Party Time_Raving Arizona

by Shaun Attwood

  ‘Let’s fucking go!’ I yell, my heart palpitating.

  ‘Come on!’ Cody shouts.

  At the door, I look over my shoulder, shocked to see them mobbing after us. I rush out but skid to a halt at what I see: cops charging from all directions. I’m getting arrested! I’m fucked! It’s all over! I freeze. In dark uniforms and wielding batons, the cops barge by and wade into the bar, which erupts into chaos. We dash down a dark street, cackling, praising the police as our saviours.

  When I get back to Phoenix, there’ll be retaliation from Sammy the Bull’s crew.

  Spring break draws to a close. It’s time to smuggle the Ecstasy into Arizona with the flow of students. I inform the student I paid to smuggle the pills that she’s no longer taking them. She’s served her purpose by boasting about her mission, setting herself up as a target for cops and robbers – the perfect smokescreen. I switch the task to two people who have no idea why I brought them here, other than to acquire suntans.

  They set off in a car cluttered with student belongings and tourist bric-a-brac. I drive behind, monitoring their progress. Approaching the border, seeing endless cars backed up, I smile. Odds are they’ll never get searched. The tension from being stuck in traffic for two hours makes my head vibrate. Soon we’ll be across and it’ll all be over. Bouncing my legs up and down and from side to side, I fight the urge to urinate for as long as possible. When my bladder feels like it’s about to haemorrhage, I relieve myself in a Gatorade bottle.

  Approaching the checkpoint, I practise my American accent. ‘Hi. I’ve been to Rocky Point. Have a nice day, now.’ I have to fool the guards into thinking I’m a US citizen or I’ll be arrested and deported. They’re so busy, hopefully they’ll just wave me through.

  Pulling up at the barrier, I drop my window and smile. ‘Hi.’ Blood rushes to my face.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Rocky Point.’

  ‘What’s your citizenship?’

  ‘US.’ Although it’s not requested, I offer my Arizona driver’s licence, to create the illusion I’m American and naive about border procedures.

  He glances at it and gazes into the SUV. ‘How long was your stay in Rocky Point?’

  ‘Just spring break, unfortunately,’ I say, smiling.

  He steps back and sweeps his vision over the exterior of the SUV, spotting the University of Arizona sticker, another part of the illusion.

  ‘OK. Continue.’

  Driving into Arizona, I grin with relief – until I realise I don’t know where the car with the Ecstasy is. Worried, I park at the meeting spot: a busy gas station in Lukeville. Observing the comings and goings, I tap the steering wheel.

  Ten minutes later, the car arrives. Yes! The highest-risk part is over. But where’s the car with the student who thought she was bringing the Ecstasy? I transfer the tower to my SUV. Minutes later, the missing student shows up, claiming she was stopped and searched thoroughly. They were tipped off. Must leave fast. She doesn’t appear to have been tailed. The authorities suspect something but haven’t pieced it together. I give the smugglers cash in envelopes, take off and set the cruise control to the speed limit.

  About twenty minutes later, I spot a car at my rear, closing the gap: Native American reservation police. My body tenses. Stay cool. He’s just running your plate. The longer he remains behind, the higher my heartbeat rises up my chest until I can feel my pulse in my mouth. After a few long minutes, he overtakes and races ahead.

  Approaching Phoenix, I’m high on the hundreds of thousands I’m going to make from Ecstasy sales – money that will restore my organisation to its former glory.

  Chapter 55

  Sammy the Bull and fifty-four of his workers, including his son Gerard Gravano, Spaniard, Mark, the Devil Dogs and even Fish, are raided. I praise the cops for eliminating my competition and restoring my monopoly. With Sammy the Bull gone, I assume the investigation of the rave scene will wind down. But instead the number of undercover cops increases. Disappointed, I console myself: I’ve been outsmarting the cops for so long, I’m above the law.

  From the Mexico shipment, I front 3,000 hits to Worm in Tucson. He sells the Ecstasy and calls me from a payphone. ‘I’m being followed,’ he says, his voice strained.

  ‘By who?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know if the dudes are trying to jack me or they’re five-o.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Give you the gangsters,’ he says, referring to the money.

