Forced Entry_The Unravelling Page 3

  Narrator: I wish them well and pity them.

  Taylor: Why?

  Narrator: Underneath all the pretty wrapping of corporate paper promises, the box is empty.

  Taylor: I understand completely. That’s why I won’t suck dick for money. It has to really mean something when I do it.

  Taylor: Greedbots, I like that. Like a robot that can only say more, more, must have more. She raised her arms and walked in a Frankenstein manner and laughed.

  It occurred to me that this was just a teenage girl, with all the teenage girl characteristics but also with a level of smarts not found in most teenage girls and most adult men. Considering that her life expectancy might be about 12 hours, it was important for me to remain detached from her as a person. I tried to forget the intelligence and occasional bursts of wisdom from the near dead.

  Taylor: So I noticed that this stuff smells different from the weed stuff I smoked. Smells nicer. What are you growing here?

  She sat down at the table and lit up the remaining half of the joint, took a long drag and exhaled a huge cloud.

  Narrator: On the side closest to you, the short plants are Cinderella 99, the taller plants are Critical Mass.

  Taylor: Nice name Cinderella 99, can I smoke some of that?

  Narrator: I would prefer you didn’t.

  Taylor: Why?

  Narrator: It will make you very, very high and paranoid. It is great stuff to grow and sell. Flowers in less than 8 weeks and is too strong for many, but for personal consumption I don’t like it. In the other rooms are Grape Ape and Sweet Tooth #4.

  Taylor: Do they all have funny names like Grape Ape or Cinderella 99?

  Narrator: Usually they do. Someone even named a strain Alaskan Thunderfuck. Along the far wall are a few special plants I am growing out. They don’t have any fancy name. They are just known as ‘zero.’

  Taylor: Zero?

  Narrator: Got it from a friend who was growingseveral hundred seeds and found one mutant that grew huge, flowered fast, produces a huge crop and has an unusual and very strong high.

  Taylor: And I guess that makes it good?

  Narrator: Yes. It is completely different from the rest in almost every aspect. He knows I like Satori as my daytime smoke so he gave me a cutting. It is supposed to be Satori on steroids.

  Taylor: Damn I need some chocolate. My period is about to start. I always crave chocolate right before it starts.

  Narrator: Sorry, there isn’t any.

  Taylor: Just as well. I don’t have any tampons anyway. Forgot to ‘borrow’ some from the stop and shop over on Reagan Avenue.

  Narrator: Perhaps I can pick some up on my way over.

  (Narrator’s Note: in a house full of women you just get over it and buy tampons for them. No real need for embarrassment at the check-out as they obviously aren’t for us … except for any men that think sticking cotton on a rip cord up their ass is a good idea. Highly improbable. Regrettably though, in a world of 7 billion people, quite a few of whom seem to be bat-shit crazy (and unfortunately, a smaller subset of those in charge) you just know there must be a few men out there who cherish thoughts of extra absorbency and a new enhanced gentle glide applicator). Your Narrator IS NOT ONE OF THEM! (just high)

  Taylor: You’re COMING TO SEE ME? REALLY?!!

  Narrator: Yes.

  She jumped up from the chair and danced around singing ‘my daddy’s coming home’ over and over, a senseless lyric to a nonsensical, improvised tune without a discernible melody. Yet another reminder that I was dealing with a child.

  Narrator: I will be there in the morning.

  She continued her dancing and singing, holding out one of the longest lateral buds in a fake tango embrace, her face pressed against the crown bud as if to dance away with it.

  Taylor: So what else are you going to bring me daddy?

  Narrator: I would prefer if you called me something other than daddy; and yes, I will bring you chocolate too.

  Taylor: Yahoo! chocolate and tampons ... my life is complete. (Fake southern belle accent) I’m simply overcome with happiness. It is hot in here?

  She held her hand up to her forehead and pretended to faint, a total drama queen move,as she lay on the floor a sad look came over her face.

  Taylor: So what should I call you?

  Narrator: How about David?

