“Jesus, and they came to see you?”
“Last night. Showed up at my fuckin’ door! Michelle and the baby weren’t there, thank God. Just shoved a piece right between my eyes and pushed me into the living room! Wanted to know who I was copping from. I gave them a phony name and address. They grabbed a pound of stash, two ounces of coke, and disappeared.”
“What happens when they find out about the phony address?”
“Michelle and I moved this morning. We’re going to stay with Kevin for awhile.”
“So where are these dudes comin’ from?”
“Man, it’s hard to say what’s happenin’, and what they really want! Mary Ann’s heard of two other people who’ve gone through the same stick-up. I get the feeling that it’s not so much money and drugs they want, but names. Like who’s puttin’ it out.”
“They want the crystal sources?”
“Seems like it.”
Richard sat down, took the joint from David and toked. “It doesn’t make sense. A lot of acid’s already coming through the Oakland Angels. Who would want to know the lab sources besides the Man?”
“Maybe someone who wanted into the action.”
“Yeah, but you’d have to have lots of money to heavy your way in.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” David nodded. “And you’d have to be organized. Maybe syndicated.”
“You mean … Mafioso types?”
The thought floated between them.
“Well, I needed to warn you,” David said, antsy again. “These guys came right out of the night. By the way, I still have those five crystal grams if you want them.”
“I thought they were sold.”
“Were. But I’d just as soon off them to you and be done. I’m going to sit back for a few days and see what’s coming down.”
“When do you want to get together?”
“How about seven this evening? I’ll meet you in the parking lot at the Shattuck Co-op grocery. You can have them for thirty-five hundred each.”
At 6:45 that evening, Richard walked out to the old Mercedes. The transfer would be quick, delivered in a brown paper bag in a place where brown shopping bags were the rule. He opened the door and glanced once more at his wristwatch.
What hit him came from nowhere. He only knew a sudden ferocious pain in his head, then he was slumped on the seat of the car. A slow pulsing throb of light displaced the blackout, everything swimming, out of focus. He fought dizziness as hands pushed and shoved him into the passenger seat. The car started, backed down the driveway, and laid rubber on the street. He tried opening his eyes, became vaguely aware of houses passing. A stop. Broad Marin Avenue, then they were heading downhill toward the bay. Someone grabbed his hair from behind, pulled back his head. Cold metal touched his temple. “Just be cool, man.” The voice was heavy and hoarse.
“What’s … what’s goin’ on?” he asked thickly, his lips and tongue not cooperating.
“Put your hands on the dash. Leave them there,” the slurred voice ordered.
The sour smell of alcohol exuded from the man’s breath and pores. The stink, combined with the searing pain in his head made him nauseous. He reached for the dash, holding tightly.
“Just keep ’em there.” The man let go of his hair, and the gun moved to behind his ear.
Taking a breath, Richard dared a sideways glance at the man driving. Big. Heavy. Dirty. Shoulder length greasy hair parted on the side. A face hidden behind an unkempt mustache and beard. The jacket was heavy, dark leather. Jeans and motorcycle boots. A thick gold bracelet showed around his right wrist. A heavy gold ring gleamed on his left hand. His eyes were half closed, dull. Occasionally, he would nod at the wheel. Downers. Heroin or barbiturates.
Richard’s head pounded furiously. He wanted to reach back to see if his head had been opened, but didn’t dare move. Waves of nausea still came at him. He kept breathing deeply.
“What’s goin’ on?” he finally managed again. “Where we goin’?”
“Out to the water. We’re gonna take a little ride,” the driver slurred. “In a boat.”
“What do you want?” Richard asked, already sure the driver was the leader of the two.
“We wanna talk.”
“I’m listening.”
From behind, he heard the slow wheezing voice of the second man. “We followed your friend last night. Again this morning.”
“I figure you’re the man he’s copping from,” the driver insisted.
“David? N-no …,” Richard stammered.