  ‘Don’t bring them to me!’

  ‘Dude, chill. I’m gonna drive around a bit and ditch them.’

  ‘OK. Make sure you ditch them. Meet me at Fry’s on Grant in half an hour. I’ll be shopping in one of the aisles. Don’t say a word to me. Act like a shopper. Drop the gangsters in my basket. If you can’t ditch them, abandon meeting me.’

  I page Cody to collect the cash before putting on a bandanna and shades and going to Fry’s. Selecting items in each aisle, I glance from side to side looking for Worm. When he doesn’t show up, I trek to the rear of the store, checking every aisle. Convinced something bad has happened, I hasten for the checkout. I spot Worm arriving, sweaty, grim-faced. I nod at him and go to the fruit section. I put my basket down to weigh some bananas. Worm stops next to the basket, looks around, drops an envelope and leaves.

  I’m not followed to my SUV, but, on the road, I’m tailed by a white van. Instead of going home, I drive up and down the freeway for half an hour. I arrange to meet Cody at a gas station. I give him the cash and go home – unaware I’ve just slipped through the net of a sting operation with $22,500 of government money. Worm had sold the pills to undercover cops – I found out years later from the police reports.

  In Phoenix, I front 5,000 pills to Q. He drives to the deal in a separate car from his runners. Upon arrival, his intuition makes him flee, but his runners are arrested with 5,000 pills. It makes headline news. Q has no way to repay.

  Each disaster is a warning that the authorities are closing in, but, other than Wild Woman, none of my inner circle has been arrested. Until the cops pierce that shield, I feel safe. Concerned about my remaining Ecstasy, I spread the pills among various people – if one gets robbed or raided, there’ll still be plenty left.

  A woman has 5,000 in a safe when masked men enter her apartment, hold her at gunpoint and take them. I send G Dog and Fingers, a man the size of Wild Man, to retrieve the pills. They track the culprits down and attempt to lure them by posing as Ecstasy dealers.

  The woman calls in tears: ‘Shaun, you’ve gotta stop them. These two have bought all kinds of torture things from the hardware store. I don’t want people getting their fingers cut off in my place. I can’t take violence like that.’ Not having the heart for it, I recall G Dog and Fingers.

  Running out of money, I advise the Wild Ones to turn themselves in to the British Embassy and return to England until my finances improve.

  At night in my big bed, I feel more alone than when I rented my first small apartment in 1991. So much time has passed, I seem to exist in a different world. Back then, I hardly knew anyone but was overflowing with enthusiasm for conquering the stock market. Now, with hundreds of friends, I feel empty after years of partying. Where has all the glamour gone? I close my eyes and remember swanning into raves with my entourage – Acid Joey, Sallywack, Alice, Lexi, Mari, Skinner, Cody, Jaxson, Smiley, Jake, Lucas – getting hugged and thanked all night by partiers high on my Ecstasy. How did it get like this? All I do is hide out. From the cops. Rival criminals. Even from people I thought were my friends. Drugs have messed my world up. I’m lost.

  Chapter 56

  Having refused to return to England, the Wild Ones cross into Arizona. In Tempe, they move in with a meth-addicted couple: DJ Sketch – bespectacled, mellow, pale-faced – who tinkers all day with computer equipment, and Boo, a chubby woman prone to crying over the goings-on in her fish tank.

  Within days, Wild Woman telephones warning that Wild Man is berser
k on crystal meth: ‘There was just me in the house, but he was convinced that you and five Mexicans were in the bathroom waiting to stab him.’

  ‘Bloody hell! He’s not turning on me now, is he?’

  ‘He was sitting on the couch by the window, and he kept going shhh, shhh, and then his eyebrow shot up. He said, “Shut up.” I said, “What’s wrong with you?” He said, “There’s somebody in the bathroom.” I said, “There’s nobody in the bathroom ’cause they can’t get in without walking past you ’cause the front door’s there, and the back door’s there, and there’s no window in the bathroom.” He kept going on and on: “It’s Shaun.” I said, “What the fuck would Shaun be doing hiding in the bathroom? C’mon, get a grip.” He said, “I can hear it.” I said, “If there’s five men in there with guns and knives, why aren’t you protecting me if you’re this big tough man?” He said, “I know it’s fucking Shaun.” I said, “What would Shaun be doing in the bathroom?” He said, “He wants to kill me ’cause I know what’s going on.”’

