Forbidden Entry

by Sylvia Nobel

  “Well, aren’t you a Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.”

  My anger flared hotter. “I’d rather be known as that than a low-life drug dealer.”

  “I’m not a drug dealer!” he responded with a snarl. “I was in a bind and needed a little quick cash, that’s all.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You know what your problem is?”

  I flashed him a look of disbelief. “What my problem is?”

  “You’re still living in the Dark Ages. Look, Mom and Dad are old school. I get that, but I thought you’d be more enlightened,” he griped, poking my shoulder painfully with one finger. “Smoking a little dope isn’t the same thing as getting hammered. It’s not harmful and it’s not addictive.”

  More irritated than ever, I shoved his hand away. “I’m hardly in the Dark Ages, little brother. I’ve read enough about this subject to know that we’re not dealing with your grandmother’s pot. The stuff being grown now is way stronger and it can become addictive…”

  “Too bad we can’t all be as smart as you think you are,” he cut in, looking genuinely peeved. “Sorry, but you don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about.”

  The much-anticipated visit was off to a poor start. I forced myself to calm down. “Okay. Truce. So, what’s going to happen to you now?”

  “I dunno. Dad posted my bail and got me a lawyer. I guess I’ll go to court and probably just get probation ’cause it’s my first offense.” His dismissive, unremorseful attitude conveyed that his arrest for dealing drugs was on par with jaywalking. “Me personally? I don’t think smoking a little bud is any worse than sucking on a cigarette or having a couple of brewskis. You’re all making way too big of a deal out of this. All my friends get high.”

  I pressed the remote and unlocked the car. “Maybe you should get some new friends.”

  He stared at me, his expression cynical. “Come on, Kenny, get with it. Are you telling me that you never tried a little weed? Not even once?”

  The way he said it made me feel like I was fifty years older than him instead of five. “Apparently I’m not as cool and hip as you are or you think you are, but no, I never really felt the need to get into the drug scene, cover myself with tattoos, pierce my tongue or wear a nose ring for that matter.”

  He stared at me like I’d just landed from another galaxy and I stared back at him as if he had. “I got news for you, Sis. I’ve seen you throw back a few drinks in your time and I’ll tell you what, booze can have far worse consequences than getting high. I’ve been helping out a buddy who owns a bar and believe me, I’ve seen some pretty nasty shit go down there.”

  “I can’t argue with that. I’m not defending any kind of substance abuse. If someone gets tanked and starts a knife fight, beats their kids or drives drunk and injures or kills someone, I’m with you, but the last I heard it wasn’t against the law to have a glass of wine.” I reached for the door handle.

  “Oooh, check out these wheels,” he crooned with an approving nod at my iridescent, lime green Jeep. “Makes a statement. It’s a given nobody is going to miss seeing you in this color. Cool choice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Four-wheel drive?”

  “Of course. It makes it a lot easier to maneuver the rough back roads I have to travel sometimes.”

  He nodded. “It looks like something an Arizona girl would own.”

  “Thanks. I love her.”

  “Her?” he asked, cracking an impish smile.

  “Yeah, I call her Peppy, because she really is compared to my old Volvo.”

  We slid into the seats and he inhaled deeply. “Mmmmm. New car smell. Sweet!”

  Shifting into reverse, I backed out of the space and could feel his gaze boring into me. I eased down the ramp and turned to meet his questioning eyes. “What?”

  “So, you’re not bullshitting me? You got through college and never got high even once? No weed, no coke, no…”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  Again, the look of disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Unreal.” He stretched and yawned. “You don’t know what you’re missing. There’s some really outstanding product out there now. Know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “It should be legal to smoke everywhere like it is in Colorado, Washington and a bunch of other progressive states. I think the whole country is heading in that direction.”

  His self-righteous smirk increased my irritation further. “Look, Sean, I guess you’re entitled to your opinion, but I have a different view. I mean, look at what’s going on right here, for heaven’s sake. Illegal drug trafficking is no joke. Arizona is a major smuggling corridor. Hell, they just discovered another elaborate tunnel near Nogales the other day and seized drugs with a street value of more than a million dollars.”

  His expression turned smug. “My point exactly. Make all drugs legal, problem solved.” He dusted his hands together. “The government can tax the shit out of it and make a bundle of money. Everybody’s happy.”

  “I doubt it would be that simple.”

  “There are tons of people who think like me. What’s your solution?”

  I shook my head. “I honestly don’t have the answer, but I do know we’ve got serious issues here with the criminal drug cartels operating right across the border and spilling into Arizona complete with kidnappings, murders and ruined families as a result.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, but then said, “Well, on the bright side, I read that the good citizens of Arizona are actually more open-minded than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. The medical marijuana law that passed here.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So, what do you think of it?” Before I could answer he tacked on, “Wait, don’t tell me. I’m guessing you’re against people with cancer and glaucoma, anxiety and chronic pain being able to get a little pot to help make them feel better.”

