial tone, “What’s Petra like? I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“Couldn’t say really. I haven’t seen all that much of Petra myself.” Ernie omitted any mention of the times he’d seen her at Chelsea’s.
“Curious, she’s head of R and D and doesn’t even have a functioning lab,” Percy sniffed. Her presence clearly bothered him. “I mean, I suppose it’s not that odd. CannRose is still a start-up. But of course I’m going to have to share a lab with her. They’re only building one of them as far as I know.”
Apparently Caldwell had laid it on thick. No doubt to intimidate Percy. He’d gone on about Petra’s Ivy League background and faculty appointment. “I don’t think Caldwell has a clue adjunct professors usually aren’t even on the university payroll,” Percy said. “Besides I don’t fall for academic credentials. On the contrary! The more initials accumulated, the more I suggest in
specting for damages left in the wake. Truth is often money. Just like everything else I suppose. And the egos!” Percy peered over his glasses at Ernie and, seeing he still had a sympathetic ear, continued, “Invariably, prima donnas get vexed by quality protocols, you know. They claim it cramps their creativity. Dampens a few psychopathic tendencies too.” Percy sniffed again. “Academia and research are full of them. I should know.”
“So you’ve had run-ins then with the researchers and academics?” Ernie inquired.
“Run-ins? Ha! In addition to my recent cessation of relations with the pharma research boys — whores really, the lot of them — I survived the most fucked PhD-turned-terminal-master’s supervised by a narcissistic monster in the Biochemistry Department at Yale. Twenty-five years ago and it’s still surprisingly vivid. I too have Ivy League cred. You can’t fool me.” He paused, suddenly remembering he was talking to the guy with the broom at his new workplace. Possibly not too professional of him. But then, this was a just weed factory.
Chapter 27
Caldwell adjusted his watch so the face was dead center on the top of his wrist. Even though only the most discerning eyes might notice it under his Armani jacket, it was one of those little things that counted, a small symmetry with comforting consequences. He’d meant to get another link taken out of the gold wristband but he never found the time. He could of course give it to Lydia as an errand. She still liked to do things for him sometimes. As soon as the notion occurred though, he dismissed it. Sure he and Lydia had a history and maybe they’d still be occasional lovers at some point, but he wasn’t keen on handing over the diamond-and-sapphire Cartier even for an hour or two. It represented an intolerable kind of intimacy. He’d moved past that. Lydia should too.
Caldwell had a new lover. Bit of a fluffy thing, but so what. Young women were easy enough to get at his age, with his experience. Why shouldn’t he make the best of it? They admired a man of means, passion and experience and didn’t question him about matters they knew nothing about. In fact this one barely had a word to say at all. He liked that. He had too much on his mind right now.
Luther, that sycophantic jacked-up little munchkin and naysayer to his best ideas, had challenged him to bring in more investors. “If you’re so worried about power balances, Caldwell, maybe you should work them.” That’s what the little twerp had said. So work them Caldwell would. And one day, one day very soon, when the power was stacked as destiny had ordained, CannRose would be global and it would be his.
Caldwell often imagined his great success. All the motivational experts recommended it. The more detailed the better. In a recurring scenario he gave his father a two-week tour of the international holdings. Wouldn’t that be a stunner! The man, possibly on his last legs, humbled and open-mouthed with astonishment. Oh, how Caldwell would relish it. Nothing he ever did as a child seemed to satisfy. His father would point out the missed catch in the winning game, the spelling mistake in the story that got an A, the glue that came unstuck on the prize-winning science project, the mismatched coloring in his bedroom, the clumsiness of the knots he tied, the poverty and bad habits of his best friend. Not that his father was a paragon of brilliance or social standing himself. Quite the contrary. He was a clerk in some import company on the West Coast. And one day he just disappeared. His mother told him his father had probably been planning it for ages.
Caldwell checked his smartphone, then he checked the Cartier; it was four minutes slow. He felt a slight twinge in his stomach. The potential investor was flying in from New Mexico and clearly this guy’s time was at a premium. He was hiring a helicopter from the city airport so he could land right in the empty field beside the facility.
Caldwell had heard the New Mexico guy was a retired CEO of a Fortune 500 company. The words shrewd, measured, inscrutable and cutthroat had been bandied about. Caldwell took a deep breath. He’d come to realize there were businesspeople, especially quiet ones, who were a different predator species. Heartless came to mind, though he admired them greatly. They bypassed camaraderie for a killing. They picked up on weakness. So Caldwell had to be careful. He’d had certain experiences they might . . . misinterpret.
