Death of the Weed Merchant

by Robert G Rogers

  He also began paying his secretary, Leann Barkley, out of his income, taking that responsibility from his dad so it would stop him from bitching every time he had to write a check. She was still only working part time and would until his business increased enough for her to work a full week.

  Stan was even considering an invitation to join the Country Club. He didn’t tell his parents, however. His dad had always felt a membership in the Club was a ridiculous show of presumed importance.

  And, oddly enough, his legal business picked up as well. Not a lot, but he did begin getting more clients. Most were divorces, but he had a few personal injury cases, half of which, after filing the cases, were cases that could be successfully negotiated to settlements satisfactory to his clients.

  His mother called to invite him to a dinner that weekend. “Bring Shelly,” she said. “The sheriff and his wife will be coming.”

  He called Shelly. She could make it, so he called his mother back and accepted.

  *****

  Saturday morning Kathy and Freddie had their first match of the tournament. It was against two older members of the Club who’d just signed up to be sociable. Kathy and Freddie beat them two sets at love. And he was all over her like they were playing at Wimbledon. Bishop didn’t like it, but kept it to himself.

  Afterward, Kathy complained which soothed Bishop’s feelings somewhat.

  “Freddie can’t keep his hands off me,” she said. “Rubs my back, pats my behind and hugs me like it’s a sexual act.”

  “Maybe you’ll lose the next match and it’ll be over. You want me to have a word with him?” Bishop asked.

  “I’ve told him I didn’t like it. Nicely, but he … says in the heat of battle, he forgets.”

  Heat of battle hell. Just heat, Bishop thought. However, her complaint gave him some satisfaction. Old Cary wasn’t making any progress with her. But he is pissing me off.

  Kathy and Freddie also won their second match in the Club tournament and would play in the finals against Stan and Shelly the next weekend. Shelly’s parents were members of the Club.

  Bishop had watched Kathy’s match and the last few games of the match Stan and Shelly had had. They were pretty good, Bishop decided. Kathy and the bastard she’s playing with will have a challenge, but should win.

  Kathy told Bishop that Freddie had asked her to dinner after their match. Insisted really, she’d said. When she refused, it seemed to upset him. So, he asked her to have a drink with him at his new condo.

  A developer had built an upscale condo complex overlooking one of the larger rivers along the city boundary. It came with two tennis courts, a covered pool and exercise room.

  Bishop had read about it. They sold quickly to the more affluent people in town.

  “What’d you say?” he asked her.

  “I told him I was engaged and wasn’t interested. He said I could bring you.”

  Bishop laughed.

  “I still told him no.”

  “Good thinking. He’s a handsome bastard,” Bishop said with a twist of his head.

  “He is, but so are you. And I love you, Bishop. Don’t forget that.”

  “I’ll be glad when this tournament is over.”

  “I wish I’d never agreed to play with him,” she said.

  Bishop nodded his head, agreeing.

  *****

  Stan and Shelly showed up early for dinner at his parent’s home. Their old dogs greeted Stan at the front, wanting a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears. Stan gave them both some attention and Shelly patted both on the head.

  Even though his dad had brought the dogs home years before, they were practically Stan’s when he lived there. Stan and Shelly left the dogs with their tails wagging and went inside. Both barked for more attention when the door closed behind them.

  While Stan enjoyed a beer with his dad on their back porch, Shelly helped his mother with dinner. They were having some kind of chicken dish. Chicken Chow Mein, Stan recalled his mother saying.

  He caught his dad up on his increased legal business. For the most part, he’d already told him that when he began paying his secretary’s wages. The increase in clients pleased his dad.

  “Told you it’d start coming in,” his dad said about Stan’s clients.

  “I’ll start paying you for what you spent on my secretary as soon as I can,” Stan told him.

  That also made his dad happy. Not that he needed the money, he just didn’t like having to support a grown son the way he had been doing.

