Josie Swenson and Tripp Fallaw arrive in Los Angeles, two days ahead of Tripp’s great golf hustle.
Josie learned shortly that Wade Sanderson was more than just Caddy to the Stars. He sold them weed. Sanderson drove a nice, burgundy SUV, a Ford Explorer for which he apologized and said he was aiming to trade up to a Lincoln Navigator. “You always have been a Ford man,” Tripp said as they embraced.
“Well, my daddy sells ‘em,” Wade said. “Who’s your friend here?”
“Josie Swenson, Wade Sanderson. My best friend and my best gal.”
“You done good, bruh.” He sized her up and was pleased with what he saw. Josie thought he looked “very California,” whatever that was. He kissed her cheek.
They took “the Ten” east after driving a few miles on one of the other Numbers to get to it. From the back seat, the pace was frightening. Hundreds, no, thousands, of cars were whizzing along at eighty miles an hour, just a few lengths apart. Disaster seemed inevitable, and it wasn’t until, inevitably, all the traffic ground to a halt that Tripp and Wade managed to get a joint lit. Josie was surprised at how they just took huge hits and exhaled clouds of sweet-smelling smoke out the windows. People who smoked pot in cars in the South, Josie having been one for the first time just that morning, took precautions by partaking on rural roads, or, at least, on the interstates only when traffic was sparse.
“Yo,” she said. “There’s a cop two lanes over, three or four cars back.”
Wade started laughing.
“It’s cool, Josie. He ain’t gonna stop up this traffic no more just to bust a couple stoners.”
“Make it three,” she said. “Little help.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry,” Tripp said. “How fucked up of me.”
Josie understood the omission when she took a hit.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “You buy this shit in stores out here?”
“Not that particular shit,” Wade said. “I grew it.”
He told her it was easy to get a medical-marijuana card, but it was too high once the state taxes were tacked on. He said he had a card – “everybody does, mon” – but mostly as a precaution. Still backed up in traffic, he pulled out his wallet and showed his card to Tripp and Josie.
Wade reached in his shirt pocket. “Know what this is?”
He smiled. “A vaporizer.”
Josie took it from him. “No shit?” She wasn’t completely sure what a vaporizer was and looked at it closely. She’d heard the name, though, and thought it was something like an e-cigarette.
“No shit,” Wade said. “We’ll hit it when we get to my place.”
Tripp just sat there, silent, all knowing, stoned.
Josie leaned back and tried to regain her bearings. She felt as if staring out from inside a fishbowl. When traffic started moving again, she barely noticed. She just knew she’d come a long way from Lake Murray.
TO BE CONTINUED.