Party Time_Raving Arizona

by Shaun Attwood

  ‘Gangsta Dan kidnapped him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Skinner stole some stripper’s car and gave it to some Mexicans for a debt he owed. I didn’t know that when a friend took me to the stripper’s house. Dan answers the door, puts a gun in my face and yells, “Where’s her fucking car?” I say, “What are you talking about? Get the gun outta my fucking face!”’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Dan says, “You got any weapons?” and I show him my little handgun, and he gives it to some Mexican and says, “Hold them hostage till I get back.” I’m crying. I’m freaking out. Dan gets back and says, “You’re gonna help us find Skinner.” I tell him, “I don’t wanna be a part of this.” He says, “You became part of this when you knocked on this door.” He takes us all back here. I’m shitting it, so I call my buddy Grady and tell him my life’s in danger, and he shows up. My friend Lucas comes over, too. I’m trying to avoid the situation, telling Dan I don’t know how to get a hold of Skinner, then guess who calls?’

  ‘Skinner.’

  ‘Yup. Dan says, “I wanna hear whatever you say to whoever’s on the phone.” I’m thinking I need to get this over with. The first time I met Skinner, he’s smoking crack in my bathroom. What do I care for him? Dan hears Skinner and puts his fingers to his lips. Skinner says, “Can I come over to yours?” I’m trying to tell him not to, but Dan’s watching. Anyway, Skinner shows up at the door with his Mexican buddy, Worm, that Special K dealer from Flagstaff. Dan hides in my loft with the stripper and the Mexican gets in my closet. Skinner comes in and sits down. I’m fucking shitting my pants. The first thing Skinner says is, “Desirae, I just didn’t know what to do. I’m in debt with the Mexicans, so I had to take her car.” Then – wham! – Superman Dan jumps off my loft with a big ol’ gun – a rifle or sub-machine gun or something – and gun-butts Skinner in the head. The Mexican jumps out of the closet and kung fu kicks Worm, knocking him out cold. They beat the shit outta Skinner. Skinner’s backpack rips open and a pound of weed explodes over my carpet. I say, “Stop! Stop! Get this fucking drama outta here!” Lucas tries pushing me into my room, and I know he’s called the cops. I tell everyone Lucas called the cops. They take Skinner – blood’s coming from his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, from every orifice. His bottom lip’s bleeding from his three piercings. And just as they take off to the left of the house, three, four, five cop cars, sirens going, hauling ass, appear at my right. A cop says, “We’ve received two reports of someone possibly getting killed.” I say it was me who called the cops to report a fight out here among some Mexicans. Then Lucas appears and says, “I’m the one who called the cops,” which almost screwed us. But they ask some more questions and let us go.’

  ‘That’s messed up. What would you like me to do about it?’

  ‘Tell that fucking Gangsta Dan if he ever points a gun in my face again—’

  ‘Where’s he at?’

  ‘Acid Joey’s.’

  ‘OK. I’ll handle it.’

  I dial. ‘Gangsta Dan?’

  ‘What’s up, English Shaun?’ Dan says in a Philadelphian brogue.

  ‘I just got a call from my girlfriend.’

  ‘That Kelly chick?’

  ‘No. I just started seeing Desirae.’

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘And she’s pretty upset with you right now.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was with you.’

  ‘I understand that,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll talk to her if you want.’

  ‘She’s too angry right now. I just need to be able to assure her that won’t happen again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t disrespect you like that, English Shaun.’

  ‘That’s all I needed to hear. And I’m sure if you left the gun you took from her with Acid Joey, she’d calm down a lot.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘But your Mexican partner does. Can I speak to Joey?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘What’s up?’ Acid Joey asks.

  ‘What’s going on over there?’ I say.

  ‘Do you wanna come over?’

  ‘Not if he’s torturing Skinner.’

  ‘He pistol-whipped him and ripped the piercings off his face. Skinner’s fucked up.’

  ‘Don’t you think that might bring heat to your place?’

  ‘Yeah, but what am I supposed to do?’

  ‘We don’t need the cops coming ’cause of Gangsta Dan and finding our X.’

  ‘I know. What should I do?’

  ‘I’ll come right over.’