“Come on, man,” hissed the driver. A reptilian hiss, cold-blooded. Richard shivered. “That fancy house. This car. You’re Mister Big. We’re gonna negotiate.”
“I’m tellin’ you, you’re makin’ a mistake,” Richard started to turn to him. The gunman behind poked hard into the back of his head, sending the throbbing pain through his body.
“Be cool, man. Hands on the dash.” Then he chuckled, deep and crazy, enjoying Richard’s pain.
“I’ll put some music on,” the driver muttered to no one. “Pass me a coupla reds, Jo-Jo.”
For at least an hour, they drove through the San Pablo area into Richmond, back onto the freeway, up Marin Avenue again. The sun was beginning to set between the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge when they finally arrived at the Berkeley Marina.
“Hey, let’s watch the sunset,” Jo-Jo muttered, a half smile in his voice.
“Where’s those chains, man?” the driver asked. “You got that bag?”
Richard suddenly came into focus, in spite of the pain. “I thought we were goin’ to talk.”
David’s accounts of the holdups had made him stupidly lax. Sure. They would rough him up, ask a few questions, and let him go. But this was a different picture. Whoever’d sent them didn’t understand the scene. Hierarchies shifted daily. One day he’d cop from David, another day David would cop from him. And it went on with everyone. Even people with labs would still buy crystal from another source to funnel into their own markets or to tab on their own machines. In this scene, there was no Mr. Big. It was too communal, too secretive. There were too many independents, each dealer working his own system. A code of ethics, yes. There were certain things one did or did not do. But no one was Mr. Big. Alert now, looking for a way out, Richard knew he had precious few minutes—until the sun set, he figured. They’d watch the sun go down.
He figured wrong.
“Lean forward,” the driver ordered Richard.
“Now look …,” Richard began, turning to him.
Without warning the man’s huge fist came up with a powerful blow, knocking him square in the mouth, reeling him against the window of the car. Before Richard could recover, a switchblade pierced the skin of his throat. The man in the back giggled. “Go on,” he shouted gleefully. “Cut him! Cut him!”
“Okay, okay,” Richard said softly to the man with the knife, his hands spread wide, in sight, trying to soothe him with his voice. “Just be cool.”
Even though the man’s hand relaxed, Richard didn’t dare turn his face. He didn’t trust the reactions of that befuddled brain. He was more than a little impressed at the driver’s ability to move so quickly after two reds and a half quart of whiskey. For a long moment the knife shook unsteadily against his throat, then the arm slowly dropped away. “Take off the jacket,” he was ordered.
Richard heard the gun click.
He struggled out of his sleeves. The windows of the car had fogged from the inside. There was no way to tell whether anyone was passing nearby or whether anyone could see what was happening. The knife moved menacingly once again. Blood dripped from his split lip onto his shirt. A hand pushed him forward over the dash and pulled back his arms. His wrists were cuffed tightly with handcuffs.
As the driver opened the door and stumbled out, Richard could just make out the sun, an orange arc on the horizon, sinking quickly.
“Bring the bag,” the driver reminded Jo-Jo.
“Where we goin’?”
Richard asked, a throb piercing his eyes with each unsteady step. His jacket was wrapped around his shoulders, covering the handcuffs. Both men leaned against him for support, lurching occasionally, tripping, while pushing him toward the marina.
The sky held just the barest touch of light as the three men reached the floating dock. Richard desperately played with the possibility of shoving the two unsteady men into the water. Which one first? One had a gun; the other was fast with a knife. He was still groggy, dizzy, unsure.
On an outer dock, a small rowboat was tied. A name was printed in faded white letters on the side. In the dusk, the words were impossible to make out.
“Alright, man,” the driver pointed to the rowboat. “Get in.”
Richard hesitated. The man kicked hard into his back, sending him sprawling into the boat on his face. His cheek hit the center plank seat. He gasped for air, let it out in a cry of pain. In seconds, the two men were in the boat with him, agile suddenly, setting him upright on the bench.
