The Bookmaker

by Chris Fraser

  “You grew these fields of marijuana with shit?”

  “We get the dung from local dairy farmers, actually, we trade ‘em weed for it,” he laughed. “The plants love cow shit, they thrive in it.”

  “What’s up with the dying fields, what happened to them?”

  “Negligence and black fungus, weed’s arch-nemesis,” he said. “It’s just me out here. I can’t handle it all. Preston used to help and we’ve taken on some illegals from time to time, but ever since Preston got sick, it’s just been me.”

  “So that would explain the smell?”

  “That’s right—you get a combo of real good weed in full bloom caked in cow shit next to dying and rotting marijuana fields and you get a stench like no other,” he said laughing.

  “So those dying fields…you’re just letting ‘em go ‘cause you can’t find anyone to work ‘em?” I said, an idea beginning to form in my head.

  “Pretty much; even if we had the manpower to work ‘em, once the fungus gets ‘em, they’re gone. Then your only job becomes keeping the fungus from spreading to healthy plants.”

  “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing with the finished product?”

  Matador looked at me like I was stupid. “We’re selling it obviously. We’re not growing it for its beauty.”

  I thought I’d surprise him with what Duane told me. “So you sell it to the college kids…?

  “It started out that way, and, for a while was very profitable, but also a lot of work and opened us up to a lot of unwanted exposure. Now, we’re just shipping off pounds to dealers all over the country. It’s far easier that way and we keep ourselves totally under the radar. Our product is highly in demand—people know good shit when they see it and they’re willing to pay for it.”

  I decided to feel him out with what I had in mind. “So those dying plants…would they be just as productive as these here if you had the manpower to take care of ‘em?”

  “Sure…I don’t see why not. In fact, we can’t keep up with all the demand.”

  I delved further. “Would you be open to someone who has experience both in growing and selling coming in to get those dead plants blooming again?”

  “I’d be very interested in that. You got someone in mind?”

  “I think I know the exact person you are looking for.”

  “You have someone you trust who could get those moribund plants thriving and could help on the selling end as well?”

  “I most certainly do.”

  We spent the rest of the morning touring the fields. He proudly showed me the fine art of outdoor marijuana cultivation—starting with when to reap and when to sow. He then meticulously showed me how to isolate the buds, separating the stem and seeds, keeping the seeds for replanting and discarding the stems. I learned everything that needed to be done to get the product from the plant and packaged into cellophane pounds ready to deliver. When the tour was over, I began telling him all about Jay.

  Matador liked idea of Jay coming out to work the fields. He liked the fact that he had experience in both the growing and dispensing of the product, but even more so, he said he trusted me so he could trust Jay, and that meant a lot to me. Now we just needed to run it by Preston to see what he thought about it. Matador felt sure that he would be on board with the idea and he also told me that Preston trusted me as well—which was also good to hear, even if it wasn’t from Preston himself. We decided to hit him up on it tomorrow; we’d let him rest today.

  As I walked from my guest house to the main house the next day, I was overwhelmed by a knot in my stomach that bordered on nausea. I hadn’t talked to Preston since his blow up at the hospital and wasn’t sure if he was still pissed at me. But at the same time, I was excited about the prospect of Jay coming to stay with us out here. I was homesick, and Jay could bring home with him and maybe Wade Boggs too—I was getting worried about the little shit. My nerves settled and my worries were removed as soon as I walked into Preston’s office and was greeted by an exuberant shouting of my name. He was in a good mood and it seemed like whatever transpired at the hospital never really happened. Matador was early—they were both waiting for me. I assumed Matador was already discussing what we’d talked about yesterday.

  “Trent, come in, sit down,” Preston said from behind his desk, seeming truly happy to see me. “Matador tells me you might have a solution to a nagging problem of ours?”

  “Yeah, I know a guy who’d be perfect to help bring things back to where you would like them.”

  Preston glanced at Matador, then back to me, “And you trust this fella…Jay?”

  “I trust him more than anyone I know,” I said, doing my best sales job. “I’ve known him my whole life. He’s a stand-up guy and a hard worker, been running his own operation both growing and selling for years.”

  “And you’ll vouch for him? Because I’ve got to tell you, son, we’ve grown to trust you, and I’ve opened my house and my secrets to you; I have complete faith in your discretion with everything that goes on here. I don’t need to tell you that we have to be careful. The more people we expose ourselves to, the more vulnerable we become. You understand this, right?”

  “I completely understand, and I’d never subject you to anyone who wouldn’t have your…no, our best interests in mind,” I said with a bold inclusion into their world.

  Preston smiled. “Our world, you say? I like that. You’re right, it is our world now, you are immersed my friend.”

  “I believe I am,” I said, “I believe I am.”

  Preston lit a cigar and I took it as a good time to light up a Camel. Matador bummed a smoke off me and I lit him up.

  There we were—all three smoking in silence for about a minute when the obvious came to me. “You know, I haven’t even talked to Jay about any of this. I don’t even know if he’ll wanna come out here.”

  “Tell you what,” Preston said, “let’s go ahead and take a look at the boy. Call him up, tell him we’ll fly him out here for a visit, he can check out our operation. We’ll let him know what we’re looking for and we’ll find out what he’s willing to take for his troubles.”

