Death of the Weed Merchant

by Robert G Rogers

  Bone’s comment about him being an ugly duckling also came into his thoughts. He wanted to laugh it off, but no laugh came. He knew it was true. And now it might bite him in the butt.

  “Damn,” he cursed and said out loud, “Now two people, both lawyers, know about the drugs. Hell, I need a little help to get through the shit I have to face. Nobody knows the pressures a lawyer has to endure.”

  Like many people who didn’t have an answer to a problem they faced, he stewed about it hoping something would come up to solve it.

  Shelly also faced a dilemma. Her parents always asked about her social life, mostly about her marriage prospects. They had gotten excited about her new boyfriend, Freddie Meyers, and now, that was dead.

  “What do I tell them?” she asked herself. At lunch that day, she told her friend from the library, Ella, all that had happened with Freddie and asked what she’d do.

  Ella said, “I think you got lucky in a way. At least you found out right away about the guy, Freddie. Everybody’s knows he’s a bastard only interested in one thing and you are no exception. In your case, I guess it was two things. You still have Stan, it sounds like. I’d see if I could patch it up with him. You’d better hope nobody finds out what you did at the hospital, giving out private details, confidential info, like you did. They’ll kick you out.”

  “That’s what worries me,” Shelly said. “It’s my career.”

  “I’d just tell your parents you didn’t like the guy and how you told him it was over. They won’t be able to find out any different unless the hospital thing hits the news.”

  Shelly shook her head, agreeing. That’s what she’d do. Gloss over the truth and hope nobody found out how she’d leaked confidential hospital information.

  Ella did tell Kathy about it however, because she knew Kathy had overheard her talking to Shelly. And Kathy told Bishop.

  *****

  The next time the chief came by Bishop’s cabin for a bitch and a beer, Bishop told him what had been happening to him; Kathy’s brush with Freddie Meyers and what had happened afterward.

  “Damn, I think you’ve been busy, ole buddy,” the chief said. “Might ‘ve got lucky you bluffed Meyers down. I’ve heard he’s a pretty tough customer in a fight.”

  “I guess. He looked like he’d be a challenge.”

  “Does drugs though, huh? You think?” the chief was asking about what Bishop had suggested about Freddie the last time they’d talked.

  “Looked like it to me and Kathy confirmed it. All hearsay, but one of her staff members is friends with Shelly Gambrel. She told an interesting story about Freddie.”

  He elaborated about Freddie’s apparent use of coke during the tennis tournament and during their face off outside of his office.

  “Interesting, but legally just your opinion, Bishop. You didn’t actually see him snorting any. Hell, the DA would have me removed from office if I recommended a charge based on an opinion like that, even yours. You’re probably right, but you know as well as I do, an opinion is only good for beer talk.”

  “How about this?” He told him about the experience Shelly Gambrel had with Freddie. “Rape, when you get right down to it with drugs leading the way.”

  “Well, you’re getting closer to a case with the girl. You think she wants to go public with that?”

  Bishop laughed. “I doubt it, I just wanted to share it with you.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I really do. So long as you’re not pushing for any legal move out of me.”

  “Not to worry, chief. I know how careful you are.”

  “Unlike some I know,” he said with a nod in Bishop’s direction.

  “Yeah. I hear you. So, how are you doing with your drug war problems?”

  “Making some progress, I guess you could say. We can’t catch a dealer so we decided to arrest all the bartenders around who look like they’re dealing. We arrest a buyer but let ‘em off if they tell us who sold the stuff to them. They always point to a bartender.”

  “What does the bartender say?” Bishop asked.

  “They lie through their teeth. They say a note shows up on their bar telling them where the stuff is in the bathroom. They just tell anybody wanting some where to find it, and how much money to leave. Still against the law, but so far we’re letting ‘em go on modest bail if they talk to us.”

  “Is it doing any good?” Bishop asked.

  “Oddly enough, it is. We’re putting a scare into them, most of them anyway. Cutting down the sales, we think.”

