by Robin Spano
“That’s not a bad thing. How can I be of assistance?” Richie said it like a joke, but he meant it. He had no loyalty left toward Seattle.
“You can help by not even contemplating taking this batch across the border. If the FBI gets wind of this — and I’m sorry to say it, Chopper, but your name has come up on their red flag list — then the whole operation to bust the Seattle cartel could get blown. The immunity deal I negotiated for the three of you would be off the table.”
“Not much good you having a signed agreement then, is it? If they can change the rules whenever they please.”
Chopper shot Richie a sharp glance that said, I’ll take it from here. “Stu, who are you negotiating with? The RCMP, the FBI . . . ?”
Norris’ shoulders slumped. His little gut pushed out — Richie hadn’t noticed him having one before. “You guys swear this stays right here?”
“Of course.” Chopper’s tone was warm and level. Richie saw that he could learn a lot from Chopper about how to talk to people in business, how to get them to relax and open up.
“I’ve been working with the DEA,” Norris said.
An electric glance shot between Richie and Chopper.
“You little motherfucker. You sold us out?” Richie said, before he remembered to be nice.
“Of course not.” Norris glowered at Richie. “They got in touch with me. They knew everything — Chopper’s manufacturing, your dealing, Sacha’s drug-running. They wanted — still want — our help in nailing the Seattle cartel. But they can’t have the FBI see us, or they’re worried the operation will get botched.”
“Fucking Sacha,” Chopper said. “She could never keep her mouth shut.”
Richie wasn’t so sure the leak was from Sacha, but he wouldn’t say a word until he knew just who it was from. Too many people were friends with each other in this strange little town.
Norris’ eyes were wide, pleading forgiveness.
“I should have told you guys way sooner, I know. Like as soon as the DEA got in touch. I thought I could keep control of this.”
“So they knew about you, too,” Richie said. “About your taking bribes. Otherwise, how would they know you’d work for them so willingly?”
“If they don’t bust Seattle, they’re telling the RCMP everything. My life and career here would be over. I’m thinking seriously of bailing anyway, taking my family and getting out.” Norris hauled hard on his cigarette, like the nicotine could somehow protect him.
“The run pays twenty grand,” Richie said, more worried about the Seattle cartel than a couple years in prison if Norris happened to be right about the DEA. “You want to get out of town, why not take your family in Chopper’s truck and catch a plane out of Bellingham to somewhere sunny — somewhere that doesn’t extradite. You can make up for your fuck-up and save your ass at the same time. It’s not often life hands you a win-win like that.”
Norris’ mouth wrinkled. “If the run pays twenty grand under normal conditions, I’d need at least fifty to make it worth my while now.”
Fifty? Richie met Chopper’s eyes. Chopper nodded.
“But,” Richie couldn’t help saying, “you just said you don’t want the blood money.”
“I didn’t need it before. Now, it’s my ticket to a new beginning.”
“Fine,” Richie said. “Fifty grand is half the take, and this is all your goddamn fault, but fine.” Even if Norris made off with the whole hundred grand, and even if they never got Chopper’s truck back, it was saving Richie and Chopper a million in debt. Like Billingsley said, Cut your losses quick to give your profits room to grow. He’d followed it up in the book with a tomato plant analogy for readers who were too dumb to get his drift.
Richie’s phone beeped with a text from Jana: Got Lucy 2 drop. Yay me.
“You know what else is nagging me?” Norris took the tiny end of Chopper’s joint and sucked back hard before squishing the butt into the ashtray.
“Your wife?” Richie texted back: Good 2 know. Still b careful what u say.
“There’s a blogger on the case, so to speak. Interviewing so-called suspects, trying to find out who killed Sacha. He knows things, like that Wade was cheating on Georgia with Sacha. What if he has eyes in town and follows me to the States?”
Richie thought this was taking paranoid to a whole new level, but Chopper said, “Richie or I could follow you as far as Squamish, make sure no one’s on your tail.”
