The Break - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Frustration was quickly giving way to anger. Not only had the Furby’s had avoided all of Ronnie’s traps, but they had stolen an alarming amount of his dope. He would take care of the Furbys later. That was his destiny. But right now he had a more immediate need, he had to score. In order to replenish his supply, he needed to see Schnieder. Ronnie was not looking forward to going to see Schnieder. Schnieder was a freak and not in the good way. But regardless, he always had dope. That was why was driving his 1973 VW bug up 285 towards Bailey at ten a night. Ronnie continued on 285, barely able to follow the curves in the road. In addition to the dim headlights, the windshield was filthy. “Might wanna wash Janice every year or so.” Ronnie thought. “Or at least fill up the blue juice.” When he came to Schaeffer’s crossing, he turned left and drove about three miles to a dirt road. He followed the poorly maintained road to a barely perceptible break in the underbrush, which was actually a dirt driveway. Ronnie turned right between two very large trees. Almost immediately he had to steer hard to the left to avoid a giant rut in the driveway. Ronnie gingerly made his way up the weather damaged driveway to the doublewide trailer that was approximately a half-mile from the dirt road. From all outward appearances, it looked as if the trailer was abandoned. Ronnie knew differently. Schnieder left the trailer exactly once a month to get supplies. The rest of the time, he stayed in the trailer. Ronnie came to a stop, turned off his car and set the parking brake. Then he reached out the window and used the outside door handle to open the door. He let the door swing freely as he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to experience. Finally, he slowly got out of the car. Ronnie knew he was being watched because Schnieder could hear a vehicle coming from the start of the driveway. That meant Schnieder knew Ronnie was there and that meant he was watching from somewhere inside the house. He intently watched every vehicle that came up the driveway. Ronnie walked up the dilapidated steps to a shaky porch. He paused briefly, inhaled deeply and said to himself, “Get it over with.” He reached up and knocked on the door. “Who the fuck is it?” A voice boomed threateningly. “Schnieder, it’s Ronnie ," he replied. "What the fuck do you want?” The voice continued angrily. “I need a full one.” Ronnie replied. “Were you followed?” The voice asked. “No dude, I wasn’t followed.” “Are you fucking sure?” “Yeah, really. I made sure. C’mon dude.” Ronnie lied to appease the voice. “All right. Gimme a minute.” Schnieder responded. This was no surprise to Ronnie. He had been getting his dope from Schnieder since high school. A friend had brought him to the doublewide the first time. It was the last time Ronnie had ever been to the trailer with another person. Schnieder didn’t like people and he would only allow one person at a time. It was always the same routine. Schnieder asked his three questions – “Who the fuck is it?” – “Were you followed?” – and “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”. Once he was satisfied, he would ask for the quantity and then leave to get it. Within five minutes the door would open and an arm would shoot out with the requested size bag. You simply took the bag, paid and left immediately. Ronnie wasn’t even sure if he knew what Schnieder looked like. He had only seen his face a few times. Ronnie shook his head and thought, “This dude is wack!” The thought barely had time to flash through Ronnie’s brain when suddenly the door swung open and Ronnie was staring at the barrel of an M16 assault rifle. “You a fucking fed?” Schnieder asked. Ronnie was shocked. He had never had a gun pointed at him and he didn’t really like it. He had no idea how to react. He took a shaky step backward as he lifted his hands to show submission. “Uh…n-n-no, I’m not a fed, Schnieder.” Ronnie was finally able to say. “You know that. I-I-I been getting dope from you for years, dude. It’s cool.” “Yeah, I just like to check. I know your cool, man.” Schnieder said as he lowered the barrel of the weapon. “I know you’re all right. Didn’t scare ya, did I?” He added as he nervous surveyed his property, like a chipmunk searching for an owl. “Uh…um…nah dude. Didn’t phase me.” Ronnie lied almost convincingly. “Hey man, you wanna come in for a minute?” Schnieder asked. “W-What?” Ronnie asked, unable to cover the shock in his voice. “Yeah, I know.” Schnieder said sheepishly. “I know what people think about me. It’s just that I gotta problem and I was wondering if you could help me out.” Schnieder said as he searched Ronnie’s eyes for a glimmer of friendship. “Serious man, I like you Ronnie. Even when you’re scared, you at least know to cover it up. I’d go in the shit with you.” “Uh…thanks…uh…I guess.” Ronnie said awkwardly. “So, you coming in or