  He was obviously trying to bait me. “You can drop the snarky attitude. Did I say that? Evidently you didn’t read the articles I’ve written on this subject where I present both sides. They’re online, you know.”

  “Sorry. Missed ‘em. Been kinda busy.”

  “Apparently,” I answered him dryly. “Anyway, my point is, the medical community is miles apart on how effective the program is and the jury is still out on how workable it’s actually going to be. In fact, problems have already developed. Over sixty thousand medical marijuana cards have been issued and they’ve discovered that a fair number of these card holders are getting their prescribed ounces from the dispensaries and then selling it for profit on the street, not to mention that the Feds are raiding dispensaries in other states as we speak because it’s contradictory to the Controlled Substances Act. And on top of that, now small children are getting ahold of it and ending up in the emergency room, so there’s a movement on to have the law repealed.”

  “Well then, those people have their heads up their asses. It’s just a plant for crissake! It should be legal the same as booze and cigarettes, only at least cannabis has proven medical benefits. Lots of other countries realize this and are now growing it for profit.”

  I felt like I was talking to the wall. “Sean, the majority of medical practitioners I quoted in my piece question that assertion and also suggest that marijuana is considered a gateway drug to the more dangerous ones like heroin, cocaine, meth and…”

  He cut me off with a harsh, “That is so totally bogus!”

  His defensive stance roused my suspicions. “Is it?”

  Red-faced, he glared at me for several seconds, then declared earnestly, “Here’s the deal. I don’t think government belongs in the business of regulating drugs or regulating me or you in any way, shape, matter or form.” He folded his arms a
nd added matter-of-factly, “I guess if you want to stick a label on me, you could call me a Libertarian.”

  That didn’t surprise me. He’d always been a free spirit. “Reality check, Sean. Until drugs are legalized, keep in mind that right now, today, it’s still against Federal law in most states to be in possession, use and certainly to be dealing drugs. Got it?”

  “Oh, cut me a freakin’ break, will you? I totally thought you’d be more cool about this.” His petulant expression reminded me of how he’d been as a kid: rebellious, adventurous, determined to always have his own way. A problem child. A difficult child. He’d gotten into minor scrapes as far back as I could remember, but his pranks and bad behavior escalated as he got older. My parents had been heartsick when he’d been expelled for two weeks his junior year in high school for verbally challenging one of his teachers and then being accused of shoplifting along with some of his buddies. He’d often been defiant when it came to following rules and he and my parents repeatedly clashed. I remember several times my mother stating with great drama that someday he’d be the death of her.

  I circled down the ramp and drove around the terminal to the entrance I calculated was the closet to where my parents were waiting. Turning to Sean, I placed a hand on his left arm as he reached for the door handle. “Maybe we can continue this discussion later when we have more alone time, okay?”

  He sighed deeply, staring straight ahead. “Why bother? We’re never going to agree.”

  His churlish behavior made it difficult for me to keep my hair-trigger temper at bay. “Hey, don’t take it out on me just because you screwed up. I’m willing to listen to your viewpoint and conversely, maybe you could open up your stubborn-as-a-donkey ears and take a little advice from your older sister.”

  He turned back to me. “You guys are so mired in your close-minded opinions you don’t give a shit about mine. You know what? If Mom hadn’t gone through my bag and flushed my weed before we left, I’d be feeling nice and mellow now instead of being stressed out from this shit storm coming down on me.”

  “You mean the shit storm you brought on yourself?”

  Ignoring me, he said, “Don’t sweat it, Ken. Everything’s cool. Really. You guys are making way too much out of this.” He pushed the door open, slammed it shut and sauntered towards the terminal.

  As I watched him step through the sliding door, I had to admit to myself just how uncomfortable I felt about the whole situation as it hit home that a close member of my family was not only a pothead, but had been arrested for selling it. I could only imagine how angry and mortified my parents must be. It disturbed me greatly that Sean seemed so self-absorbed and nonchalant about getting busted. From what I remembered from Pennsylvania law, they were pretty hard on drug dealers and Sean could possibly go to jail. He’d better have a really good lawyer. I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes, a slight headache tapping at my temples. My well-laid plans for a perfect day continued to unravel.

  CHAPTER

  3

  In light of the bulky cast on his foot, I decided it would be more comfortable for my dad to sit up front with me, but that meant sequestering my brother and mother together in the back seat. Not a great combination with the family dynamics already strained, but what could I do? After we reshuffled my bags from the party store, got the luggage and crutches crammed into the back of my Jeep and everyone was seated, I noted the time. There were only three hours of daylight remaining at best and I was already running behind my carefully calculated sightseeing schedule. I made an executive decision. The tour of the greater Phoenix area would have to wait if I was going to fulfill my promise to Morton Tuggs, my co-editor and longtime friend of my father. He’d insisted that I bring the family by for a quick visit to the newspaper office and meet the staff before everyone left. It would be the first time the two men would meet in person for almost twenty years and I suspected it would be an emotional reunion, considering their history of working together as photojournalists during several past military conflicts.