“Even still . . . Look, if I were single, I wouldn’t be this cautious. But if I’m in jail, or if I’m dead, I’m no good to my family.”
Richie wished his own dad had had even a fraction of that attitude. He said, “The blogger is nothing to worry about. I’ve been reading the posts with Jana, and I’m pretty sure the blogger and Sacha were friends back in New York. He’s gone all emo about losing her, but it’s not some deep mystery why the guy knows she was fucking Wade. It doesn’t make him a genius detective with eyes into our living rooms.”
“Au contraire, my friend.” Chopper reached forward and pulled his open box of marijuana supplies toward himself. He pulled out a Rizla and some pot, and started rolling a new joint. “I’ve been reading, too, and this blogger is emotionally invested. He might not be here now, but he’ll find a way into our living rooms. He’ll find eyes here, little spies. He won’t rest until the verdict’s overturned and Sacha’s been cleared of suicide.”
“But she did kill herself,” Norris said. “The suicide note only compounds the evidence.”
“So why can’t you close the case?” Chopper’s eyebrows lifted, challenging.
“RCMP head office says the suicide note isn’t clear enough. They’re petrified of American scorn if we get it wrong.”
Richie looked at Norris. “Can you go the other way? Change the diagnostics and call this a murder case?”
“Why would I do that?” Norris pushed his little chest out. “I truly believe Sacha killed herself.”
“I don’t. But that’s not the point. A murder verdict might make the FBI and the blogger go away quietly. Their objection is to Sacha being labeled a suicide — not that we haven’t found a killer.”
“They’re not going away until Sacha’s death has been vindicated.”
“You think?” Richie said. “Because even if only one of them leaves, that’s one less wolf at our door. We could maybe get away with this one last run before we pack up and find a town with less heat.”
“You forget that the DEA is watching, too.”
“But they want us to make the run. Just not while we’re being watched.”
Norris wrinkled his small nose. “Even if a murder verdict made the blogger and the FBI leave — which I’m not convinced it would — it would attract more press. We’d have just as many eyes on us, if not more.” He looked to Chopper. “What do you think?”
“Richie’s right,” Chopper said. “You should change your official position to murder. You don’t have to actually find a killer.”
Norris was quiet as his eyes moved back and forth between Richie and Chopper. “I’ll change the verdict,” he said finally. “But until the DEA gives me the all clear, I’m not helping move those drugs across the border.”
FORTY-FOUR
CLARE
The doorbell rang. Clare and Jana jumped.
“Who’s there?” Clare asked Jana. She was playing with Jules’ ear, which suddenly reminded her of their mission to see what was inside him. For the past hour, she and Jana had been absorbed by the Muppet Movie soundtrack, analyzing the lyrics for hidden clues to the secret of the universe. They’d already found several.
“I don’t know,” Jana said.
“Don’t know what?”
“Who’s at the door. Should we check, or pretend we’re not here?”
Chopper’s voice came from outside. “We can hear you guys talking. You can pret
end you’re not there, but we won’t believe you.”
Clare and Jana burst out laughing.
“Let’s hide,” Jana said. “So they won’t know where we are.”
“How will they get in? Anyway, who’s they?”
“Me and Richie,” Chopper said. “Come on, you guys. We’re freezing.”
“Oh, fine.” Jana got up and let them in.
The guys took off their outside gear and joined Clare and Jana in the living room. Chopper shared the couch with Clare. With blond hair against a white shirt, he looked like a polar bear. Not the kind that would growl and eat her up, but a big goofy nice one, like the kind from the Coke commercials. She leaned into his body and he wrapped his furry arms around her.
Richie looked like a tiger — or maybe a cheetah — Chester Cheetah — strutting around in designer baggy duds like a man on a mission. He didn’t look scary, either. More like he wanted to look scary.
“We found a camera inside Jules,” Jana said. “But we don’t know how to watch it.”
“For realz?” Richie asked as he slid into an armchair.
