The Last Run
here�s this guy in Point Richmond, named Lonnie Hicks. He�s supposed to be
some real big shot distributor in the Bay Area. I never met him, but Bill
did. That�s why we were headed south with two keys of the best smoke on the
entire west coast.. A key, for those who don�t know, is a kilo, or
kilogram. It measures out to 2.2 pounds. Bill set up some deal with this
guy. If we played our cards right, it meant regular action. I couldn�t see
how you could be anything but happy with our stuff.
We had the stuff hidden in the spare tire well, behind the back seat of my car. We buried it beneath several pounds of fresh roasted coffee beans. Bill runs the Morning Brew in downtown Mendocino. He roasts his own beans. Best coffee I ever tasted. This stuff, he roasts special. He roasts it until it�s brittle and smells burnt. Nothing can get past that. Once you get used to it, it actually smells good.
We were on the 101, coming into Santa Rosa when everything started. It wasn�t just this one thing that settled everything. It was a series of events. A landscaper's truck plodded down the freeway, a good distance ahead, and going just under the speed limit. I followed him. I tend to have a lead foot, so if I follow someone slow, it helps me keep the speed down. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over for speeding. I�ve laughed at guys who got busted that way.
Anyway, we�re going along, listening to the radio and everything is fine. It was one of those perfect spring days when the breeze blows just right, and every once in a while, you get to the top of a hill and can see forever. All the sudden, I see something come flying off the back of the truck up front, and I do mean, it flew.
"Watch out!" Bill yelled, grabbing the dashboard. It was too late. I could feel the car list and that �thapa-thapa-thapa" sound of a blown tired. I had to fight to maintain control of the car. Luckily, we were in the slow lane, so I was able to slow down and just pull over.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, baffled by our luck. The tire was blown and what sat in the spare tire compartment wouldn�t quite make it as a substitute. We looked at each other without saying anything, then got out at the same time to inspect the damage. The tire was shredded. I looked back to see oncoming cars swerving to avoid the iron-tined rake that was the cause of our predicament. In the other direction, the truck was disappearing obliviously into the horizon.
"Crap." Bill said, shaking his head.
"Yeah."
"What now?"
"I guess I should hitch into town to get a spare. We passed an on-ramp about a mile back." I said. "One of us should stay with the car."
"I can�t think of anything else to do. You didn�t see one of those call boxes, did you?"
"No. Not that I recall"
"OK. Get on it. I�ll stay here and guard the car."
We jacked the car up and removed the tire. I thought of rolling it along, but it was in a hopeless condition. I checked the rim and it seemed fine. All I needed was a tire. It was a beautiful, but incredibly inconvenient day for a walk, so I was on my way. I did my best to stay calm and think positive. I knew that negativity and paranoia would only attract trouble.
I was in luck. I hadn�t seen a call box, but one was there. Not far from the on ramp. After a couple of phone calls, I secured a tow truck to come and get the tire, take it into town for repair and then bring it back. It would be a while, but it was also some hope. I walked back feeling somewhat lighter, but still a bit nervous. Not only did we have to worry about the cops coming to "help," but also, we couldn�t be late.
This business is full of flakes and losers. Punctuality isn�t normal and isn�t usually a reasonable expectation. Lonnie was different. At least, that�s what we heard. He was a professional. He didn�t play games and he didn�t put up with them, either. It would not be a good thing to let him down right out of the gate.
When I got back to the car, Bill was leaning against the car, staring into space. I noticed that his hands were slightly shaking.
"Come on man, it�s not the end of the world." I said.
Bill flicked his cigarette on to the highway. "I don�t need this. You know? I don�t do this stuff often. I have a wife, two kids, a nice business and I live in a place people pay good money to visit just for a weekend. I don�t need this."
Bill was one of the few people in this business who seemed to know what he was doing. He quietly maintained a small couple of patches each year and when he had it dried, cleaned, sorted, weighed and gone, he went back to business as usual. Most people in the business were hustlers looking for action year round. They were idiots who could bring in a quarter million during harvest and in six months, they couldn�t afford their rent. Bill wasn�t like that. He was moderate in everything he did. Moderate and quiet. He was the last person I could imagine getting caught.
The tow truck was there in ten minutes. We decided that Bill should go. That way, if anything happened, he wouldn�t be a part of it. He grabbed the tire, tossed it into the back of the truck and disappeared into the traffic. I got back in the car, put the seat back and closed my eyes. I figured a short nap was better than worrying.
We were lucky. Bill came back with the repaired tire in less than an hour. As we pulled back on the freeway, a highway patrol car passed. We looked at each other knowingly. We spent the ride to the Richmond-San Rafael bridge in nervous, contemplative silence.