Perhaps someone’s around, Richard thought desperately, beyond reason now.
Blood ran along his jaw line and the swelling of his cheek was a hot, red pain that half closed one eye. His arms were stiff and aching. His hands had gone dead from lack of circulation.
“Help!” he screamed hoarsely. “Help!”
“Jesus, shut him the fuck up!” the driver shouted too loudly.
Jo-Jo pulled a blue bandana from his neck and tied it hard around Richard’s mouth.
“The chains! Where are the chains?”
Jo-Jo opened the black bag he’d carried from the car, emptying it on the dock, and in the dim light of the pier’s single bulb, Richard freaked and stood, struggling. The men were unhampered and strong, easily wrestling him to the bottom of the wildly swaying boat. Jo-Jo bound his legs with leg irons, attached them to the handcuffs, then wrapped a set of chains around his chest.
“Use that last chain to bind him to the boat so he’ll keep still,” the driver hissed, one arm still around Richard’s neck to hold him to the seat.
Jo-Jo untied the boat, picked up the oars and started out into the bay. Richard trembled in fear. He tried struggling again. The boat rocked ominously. He told himself that if they insisted on doing him in, he’d fight hard to turn the boat, certain they wouldn’t make it back to shore in the condition they were in.
“Keep the fuck still, asshole!” The knife was once again at his throat.
Fog began to take away what light remained. Richard shivered uncontrollably from shock and the cold that seeped through his thin shirt. Death was something he’d often faced on LSD, but he was close to the Source in those moments, the sense of self not so acute. Here, in this boat, he was holding on to life, to his body. He tried reminding himself that the body was only temporary—the dwelling place for the eternal spirit—but his fear was so strong that he gagged on it, the smell so acrid that it stung his nostrils.
He tried to catch Jo-Jo’s eyes, to make a human connection, but the eyes were lost, looking out over the bay. For a brief moment, he thought once again about overturning the boat and taking the men with him. But hope refused the idea. If he turned the boat, he was certainly dead. Maybe there was still a way to reach these guys. Desperately, he clung to that sense of hope. It assuaged his fear. Gave him back some control.
With strong clarity, he saw the lives of family and friends and knew what each meant to him. His mother and father had never seemed more important to him than now. If only he could tell his father that he really did love him, that even though there was a war, and his father thought him a traitor for avoiding the draft—surely, they both knew the love between them.
Then, with the same unmistakable clarity, Richard realized he actually had gone to war. And he was a casualty.
Was Merlin right about moving to Humboldt? Is he the real edge of the New Age? Did I blow it?
What will happen to my wife and child if I’m gone? I wanted so much to see John grow up! If I could only hold Marcie once more! Tell her all the things I want her to remember. Settle the loose ends of my life. Then I could die in peace.
But all he could see was the dark weaving shape of Jo-Jo and the sloppy raising and sinking of the oars as the boat headed into the black waters of the bay.
Marcie looked at the clock on the wall and gave up on the idea of going out to dinner with Kathy and Danny that evening. Even if Richard were to walk through the door now, by the time they pulled it together to get to the restaurant, order, and eat, John would need to be in bed. Disappointed, she called Kathy to change their plans, then picked up John and sat on the couch to nurse him.
Maybe David was really late making the delivery, she speculated. He’s always late. Always hanging people up. God, what a power trip!
Or maybe it’s Alex. He might have insisted that Richard bring those five grams over to Marin immediately. He enjoys distracting Richard at dinnertime, keeping him away from his family. Jesus, all the running Richard does, and Alex can’t even get it together to get over here to pick up a jar of crystal!
John’s sucking was slowing down. He was beginning to doze. Milk dripped from his half-open mouth down Marcie’s breast. She shook him a little. The motion set him sucking hard and fast for a moment until he stopped once again. She lifted him, held him close, enjoyed the comfort of his warmth, smelled his skin, and rocked him softly as she carried him upstairs to his crib.