  To muster bravery, I snort a line of meth. By the time I get to Acid Joey’s, I’m rushing intensely and feeling capable of taking on anyone. I push the door open and stride down the hallway towards his bedroom – known as ‘the Blue Room’ due to the skyscape on the ceiling and its cobalt-blue walls. Next to a navy-blue bed is a battered chest of drawers, containing his black clothes and a collection of preserved frogs and birds that he enjoys spooking visitors with. In the freezer is a dead cat, roadkill found by his home. Acid Joey likes to tell partiers to help themselves to ice cream and listen to them scream. His en suite bathroom is sealed off, giving rise to speculation as to what’s died in there.

  Faring only slightly better than the cat, frogs and birds is Skinner, panting on the floor, his curly ginger hair and pale face caked in blood.

  ‘Where’s Gangsta Dan?’ I ask.

  ‘He took off on a mission to get sherm sticks,’ Acid Joey says, referring to cigarettes dipped in PCP.

  ‘You need a ride to a hospital or something?’ I ask, shocked by the amount of blood.

  ‘No. I’ll be all right,’ Skinner says between gasps.

  ‘You sure?’ I ask, convinced he needs treatment.

  No answer.

  ‘Where you from anyway?’

  ‘Idaho.’

  ‘Where you living now?’

  ‘On the streets. I’m broke. Look, I need to make some money. Let me help Acid Joey move some of your X.’

  Acid Joey shakes his head.

  ‘You’re homeless, you’re from out of state, I barely know you, everyone’s saying, “Don’t trust Skinner.” Why should I front you X?’

  ‘You’ll see why. Give me a hundred pills and I’ll prove myself.’ Above prominent cheekbones, his green eyes, bloodshot and downcast, manage to sparkle, as if he’s a martyr on the verge of death, numb to pain, finding peace with the world. His ability to express his inner light surprises me. He’s drawing on a lot of strength to convince me to trust him. ‘I can move them faster than anyone,’ he says in an endearing accent that contains the best of country and city without being either.

  ‘I’m always willing to give someone a chance. I’ll front you a hundred pills.’ Adopting the tone of voice that Johnny Brasi intimidated me with after I urged him to let me sit the stockbroking exam without taking the classes, I say, ‘For all I know, you might leave the state. If so, that’s no big deal. Just don’t ever come back to Arizona. But in the long run, you’ll make a lot more money if you stick with me.’

  Two weeks later, Skinner’s Ecstasy sales exceed Acid Joey’s.

  Acid Joey calls my condo: ‘Gangsta Dan’s gonna rob Skinner.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I ask.

  ‘If something’s going down in Tempe, I know about it.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Someone needs to talk to Gangsta Dan.’

  Worried, I call Skinner. Mari, Skinner’s tough Persian-American girlfriend, answers.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘What’s going on with Gangsta Dan?’ I ask.

  ‘He went to California and came back with some black gangster dudes. They came to Acid Joey’s and were trying to get something from Skinner. There was like a car full of them. They were trying to get us to take them to a pawnshop. We were all gacked out, and it was really crazy. They’re looking for Skinner to try and get free shit. Your shit!’

  ‘Who are these guys?’ I ask.

  ‘Crips from LA. Skinn
er’s terrified ’cause they know where we live.’

  I hang up, call Gangsta Dan and arrange to meet him at his apartment. Carson – presently unemployed due to meth – fails to talk me out of meeting Gangsta Dan but agrees to come as a bodyguard. We snort meth. On the road, to hide my fear, I joke about getting shot. By the time we arrive, my thoughts are racing as I rehearse what to say to Gangsta Dan. I knock, with Carson behind me, packing a handgun.

  The door opens. A young Crip points a sawn-off shotgun at my face. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  My body stiffens as hard as ice. My stomach clenches. Blood pumps into places I’ve never felt it before. Stay calm. ‘Don’t shoot.’ I look him straight in the face. An inquisitive expression. No madman about to blow my head off for no reason. I consider sprinting. He might shoot me in the back. No backing down.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he asks.

  ‘A friend of Dan’s,’ I say, trying to sound calm.

  ‘There’s no need for the shotgun,’ Carson says.

  ‘You shut up!’ the Crip barks.