  The doorbell rang and the dogs barked again. That meant Sheriff Jackson and his wife, Bella, had arrived. Hank got up and welcomed them in. They stayed inside instead of going onto the porch. It was getting dusk dark by then, not much to see outside.

  The Sheriff and his wife took beer, so Stan and Hank stayed with beer. Shelly and Emma had a red wine that Emma had already opened. She knew Shelly’s tastes.

  During dinner the Sheriff began talking about a drug problem that had hit the town. “I thought we had it licked,” he said. “Nobody was selling anything as far as we could tell. The supplier was killed in one of those shootouts between gangs that dealers have. Now we got a flood of marijuana again. And we can’t catch the supplier. We’ve had two undercover policemen shot. One almost killed.”

  Hank mentioned something the Sheriff had said at an earlier dinner about his deputies use of pot. The Sheriff laughed and said he’d put a stop to all use of pot by all of his deputies.

  That satisfied Hank.

  Stan’s face had gone white when the Sheriff said that one policeman was almost killed. He hadn’t heard about the shootings. He hoped nobody noticed the shocked look on his face, but the Sheriff had. It was part of his training to watch people’s faces. He said nothing however.

  Hank said, “I’ve heard that it’s bad on people smoking the stuff.”

  “It is,” the Sheriff said, “We had a speaker come to town awhile back. He said for people under twenty-one, it can hurt your brain, big time, smoking that stuff, pot.”

  “Is that right?” Hank asked.

  The Sheriff nodded strongly and said, “Our speaker said if young people use it regularly – and most users do just that – it can dumb ‘em down. Hurts their memory, hurts their brain. Stops ‘em from learning normally. Grow up fit for nothing.”

  “No sh-. Be damned,” Hank said, after changing what he started to say.”

  “Yep,” the Sheriff said, “Hell, they get to where they can’t do things … you know, with their hands. Can’t work like they should. Get to where they ain’t worth a damn at anything.”

  “I hadn’t heard all that,” Stan muttered.

  “It was in the papers,” the Sheriff said. “A lot of it. Long term users might as well go sit in a dark room and wait until his next smoke. That’s all they’re good for. Lots of them go from smoking weed to using harder drugs after awhile. Cocaine, coke, it’s called on the street. Fortunately, we haven’t seen much of that yet.”

  Stan had seen stories about weed like the ones the sheriff was alluding to, but nothing specifically about policemen having been shot. The sheriff hadn’t made it clear about the two undercover policemen who were shot. Was it about drugs? Maybe it was, since that’s what they had been talking about but he wanted to nail it down.

  “No kidding,” Stan managed to say. “Killed. One policeman was almost killed? Why? You know why?”

  “Both of ‘em shot in the back. One man’s still in the hospital. Recovering now, but still serious. They were about to arrest a guy who was selling weed when they got shot. They got away. Likewise the buyers.”

  “Uh, any suspects?” Stan asked.

  The shootings shocked him, since the drugs he was selling might have caused them. That meant he could be charged with attempted murder; conspiracy anyway. Damn. I’m glad I’ve kept my name out of it.

  Hank frowned and leaned over the table, interrupted Stan and said with anger in his voice, “Those damn people have no regard fo
r human life. The misery drugs cause. As far as I’m concerned. The sons of a –”

  He looked at Emma and Bella and changed his mind about what he was going to say. Instead, he said, “Son of a guns should be horse whipped. Killing would be too good for ‘em. Getting people hooked on that crap. Without a brain that works, they might as well be dead anyway. Little more than animals.”

  Hank was thinking about his dead son, George. An investigation had discovered that he’d been under the influence – high – when he drove his car into a utility pole. He was killed instantly. His girlfriend was only bruised.

  He was not a “user” but the day he died was the day of the Egg Bowl football game between Ole Miss and cross state rival, Mississippi State. That day, while they were celebrating the upcoming game, a pusher who had enrolled at Ole Miss to have access to students came by the Frat house with free marijuana and cocaine. And as kids do, all had some. So when George got into his car to drive to the stadium, he was stoned and not in control of himself or the car.