  “Good.”

  “We’ll take it anyway we can. If we can’t get ‘em one way, we’ll get ‘em another way. Cut ‘em off before they can get to it,” the chief said. “Should ‘a thought about it before now.”

  “Well, better late than never,” Bishop said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  When Kathy showed up the chief knew it was time for him to get home, so he drank the last bit of his beer and, after greeting her, left.

  When the chief was gone, Bishop gave her a proper greeting with his usual kiss and Mississippi hug. Afterward, they had a glass of wine on the porch and caught up on each other’s news. Usually there wasn’t much to share, but just talking to each other while enjoying a glass of wine was enough. However, that evening Kathy had the news about the ending of the Shelly and Freddie “affair.”

  “I’m not surprised. That Shelly girl looks like she has a head on her shoulders. She probably figured out that Freddie was just looking for a warm body.”

  “There was more to it than that, I understand.” Kathy told him what Ella has told her about Freddie pressing Shelly for confidential information about hospital patients who had died.

  “He’s a real son of a bitch,” Bishop said. “One of these days, his past is going to catch up with him.”

  “It should. The man has no scruples.”

  Bishop agreed, while wondering if he had an obligation to report the man to the bar association. He decided he wouldn’t, because it’d likely get Shelly into trouble at the same time.

  I doubt she wants it plastered all over the newspapers about how Freddie got her high on drugs and took advantage of her, and how she’d been naive enough to give him confidential information about patients.

  *****

  In another part of town, the chief’s new approach for stopping the sale of pot by pressuring bar tenders had Stan Thomas concerned. Stan picked up the phone and called Margo.

  “This is Margo,” she answered. When she saw Stan’s name on the phone dial, she asked, “Stan, what’s happening with you?”

  “The guy supplying the stuff to you called me and said you’re not sending as much money as you usually send. He thinks you may be skimming. That wouldn’t be a good idea, Margo. The guy can get rough.” He was bluffing but didn’t figure she’d know that. But her sales had dropped and the money she’d been giving Stan was likewise down.

  “Hell, Stan, tell him we’re not skimming. The cops are clamping down on us. Arresting all our sellers. They arrest our buyers and they rat out the bartenders. The bartenders get pulled in and charged. No trials yet, but they’re afraid to sell any more. They like the money but they don’t like the idea of going to Parchman to become somebody’s girlfriend.”

  That made sense to Stan. He’d figured it was something like that, but wanted to make sure.

  Margo continued. “I’ve got a lot of unsold weed in the house, and most of the coke your guy sent. We’re changing how we’re selling the stuff. If we know a buyer, when he calls we arrange a meeting in a parking lot someplace. If we don’t know him, you know, a first time buyer, we leave the stuff someplace in a store, for example. We shove a bag under a bag of potting soil and watch until the buyer shows up to get it. If nobody’s watching, we pick up the money he leaves. It’s a crappy way to do business but that’s what we’re facing. Taking us awhile to get the sales up, though. We’re having to sell one on one. Before, we could leave enough in the bathrooms of the tonks for half a doz
en sales.”

  “I suppose I should tell the guy to cut down the amount he’s leaving you.”

  She laughed. “Right now, I’d say don’t bring any more of anything till I call. I have enough for a couple of weeks at least.”

  “I’ll let him know.” Damn.

  “One thing I should tell you. Ole Bryant thinks you’re the one distributing the stuff. He doesn’t like you getting a cut. He wants more money.”

  “I wish I could get a cut. My client gives me a hundred now and then when I have to make a call like this one, but it’s not regular. Tell Elmer he’s full of shit.”

  She laughed. “I’ve told him. I’ll have to let you know when I’m ready another delivery. Right now I’m, for all intents and purposes, shut the hell down.”

  “Okay, I get it. I’ll pass it on.”

