The Other Side of Bad (The Tucker Novels) (30 page)

The Miranda’s had become good friends, but, after Tom’as got married and moved to Austin, we didn’t see much of Armando. He decided to move back to Mexico City, saying he could conduct business from there, now that Tom’as was living like a gringo, in Tehas.

Looking back, them doing such a small business with me was only because of our friendship. Friendship and trust. I never felt like I was almost fifteen years younger than them, and they never treated me that way.

So, while developing my own network of small dealers, one was a cop from Alexandria. Barry Johnson, with whom I’d played junior high and high school football. Allen had told me about Barry, assuring me he wasn’t going to bust me by telling how they had done some business before, illegal business. So, I really had nothing to be worried about.

Well, he was right about one thing, I didn’t have to be worried about being busted. I needed to be concerned about being paid.

Most of the dealing in those days was done on a front basis. Meaning no money exchanged hands until the end. This did two things. One; if you were dealing with someone you had just met, or didn’t entirely trust, you could give them the pot without any money exchanging hands. No money exchanged-no dealing crime-no bust. Two; it allowed people like myself to help someone under them develop a network without an initial investment by the underling. This was important, as most small-time dealers, that is, people dealing in lids, quarter pounds and such, usually didn’t have enough cash on hand to buy 3 or 4 pounds of high-grade grass. I would front it to them and they would pay me as they sold it, hopefully before buying themselves new sound systems for their cars or color TV’s, etc. Eventually their cash flow would increase and they could pay cash for part or all of their shipment. It wasn’t unusual, for someone I was fronting, to get a little behind, owing me for one or two pounds, out of five I’d fronted. They usually caught up within a couple of deals.

Now, we get to the subordinate that develops his own pound business. In other words, his lid business would get so big as to be dangerous. If one person starts selling too many lids to too many people, his chances of being busted increased with the size of his business. That’s when it’s time to turn his lid customers into small pound customers and let them take the chances.

I could sell a pound for $175, that I paid $65 to $85 for, and the ancillary could turn around and sell it for around $250, give or take $10, making himself a fast $75 per pound.

If he could do this with 10 pounds, to one or more people, he just made $750. If he had his ducks in a row, he could to this  easily in a few hours of one day.

The excuses for being short on payments, ranged from, ‘my dog ate it’, to, ‘my guy got busted before he could pay me.’

I had this one guy who swore his dog pulled his trash bag full of pot out of his garage. Said his tore it up and spread it all over his back yard and there was just no way he could recover it all. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, but I told him I would be right over and help pick it up.

When I got there, he said he’d picked up most of it. As I walked around his back yard, I did pick up a few buds and stems. I never knew if his dog did it, or if he had to put some pot in his back yard for me to find.

Now, getting back to Barry the cop.

Barry had built up quite a large pound business. Being a cop, he had access to all sorts of would-be dealers who were always looking for a little help.

I started by fronting him 10 pounds, for $200 each. I always charged more for a front; it was good incentive for them to pay cash.

Business between Barry and me went well for almost a year.

He had been gradually building his network, so, he needed more and more quantity. It wasn’t unusual for him to come to me needing more, before all of his cash from the last transaction was in. So, he always had a running balance with me. Before I knew it, he had a balance of 12 grand.

After, not hearing from ‘Barry-the-cop’ for a couple of weeks, my concern over the money started hurting my stomach, literally. This was not a good sign. I believe not enough people listen to their stomachs, in more ways than one.

I called my cousin, Allen, explained the situation, and asked what he thought I should do. After all, Barry was a cop.

Allen said he would look into it and get back to me.

The next day I was sitting on the screened-in back porch, when the phone rang. Margie answered it, and said it was Allen.

After Margie handed me the phone, he just said, “Tuck.”

I didn’t like the sound of it.

“Yeah,” I said, as I watched her walk back into kitchen. I loved watching her walk away.

“I think you’re fucked,” I heard through the handset.

“Why is that?” I asked. I stood and walked over to the screen, to view the horses grazing in the green pasture across the gravel road behind my house.

“Barry says one of his guys ripped him off and has some incriminating evidence on him, so he can’t get the money.”

“Ever?” I asked.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Do you believe him?”

After a five-second pause, he said, “No.”

Now that sucked.

If he had said yes, I might have been able to let it go. I had already paid the Mirandas and that 12 grand was all mine. But, he said, no.

“Why don’t you believe him?”

“Because it’s the first I’ve heard about it. Seems to me if it was true, he would have said something to me before I had to ask him about it. And, it’s his attitude.”

“What about his attitude?” I asked, as the strawberry roan kicked the bay.

“When I told him you weren’t going to be okay with it, he said, ‘What’s he going to do, kill me? I’m an old friend and a cop’.”

As the bay ran across the pasture to get away from the roan, I said, “He has a point.”

“Tuck, you’re not going to let him get away with it. I know you better than that.”

As the bay turned to fight the roan, I said, “Tell you what, you tell Barry, my old friend, that I’ll be in touch.”

I gave Barry Johnson a couple of days to stew. Then after checking with Allen to make sure Barry was home, I went to a pay phone and gave him a call. I didn’t have to worry about
his
phone being tapped. After all, he’s a cop.

“Barry, it’s Tucker,” I said, after he answered.

After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Yeah, I figured you’d be calling. I’ve been trying to get some money together, but those guys that ripped me have disappeared.”

Sure was a lot of information without a question.

“What happened?” I said. I was curious as to what kind of story he came up with.

