by Abbi Hemp
I bet you would, I thought but smiled.
“Thanks for inviting me. Maybe next time I’ll stay a bit longer.”
“Anytime,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Thanks.”
As we went back downstairs to the party, walking side by side, I noticed how well he moved. He walked me all the way to my car. I waved then got in and drove away, the image of him standing in the driveway getting smaller in my rear view mirror as I drove away.
SIX
Heidi
I don’t Believe You
Maurice wasn’t the most reliable criminal informant, but he occasionally gave me information that led to a break in one case or another. I decided to shake him down and find out if he had any information on Brent Stone.
The more I’d gotten to know about the millionaire, the more I thought he was innocent and honestly making money with marijuana in Colorado. At the same time, my boss wanted me to keep digging, so talking to Maurice was my next logical step.
As I waited for him at our usual spot in a grocery store parking lot, I thought about Brent Stone. Something about the man made me suspicious, but I couldn’t figure out why. I saw Maurice walked across the parking lot toward my car, looking left and right to make sure he wasn’t seen.
I unlocked the passenger door of my Sebring. He opened it and got in.
“You’re late,” I said.
“I had to make sure I wasn’t followed.”
“Someone threaten you or something?”
“Not specifically, but when you’re informing on others, you have to be careful.”
I nodded. “Speaking of which, what do you have for me this week?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Is it about Brent Stone?” I asked, turning to study his face.
He looked out the passenger window then back to me.
“No, it’s not about him. I’m telling you that guy is as clean as they come.”
“Fine. What do you have that might be useful to me.”
“There’s word on the streets that a DEA agent is working with the cartels.”
I frowned and shook my head.
“Nice try, Maurice. I’m not paying for that tip.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “But you should know. I’ll ask around more to see if I can get proof.”
“You do that. Anything else?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t want you making stuff up if you don’t have anything.”
“That DEA rumor is hot,” he said. “I’d look into it if I were you.”
“Thanks for your advice, but I think I’ll be fine.”
He glanced out the window again.
“I need to go.”
“Something wrong?”
“I’m just nervous.”
“You’re not getting into trouble with other drugs again, are you?”
His scraggly beard, pock marked face and missing teeth were testament to his problem with meth.
“No,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Damn. Can I go now?”
“I’ll call you in about a week,” I said. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
He opened his door.
“Hold on.”
I reached into the center console and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.
“What’s that?” he asked. “I didn’t have any real information this time.”
“Let’s call it a bonus. Keep your eyes open about the rogue DEA agent.”
“I will.” He snatched the money. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
After he got out of the car and shut the door, I turned the key in the ignition.
Someone in the DEA playing dirty?
The tip sounded more like bullshit than truth, but time would tell me whether he was feeding me wrong information – for whatever reason – or if he was onto something. I’d been dealing with Maurice for over a year, and he’d never given me false or wrong information. Not even once.
I put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, heading to my father’s house out in the middle of nowhere. He owned over two-hundred acres south of Denver, the ranch where I’d experienced the joys and pains of childhood – mostly the latter.
* * *
When I reached Dad’s property, I stopped and got out to open the gate. As a child, the act had fascinated me. Now, as an adult, it was nothing more than a chore. I’d bought him an automatic gate opener, but he still hadn’t installed it. Stubborn didn’t begin to describe him.
After I opened it, I got back in my car and drove down his long gravel driveway toward an old two-story farmhouse in the distance. As I got closer, I noticed the weather-worn exterior. He needed to scrape and paint, but he would never get to it. I parked in front of the house and got out of my car.
Instead of going inside, I headed around back to his greenhouse. A vast field of marijuana stretched into the distance, surrounding a rectangular building with glass walls. The smell of the pungent plants hit my nose, also triggering memories of my childhood, back when Dad grew underground.
I made it to the front of the greenhouse and stopped with my hand on the doorknob. There was no telling what kind of mood he would be in, so I took a deep breath and prepared myself for anything. He looked over at me as soon as I opened the door and stepped in.
A smile came over his weathered and wrinkled face as he walked over.
“How are you, pumpkin?”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“You don’t look fine,” he said, throwing his arms around me and squeezing tight. “You should come visit me more often.”
“I was here like a week ago.”
“I’m sorry. I spent every day with you for eighteen years, and it’s still taking me time to adjust.”
I smiled as he pulled away.
“What are you working on?”
“An Indica and Sativa blend.”