  Gangsta Dan emerges – short, built like a tree trunk, with the ill-tempered face of a battle-hardened soldier. ‘Put that the fuck away! It’s that English Shaun dude I told you about.’ He pushes the gun from my face.

  ‘I don’t give a fuck who it is!’ The Crip huffs and disappears.

  ‘Come through to my bedroom,’ Gangsta Dan says. ‘That’s just my roommate.’

  ‘Nice guy,’ Carson says.

  ‘I’ve got my friend Carson with me,’ I say.

  ‘It’s all good,’ Dan says. ‘What’s up anyway, English Shaun?’

  ‘I’ve got something to ask you, but before I do let’s snort some lines of this,’ I say, waving a baggie of meth.

  Gangsta Dan nods and fetches a plate. I crush the drug. We snort a line each.

  ‘I’ve come to ask you not to make a move on Skinner.’

  ‘He still owes for the car.’

  ‘You dealt with that already. Besides, I heard you and your stripper friend aren’t getting along these days.’

  The Crip charges in and yells in my face, ‘Who the fuck are you, telling him what to do? I’ll get my shotgun!’

  Politeness isn’t going to get me anywhere. Pushed to an extreme after having a shotgun pointed at me, and with meth warping my logic, I punch the wall. Bam! I headbutt it. Bam! Bam! My actions command their attention. Surprised and pleased, I yell, ‘I thought we were all businessmen here!’ Seeing stars from the impact, something dawns: Dan has been asking me to front him Ecstasy for months. Classifying him as too dangerous, I always decline. Maybe threatening Skinner is his bargaining strategy – ditto for his roommate’s shotgun routine. If that’s the case, I should be able to make him happy by offering him product. ‘You know I’m getting lots of good X. I’ll give you a cheap price for any hundred you can buy for cash. You’ll make a lot more money from that in the long run than from robbing Skinner. Besides, Skinner’s working for me, and if he gets robbed Wild Man’s not going to be very happy with you, Dan.’

  ‘Wild Man’s in jail,’ Gangsta Dan says.

  ‘Where he has lots of friends, and where you may very well end up some day.’

  Gangsta Dan stares at the ceiling. ‘What price on 100 Eurodollars?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘All right, all right. I’ve got enough cash here for 200 right now.’

  ‘Cool. We’re in business.’ I shake his hand and we hug.

  Gangsta Dan’s under control, but he’s too unstable for that to last. Time will eliminate him. The police will nab him, or gangsters will gun him down.

  I instruct my dealers to avoid Gangsta Dan, never to front him pills, to immediately report any contact initiated by him. I move Skinner and Mari to a new apartment and rent two more apartments in the same complex. I house Desirae in the front building, my new headquarters, and in the back building I put Alice, a Native American friend of Acid Joey’s who, with the help of her brother Smiley, is now my number-two Ecstasy salesperson after Skinner. If any of the apartments are threatened, the dealers, money and drugs at risk can be moved to the others. I credit Gangsta Dan for the inspiration to tighten my operation.

  Chapter 29

  Following G Dog into the house of his brother, Raul, I spot a cylindrical metal tube resting like an oversized ornament on the biggest TV I’ve ever seen. It can’t be. Yes it is. A rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Holy shit! Raul is gazing at a small black-and-white screen showing the comings and goings on the street outside crowded with lowriders.

  ‘This is the English guy I want you to meet,’ G Dog says.

  Raul, short, plump, tilts his head back. ‘Wattup, homey?’ he says without smiling.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I say, shaking his hand. ‘I like your TV.’

  ‘Damn, you talk funny – like an accent. I guess you are from England, homey. Come through to the kitchen. Meet my homies.’

  Raul introduces me to a gang of gargantuan Mexican Americans, their heads shaved, their bodies tattooed with flames, skulls, roses and the MM in a circular patch (which, years later, I learn means Mexican Mafia). They are eyeing me suspiciously, standing around a table laden with slabs of crystal meth, cocaine and scales. The biggest thrusts a spoon laden with cocaine at my face. ‘Snort it,’ he says, his wide, alert eyes radiating danger.