“Ah, these two guys I was working with, they’re brothers and one of them lives here in Alec and the other one lives in Lafayette.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, they’ve been good guys and have always been on time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, I guess they’ve been working me for a while, ya know, taking more and more, paying up, and then hauled ass to points unknown when they got enough fronted to them. That’s all I can come up with,” he said, with practiced conviction.

“I’m sure you’ve used all your resources on the street to find these guys, right?” I said, all cop-like.

“Hell, yes, I’ve been on it for over a week. I knew you’d be calling after Allen asked me about it. I don’t know what to do, Tucker. I can’t find these assholes, I don’t have the money, I don’t want you all pissed at me . . .

“Just a minute, let me think,” I said, already thinking how his tone had changed. It had just the right amount of whine to it and showed enough respect for me, that I may be able to make him believe I believed him.

After a planned pause, I said, “Barry, can you get me anything, anything at all? If you can, I might be able to get us out of this hole.”

For what I had in mind, I didn’t want to seem too easy, and his answer would tell me what I wanted to know. If he had spent all the money, was he sitting on it, or was he setting something up for himself. I also hoped the ‘we’ would add some depth to the problem.

“Whataya mean?” he asked, sounding surprised.

I had him.

“If you can come up with a couple of grand, I’ll use it to get us some real good stuff, something new. Something you can get top dollar for, and I’ll front it to you at my cost. The way I’ve got it figured, three or four ventures like this will not only get you out of hock with me, but you’ll make some on the back end.”

I could hear the wheels spinning through the phone.

Then I closed on him.

“Even if you had to borrow it from somewhere, you’d still come out. You and I would be square. I could pay my guys, and if you ever get the money back from the guys who ripped you off, we’ll talk about that.”

“I might be able to put something together in a couple of days, ya know, talk to a couple of buddies,” he said, a little too quickly.

“Great, Barry!” I said, with a feigned sigh of relief. “This’ll work out. You’ve just got to watch your clientele from now on. Okay?”

“Yeah, no shit. Look, Tucker, I’m real sorry about all this, but I’ll make it right. I promise.”

“I know you will. Shit happens in this business. We’ll fix it and move on.”

“I’ll give you a call in a couple of days, when I get it together,” he said.

“Okay, when you do, I’ll get the rope (code for marijuana). You can drive up here, we’ll have us a visit and get this thing fixed up. Wait till you see this stuff, you won’t believe it.”

“Cool, call you in a couple of days,” he said, then hung the phone up.

Now, what did I learn from our conversation. One; he was waiting to see how I would react to his not paying me. Two; he had most or all of
my
money. I knew this when he said ‘Whataya mean, instead of, ‘I don’t know, or no’, or something along those lines. Three; he’s thinking not only will he get to keep my twelve grand, but make some more money and stay in business with me. And, four; he’s dumber than I thought, so I really don’t want to do business with him.

I looked down at Boone, my black lab, patted him on his beautiful broad head and said, “You’re a good boy, Boone, a gooood boy.”

My bowels felt like water and bile was in danger of rising at the thought of what I had planned to do, to get my money.

Four days after our phone conversation I was sitting on the front porch of the house I’d rented in the country, waiting for Barry.

A nice, semi-remote place on Dixie Garden Drive. It was just outside the city limits where the city police had no jurisdiction, and where the sheriff’s department didn’t know about me, I hoped.

I was sitting in one of twin rocking chairs that overlooked an acre of front yard that was studded by five 50 foot pecan trees, that dripped a sticky residue on any cars that were parked beneath them. Some people said it was aphids doing it, but I always thought pecan trees just dripped.

Boone was lying on the porch to my right, between the chairs, with my hand on his head, when Barry pulled into the drive.

Boone was seven years old and extremely friendly. So I put my fingers around his collar so he wouldn’t try to get up when Barry got out of his car and started up the porch.

Barry wasn’t a big man, about five-nine and a trim 150 pounds. At 24, his brown hair was already thinning, and his parents evidently hadn’t believed in, or couldn’t afford an orthodontist. Margie thought he was kind of handsome until he smiled, which he was doing now.

We’d played football on the same team for six years and against each other on baseball teams all the way from Rebel League through Pelican League. We never really hung out, so when I suggested to Margie that she may want to go out for a
 while, until  Barry and I did our business, she didn’t find that suspicious.

Besides, she needed to get out of the house to take her mind off of something that was bothering her, and given that 8-year-old Shannon was down in Alexandria visiting her Grandmother, I would be left alone.

She knew he owed us, but didn’t know what I had been planning. It was one of the few times I didn’t confide in her. Under the circumstances, I thought it best. She would find out soon enough, then I would have to deal with her reaction.

At the top of the steps, Barry said, “Hey, Tucker, nice day, huh?”

I chose not to reply, and I didn’t get up when Barry offered me his hand. I let go of Boone’s collar, and after shaking Barry’s hand, he bent over and ruffled Boone’s ears.

“How ya doin’, Boone, old boy,” he said.

I looked down at Boone, and thought, ‘he didn’t look old, he was only seven, and he was beautiful.’

Barry sat down in the chair to my right. Boone was between us, looking back and forth with his intelligent brown eyes.

“How was the drive up?” I asked, knowing full well how the drive from Alexandria was, two hours of flat boredom.

“I made it in an hour and forty-five minutes,” he said proudly.

“You must have been hauling it.”

“Yeah, well, it helps to be a
cop
,” he replied.