“Still chasing the super plant?”
“I’m going to grow a plant with fifty-percent THC before I die.”
“Such lofty goals,” I said.
He nodded his head toward a nearby workbench with a few baby plants on it.
“Come and check this out.”
I followed him over, always amazed at the things he could accomplish with his green thumb.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“Look at the leaf of that plant.”
He handed me a magnifying glass.
“What am I looking for?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
I bent over and peered at the leaf of the plant through the magnifying glass. Small crystals covered the leaf. As I peered at the rest of the plant, I saw it was covered with red and clear crystalline structures.
“What is it?” I asked, standing up.
“THC,” he said proudly. “Well, it will be in a few weeks.”
“But these plants are so young.”
He smiled and put his hands on his suspenders, pulling them out in excitement.
“That’s the whole point, pumpkin. The trick to breaking the thirty-percent THC barrier is training the plants to begin producing THC earlier in their life cycle. This could change everything.”
“Wow,” I said. “Companies would be able to make even bigger profits.”
A little of the light in his face went away.
“I guess. That’s not why I’m doing it.”
“I know, Dad, but you have to realize people are going to use what you come up with. You need to keep this quiet.”
He smiled and put his hand on my arm.
“I will, for now.”
“I’m serious. The cartels would kill for a marijuana super plant.”
“You know I don’t deal with them or anyone else,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I sell to a select few medical dispensaries across the state. I’m all above board.”
�
�I know, I’m just saying. Be careful. I don’t want to lose you too.”
A frown formed on his face at the mention of my mother, his wife.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I just need to keep busy. I’d love to talk, but I have some plants in back that need my attention.”
“I’m leaving, but I wanted to ask if you’d heard anything about other DEA agents recently.”
“No. Why?”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be over this weekend for pizza and a beer.”
“The highlight of my week,” he said.
“Well, except for your plants.”
“I love you more than them.”
I stepped forward and hugged him again.
“Take care of yourself, Dad.”
“You too,” he said as I walked out of the greenhouse.
On the way back to my car, I began to wonder why Keller had me investigating Brent Stone if we had a DEA agent in our department that had gone rogue. Nothing made any sense.
SEVEN
Brent
How’s the Article Coming?
Another night, another party. For some reason, I found it difficult to get into chasing the women who invariably showed up to the bashes at the mansion I’d bought for the sole reason of having parties. A woman with a bikini bottom but no top strolled by while laughing.
I smiled at her, unable to get excited about another meaningless fuck. Ever since I’d pulled Heidi’s head into my lap when we were attacked by the cartels on the road, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. The idea of getting her into my bedroom again turned me on.
“Hey,” Keifer said, walking up and patting my shoulder with his hand. “You’re not partying.”
“Yeah, I’m not in the mood,” I said.
“Please tell me you’re not thinking about that reporter chick again.”
“The beautiful one with curly red hair and pert, young breasts? That one? Nah, I’ve not been thinking about her.”
He laughed.
“Invite her over.”
“I might. I’m playing it cool.”
“When’s the article supposed to come out?”
“She hasn’t told me yet,” I said.
Two more topless women passed.
“That’s my cue to go,” Keifer said. “Keep both your heads up.”
I nodded my head at him then watched as he followed after the two topless women. They were fine, but I’d fucked plenty like them over the years. While it always started out good, it ended up with them clinging and asking me to fix their lives with money. Fuck that shit.
Not into the party scene that night, I headed upstairs to my master bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I went out onto the balcony, sat down and lit up. As I took a hit, I looked down at the tattoo on my chest, the year of my birth, 1983, and a pot leaf.
If I’d been born ten years earlier or ten years later, I’d never have been able to build up a legal weed empire so quickly. Thanks to the luck of the stars – or something – I’d come into the world at the perfect time. That or I’d just been good at spotting a trend and jumping on it.
Another hit, another thought. By my third one, my mind was in another place. As the pot king of Colorado, I had access to the strongest oils, waxes and dabs, but I liked smoking regular herb in a special vaporizer pen. Something about the taste made me happy.
Heidi popped back into my mind as I set the vaporizer down on the glass table next to me. I pulled my phone out of my shorts pocket and tapped the screen to find her name in my address book. After pressing send call, I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” she answered quietly.
“Hey, it’s Brent.”
“Hi, Brent. Most of my interview subjects don’t call me back this often or this late. Everything okay? You going to come clean about Stone not being your last name?”