  Hank had never completely gotten over it. Even then, just talking about drugs upset him. He’d stay depressed for days afterward.

  The Sheriff agreed. “I can’t argue with you, Hank. It’s a damn same. A damn shame. Somebody’s running around destroying people’s lives for money.”

  He looked at Stan to answer his question about suspects, when Hank interrupted with another comment. “When you catch a dealer, why don’t you make sure they don’t escape?” He grinned and pulled a finger across his throat.

  The Sheriff smiled and shook his head. “I hear you Hank, but we have to do it by the books.”

  The Sheriff then looked at Stan and said, “You asked if we had suspects. I hate to say it, but so far we don’t have any. The Chief of Police, Chief Jenkins, who’s heading up the task force responsible for catching the son of a guns, says they’re making progress. He’s pretty sure locals are involved.”

  He was greatly exaggerating what Chief Jenkins had actually said, but he wanted to be positive. Actually, the chief had told everyone in a briefing that they were trying to bust open a ring that would result in a capture of the distributors as time went on. And he was sure the ring included local people but he didn’t name names.

  But what the Sheriff said made an impact on Stan. He was worried that somehow, somebody had put his name into the chief’s hat. He swallowed the rest of his food almost without chewing any of it.

  Desert, pecan pie, with decaf coffee, went the same way. Everyone enjoyed it but Stan could only pretend to enjoy it. He was still worried that when he got home, police cars would be waiting in front of house. Garcia and his wife would be in the back of one car. Damn, he thought after considering that scenario.

  I sure as hell don’t want to end up in back of one of the other cars.

  I’d have thought they would have called though. Nobody can say for certain that I’m involved. They’d want to talk before doing anything. How could they know I’m selling the stuff? Do they?

  As soon as he could after dinner, he thanked his parents and said his goodbyes. The Sheriff and his wife, Bella, followed his lead.

  Stan drove home as fast as he could without having an accident. He let out a big sigh when he pulled into his driveway and stopped. There were no cars in sight! No one. Damn! I guess I’m living right.

  Stan smiled and, being a gentleman, helped Shelly out of the car. They went inside and had an after-dinner drink, and then went to bed. He was relaxed enough by then to enjoy it.

  *****

  On their way home, the Sheriff laughed and said to Bella, “Did you see how Hank’s boy turned white when I told them about the shootings. I thought he was going to faint.”

  He didn’t know about one of his deputies doing a favor for Stan, warning Bryant off. If he had, he might have become suspicious that Bryant was using Stan as a lawyer in case he got caught again.

  She said she hadn’t seen that. “But I’m not surprised. It shocked me when I heard it for the first time. Shootings like that in our little town. Who wouldn’t turn white?”

  “Yeah, I reckon you’re right. When his face turned white, I got to thinking that one of Stan’s clients might be involved. I’ll pass it on to the chief though. He’s in charge of the Task Force. He may want to check it out.”

  The chief would make a note and forget about it. There wasn’t anyway he could get the names of Stan’s clients. That information was confidential.

  *****

  Shelly was up early at Stan’s place the next morning. After dressing, she prepared breakfast for both before hurrying off to the hospital. Stan got dressed as well to get to his office. His stomach was still in knots, as he worried that the Sheriff might be onto him, or at least headed in his direction.

  But no one was waiting at the office to arrest him. Whew! He thought. Once more he was greatly relieved. He had a couple of clients coming in and by noon time his worries had diminished. If the Chief of Police had a suspect in town he wasn’t it, as far as he could see just then.

  The local news that he’d watched that morning with Shelly had nothing in it about any arrests so he felt relieved all around. Margo was still out and selling his marijuana, and he was still making money.

  He’d established a bank account in a corporate name in Alabama which wasn’t a long drive from Lawton. He’d make deposits here and there locally in small banks, with cash and the occasional check from a client. Periodically, he’d write checks on the accounts and put them in his Alabama account. The balance in that account was looking great. He also paid for anything he could with cash, including his secretary’s salary as well as the utility bills for the office and home. And he always paid cash for gas and for anything he bought from a grocery store.