  Concerned, I look to G Dog for help. He nods back sternly, not having disclosed that the men are members of the New Mexican Mafia, the most powerful criminal organisation in Arizona – or that the one with the spoon is a hit man on a killing spree. Nervously, I roll a hundred-dollar bill, push a nostril flat and snort the cocaine. The hit man nods and shakes my hand. But doesn’t smile. None of them smile.

  ‘Shaun, let’s go talk business.’ Raul leads me to a bedroom. ‘G Dog tells me you can get this Ecstasy shit and that it’s all good.’

  ‘I can get it,’ I say, gagging on the numbing aftertaste of the cocaine.

  ‘None of us have ever done that shit. The only thing I do is smoke good weed – know what I’m saying? – hydro, kind bud. I’m having a party at the weekend, some women are coming over and we wanna check out your Ecstasy.’

  The night of the party, Raul runs out of Ecstasy. I bring more. The women are in the dining room, the men in the living room, all on Ecstasy for the first time. They’re actually smiling, the lethal atmosphere gone. The men keep thanking me for the Ecstasy, hugging me, crushing me, like overgrown teddy bears. Even Carlos, the torturer of the naked hog-tied man, has the innocent aura of a child.

  The main hit man puts me in a bear hug that lifts me off my feet. ‘I’m liking this Ecstasy. My name’s Big Vato.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ I say.

  ‘What about getting acid?’

  ‘It’s available in the rave scene,’ I say, eager to get on his good side.

  ‘Acid’s easy to send my homies in prison. I just mail it behind the stamps.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘What about Xanax?’ he asks.

  ‘Ravers take them to help come down off drugs,’ I say.

  ‘Do you know how easy it is to cross into Mexico with someone asleep in your car, take them out into the desert and shoot them?’ Big Vato asks.

  ‘Er … no,’ I say, fear creeping into my voice.

  ‘Take no notice,’ Raul says. ‘Vato’s just clowning. He doesn’t care where he shoots them. Shaun, let’s go into the bedroom.’

  ‘OK,’ I say.

  ‘Those pills you gave me are good shit. People be wanting more. I might have to make this a regular thing.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I also brought you here to give you a heads-up.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Two fools out of Apache Junction been asking about you.’

  ‘Who?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘One’s just outta prison. They jack drug dealers. They’ll straight shoot your ass and take your shit. They got some Ecstasy
from your friends at Rainbow Park.’

  Intimidated by his knowledge of my affairs, I say, ‘There was a guy from Apache Junction who said his partner had just got out of prison. A bit of a loudmouth.’

  ‘That’s the younger one. I just made a situation go away for you by telling them we have your back.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘G Dog tells me you and your people looked out for him when he pulled a gun on that cop. We appreciate that, so now we’ll look out for you,’ Raul says, pointing at me.

  ‘I really appreciate that.’

  ‘If we’re gonna be doing business together, I need to run a few things down to you.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘If I page you, call me only from a payphone. If I answer, I’ll tell you if you can come over or not. That’s all I’ll say. We don’t talk any business on the phone. Ever!’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘And another thing. The cops have been pulling over people leaving my house lately. If you get pulled over and they ask why you were here, just tell them you’re looking for my brother. If they wanna search your car, you don’t have to let them. And if they do bust you with drugs coming from here, don’t fucking say anything to them. Ask for a lawyer.’

  ‘OK, but, er, who do you use for a lawyer?’

  ‘Alan Simpson, but he’s real expensive, homey.’

  The warning from Raul, and the police showing up at Mari and Skinner’s apartment as part of a ‘kidnapping investigation’, mean it’s time to relocate the hub I’ve sold Ecstasy from for the last six months. I move everyone from Rainbow Park. I put a down payment on an apartment for Mari and Skinner and rent a big three-bedroom house at The Lakes in Ahwatukee for Desirae and me.

  One afternoon, I arrive at Raul’s. Usually, his associates stare suspiciously, but now they’re gazing murderously. My stomach drops. Something’s wrong. Hearing the door lock, I turn to an associate brandishing an MP5, a sub-machine gun that looks like a shortened rifle with a clip of bullets attached underneath. There’s no way out! I hope my baggy clothes conceal how much I’m trembling. Too scared to speak, I glance at Raul, my eyes appealing for an explanation.

  ‘Remember what I told you about never speaking to cops?’ Raul says.