As I crested the ridge of three sixty one, the California highway that stretches through the San Bernardino mountains, the morning sun hit me like a warm wave rolling into me at a beach where I planned to soon be. Feeling at peace with the world, the road and my machine I rolled onto the throttle and descended into the gaping canyon in front of me. 75. . . . . . .80. . . . . . .Nothing like a morning ride, I thought to myself. It just doesn’t get much better. . . . looking in my rear view, I remember when I first noticed the police car with the lights already going, but not close enough to hear the siren over the sound of the Harley’s exhaust pipes. I was luck enough to have out of state plates, and a gift for gab so he let me off with a warning. We talked for a bit while he admired the bike and I had a cigar. As I lit it he commented “Those things will kill you son.” Naturally I replied with one of my favorite sayings “They might, and it’ll probably be sooner than later.”
Pulling back onto the road, grateful that my insurance won’t be going up I pull into the fast lane and head towards San Berdoo (San Bernardino). My time schedule is perfect and I should be able to meet Doc and Petey at our favorite bar and grill as planned. While AC/DC blares from the speakers in the fairing I reminisce as I often do on the bike, it’s therapeutic really. Those who don’t ride will never get it I suppose but take it from me, it works. It’s like being in a dream if the ride is long enough; there is a whole nother state of consciousness. I think back to the life I used to lead and my “fall from grace”. I come from a long like of evangelical people; my father was a preacher and his father before him, my uncle as well and so on. It’s a common and aspired to position in the south, which is where I was raised. I had it going my way and was very successful, some would say a natural. . . . . . but the things you value most in life will leave you stranded sometimes. Wives, children, money, career. . . . . just about everything except a good dog will make you question your loyalties. When I stared into the abyss I realized the darkness had more appeal than the light, I came to a fork in the road and I took it. Since then I’ve been riding around on this Harley, leading a life that will undoubtedly kill me. Probably sooner than later. . .
After an excellent steak with my partners in crime the three of us head toward San Dimas. The sun has set and it is a mild desert evening, and the stars are coming out. A few miles short of town we pull into a large storage facility. We park the bikes in one unit, Petey opens another and pulls out in a non descript brown sedan. We actually bought this car at auction and have kept it as plain Jane as possible, on the outside. The drive train is another story, this thing is fast, period. The glass is bulletproof and the tires are “run flats” like they put on the presidential limousines. There is plate steel in the doors and many other mods to numerous to list.
Without a word we all don our shoulder holsters and guns. We each carry a sidearm and ankle holster with a smaller pistol. No extra clips or ammo are needed by any of us. The guns are more of a status symbol, when and if something like this goes sour a gun would be little protection. The car is our ace in the hole. Petey and I get into the car and pull to the security gate and back onto the freeway. Doc is behind us in a yellow rented Ryder van. As the dash lighter pops open I grab it and light another cigar. Petey immediately rolls down his window. “Damn it man do you have to smoke that thing in here!!” He exclaims. “Those things will kill you!” and he’s right, they probably will. Sooner than later.
The drop is the usual scene. Bunch of tough guys, trying to make a buck. . . . . we arrive and park. Pleasantries are exchanged, people in this line of work aren’t overly talkative so we get right down to it. Up in the van and the pallet is uncovered and unwrapped to reveal this evening’s main event. Thirty six kilos of white stuff, sealed in wax seals, and wrapped in plastic and then brown wax paper. “OK pull a random brick and check it.” The leader instructs one of the five men who met us. Pulling from the side and towards the middle of the pallet he sets the brick on top of the rest and checks it. “Very nice!!” he exclaims, and re-wraps the kilo, carefully putting it and the rest back in order. Back outside the three duffle
bags full of large, new and untraceable bills are loaded into the sedan. We shake hands and disappear into the night. Three more drug dealers who have rolled the dice and beat the odds, one more time.
When we reach the hotel room the first order of business is the money which is consolidated into two large coolers. Then we each proceed to take of the disguises we are wearing which vary. They are never the same twice and never too detailed. You’d be surprised how fast I can change my nationality, hairline, or age. The coolers full of money, and cover in ice, hot dogs and beer are loaded in the back of a truck hooked to a small boat full of fishing gear. Petey and Doc look like a couple of guys heading to Arizona for fishing trip, not the grizzled bikers they were a couple of hours ago. As the morning sun rises I hug them both. “ I love you guy’s man, and I’ll be seeing you both probably sooner than later.” Is the last thing I say to them before I get in the sedan and head south to Mexicali.
By the time I arrive at the weekly rental in Mexicali I am tired. But I’ve got miles to go before I sleep, once I’m inside I immediately start a fire and take the plastic guns from the bag and begin to burn them one by one, making sure they melt completely. I stop only long enough to drink some coffee and return to my task. While I am doing it I think about how the night went, pretty well all things considered. One night’s work, which will build schools, bridges, and churches in a country desperate for it.
You see the reason I am no longer a preacher is the same reason that Doc and Petey aren’t either. Your faith will make you do some crazy things, so will terminal cancer. We all met at a retreat designed for faith leaders and when we emerged from the two weeks we spent together we had a plan. We’ve been in “business” for over two years now. We have conned drug lords all over the country and the money has went where it should, back to the oppressed people overseas, to help curb the results of their ill gotten gains here in the USA. We’ve also accomplished a lot of other goals through anonymous donations etc.
All three of us should have died months ago, the agnostic doctors and surgeons cannot explain (or accept) what keeps us upright. I myself am riddled with cancerous tumors and in almost constant pain, but doing what I do takes my mind off of it. Now the ones who are paying close attention will be asking how we “manipulate” the sampling of the fake product. The answer is simple. . . . . . we don’t. They don’t pick that brick, he does. Faith is the cheapest, most valuable thing you’ll ever own my friend. The first couple of times we were all nervous as hell. But you must remember, we have nothing to lose and our bags are packed. All of us are ready to go home when he’s ready for us. . . . . and someday we will. Probably sooner than later.