Jana laughed. “There’s no Z on the end of real if you’re outside the ghetto.”
Richie rolled his eyes and muttered, “Whatever. You’re cute when you’re high. Too bad you’re probably not horny.”
“Sex on acid rocks.” Chopper picked up Clare’s hand and squeezed it. It felt juicy, like he was pumping positive energy into her hand. “We should try some later.”
Jana wrinkled her nose. “Don’t listen to him. Richie’s right. It feels like robot sex.”
“That’s the beauty,” Chopper said, walking his fingers up Clare’s arm and giving her an awesome tingly feeling. “It’s like two minds merging on this sick astral plane. Which Jana wouldn’t know about, because she’s never been up there.”
Clare met Chopper’s eyes and felt a line form, pulsing from her eyes to his and back again. It was blue, like electricity. Like they were shooting thoughts back and forth. She wondered if Chopper could feel it, too.
“Man, I wish I was high with you,” Chopper said. “You seem like you’re telling me something important, but without the drug, I can’t receive the message.”
Clare wasn’t sure what he meant, but she thought she knew. She nestled into him and felt safer than she’d felt in years.
“So what’s with the Jules cam?” Richie asked. “You have it here, or what?”
“Yeah,” Jana said. “But me and Sacha — I mean, me and Lucy are way too stoned to figure it out. Lucy, show him Jules.”
Clare thought this was a terrible idea, sharing their clue with two more prime suspects. Even if they were a polar bear and a tiger-cheetah, you couldn’t rule anyone out until it was over. But she turned back into Lucy, who wouldn’t share those concerns. She unzipped Jules and handed him to Chopper. Chopper looked inside and tugged with his free hand. The memory stick came loose and he pulled it from the stuffed bear.
Jana and Clare locked eyes and burst out laughing.
“Does one of you have a computer we can use?” Chopper asked.
“My laptop.” Jana got up and retrieved it from the kitchen.
Chopper pulled his arm away from Clare, making her feel like her fire had just gone out and she was sitting alone in the cold. She gave him a look to let him know he’d abandoned her.
“Sorry.” Chopper patted her shoulder.
“That’s okay. I think you’re nice.” Clare laughed inside at her own lame words. She would never speak them sober — or if she wasn’t being Lucy.
“I think I’m nice, too.” Chopper opened the computer on the coffee table and turned it on. “Is this Sacha’s laptop?”
“Yeah,” Jana said. “I’ve been using it to remind me of her. Mine’s so old and slow.”
“Um, yeah. I’m sure she doesn’t miss it. But wouldn’t this have been, like, evidence?”
“Oh my god.” Jana rolled her eyes. “You’re not even a real scientist, and you have to be so technical about everything. I gave the police her desktop and her phone. That’s all they asked for.”
Chopper plugged in the memory stick and clicked the first icon in the folder that popped up on the screen.
A video started playing. Sacha came to life.
FORTY-FIVE
RICHIE
Richie roughed up Jana’s hair. She was on the floor in front of his armchair, snuggled against his legs. Maybe if his business plan worked out, he could ask her about moving in together. He knew she didn’t want a conventional rich guy who wore a suit to work and pretended to know about wines, but she wasn’t going to settle down with a drug dealer, either. Which was a good thing — Richie wanted a good life for her.
On the tape, Sacha was driving Chopper’s big red truck. Her hair was messy, like she wore it around the house. She said, “This is my official documentary into the heart of the American drug smuggling trade.”
She sounded far away — the microphone wasn’t the greatest. But her little lithe movements, that sparkle just behind her eye — it was like she was in the room with them.
“My mother is one of America’s biggest fighters in the War on Drugs.” Sacha leaned closer to the camera, like she was telling it a secret. Jules must have been sitting on the center console. “Except she isn’t fighting. Not really. She’s been presented with creative solutions that would reduce the power of the cartels. She met Ernesto Zedillo at Yale. Can you believe that? This guy is a genius, a free thinker who wants to eradicate drugs from the world using methods that might actually work, and she won’t listen to him. Instead, my mother keeps playing politics — choosing the policy that will win her the next election over the one that will actually work.