There were times in Caldwell’s life when he’d kept out of sight. For business reasons of course. Who doesn’t need a break from time to time before starting a new venture? For example, he’d occasionally resorted to living out of his mother’s garage. It was economical. Skipping town was also often effective in maintaining one’s strength and spirit. In one instance he’d retreated completely for six months to a makeshift tree house somewhere in the woods in Oregon. Winter had driven him out and cautiously back to civilization. Another time he’d lived in a derelict Airstream for a whole year, hidden in a few acres of scrub bush right beside the Green River in Utah. In extreme circumstances, Caldwell had found that fabricated identities could also give him a break.
But now things had come full circle and he was back to the real Caldwell. He saw this as a lucky omen. He was finally aligned with God’s grace. His skill set, enthusiasm and natural talent were working brilliantly with the moneyed crowd drooling to get in on the green wave. Marijuana was manna!
Caldwell meditated again on the upcoming meeting. His demeanor needed to be perfect, flawless, Zen-like. While the negotiations of an investment deal might go on for weeks or even months, the defining decision would be made in the first thirty seconds after the handshake. Caldwell lived for this.
As the helicopter landed, the wind generated by the whirling blades blew up so much dust that Caldwell was momentarily blinded, and he started to cough.
“Wonderful you could make the trip so quickly,” he gasped as he squinted at the man from New Mexico.
Then Caldwell began to sneeze uncontrollably. It stopped only when they went inside, but his eyes watered throughout the twenty-minute tour of the grow facility. During the fifteen-minute meeting that followed, Caldwell’s nose began to drip and his red eyes became excruciatingly itchy.
The New Mexico businessman expressed genuine concern for Caldwell’s health as he climbed back into his rented helicopter.
Chapter 28
The three young devotees were in the first nursery. Some plants had yellowing leaves and a few had smaller leaves at the top that were curling. Unlike some staff, the young men did not pretend everything was fine while they trimmed. They were accepting though, and abundantly aware of just how little influence they had at CannRose or anywhere for that matter. They contemplated change.
“Dude. You think this place’ll ever grow decent weed?”
“It’s depressing.”
“Look at these!”
“How does that happen?”
“They’re confusing them again.”
“Why can’t they just let them grow.”
“It’s a war, bro. See who can throw the most shade. And the ladies are collateral damage.”
“They shouldn’t be cloned when they’re confused.”
“Yeah. The kids always suffer.”
“Yeah. It’s, like, worse than before my parents split.”
“Was your mother confused?”
“All the time.”
“That’s why you gotta grow your own.”
“Dad’s never gonna let me. He says it’s unsustainable.”
“Weed is totally sustainable. If people grew more weed and hemp and shit, we wouldn’t need polyester.”
“Weed is awesome!”
“He says he’d allow it only if I grew it outdoors.”
“We should, like, so totally be able to grow it outdoors.”
“Yeah. Ladies would like the sunshine!”
“We should just get our own place.”
“That would be dumb lit!”
“Ca-ching, ca-ching.”
“No. It’s not, dude. We could find a place in Hullbrooke. They’re cheap.”
“Yeah! We could walk to the skate park! There’s Chelsea’s too!”
“Chelsea’s sucks. All that smoke.”
“So?”
“I’d have to take my puffer.”
“I didn’t know you had asthma.”
“Like since I was three. Cat dander.”
“There’s no cats at Chelsea’s, dude.”
“Cougars.”
“Dude. That’s pathetic.”
“We should get a Gazette. Check the rents.”
“Yeah, we could totally rent in Hullbrooke.”
“With a bedroom for the ladies.”
“I’d take the couch so the ladies could have their own room.”
“Shit, yeah.”
“You know that inspector?”
“The one Lydia’s assistant wanted to date?”
“She hates the ladies. I can tell.”
“Maybe that’s why they’re sick.”
“They take it up. Clone these — spread the hate.”
“Joe said she’s why the first QA guy got fired.”
“State shade, bro. Savage.”
“He was a jerk anyway. Told me to get my hair cut. Said my man bun looked stupid.”
“Yeah, yours does.”
“Fuck off.”
“The hair nets now are so cool.”
“So are the scrubs! The color goes with the ladies.”
“I didn’t even know they made beard nets.”
“Dude, I’m never wearing a beard net.”
“Dude, you’d need a beard.”
Chapter 29
Since CannRose-Medi still wasn’t getting product out the door, Alice was very pleased the state suddenly decided to allow dispensaries to sell product to each other. Alice could open the storefronts even if all she did was sell other companies’ products for them. When she mentioned to her staff at the drugstore that she could finally start hiring for the CannRose dispensaries, one of her pharmacists piped up that she’d be interested. Given all the jokes bandied about by her staff over the past year or so, this surprised Alice a little. It had also registered vaguely in the back of Alice’s mind that psychotropic substances of any sort might be taboo for Sameera Hassan Abdul. So much for that assumption! And Sammy was her favorite pharmacist so she didn’t really want to lose her to the medical marijuana industry.
The Buds Are Calling Page 14