Blowin’ Smoke

Headline from foxnews.com: “Louisiana Senate candidate smokes marijuana in campaign ad.” He wants pot legalized at the federal level. I figured it’s practically legal already. To my surprise, according to the FBI’s Uniform Crime Report, police made an estimated 350,150 arrests for marijuana-related violations in 2020. I didn’t spot any stats on 2021 (Info from norml.org — National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws). I lean toward legalization but expect unexpected consequences. When Colorado legalized, there was a significant spike in vehicle accidents and fatalities in the first year. I’ve heard nothing further on it. Months ago I read an article about how much water the cultivation of pot requires. It does not stop illegal growers from tapping into the supplies of drought ravaged California.

Nothing else in today’s news cycle grabbed my interest, so here’s an excerpt from one of my novels, Present and Past. Freddie and Tony, lifelong friends in their late 30’s, are about to embark on a cross country drive. This is a few days before, a sort of precursor to the conversations they will share on the road. Freddie speaks first:
“You’re not moving up to the big time, are you?”
“Noooo! I’d never do nothin’ to spoil my record, that wouldn’t get me back on the street in a few hours. And I wanna be my own boss, not under the thumb of some capo.”
“You’ve never been busted? Tell me the truth now. I’ve always heard rumors, but I didn’t think it’d be right to ask. Lynny used to hint at it in her letters.”
“I never been convicted. I only came close once, and that was for somethin’ so stupit you wouldn’t believe it.”
Freddie stared, enthralled.
“I was hangin ‘ with Joey Molinari.”
“Joey Molinari! You’re kidding me.”
“I was twenty-one then, still a little stupit. He was maybe fifteen. I took ‘im to Jays II. He was stealin’ money off the bar. I was laughin’ my ass off. He was like a kid in a candy store. He didn’t know where to turn next.”
“I hate people like that.”
Tony made a face. “He was just a jerky kid. He didn’t know what he was doin’. Anyway, he gets a few drinks in ‘im and right away he wants to show me what a badass he is. We cruise aroun’ in that ol’ Caddie I had ’til we spotted a Mercedes, and he breaks in, lookin’ to steal the radio. Wouldn’t you know it — the cops were stakin’ out the block! They threw cuffs on us and smacked us aroun’ a little. They thought I was underage too. They thought we stole the Caddie. I bought it from my ol’ man. I still can’t believe the giuche made me pay for it. Anyway, Joey tried to run away, but this cop tripped ‘im and raised his club like he was gonna whack ‘im, and Joey calls out: ‘Ma!’ like a little baby.”
“Yeah?” said Freddie, eyes alive, stamping his feet with glee. He wished he’d been there to see the punk cower.
Tony raised his right hand. “I swear to my mother. I almost died laughin’ myself ’til this cop rapped me in the stomach with his nightstick.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothin’. It never went to court. We hadda wait in the Coney Island stationhouse, though, ’til our fathers came.”
“You must’ve been soiling your shorts.”
“Nah. You can’t show the moolinyons you’re scared. They’ll walk all over you. I was more scared of what my ol’ man’d do to me. I blamed everything on Joey. After all, he was the one who broke into the car in the first place. He blamed everything on me.”
“Of course you didn’t encourage him.”
He shrugged. “My ol’ man didn’t believe me, though. He always figured I was up to no good, seein ‘ I didn’t have a job and still had plenty of cash. Now he had proof. What a beatin’ I caught.” He shook a hand for emphasis. “My mother couldn’t do nothin’ about it, either. That’s when things really got bad ‘tween me and my father, as if they weren’t bad enough already.”
“That was the closest you came to a conviction?”
He nodded.
“You must be the luckiest bastard alive.”
“I ain’t lucky, I’m good. You can’t lose if you use your head.”

For the second straight day I spent almost the entire session of the floating book shop in the car. The sunshine came late, a half hour before shade engulfs the corner of East 13th this time of year. My thanks to the sweet library lady volunteers, who donated two books, one in English; and to the elderly woman and her attendant, who bought two hardcovers in Russian. Not much, but better than staying home.

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