what?” A little disappointed that Ronnie had not recognize the magnitude of the compliment Schnieder had just given him. “Sure…yeah…uh… I guess. Yeah, that would be cool.” Ronnie answered suspiciously. Schnieder stepped back from the door to allow Ronnie to pass and he quickly glanced around to ensure no one else was around. Quickly, Schnieder closed the door and flipped the three deadbolts. He turn and made a sweeping gesture to the living room and said, “Have a seat, man.” Ronnie quickly surveyed the trailer. Much to Ronnie’s surprise, the trailer was very tidy and nicely decorated. Ronnie moved to couch and sat down. Schnieder joined him on the couch and quickly picked up a cigar box. He opened the cigar box and extracted a ziplock baggie of marijuana and package of ZigZag rolling papers. Ronnie watched in amazement as Schnieder rolled an absolutely perfect joint in less than thirty seconds. Schnieder lit the joint, took a long drag and passed it to Ronnie. Ronnie took the joint and took a hit. Before he passed it back, Ronnie stared at the joint as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “This joint is amazing.” Ronnie said in admiration. “It looks just like a cigarette. How do you do that?” “I dunno, just do. I guess I’ve rolled a few, maybe.” They smoked the rest of the joint in silence. Finally, Schnieder took one last hit and snubbed it out in the ashtray. As he blew the smoke out, he turned to Ronnie and said, “Look, man. I know you’re cool. I mean, hell, you’re all right. You ain’t working for the feds or anything and I can trust you.” Schnieder said. The effects of the pot got the best of Ronnie. It was quite possibly the best weed he had ever smoked. Before he knew what he was saying, he said, “What’s up with you and the feds, dude?” Ronnie asked. “Look man, those fuckers been trying to kill me since I was eighteen.” Schniedner responded with a crazy look in his eye. “Huh?” Was the only response Ronnie could manage. “The fuckers sent me to ‘Nam and shit.” Schnieder spit out venomously. “You were in Vietnam?” Ronnie asked. “Fuckin’ A.” Schnieder grunted in confirmation. “Whoa, that’s intense.” Ronnie uttered. “What the fuck do you know about it? Were you there, mother fucker? Huh?” Schnieder asked accusingly. Even through the marijuana haze, Ronnie could see that Schnieder was beginning to get a little agitated. “Well, no man. I wasn’t there, but I read about it.” Ronnie said apologetically trying to placate Schnieder. “I saw something about the Tet offensive on the History Channel.” “Tet, Tet, Tet. Fuck Tet. That’s all I ever hear about. You should have been there in ’74 like I was.” Schnieder said proudly. “That was some shit, I tell ya.” “Really, I thought it was pretty much over by then.” Ronnie said ignorantly. With that Ronnie turned his attention to the rolling paper in his hand completely unprepared for the wrath that was about to be unleashed on him. “Over, over? What the fuck you talking ‘bout, mother fucker? Where you fucking there?” Schnieder said in a raised voice. “We were out there in the shit, just like Tet or any other fucking time. But we were there when the fucking ARVN pussies were running and trying to get on Uncle Sam’s planes so they could get to the big PX, mother fucker.” Schneider scooped the roach from the ashtray and fired it up again. Very agitated, he puffed at the joint. ‘Yeah, those ARVN fucks man. We were supposed to be their support. Back’em up, dig.” “Yeah.” Ronnie agreed in an attempt to placate Schnieder. “But when the shit hit, they’d fall back and let us take it.” He inhaled deeply. “Plus, think you could tell the difference between an ARVN soldier and Charlie?” “Uh…I…well…” Ronnie made a feeble attempt to answer. “Well, ya can’t mother fucker.” Schnieder almost screamed. “A gook’s a gook.” Schnieder suddenly stopped and looked around the room. He became aware that he was hovering over Ronnie in a fairly menacing way. Stepping back, he pressed his right palm on his forehead and then slid his hand over the top of his head running his fingers through his hair. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled as he slumped down into his chair. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on knees. “A gook’s a gook.” He repeated in a barely audible tone. Ronnie sat in stunned silence, not really sure what he had just witnessed. He had seen Big Ron flip out a few times, but Big Ron usually had a reason. This came out of nowhere. Ronnie had never seen a look like that in anyone’s eyes before. “So, here’s my problem.” Schnieder said calmly as he lifted his head. “I have been growing for several years, but I don’t have a distribution system.” He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, inhaling deeply as he did. “So, I have a very large inventory, if you know what I mean.” “I think I do.” Ronnie replied with a knowing grin. “So, I been looking for someone cool.” He continued as if nothing happened. “Someone