  *****

  Chief Jenkins dropped by Bishop’s cabin one afternoon during the week for a cold beer on his back porch. Bishop was between bank assignments and was relaxing.

  Got a problem I guess, Bishop thought as he saw the chief’s car pull up outside. When he heard the car, he went to a front window to see who it was.

  He popped the cap off a bottle of cold beer and had it on the table of the back porch when Jenkins came up the stairs.

  “How’d you know it was me?” he asked when he saw the beer.

  “Heard your car,” Bishop said and asked. “What’s up?” Usually the chief called first. For him to just drop by like he’d done was a bit unusual, unless he just happened to be in the neighborhood. From the look on his face, Bishop could tell he was troubled.

  “Damn, you’re getting to where you can read me pretty well,” he replied.

  Bishop explained why he’d asked, the look on his face and the unexpected drop-in.

  “Well,” Jenkins said, “You’re right. I’ve been battling drugs lately. Not personally, my job. I was put in charge of the drug task force since my guys made the first arrest in town. Marijuana use actually. Been a lot of it on the street. We can’t nail anybody, not a damn soul! Just the dumb-shit users, but that doesn’t do us a hell of a lot of good. We need to find the supplier.”

  “I heard something about it. Maybe it was in the paper. Pretty bad, huh?” Bishop asked the chief.

  The chief explained how one of his guys arrested a user in a honky-tonk within the city limits a few weeks back so they began keeping a lookout for more. The user had told them that “some good shit” was being sold around town and in the county. He’d just bought a couple of joints. They let him go because he was being cooperative.

  “But we’re watching him. If we bring him in again, he’ll do time,” the chief said.

  “Good. I don’t do drugs and don’t keep up with such doings,” Bishop said. “Glad you are.”

  “My job,” the chief said. “Save people from themselves. They get hooked.”

  “That’s right,” Bishop agreed.

  The chief told Bishop that after the arrest, he’d met with the mayor, the sheriff and the Chairman of the Supervisors to discuss it. Since
the first contact was made in the city, it was agreed that the chief would maintain control of the investigation, head up the task force, but would get help from the sheriff’s people for the most part. They’d work with the task force helping to keep an eye out for dealers and buyers.

  They’d report to Chief Jenkins, but keep Sheriff Jackson informed. Once in a while the chief and sheriff would meet to kick around ideas about cracking the drug ring. So far they’d had very little success. He mentioned the sheriff’s observation of Stan Thomas during the dinner at the Thomas’ home and, like the sheriff, gave it a laugh.

  Bishop didn’t laugh. He didn’t know what, if anything, to make of it and just filed it away. Seemed odd to him though what he’d said about Stan’s face going white. Why? Been my experience that a white face is telling something about what’s being discussed.

  Getting into the meat of his problem and to illustrate his lack of success, the chief told Bishop about a couple of disasters that had just happened. Bishop had read about the incidents in the newspaper reports but hadn’t associated it with anything the chief was doing and certainly not the drug problem he was just describing.

  The first “disaster” took place at the Indian Creek honkytonk in the county. A police officer in plain-clothes was watching for drugs and anything suspicious that might be a sale. He hadn’t seen anything at first, but then a man came in who looked like he was in a hurry. He and the bartender had a verbal exchange and the man rushed away, heading down the hall. The policeman at first thought the man was going to the bathroom and almost missed the fact that he walked on past the john.

  When he came back, he headed out the door. The policeman followed him out and was about to ask him what he was doing when he was shot in the back. He survived but wasn’t able to tell them anything useful. And the bartender, naturally, didn’t remember anything.

  The second “disaster” took place in a different ‘tonk in the county. There, the plain-clothes policeman on duty just thought the man who’d come in was acting suspicious and followed him outside. He was also shot in the back before he could do anything. According to the chief, he was still in critical condition.