"That scared me." Bill said, out of the blue, as we crossed the smooth, still waters of the Bay. He shook me out of a reverie. I was staring at the crystal clear skyline of San Francisco, a sight that always moves me. This day though, so clear and clean, made the skyline more breathtaking than usual. It was usually shrouded in a dirty haze.
I didn�t know how to respond at first. It�s unusual for someone to admit that. Our business is about close calls and I have had closer ones than that. Still, I have to admit, I agreed. Unlike Bill, however, there was something about that fear I found compelling. The rush of the moment. That sense of being on the edge, never being sure which way things will go and having to always think on my feet. I felt so alive then.
"I keep thinking about the kids." Bill continued. "I�ve stashed a lot of money, enough for them to get by on for a long time, but money�s not everything. They need a dad."
I could only nod.
"It�s not like I never thought about jail. I have, but it�s like thinking about death. It�s too abstract to really take seriously. What would it be like for Joey, having to explain to his friends at school that his dad�s in prison? What kind of example is that?"
"Not the best one." I said lamely.
"I try to set a good example. I don�t swear around the kids. When Lana was pregnant with Lisa, I quit smoking. I know, I took it up again, but I never smoke around the kids. We don�t smoke grass around the kids, hell, we don�t even drink around them.
"I get up at 4:30 every morning to go to work. I don�t get home most nights until 7:00. I make time to spend with the kids, to help them with their homework and to play with them. I spend time with my wife and do whatever�s needed around the house. I do my best, man. I want to be a good father and husband.
"So, why do I risk it all with this?"
"Money?" I offer, not certain he really wanted an answer.
"That�s it. Money." He said quietly, as if to himself. "You know, I never really looked at it like this before, but I am willing to give up everything for a few extra bucks."
It was a quieting thought. Bill drifted back into depressing contemplation. I drove on, trying not to contemplate. He�s wrong, I thought. It�s not just money. It�s the game. It�s the rush. It�s playing cops and robbers and outsmarting the cops. And yes, it�s staring at a suitcase full of hundreds. There is no feeling like it.
It�s all very big, I think. Bigger than life. I realize that that�s what it�s about. I feel bigger than life. Like I am sitting on top of some great mountain, staring down at everyone else who doesn�t have the nerve to climb up to where I am. We are like the last real wild-west outlaws. The thought thrills me and fills me with shame. I feel ashamed at the childish simplicity of it. I turn on the radio to drown out the thoughts. I look back at the San Francisco skyline, but it�s lost its magic. I am being tossed into uncharted waters and resent Bill for it.
"Well, here we are," I say. "Point Richmond. Now what, Chief?"
"Get off at Pacific and follow it to Petaluma street. Then go right to Charles lane."
I do as he says. It is the middle of the week and traffic is light. We stopped briefly at a couple of stop lights, but manage to get through town with unusual ease.
"Feeling better?" I ask at a stop light.
"Yeah. I�ve decided that this is the last time."
"I�ve heard that before."
"No. I am serious. You�ve never heard me say it. I don�t tend to say what I don�t mean."
He was right. Bill was a man of few words. Unlike so many others in this business, he very rarely said something he didn�t mean.
I turned on Petaluma street. Charles lane was three blocks up. Before we got to the intersection, Bill got very nervous. His face turned red and his hands started to shake. "Go on." He said.
"What?"
"Just do it."
"Whatever." I said, disgusted with his sudden timidity.
I drove to the next major intersection, Richmond boulevard and headed back toward the freeway.
"Would you mind telling me why, after driving 3 hours, we are turning back without having accomplished anything?" I demanded irritably.
"Feds."
"I need a verb."
"Saw. That�s a verb, you idiot. I saw feds."
"You�re paranoid."
"Maybe," but I�m not stupid."
Angrily, I looked in my rearview mirror and swung the car around, heading back the way we came.
"What the. . ." Bill started, but the angry howl of a siren cut short his words. I looked behind me and noticed a cop I didn�t see a second ago. I swear, I looked. I pulled over, taking a deep breath to pull myself together. Jim looked like he was going to have a stroke.
"Calm down, man. They�re going to take one look at you and know something�s up." I said angrily.
There was no need for the warning. The cop raced past us and disappeared in the traffic. Once more, I turned the car around and headed home. Bill was right. It was his last time. Mine too. On the drive home, Bills words and the rest of the day sunk in and changed me. That evening we watched a raid in Point Richmond, on the news. Bill recognized Lonnie.