I can trust, to help me move some shit.” He stood up and started to cross the room. He turned and said, “C’mon man, I got something to show ya.” Nervously, Ronnie stood up and followed Schnieder down the darkened hall. Schnieder walked up to a door on the left side of the hallway. He reached down and pulled on his stretchy key chain thingy that was attached to his belt, selected the proper key and inserted into the lock. He turned and looked directly into Ronnie’s eyes and said, “The worm has turned for you, my friend.” He swung the door open. Light erupted from the room. Schnieder quickly disappeared inside. Ronnie stood paralyzed by the intense light. “Schnieder! Fuck, dude. I can’t see shit.” Ronnie whined as he walked forward. Schnieder did not warn Ronnie to step down. As he moved forward he tripped and fell flat on his face. “Fuck Schnieder, dude. Where the fuck are you. What’s going on? What are we doing?” “Hold your fuckin’ horses, man. I’m getting the grow lights.” Schnieder said. Ronnie heard a large circuit breaker switch and suddenly he was able to see. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he could really see. “Damn, did those lights fuck up my eyes or am I really seeing this shit?” He asked himself. He really didn’t know, so he repeated himself out loud this time. “Schnieder, dude, am I really seeing this shit?” He asked tentatively. “Depends on what you see, man.” Schnieder said as he walked back to where Ronnie was standing. “If you talking about my two hundred pot plants, you’re really seeing the shit. Ronnie stood and tried to take in what he was seeing. He slowly turned, mouth open and stared a neat row after neat row of seven-foot tall marijuana plants. The entire half of the double wide was full of pot plants. “Holy shit!” Ronnie said. “See my problem?” Schnieder asked. “Holy shit.” Ronnie repeated in disbelief. “I never seen this much dope in my entire life.” “That’s zactly my problem, man.” Schnieder began. “I don’t get out much, so I have all these plants and I don’t know what to do with them and all the other shit.” “There’s more?” Ronnie said unable to comprehend anything at this point. “Well, yeah sure. I been growing this shit for ten years.” Schnieder said. “I been freeze drying the shit.” He continued. “I got at least a half-ton out back.” “Let me get this right, dude. You have a thousand pounds of dope and two hundred pot plants?” “Yeah, something like that.” Schnieder said nonchalantly. Ronnie was stunned. He had no idea what to say. What can you say about this? It was un-fucking-believable. “Un-fucking-believable.” Ronnie said. Ronnie could not stop looking at the plants. He was totally captivated. “This is so cool.” Ronnie said. “It’s like I died and gone to doper heaven, dude.” “Sure kid.” Schnieder responded less than enthusiastically. “So, think you can help me with my problem?” “Exactly what would you like me to do?” Ronnie asked. “I want you to help me get rid of the shit.” Schnieder said testily. “C’mon man, use you’re fuckin’ head.” “Are you serious?” Ronnie asked tentatively. “I mean, I’m a burner and all, but damn it would take years to smoke … “No, dumbass.” Schnieder said as burst out laughing. “I want you to help me sell it.” “Ohhh…yeah…I mean…makes sense.” Ronnie said a little embarrassed as his stoned brain began working again. “I not sure though, dude.” Ronnie hesitated. “Ya know, like I like to smoke and all, but I’m not sure I’m into dealing.” “You too good for that or what?” “No, no, nothing like that, dude.” Ronnie continued. “Just I have this thing bout jail.” “What?” “You know… I mean … like, I’m not interested in doing time.” “You ain’t gonna get caught, man.” Schnieder tried to convince Ronnie. “Plus whatever you sell we’ll split 50/50. C’mon man, I’m telling you, the man is coming down hard on me right now. He wants the property taxes and I ain’t got no money. This is the only thing that I can do.” “You could get a job.” Ronnie said without thinking. “Get a job, fuck that man. Don’t you get it? I can’t go out there. I go out there and the man is going to kill me. I’m telling he’s after me and he wants me dead.” “Huh?” “Nevermind, man.” Schneider said nervously. “Are you in or what?” “I can sell some, but I don’t really want to be a dealer. I got plans, dude.” “Plans? What kinda plans you got, man?” Schneider hissed as he recovered his surly tone. “Dude, I going to be a rock star!” Ronnie said confidently “A rock star? Are you in a band?” “Yeah, were pretty good. We know over two hundred songs.” “Shit, really…that’s a lot of songs.” Schneider said truly impressed. “Where do you guys play?” “In my old man’s garage.” Answered Ronnie. “No, I mean, where are your gigs?” Schneider asked as he walked toward the door. “Oh, well, we haven’t actually played a gig.” Ronnie replied sheepishly as he turned to follow. “How long you been together?” “Bout eight years.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.