  Taylor: And when I make you hold your driver’s license up to the spy camera will I find the name David?

  Narrator: No

  Taylor: Then until that time (getting off the floor) ... I will just call you ... DADDY! And for the next minute she returned to the dancing and singing of ‘My daddy’s coming home’ (spastic remix).

  What was the point of trying to stop her? It might be the last happy experience in her short life and I decided that it was not for me to ruin it for her. I put my control-freak, precise nature back in the box, save it for some other time.

  She danced over to the boom box sitting on one of the tables, pressed the power button then the CD play button. It came on very loud, startlingly loud.

  Taylor: What the fuck is this? (She froze in one of her spastic moves).

  Narrator: Beethoven’s 9th Symphony.

  Taylor: (Turning it down to a more conversational level) I know who he is! Didn’t he like go deaf or something?

  Narrator: Yes, the symphony you are listening to is, in my opinion, the greatest musical achievement in human history ... and he never heard it, except in his head because he was deaf when he wrote it.

  Taylor: Wow! But I guess people compensate for their handicap the best way they know how. Sometimes that will produce greatness. My grandpa used to tell me about a country singer with the stutter. But when he sang it was the smoothest voice you ever heard.

  Narrator: Yes, that’s what happened, greatness out of adversity.

  Time to text the wife:

  -Narrator: Honey, going to Mississippi tonight. Jackson, Marriott can you get me a room?

  -Wife: Yes, of course. Nothing bad I hope.

  -Narrator: Just gotta help her get back on her feet.

  -Wife: You didn’t say it was a WOMAN.

  -Narrator: Didn’t know at the time.

  -Wife: How OLD is this woman?

  -Narrator: 17

  -Wife: Bless her heart, so young to be homeless. You know that it is a special age for her (Narrator’s note: aren’t they all!) She’s a woman but still a child. Treat her kindly.

  -Narrator: OK

  -Wife: Don’t be so cold towards her like you can be at times. But you are great with kids, you will know what to do.

  -Narrator: Will do (unsent: something)

  -Wife: Why don’t you bring her back home? The girls have some clothes she can wear.

  -Narrator: Perhaps you could take her shopping!

  -Wife: Excellent idea!

  (Narrators Note: Fuck I hate texting! It fails at sarcasm every fucking time!)

  Big mistake too. My wife is one of those warm-hearted souls who wants to adopt every stray. I once told her that I didn’t want any more pets. She agreed, then turned the outside window flower box over the sink into a drive thru window for all the cats in the neighborhood. She kept full bowls of food and water for them at all times. She would allow them into the house through the window, as if they only came through the window allowed her to get off on a legal technicality.

  I would have preferred her middle finger and a ‘fuck you’ or at least an ‘I disagree.’ What I got was bunch of friendly cats all over the house at all hours and a happy wife. Mind you, they were affectionate and well behaved animals; didn’t tear up anything.

  Subsequently, I ceased all proclamations and went back to our normal marriage operating model of anarchro-communism with its collective approach to important decisions. Not really good at being a Stalin, more of a Trotsky type anyway. Yeah, where was I? Right, shopping.

  -Narrator: Was not serious!

  -W
ife: But it is a GR8 idea.

  (pet store alert, the I-want-a-puppy pleading is about to commence)

  -Narrator: Not a good idea.

  -Wife: Why not?

  -Narrator:……………………(panic)……………………..(panic, shit!)…………….

  -Wife: We need to do more stuff for others that will have a lasting impact. It’s our purpose in life.

  -Wife: Hotel Confirmation number: MS 52095 9MM

  Forced Entry

  Part 3

  I drove towards Jackson, Mississippi. The GPS provided the location of all Lowes and Home Depot stores along the way. Due to the obvious collective purpose, all the items I bought can NEVER be purchased at the same time, at the same store, anywhere this side of Mexico.

  Taylor had settled into the kitchen and was fixing her dinner. We spoke occasionally, but mostly she concentrated on the higher priority for the homeless.