  ‘’Cause I know what’s going on,’ I say. ‘Holy shit!’

  ‘He’d even been asleep. He said, “I’m not sketching, I’ve been asleep for nine hours. What’s that tell you?” I said, “Exactly! You’re fucking mental!” He’d just woke up. I’d knocked him out with Valium in his drink. I have to ’cause he’s up for days going mental. He’ll kill someone for nothing one of these days.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s not one of us.’

  Word spreads that Wild Man is going to kill Skinner for firebombing Wild Woman. I urge him not to, pointing out that murdering Skinner could get him the death penalty, but he won’t listen.

  Mari says Skinner is working in car sales during the day but smoking crystal meth and embalming fluid at night. I try to arrange a meeting to reassure him that no harm is coming, but he refuses to take my calls.

  I call Mari: ‘I’m really worried about Skinner. He left a voicemail saying the music on my pager means I’m out to kill him and he knows me and you are having sex.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Mari says. ‘He’s getting crazier. He was OK for a while in his apartment. Then he started freaking out on drugs one night and called me to go over there. I go over and he’s calling people and leaving messages, saying, “You guys are gonna be sorry.” I think he called Wild Woman or something and left a message saying he was gonna call the cops.’

  My stomach tightens. ‘I know he’s freaking out over Wild Man, but why’s he got it in for me?’

  ‘To be honest, this is what I fucking tell him: “You’re fucking in love with Shaun. You like to have Shaun’s attention and Shaun isn’t giving you his attention right now, so you have to act the fool.” He liked being your little mate, you know, or little brother. That’s what you always used to call him. Shit changed. You got so many people involved. I always remember telling you that too many people know what the fuck you guys do and you need to lay low. Too many people still know way too much shit, Shaun.’

  ‘What about him firebombing Wild Woman’s?’

  ‘I just know he has a big problem with the Wild Ones. He’s paranoid that Wild Man’s gonna come and, you know, kill him, hurt him or whatever. I told him, “Whatever you did, you probably deserved it.” Everything Skinner does makes it likely that someone’s gonna come and beat his ass. He’s so scandalous. He has no loyalty to you, the Wild Ones or anybody. He has this big thought that you and Wild Man are coming after him, that you’re coming after him. You know, it’s that tweaker shit. He gets all fucking paranoid. In the house, he would sit with all the lights out and the door fucking open with a machine gun in his hands, and he would tell me that you or Wild Man was standing out there.’

  ‘That’s insane.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve stopped doing drugs and I’ve taken a step back, and I can see I was involved in way too much. You need to think about what could happen if Skinner’s gone to the cops.’

  My Ecstasy business is crumbling. My dealers blame their inability to pay their debts on the absence of pills. Fearing a visit from Wild Man, some skip town. His best efforts to collect only put a dent in the half million I’m owed in total. DJ Spinelli can’t repay $30,000, so I house the Wild Ones with him. He abandons his apartment.

  Wild Man smokes so much meth he has a stroke, causing us all concern. He refuses to go to hospital. Blowing meth smoke out of one side of his mouth, drooling from the paralysed side, he says, ‘People thought I used to look scary, just fucking look at me now! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha …’

  The Wild Ones fight and Wild Woman moves back to Boo’s. The next morning, I find Wild Man sitting on a wall outside DJ Spinelli’s apartment, his clothes singed, his face coated in soot, his face gloomy. He explains he set the apartment on fire by tampering with electrical equipment while high, almost burning himself alive as he slept.

  The Wild Ones rent a house in Tempe – on the same street as Wild Woman’s place that was raided by Detective Reid. I have no drugs to supply, so they run up credit with other dealers.

