D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

Ted pointed off to the right. “Basically on the other side of that hill. The south side – sunny side.”

“What time is it?” Jake suddenly asked.

“Ten-thirty,” the banker replied. “Come on. We don’t have time for this now.” He pulled a pistol out of a shoulder holster concealed under his coat.

“No listen, you don’t have to do this…” Chris started to plead. headlights suddenly flashed on and off three times down the road.

“That’s them,” Jake said.

He leaned through the driver’s side window and flicked his lights on and off once. After a moment, the other car turned on its parking lights and moved slowly toward the men.

“What about him?” Jake asked as the car drew closer.

“Stand behind the car out of the way. This won’t take long,” the banker said to Chris, pushing him towards the rear of the car.

The approaching car stopped about twenty feet from them. Three men got out. The two groups of men were identically constructed, two thug types and a smarter dressed man. The new crew was much younger than the banker and his boys. The two thug types were physically ripped – lean, muscular, their arms scarred with splotchy prison tattoos. The smarter one wore a heavy black leather coat.

“You got the stuff, man?” The leader said to the banker in a thick Latino accent. His slicked back black hair glistened in the dull light.

“Where’s Roach?” The banker replied.

“He couldn’t make it today. He was tied up.”

Jake and the banker exchanged glances.

“That’s funny,” the banker said. “I heard he got busted selling a Q.P. to an undercover cop in San Francisco.”

The kid stayed cool. His two compadres were either mute or had nothing to say. They stood tensely at his side. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is it true?” The banker said.

“No way. He’s cool, man.”

The newcomers noticed Chris standing behind the car in the shadows.

“Who’s he?”

The banker turned and glanced at him. “Nobody important, Miguel.”

Miguel looked distrustfully at the banker. When Chris used to buy quantities of pot in college things were a lot different – no guns and gangs; just a trip to a hippie’s house in the country with a little cash. They used to party together. Trade some cash for some pot. Those were the days.

“I’m worried, Miguel,” the banker said.

“Me too,” Jake chimed in.

The banker shot him a ‘keep your mouth shut’ look.

“About what?” Miguel asked.

“About you. I’ve got fifty pounds of shit in the trunk of my car with your name on it, but I like to feel good about who I do business with. I don’t feel good about you anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Miguel asked as he took a step toward the banker. “We’ve always done good business. I’ve got your money in the car.”

“I think a couple of things,” the banker said calmly. “First, I know that you’re buying elsewhere and that pisses me off, but I can live with it. It’s the second thing that’s got me upset.”

Miguel rocked from foot to foot bobbing his head rapidly. This could turn ugly in a hurry, and Chris slowly moved further behind the car.

“I’ve got a friend; let’s call him Frank, just for the hell of it,” the banker said. “My friend Frank just happens to work in the San Francisco Police Department. He likes to smoke a little reefer; we go way back. Anyway, he tells me that the cops busted this kid selling quarter pounds. Oh well, that happens every day, right?”

Miguel stared back at the banker blankly.

“Right?”

Miguel nodded. “I suppose.”

“Do you know what doesn’t happen every day, though?”

“What?”

“My name doesn’t come up when the kid’s spilling his guts to the cops. That’s never happened before. The kid sings and drags me into his little fucking mess.”

“Hey, man, I don’t know nothing about that. Roach hasn’t been busted in a year as far as I know.”

“What’d I tell you,” Jake said to Ted.

The banker looked at them, nodded, and continued, “That’s the problem, Miguel. You’re out of touch. These are your people. You’ve got to be in control and you’re not. Each time you come here, you’ve got at least one new person with you.”

The banker stepped forward to one of the men standing at Miguel’s side. “Who the fuck are you?” The banker asked him. He turned back to Miguel without waiting for an answer. “Your organization is too loose for us to do business anymore, Miguel – too loose.”

“So what are you saying?” Miguel asked. “You won’t sell to me anymore?”

“Exactly,” the banker replied. “Not unless you get a grip on what you’re doing. You’re doing too much volume to be as stupid as you are.”

“This isn’t good,” Miguel replied. “We have people expecting us to come through tonight, and if we don’t, there’s going to be trouble.”

Jake and Ted both leveled their shotguns at the others.

“Then it sounds like you’re going to be in trouble because right now I wouldn’t give you the sweat off my balls.”

Miguel glared at the banker. His dark eyes narrowed. Chris could hear him cursing under his breath in Spanish. “This is not good, my friend, not good at all,” Miguel said.

“It doesn’t have to be good, Miguel. It’s business. That’s what you’ve got to learn. Now get back in your car and hit the road. I never want to see or hear from you again. Understand? And tell that rat Roach that his ass is mine.”

Miguel glared at the banker for a solid minute before motioning with his finger for his men to leave. He turned and followed them back to their car. “You’re making a big mistake,” he said as he walked away. “A big mistake.”

Jake was about to say something, but the banker tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t.”

Jake and Ted kept their guns aimed at the car as it backed away down the road rapidly. After about fifty yards, it whipped around and sped off in a cloud of dust that hid the taillights from view.

“That was what I expected,” Jake said.

“I’m just glad they didn’t pull something stupid,” Ted said. “You never know with guys like that.”

The banker grunted.

Chris stood motionless. The confrontation had scared him. It was probably the norm for these guys – just another day at the office.

“Come here, Chris,” the banker said. “This is the deal. I’m not sure why, but I believe your story. We’ll take you over to the McGuire place and drop you off there. Then you’ll forget this whole scene. We don’t exist. Can you do that?”

Chris just nodded. He tried to say something but nothing came out of his mouth.

“That’s right, just keep quiet,” the banker replied. “Get in the car.”

Chris would rather have just run as fast as he could in any direction than get into the car but he didn’t feel he had a choice in the matter as the banker pushed him into the back seat.

Ted climbed into the backseat with him while the banker sat up front and Jake got behind the wheel. The car vibrated and the heavily modified engine growled as it started – the family wagon wouldn’t do in this business.

As they started to move, Ted lit up a bone. The sweet smell of marijuana soon filled the car. He passed it up to the front seat where Jake and the banker each took turns on it before it came back to Ted.

So much for handing this over to the FBI and washing his hands of everything, Chris thought as they raced through the woods along the dirt tracks. Why hadn’t he just stayed out of this? He should have driven Pell to the hospital, told the FBI what Pell had told him and gone back home. What was he thinking coming all the way out here? Right now, he had no idea if he was being driven to a shallow grave in the woods or right into the hands of Sarah Burns. If they do let me out at the McGuire house, at least the odds are low that it was Sarah Burns and her entourage staying there, he thought. Hopefully, he could get some help from whoever is there and get the hell out of this place.