  Homeless children? How could this happen? Global Warming? War everlasting? Gitmo? Banksters? Has the world gone completely fucking insane? I just hope that space aliens land and save us from ourselves. Sure hope they are fucking vegetarians.

  I worked through the process in my head. The 9mm was inside of the house. The opportunity to retrieve it would present itself and take less than five seconds from almost anywhere in the living room. I will start close to shorten the time. That short a period can fit into her walking away with her back to me. Even if she sees me and reacts within the last two seconds, then it's too late; she is not Bruce fucking Lee.

  Then would start the biggest test of my lifetime. Although agnostic, tonight I prayed there was no fucking god. Was about to break the big one … smash that commandment like a beer bottle thrown against a wall from a moving car. Never killed anyone before. Last person to ever bring a gun too close to me got beaten … and they weren't even threatening, just high and acting stupid. I don't want to be a numerator in some national average. Denominators are safer.

  Fuck! Be real. I don't even hunt. Last time I killed Bambi (over 20 years ago),I was grossed out. I think the joint of Colombian I smoked on the way out might have accentuated it some … but it only heightens what is already there. I puked while skinning my kill and couldn't finish the job.

  Fuck! I don't even watch gory movies. Who am I kidding? I am not some middle-aged, ganja gangsta, I am just middle aged! Fuck, fuck, fuck! What was I going to lose if I just turned around and went home?

  $20,000 to set up the house + $60,000 almost finished herb is the cost of just walking away forever. Nothing is traceable to me. Everything leads to a person of fiction.

  But the sweet spot to the houses is the cash flow for a short period. Six months of harvest will net 400K per house after expenses, minimum. Yeah, once in operation that is 3.2 mill net per year. I was on month 15 of a 30 month program. This was my final house in Jackson. I already had three operating in new towns, closer to home.

  A house takes four months to setup before the harvests begin. It used to take three months, but I added another month for setting my cover better. There every night for a week or two, waving at neighbours, using every electrical appliance that I can. Air conditioning on constantly. Sleeping with a blanket in the summer. Then gradually trail off and bring up the lights. No I don’t steal electricity; I manage the fuck out of it. Every electrical outlet has a switch on it like in Europe. No background usage, none; can’t afford it.

  Then a promotion at work that requires lots of travel, sounds reasonable. Just another middle-aged, middle manager. Thrown out by the wife after 20 something years of marriage … (fake not remembering the exact number to establish cause).

  There is sometimes a 'friendly' neighbor that shouldn't be. Usually farting in front of them works, explaining that I suffer from Irritable Bowel Syndrome. C'mon this is a very short term relationship so pride should not enter into it. Oops, excuse me, there goes another one (stinky little devil that one) I'm so sorry. Amazing how fast a nosy neighbour disappears after you fart and probably shit your pants in front of them. ‘Poor dear’ looks from all the neighbours by the end of the week. Hot, single moms looking for replacement fathers disappear quickly. At the end of the term, a tearful reconciliation with my wife and then I am gone. Damn, almost forgot about the 10K in cash hidden in the fireplace bricks, insurance money … gotta add that to the total.

  10K is my best guess at the cash price of a pig shutting the fuck up and letting me walk away empty handed and without any new holes. A lone cop stumbling onto my grow house, wrong address for a 2-11 in progress at Starbucks and finding me at home. Cash in pocket, the next day he can do a re-enactment, bust a house full of weed with nobody at home. Prisons are full of numerators.

  She danced to the nearest camera.

  Taylor: Why are some of the lights red and blue and some are just really bright and yellow?

  Narrator: The colored ones are LED lights. They use much less electricity but might not be as good as the yellow ones.

  Taylor: If they are not as good then why do you use them?

  Narrator: Because a house that uses several thousand dollars of electricity every month will attract attention. It already looks like a family of 7 or 8 lives here.

  Taylor: Why don't you have them moving on those tracks like the yellow lights?