  Matador chimed in for the first time. “You know, if he’s gonna get those fields back into shape, he’s gonna have to stay out here indefinitely.”

  “Good point,” Preston said. “And that’s a lot to ask, he might not be as willing to stay as our boy Trent here.”

  I interrupted and asked the sensitive question. “Now, he might be more susceptible to a move if we put an offer on the table, do you guys have anything in mind?”

  Matador fielded the question. “We were discussing that before you arrived, and we did have something in mind. You can offer him a quarter of the profits from producing plants and half of the profits for the non-producing plants. We’d like him to focus on the crops we’ve lost—we want them back and producing.”

  Preston added, “And of course room and board—he’d be living in the house next to you. But you make sure you tell him those fields are a full-time job. We feel our offer is very generous, but he’s gonna have to bust his ass to earn it. Those fucking weeds take a lot of TLC, but he should already know that.”

  “If all goes well and he gets them crops blooming again, he could make well into six figures,” Matador said. “But we can discuss numbers more when he gets here,”

  I was very impressed and a little jealous of their offer. Jay could stand to make a lot of money if all went well, but who better, I thought. “I’ll call him right now, if you want me to?” I asked.

  Preston slid his antique brass desk phone toward me. “No time like the present, son.” He stood up shakily and moved toward us on the couch, “But before you do, let me apologize for my behavior at the hospital yesterday. I was out of line and shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I fucking hate hospitals and frankly my painkillers were wearing off…but it’s no excuse.”

  I was relieved to hear this and shook his hand graciously. “It was my fault
too,” I said. “I have no right judging what happened. You’re right, I’m here to take down a story, that’s it and that’s what I’ll do.

  “Ah, you know you’re here for more than just taking down my story. Like I said before, whether you like it or not, you’re family now. So, we good?”

  “Yeah, we good.”

  He let go of my hand and we both sat down again, then he added, “So when we get this Jay business squared away, I want to finish up on what we started with my family—things will make more sense to you once you hear the whole story.”

  16

  The drive up to Memphis was amazing. The weather was a balmy eighty degrees and the top was down in the ‘65 Mustang. I drove at a leisurely pace along Highway 78, but at the same time, I was anxious to get there to pick up Jay. I took a look at myself in the rear view and assessed my nearly faded black eye—relieved it was gone, as Jay would have blown it out of proportion.

  Jay was an easy sell. It was a first class ticket and a chance to see the operation and hear the old guys out. When I spoke to him on the phone the day before, he told me he was considering a visit anyway. He said he was getting worried I might never come back, and he had to see for himself what was so alluring to keep me away from home. He went on about people asking about me—when and if I was coming back. But other than him and Wade, I didn’t feel I was leaving anything behind; it struck me as odd how little I cared about whether I ever went back home.

  I pulled into the pick-up area and spotted him right away, he stood out amongst the huddled airport masses. To the travelers at Memphis International, Jay Dresden couldn’t have been more conspicuous if he was wearing a clown costume, and I’m sure many people thought he was. He saw me with my window down and waved his colorfully sleeved arms. He was dressed in the usual: a white wife-beater and long, tan Dickies shorts with black socks pulled up to meet them, showing no leg-skin whatsoever. Jay didn’t mind the stares; never did. He just waved me in and gave me a big bear hug when I hopped out of the car.

  He pulled back. “What the fuck is this?” he asked, tugging at my Ole Miss jersey I wore as a joke.

  “I’ve gone local, my man,” I said, genuinely pleased to see that my best friend was really here.

  “I don’t even know what team that is,” he said.

  “Oh you will, man, you will, won’t have a choice.” I threw his duffel bag into the back seat and we sped off.

  Jay had a big smile on his face as he took in the countryside. He was a city boy like me and this was all new to him.

  “Nice ride,” he said, running his hand along the dash.

  “Yeah, it’s one of Preston’s.”

  “One of…how many he got?”

  “I don’t know, about seven or eight. Wait ‘til you see his place.”

  “So where’d the money come from?”

  “Not sure really, my guess would be family money and what you’re coming out here to help ‘em with.”

  “So they really got a good thing going with their operation?”

  “I’d say so—they don’t tell me much about it.”

  “Well, sounds like they’re gonna be telling me all about it real soon.”

  “Yes, it does,” I agreed.

  Jay began rifling through his duffel bag and finally found what he was looking for. “Here, pop this in. I brought it special for the trip,” he said, handing me a CD.

  The Dead Kennedys’ Holiday in Cambodia blasted from the speakers. I could only laugh. It was good to have Jay with me in this foreign land.

  “So how the fuck you been, T?”

  “It’s all good. I’m digging it out here, and you will too.”

  “Yeah, about that, are these guys serious? They got fields and fields of top quality weed and all I got to do is work it and they’ll pay me all that dough?”

  “Both Preston and Matador are dead serious, this is their business and they need help. When you see the crops they’re bringing you in to fix, you’ll see what’s cut out for you.”

  Jay shuffled in his seat and stared at the passing fields and said, “Fuck man, I can bring those plants back from the dead no problem—I’m like the Jesus of weed growing.”