  The time had arrived to show off some of Arizona’s breathtaking scenery on the road to Castle Valley. The slanting rays of the late afternoon sun would provide the ideal combination of soft lighting and long shadows necessary to showcase the beauty of the lush Sonoran landscape. As we merged onto the freeway, I pointed west to the impressive cluster of glass-paneled office towers dominating the downtown area and then identified some of the landmark mountain ranges surrounding the Valley of the Sun.

  “That one sort of looks like a kneeling camel,” my brother muttered, pointing towards the ridged coral-colored rock formation rising majestically from the desert floor.

  I flashed him a grin in the rearview mirror. “Good call. That’s Camelback Mountain. Over there to the right of it are the Papago Buttes, and out there in the distance you can see the McDowell Mountains and Pinnacle Peak.”

  “I took an online tour of Phoenix last week, but I gotta say, it’s like night and day being here in person,” Sean remarked with an appreciative nod. “And, hey, I’m lovin’ this weather.”

  I couldn’t agree more. Since moving here, I’d grown accustomed to blue sunny skies and found that if it was overcast for more than a day or two, I’d feel mildly depressed.

  “I don’t think I’m gonna need this any longer.” Sean tossed his jacket behind him and pressed the button to lower his window. “Whoo hooo! It was snowing like hell when we left Pittsburgh this morning and now look at this! Short sleeves in December!”

  Thrilled that he mirrored my sentiments exactly, I darted a hopeful look at my mother to see if she concurred, only to feel a stab of disappointment. I sensed by her distracted, slightly agitated expression that she’d rather not be listening to us chitchat about the weather, but would prefer to finish whatever argument she and Sean had been engaged in on the plane. Even if she was on the losing end of a dispute, she was famous for always getting in the last word and apparently that had not yet happened. Ah yes. Family. Again, I wondered what Tally’s take would be on these opinionated, squabbling people who would soon become part of his family. Lord have mercy.

  “Be happy your introduction to Arizona is in December,” I advised Sean, braking for heavy traffic. “Believe me, trying to get accustomed to living in 100-degree-plus temperatures for months on end was no fun. There were a couple of days last summer when I thought I would actually burst into flames!” My announcement brought a roar of laughter from everyone and my stiff shoulders began to relax a little. I’d spent untold hours planning what I hoped would be an interesting, educational and enjoyable visit with them. But it remained to be seen if my hotheaded family, myself included, would be able to maintain a modicum of civility with one another considering all the unresolved issues.

  It took another forty minutes to leave behind the mixture of new housing developments, apartment buildings, office parks, strip shopping centers and the ever-present traffic congestion. I breathed a sigh of relief as I took the freeway exit. Within a few miles, traffic thinned and the striking panorama of wide-open desert spread out before us. My dad, who’d said little since we’d left the airport, blew out an appreciative whistle. “Man, this is really something,” he murmured, his admiring gaze traveling back and forth, taking in the eye-catching scenery. “Phoenix has sure grown by leaps and bounds since I was here 25 years ago, but this,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “this is still undeveloped. It’s pristine!”

  My chest swelled with pride. “I was hoping you’d love it as much as I do.”

  He was right. The combination of infinite blue sky dotted with clouds, rugged, snow-dusted mountain peaks, along with the sprawling tapestry of cactus and native vegetation painted a stunning desert mosaic worthy of an award-winning photo spread.

  My dad waved his hand back and forth. “Is this all ranchlands out here?”

  “No. Believe it or not, only twelve percent of Arizona is
private land.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m not. What you see out there is a hodgepodge of state trust land, private ranches, BLM land and the rest is national forest. Tally leases thousands of acres from BLM for grazing.”

  “What does BLM stand for again?” Sean asked. “I’m blanking on that.”

  “Bureau of Land Management,” I answered, accelerating past several motor homes.

  My dad nodded. “Interesting. Okay, so I know the tall cactus with the arms is called saguaro, but what are the short ones with all the pads?” he said gesturing out the open window.

  “Prickly pear.” I took great pride in pointing out other native flora and fauna to them as we rose in elevation. It was fun playing tour guide as I identified hedgehog and barrel cactus, along with acres of golden teddy bear cholla fields, brittlebush, ocotillo and mesquite, creosote, ironwood and palo verde trees. “Palo verde means green stick in Spanish,” I informed them, savoring the feel of the fragrant desert wind on my face. “Well, Mom,” I asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror, “what do you think? Isn’t it gorgeous? Can you believe how green everything looks after all the rain we’ve had?”

  She arched a thin blond brow. “Really? You think so?” A delicate shoulder hitch followed. “It looks…I don’t know, sort of brown and dry to me. Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.” Our eyes locked for a second in the mirror. “I prefer rolling hills and leafy green trees. But,” she tacked on hastily, “if you think it looks pretty, that’s all that matters since you’re the one who has to live in this…desolate looking place.”