  “I should also tell you that Bryant is hinting that he can buy pot cheaper in New Orleans than what we’re paying here. Says our coke price is okay but I think he’s buying pot on the side and bootlegging sales. That’s another thing might be cutting into sales.”

  “Be damned. From what I’ve heard – you told me, I believe – my client is selling some smooth stuff. I bet the shit Bryant is bringing up from New Orleans isn’t as good.”

  “May not be, but if it does the trick, the buyers will make do with it. Hell, it’s cheaper. People buy cheap if they can.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll pass it on,” Stan said and cursed to himself.

  They hung up.

  “Damnit to hell,” Stan said to himself.

  He was still making pretty good money, but pretty good wasn’t as much as he had been making. “May have to cut my price. That bastard buying cheap shit in New Orleans! Way it’s going, I’m never going to make enough to get married any time soon, damnit. Hell, that might not be a problem.” He was thinking of Shelly and Freddie. How many other Freddies were out there? Lots of problems I have to solve.

  An hour or so later, Bryant called and wanted an appointment to discuss a “legal problem” he had. Stan knew just about what “legal problem” Bryant wanted to talk about. One you smoke, not legal, he thought.

  Stan gave him a time he’d be free. His other legal work had fallen off so he had plenty of time. It nagged at him that maybe he hadn’t done as good a job as he should and so he wasn’t getting good “word of mouth” advertising for his legal work.

  Shelly had quit coming out every night like she had been doing before her fling with Freddie. Stan guessed she was pulling back from their relationship, or more likely, waiting to see what he was going to do about her indiscretion with Freddie.

  “He used her,” he said to himself. “I guess I have been too, in my own way.” Hell, Margo knows how to shake it when she gets going.

  He decided to call and invite her to dinner someplace. Her affair with Freddie was a blow, but he’d see if he wanted to let it go. Probably would. He still needed her and, unlike Freddie Meyers, he didn’t have women standing in line to get next to him.

  The next morning Stan drove to his weed patch to check what it looked like. He did that every day or so to make sure Garcia was on the job. It looked good, and nobody was snooping around.

  Sometimes Garcia, or one of his co-workers, would be there working the patch, sometimes not. Usually he saw no one, however. They got there at day break and did what needed to be done before the sun was full over the trees. They were either planting or harvesting. The curing was done in the barn.

  Once it was cured, Garcia would leave it in the barn, in a box, for him. They’d quit rolling joints. Too time consuming. He figured if the customers wanted them rolled, Margo would have to roll them. Some customers did, and she was rolling joints with about a third of the marijuana Stan was leaving.

  Stan had been picking up the box of pot, usually weekly, and delivering it to Margo’s trailer home. But not anymore. Margo had told him she had stuff she hadn’t sold. The same thing had happened with the gram-bags of coke, he’d been leaving.

  In the past, if she had a busy week, she’d call and ask if he could arrange for an interim “delivery” of a box. “His friend” would comply. Lately though, all that had changed. Sales were down and his income was down.

  The pressure turned him more and more to snorting a line of coke. It kept him going but also took him deeper into drugs.

  From what she’d said during their last phone conversation, his routine with Margo was up in the air. Who knows when she’d call for another delivery? Especially with Bryant selling the cheap weed he was getting in New Orleans.

  If it goes on too long, I’ll be in deep shit. Got bills to pay, mainly Leann’s wages. I don’t want to dip into my Alabama money. Reminds me, I need to talk to her. Hate to think I have to ask dad to start paying her again. I can hear him bitching already. Hell, I may have to use drug money to pay her. Son of a bitch. If it goes on for long, I’ll just have to let her go.

  She was already in the office when Stan showed up that morning, so he poured himself a cup of coffee and chatted with her, casually mentioning how his dad had sent him some clients who wanted advice about their businesses. He did that to cover his increased income and why he’d suddenly begun to pay her salary.

  She asked about making files and he told her they preferred not to make a record. What they were asking about was confidential.

  “Business things,” he said with a gesture that suggested confidentiality.