  Within days of them moving in, Wild Woman summons me over for Sunday dinner and to relay an incident that has spooked her: ‘Grady was taking me in a car to pick up five ounces of weed in Mesa off two new fellas that have come on the scene. Anyway, we got followed by a bald guy in a black Impala. He had like a ginger goatee and a really scary face. Really horrid and pale, like an inbred-Jed type person. I’d know him a mile off. As we pulled out from Farmer, his Impala pulled out behind us. I only noticed it ’cause the windows are so black; I thought it was illegal. We go down to Mill Avenue, and it follows us all the way onto the freeway. Grady said, “That car’s right up my arse.” He turned off into a car park at Fry’s. The Impala came in behind us. He goes out. The Impala goes out. He pulled into Castle Boutique and we go in. We come out and he’s waiting at the gate. We came out and he pulled out behind us. Then we went to another Fry’s. I ran in and got a loaf. I come out and he’s sitting there. As we came out, he ended up getting stuck behind another car. I waved goodbye to him and called Wild Man. I said, “I’m gonna be a minute, love, as some bastard in a black Impala is up my arse and he has been for the last hour.” We came onto the freeway and there was roadworks, and we lost him on the freeway.’

  ‘Would a cop be so obvious?’ I ask, tucking into a plate of roast potatoes, gravy and chicken breast. ‘Do you think he’s a drug-dealer robber?’

  ‘Wild Man does, but I think he’s a cop. The other thing is that all our phones are clicking, and you can hear yourself echoing back. When I log onto the Internet, a little box is coming up saying, “Someone else is logged on.”’

  ‘It’s been saying that on your computer?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘It’s saying that on mine!’

  ‘Fuck!’ Wild Woman rasps, shaking her head. ‘And my rubbish is never getting took. My wheelie bin is always outside. All the neighbours’ are getting emptied but not ours.’

  I was wrong about the Sammy the Bull threat being over. Most of his workers are released on bail. Tom – who asked for my number in Mexico – keeps calling Wild Man, accusing Wild Man of blowing his car up and trying to coax Wild Man to meet him to settle it one-on-one.

  ‘I’ll go and twat the bastard,’ Wild Man says, on his living-room sofa, smoking meth. ‘He’s threatening to do this and that to me.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ I say, my eyes smarting from the fumes. ‘It’s fucking obvious he’s working for the cops.’

  ‘He won’t listen,’ Wild Woman says. ‘The red dots are telling him what to do.’

  ‘What’s going on with the red dots, la’?’ I ask in a gentle voice.

  ‘The red dots have got more intense. Like a strobe light. At first, there was time for caution, but now there’s no caution whatever. I used to have a millisecond to decide whether something was good or bad. Now, there’s no millisecond: just do the person in.’

  I consult my attorney at his law office.

  ‘How’re you doing, Ray?’ I ask, shaking h
is hand.

  ‘I’m good. It’s you I’m worried about.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My sources at the DEA tell me it’s time for you to get the hell out of Arizona.’

  ‘Since the stock market crashed, I’ve not been doing much anyway.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing anything at all! You’ve had a good run. Now’s the time to get out. You’re an intelligent guy. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. If you continue, there’s only one way this is going to end.’

  Chapter 57

  ‘Who’s this?’ I say, entering an apartment I share with ADD, a tall brunette with bright-blue eyes who works for me. I hug ADD.

  The pale blonde staring back – a Scandinavian beauty whose irises are concentric circles of brown and grey and blue – is wearing tight pink trousers and a black rhinestone-studded tank top that complements her long hair.

  ‘Claudia, this is Shaun.’

  ‘Hi,’ Claudia says, smiling.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Claudia.’ Embracing her, I tilt my head and loudly sniff her neck, hoping to provoke a reaction. ‘You smell so good.’

  ‘Gucci Envy.’

  ‘Mmmm. You should come and party with us some time.’

  ‘I’m not a raver.’

  ‘Not a raver! Huh! What the bloody hell are you doing here if you’re not a raver? What music are you into?’

  ‘Green Day.’

  ‘Green Day!’ I say, throwing my arms up. ‘Am I hearing right? Bloody Green Day!’

  Her eyes sparkle. ‘I’ve been in love with Billie Joe Armstrong since I was 14. They used to call me Punk-Rock Claudia. I can’t understand techno. That boom-boom-boom is irritating. All everybody at raves does is get high, rub each other and look like a gang of idiots, basically.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Listen, Punk-Rock Claudia, if you keep talking shit like that, I might just start to like you.’