  Narrator: Because if the yellow ones are that much better, then I want to make sure that as many square inches as possible get exposed to their light and optimize the exposure. The movers help that.

  Taylor: How?

  Narrator: Think about how your shadow moves and the feeling of the sun on your face during the day if you stay in the same place. That movement of the sun means that more of a bud site gets direct light at a high intensity. And since it is moving I can keep the lights much closer without risk of burning the top buds. A closer light is a more intenselight and cannabis is a light loving plant.

  Taylor: Cool. Bet you got good grades in school.

  Narrator: Yes. That and I was too busy to set up another light moving system for the LEDs.

  Taylor: Where did you learn to do this?

  Narrator: Growing, from my mother's rose gardens. I was her gardener.

  Taylor: Child labor?

  Narrator: Not as much fun as kicking a can at first. Eventually it becomes interesting and then it becomes fun and then I got good at it.

  Taylor: But there is more than just tending plants here.

  Narrator: Setting up houses, I learned that from the Project Management Institute while I was working as a software project manager. It's just an organized way of planning and doing things and I have used it for years. It’s always the details. So is this.

  Taylor: Like what kind of details?

  Narrator: For example, I had to learn some electrical wiring skills because many houses have too many appliances on a single circuit drawing too many amps. Then I come along and overload it with all the lights. Can't keep the lights on, can't grow.

  Taylor: What is that room with all the long boards at different heights?

  Narrator: I was thinking of adding another flowering room but wanted to try a stadium grow because I may be able to produce significantly more that way.

  Taylor: Stadium Grow? What’s that?

  Narrator: Why just cover the floor with plants if you can cover the floor and walls too. That is the basic idea behind it.

  Taylor: You were good at geometry weren't you?

  Narrator: I find it interesting. But I changed my mind and am doing that somewhere else now instead and it is working well. I am shutting this house down and just going to run the pipeline dry now.

  Taylor: So what happens tomorrow? What's the plan, mister project man? You gotta have a plan.

  Narrator: How would you like to go somewhere else? Escape.

  Taylor: Sounds nice to me, as long as you are not a Perv.

  Narrator: All humans are pervs, it’s just the particular type of depravity and the level of achievement
that differs. However, you are not on my menu.

  Taylor: Good. But how do I know I can trust you?

  Narrator: You can't know for sure.

  Taylor: That’s my point. How do I know you ain’t gonna do something bad to me?

  Narrator: I have put money in your pocket, given you food and a place to stay. So far my record is pretty good, isn’t it?

  Taylor: So far. So where are we going?

  Narrator: Not we, just you. I was thinking that you would really like California.

  Taylor: Cool … sunshine and surf.

  Narrator: A good friend lives out there. We both do the same kind of work.

  Taylor: He grows weed too?

  Narrator: Yes. My thoughts were that maybe you could go out there and he could put you to work.

  Taylor: Why can't I work here, with you?

  Narrator: Because I work alone.

  Taylor: You are a loner, aren’t you?

  Narrator: There are only two people who know what I do. Only one of them knows where I am and who I am today … and she can't be forced to testify against me in court. I prefer to keep it that way.

  Taylor: What about your BFF, does he know?

  Narrator: No, he thinks I only grow enough for personal smoke, a couple of plants every few months.

  Taylor: That's not fair that you know about him but he doesn't know about you.

  Narrator: I don't think he would mind too much. When we meet up, it guarantees he will always have better stories.

  Taylor: Do you have trust issues?

  Narrator: Yes.

  The conversation continued on for a few more minutes about the business and she finished her meal and cleaned up. She walked back in front of the camera.

  Taylor: You still there?

  Narrator: Yep, still here.

  Taylor: So I was wondering … is this what you wanted to do with your life, be a ganja grower?

  Narrator: No. It was just putting skills I possess to use so we can escape the plantation.

  Taylor: Plantation? Thought that was a slave farm thing.

  Narrator: It was. These days they have reinvented it and it is called the corporation.

  Taylor: But I thought corporate jobs were supposed to be the best kind.