  That seemed to satisfy her.

  He also mentioned the appointment he was having with Bryant the next day, her day off. He told himself to snort a line before Bryant showed up, but it didn’t happen that way.

  It was later that day when Bryant barged into his office, practically shouted his name and telling Leann that he wanted to see “the Thomas dude” – he’s expecting me.”

  He saw Stan through his open door and went inside without waiting for her to show him in. He closed the door behind him and sat down.

  “What the hell ‘re you doing here?” Stan asked him. “You said you wanted to come in tomorrow!”

  “I didn’t have anything to do today so here I am, dude. I’m tellin’ you right now, I don’t like you dealing with Margo. I want to cut her out of the loop. She doesn’t know shit about selling drugs. I’m the bastard who has the buyers for the shit. I’m the one stickin’ his neck out for the cops to catch. You can deal with me! I’m tellin’ you!”

  “What the hell ‘re talking about? I’m not dealing anything to anybody. I’m practicing law! Get the hell out of my office!” You double dealing bastard. You’re already trying to cut her out of the loop with that New Orleans shit you’re bringing into town.

  “I know you’re dealin’! Some good shit too. I’ll hand that to you. Gotta be you dealin’. Ain’t nobody else in town doing it. ‘N ain’t nobody else knows anybody who’s dealin’. Has to be you. You the name Margo knows. ‘N I’m the guy you gotta deal with! I know how to get the stuff to the street, ‘n the dumb shit buyers. She don’t. ‘N you don’t! You got it?” he was practically shouting. Leann could hear it all.

  “I’m calling the cops on you,” Stan shouted back at him. “And if you repeat what you’ve just said, I’ll sue your ass for libel and take every thing you own – if you own anything. You understand me?”

  “You bastard. You lying bastard. Ain’t got sense God give a billy goat. Deal with me and we both make more money. I got me a source in ‘Orleans for some cheap pot, and you got the good shit. I can sell both. Margo don’t know the business. I know it!” Bryant said.

  Stan reached for his office phone. He had no intention of calling the police but knew Bryant didn’t know that. He began punching in numbers for the phone in his country home. It’d ring and his machine would pick up with a “leave a message” response. But Stan could talk like he was talking to somebody.

  But it wasn’t necessary. Bryant jumped up and headed for the door. “Makin’ a big-assed mistake, Thomas. I know it’s you. You gonna be sorry you didn�
�t listen to me.” He stopped and pointed a finger at him.

  He stormed out.

  Leann was shocked but said nothing. She thought for sure, listening to the man shout, that he and Stan were going to get into it. And all that talk about selling drugs. What was he talking about?

  Stan told her the man was crazy out of his head and didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “How he came up with that notion, I’ll never know,” Stan told her. “Made me mad though. Wasting my time like that.”

  She accepted that, but it stayed in her mind. It was odd, that man accusing Mr. Thomas like he did. Sounded like he knew it was so.

  Stan took Shelly to dinner that night. He told her that they could probably work through the Freddie thing. She seemed glad. He wasn’t sure, but figured, all things considered, that it was in his best interest to let her think that.

  He also told her about his office confrontation with Bryant and his outlandish claims about his dealing drugs.

  At the end of the night, he invited her out for steaks that Saturday. “I have some office filing to do, but I’ll be finished in plenty of time to get the grill going. We’ll barbeque. I’ll bake some potatoes to go with the steaks.”

  She accepted and was pleased that he’d asked. Maybe he was going to put Freddie behind her.

  But when’s he going to set a date? Mom and Dad keep asking me when are we going to get married? I’m not getting any younger. I’ll be too old to have children if he doesn’t hurry up.

  Chapter 9

  Late Saturday afternoon, almost dark, Shelly called Stan’s parents.

  “Is Stan with you?” she asked. He wasn’t at home and didn’t answer his office phone or his cell phone. She thought maybe he’d turned his cell off while talking to them on the office phone. It didn’t make sense to her.