Tired, she went down to the kitchen to begin dinner, wishing Richard would at least call for messages. When the phone rang a few moments later, she smiled.
That must be him now. He’s picking up on my vibe.
“Marcie. It’s me.” David’s voice. “Where the fuck was Richard tonight? He was supposed to meet me at seven. Yeah, I was a little late, but, man, I’m sittin’ on a street corner, you know.”
“I … I don’t know,” she answered, at a loss. “He left here early to meet you. You didn’t connect?”
There was a silence on the other end of the line. “I think I’ll come over,” David finally answered. “See you in a few minutes.”
A vague premonition sent a shudder through her body. She wanted to go out to call Alex to see if Richard was with him. If he wasn’t with Alex, maybe he was with Kevin. Should she wait for David? She could conceivably go out and be back before David got out the door of his house. Quickly, she made the decision to go, picked up her purse and car keys, and was on the verge of gathering John when the doorbell rang. She glanced from the window to the porch.
David. With Kevin!
“Did Richard call in yet?” David asked, making himself comfortable on the couch and taking out a small vial of coke.
“No. What’s up?”
David took a tiny spoon, reached down into the vial, and held the spoon to his nose. “I’m not sure what’s up,” he said, sniffing. “There may be trouble.”
Marcie felt the same shudder she’d had earlier, a foreboding. “What kind of trouble?” Her voice trembled slightly.
“Did your old man tell you I had visitors at my front door last night?”
“You think something might have happened to Richard?”
“No,” Kevin answered, responding to the fear in her voice and choosing his words carefully. “But we thought you should know what’s been going on. Be careful about opening the door. There’s someone out there who wants to know the acid sources, and whoever it is has a strong arm.”
“I’m worried,” David said without thinking. “Richard disappearing is a bad sign.”
“Well … well … he hasn’t really disappeared, has he?” Marcie cried.
“Of course not. Everything’s cool.” Kevin stood up and cast a look at David. “Lock up real good tonight. Have your old man call me as soon as he comes in. In the meanwhile, we’re going to run around and see if we can find him. We’ll call you when we do.”
Marcie’s eyes were wide and heavy with worry. “You’re sure everything’s okay?” she asked, hoping for reassurance.
&n
bsp; “Yeah. Don’t worry.”
Marcie locked the front door behind them, then checked the back door and windows. Inside, a gnawing, nervous ache began to grow. She walked into John’s room to stand next to him. The sound of his short, shallow breathing relaxed the knot in her stomach. The house was quiet. For the first time in her life, she felt alone. Where was the Family? The Tribe? Renting this house in the Berkeley hills had perched her on top of the world. Being here had isolated them from the street. Security, Richard had called it. But this loneliness was a terrible price to pay. What had happened to the idea of LSD pulling everyone closer together?
John gave a deep sigh in his sleep. Marcie pulled the covers up closer around his neck and slipped quietly out the door. It wasn’t fair to burden John with her energy.
Downstairs, she looked toward the phone.
Should I call to find out if Richard’s hurt? Which hospital would they take him to?
Suddenly, the phone rang. Making a grab for it, she breathed a frantic “Hello” into the receiver. Alex’s voice.
“Is Richard home?”
“You haven’t heard from him?”
“I was expecting him hours ago. Look. I’m goin’ to bed. I’ve been up for a few days. When you see him, tell him not to bother coming over this evening. I’ll catch up with him in the morning.”
So. Not at Alex’s. A hospital, maybe?
A new fear began to grow.
Could he have been busted? Who’s he been dealing with lately?
She forced herself to go through his transactions of the last six weeks. What about the new people? Untried and possibly untrustworthy? Could one of them have been an undercover nark working the scene?
God, which one? Which one of our friends is really a nark?
There’s money and product in the house. That’s why he hasn’t called. A phone call would lead the cops home. He’s trying to protect us.
A Nation of Mystics_Book II_The Tribe Page 13