“My goal with this Whistler project is twofold: To show how horrible cartels are by working with one of the worst, based in Seattle. And to open the public mind to legalization.
“I’m worried that I won’t be here much longer. I think someone wants me dead.” Sacha had clearly done editing work on the film, because dark music played for four beats or so. It was almost hilarious, except Richie was seething that his friend had deceived him so thoroughly.
Sacha — the traitor — continued: “Yesterday, I took Jules along on an acid trip — to show how much fun it is, and how educative it can be if you treat the drug with respect.
“Today, we’re on a road trip. Across the border with a knapsack filled with LSD. Street value: two million dollars. But I’m only planning to collect two hundred grand — there are a lot more middlemen who will be paid out before this hits the streets.” Sacha’s hand came toward the camera and the view shifted so it was facing forward, toward the border station at the Peace Arch. “Stay tuned to see how easy it is to get across.”
Chopper paused the recording. “Fucking Sacha. I can’t believe she’d sell us out like this.”
Richie gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell Chopper to shut the fuck up around Lucy. And really, they shouldn’t be watching this video around her at all. What he said was, “I think we should get these girls outside for some fresh air. The best way to come down from Mountain Snow is surrounded by mountain snow.”
“So right,” Chopper said, maybe getting the point or maybe just wanting to feel his new toy, Lucy, squeezing him from behind. “You girls in the mood for a sled ride?”
Lucy’s face lit up. “Always.”
Richie took that as a good sign. If Lucy was the cop, she’d want to keep watching the video.
“Yeah,” Jana said. “Let’s get out of this place. I’m pretty sure Sacha’s mad at us.”
Richie waited for the other three to head toward their winter coats before slipping the memory stick into his pocket.
“Damn, I forgot I have to meet Wade,” he said as Jana locked the door behind them all. “You guys have fun. I’ll catch up to you later on your trip.”
FORTY-SIX
WADE
Wade tried to remember what ingredients were in a Singapore Sling. He knew it was orange with a red floating liquid . . . he went with orange juice and cherry brandy. There should probably be another liquor involved — rum? Gin? Vodka? Maybe another juice, too. He texted Jana to find out.
She texted back quickly: Gin. But u can get away with whatever — as long as color is right most customers have no clue.
If she wasn’t so damn good at her job, he’d fire her in five seconds flat.
It was busy for the middle of the week. A young couple was slamming back shooters at the video game machine — pumping lots of coin in, which was good. A recently divorced regular was drinking beer in his suit and tie — he would have three or four more pints before stumbling home to his newly empty condo.
Wade’s nerves were on fire as he watched Georgia and Richie, deep in conversation at a high-top table. They were both smiling.
After fifteen minutes or so, they shook hands and Richie walked out the door. Still wearing her office clothes, Georgia sauntered over on her high-heeled snow boots to join Wade at the bar. Watching her movement as she came toward him, he couldn’t help but remember the twenty-four-year-old copywriter he’d met at his first advertising job. She’d been intense, sure — she loved her job and was great at the networking that went with it — but the Georgia of the past had also been funny, quirky; she could laugh at herself, and did often. Now everything was so heavy.
“So?” Wade put a new glass of white wine in front of her, as well as the veggie plate she’d ordered.
“So it’s a no-go,” Georgia said.
“What? Things looked like they were going so well.”
“Richie’s a smart guy. Charming. Like you said. I told him I’d think about it.”
“And you’ve already finished thinking?”
“He’s a drug dealer. I don’t want to be in business with him.”
“Jesus, Georgia.” Wade grabbed the Laphroaig bottle from the top shelf. Might as well drink the good stuff before he had to abandon the bar along with all its liquor. “I thought at least you’d go into the meeting with an open mind.”