I chuckled.
“No, I was thinking about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I meant the article. When’s the article coming out?”
“It’s up to my editor,” she said.
“Oh, okay. You said that already, didn’t you?”
“I did,” she said.
“I’m having another party tonight. You want to come over and talk?”
“We can talk on the phone,” she said. “I’m not going back out tonight.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“No, I’ve got my PJs on, and I’m in for the night.”
“You’re going to have me breathing heavy if you keep describing what you have on.”
“Okay, you wanted one of those kind of non-conversations. I should go.”
“No, we can talk. You’re so hot, is all.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re talking on the phone then.”
“Seriously. You should be a model. You’re too cute to be a journalist?”
“Who says I’m not a model in my spare time.”
I smiled. “Funny.”
“How is your party going? Shouldn’t you be playing host?”
“I’m on my balcony watching again.”
“Doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“It’s been a long day,” I said, not sure why I was opening up to her.
Something about her voice made me want to trust her with all my secrets.
“You’re not stoned and relaxing?”
“Oh, I’m stoned, but I still have a million thoughts going through my mind. I need to find a new grower if I’m going to keep ahead of the rest of the market.”
“Growers aren’t hard to find in Colorado.”
“No, but I need someone special. I’ve heard of a super grower, but I’ve not been able to find out where he’s working these days.” She didn’t say anything. “You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s getting late, and I’m tired. I’ve had a hard day at work too.”
“Sitting in a chair and typing words got you worn out, huh?”
“Yeah, something like that. It’s more of a mental exhaustion.”
“You should let me give you some free samples of our edibles.”
“No thank you.”
“Where are you right now?” I asked, changing the subject back to her.
“I’m in my bedroom, actually.”
“Nice. House or apartment?”
“Who’s asking all the questions now?” she teased.
I smiled again. “Maybe I’m a journalist in my spare time.”
“Everyone thinks they’re a journalist on the internet.”
“Tell me about it. You ever search for my name online?”
“Of course,” she said then quickly added. “For my article.”
“Well, did you see all the garbage people talk about me? It’s crazy. Before I had money, nobody cared less. Now, everyone wants to see me destroyed or become my friend. It’s maddening.”
“Sounds bad,” she said.
“You have a very soothing voice.”
“Don’t go back to the phone sex conversation.”
“I’d love to, but I respect you. I’m serious, though. You should do radio or television journalism.”
“Yeah,” she said then took a deep breath. “Look, Brent. I appreciate the call. You have a nice voice too, but I need to go. I have a full day tomorrow.”
“Send me your address,” I said suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to send you something.”
“No thanks.”
“Come on, it’s not like I’m a stalker or something.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Once you have a few million dollars, you end up spending most of your time turning women away.”
“I bet,” she said. “Anyway, I can’t accept a gift from you if I’m writing an article about you.”
“True. A shame, but true.”
“Goodnight, Brent. I’ll talk to you
later.”
“I’ll be waiting. Goodnight.”
I ended the call and set the phone down. As I interlaced my fingers behind my head and looked out at the partiers below, I thought about Heidi. Complex women like her intrigued me. She was hiding something from me. I became determined to find out at least a couple of her secrets.
EIGHT
Brent
Born to Be Wild
While I didn’t need an excuse to go and see Heidi, I thought she might find it funny if I brought her my birth certificate to prove Stone was actually my surname. My real plan was to get her to trust me enough to invite me over to her place. Seeing her house or apartment would tell me a lot about her.
I called her up, hoping she answered and wasn’t busy.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Heidi. It’s Brent.”
“Yeah, I saw your name on the phone.”
“Ah, so I’m important enough to be in your contact list.”
“I guess. What’s up?”
“Well, I have a surprise for you. If you’re off work, I figured I would stop by and give it to you. Do you have normal working hours as a journalist?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s not really a good time.”
“Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She paused. I waited to clinch the deal.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll meet you somewhere.”
“Nope. This is something you need to see where you live.”
“You’re pushy.”
“The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”
“Okay. I’ll text you the address. But you can’t stay long. Give me half an hour.”
“Sure,” I said with a smile on my face. “See you soon.”
I ended the call before she changed her mind. With at least half-an-hour to kill, I had Keifer drive me to the warehouse to the grow operation.
When he pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a dust-covered black Suburban near the entrance.
“Who’s that?” I asked from the back seat of the stretch SUV.
“I have no idea, but I’m about to find out.”