  “I know you are, that’s why I told them you were the man. But hey, take it easy on the Jesus stuff out here; people are pretty sensitive here in the buckle of the Bible belt.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” he said, lighting up a smoke. “Wait ‘til these Mississippi motherfuckers get a load of me.”

  “By the way, how’s Wade Boggs doing?” I asked.

  “He’s as fat as ever. Don’t worry, his food bowl is always full. I think he misses you though. He sleeps outside your closed door and scratches at it. He’s fucked up the carpet around the door.”

  Then the thought occurred to me. “Who’s watching him now?”

  “Don’t sweat it, man, Nate’s taking care of him,” he laughed.

  “Nate…what the fuck, man?”

  “Just fucking with ya, Dayla’s gonna pop in and feed him and make sure he’s cool. She’s actually grown quite fond of the little shit. It’s gotten quite annoying.”

  We drove along further, listening to the best of the Dead Kennedys. Kill the Poor was coming from the speakers. He told me I hadn’t missed much, although Bouncer Bruce did come by again, this time with Kendra. Jay finally answered the door and told him he hadn’t seen me in a while and didn’t know if he ever would again, and they hadn’t been back since. I told him about the house and the city and the football game, I left out my work with Preston and how I felt about Corynne.

  Just as we were about to get off the highway and head into Oxford, I thought of something else Jay needed to know before meeting everyone.

  “By the way, man, Preston’s sick, like at-death’s-door sick. He’s got ALS.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You ever heard of Lou Gehrig’s disease?”

  “Yeah, maybe, I remember the speech.” He then went into an echoed version of “Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy, but this is no joke, this is some serious shit. Basically his muscles are dying and there’s nothing he can do about it but watch ‘em go.”

  “Fuck, man….that sucks.”

  “But he’s a proud man and I don’t think he likes to acknowledge it, so I find it best just to ignore it as much as I can.”

  “All right, thanks for the heads up. I’ll be cool,” he said, then changed the subject. “Other than that, what are he and that Matador guy like?”

  “They’re both pretty cool, you’ll see for yourself soon enough,” I said, trying to put an end to the topic.

  Jay got the hint and said, “Oh yeah, so how’s it going with the story, he tell you all about the murders?”

  “That’s classified, my man.”

  I turned onto University Ave. and drove past the college and through town.

  Jay just stared out the window in awe. “Jesus Christ, man, this place looks like fucking Disneyland. I’ve never seen anything like it.” I proceeded to give him a quick tour as best I could, using the information I learned from Corynne.

  The greeting at the Walker House was a familiar one—Matador, Corynne, and Delotta holding baby Tucker, waiting for us on the front porch.

  I introduced Matador. “You’re almost how Trent described you,” he said, shaking his hand. “You ready to go get dirty?”

  “I sure am, sir; I’m itching to see your operation.”

  Corynne was used to guys like Jay growing up in California. But the look on Delotta’s face was priceless—you would have thought I’d introduced her to a Martian.

  “My my my, aren’t you colorful,” she said, trying to put on a good game face and be polite.

  Jay was used to this reaction and played it smooth as always. “Why, yes I am, ma’am, do you like it?”

  Delotta looked him over real good. “I’m not sure yet, you’re gonna have to give me some time to take you all i
n. Don’t get much like you around here…and I thought Trent was different.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Jay said.

  I looked down at Tucker and said, “And this little guy right here is my main man Tucker, the coolest little kid in the world.”

  “How’s it going little man?” Jay asked, bending down to his level.

  Tucker ran his hand along Jay’s arm and said, “Crayons…pretty.”

  “Thanks, little buddy. I think T is right, you just might be the coolest kid in the world.”

  Tucker handed Jay his toy helicopter and said, “Up, up, up.” Jay picked him up, then quickly handed him back to Delotta.

  Matador put his hand on Jay’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go up to Preston’s office and talk business, shall we?”

  I followed them through the foyer and past the fountain and watched Jay’s mouth fall agape with astonishment. Up the twisting staircase, left down the hall, and straight toward Preston’s office, the double doors were open—Preston sat behind his desk and to his right was Jimmy Ray Upshaw, Esq. Matador stopped me at the door and said, “No offense, Trent, but you can sit this one out,” then handed me Jay’s duffel bag and shut the door.

  I couldn’t help but feel a little left out as I headed to the guest house to drop off Jay’s bag. I was halfway across the lawn when Corynne caught up to me and asked me to take a walk with her. I dropped the bag at Jay’s door and followed her.

  “So you know about Papa’s pride and joy now?” she asked with a grin.

  “I assume you’re referring to the fields?”

  “You know I am, silly, come on, let’s go out there.”

  “Are you sure? I got cut up in the barbed wire the last time I tried to get there.”

  “No, dum dum, there’s a path, come on.”

  She led me to the far left side of the house where we met an ivy-covered wall. She searched around the thick leaves until she found a green camouflaged handle. She used her key and opened a thick, creaking gate leading to a meandering dirt path cut through the trees. I stood there eyeing the path ahead, wishing I’d found it before I got all cut up.