Reefenue: Cannabis and the Cash

By John Harrington

 

Audacity!

 

How dare I?

 

Who am I to think that I could ever actually write a book?  

 

Well, whatever, I went for it. I've read thousands of fiction novels and have often thought about the challenge.

I've also been told that I should write a book. So here you have it, which begs another question I must ask myself;

why? What is the end-goal? What is the objective I'd like to accomplish as a result of putting

forth all of this tremendous effort and expense?

 

I respond to this quandary through introspection.

 

I look and see some of the awful things that I've been through and I'd like to be able to

contribute toward their ultimate eradication. Most notably, to me, and I'm dreadfully ashamed to say so,

as I'm first-hand experienced with it, is homelessness, which, in retrospect, is nothing compared to

having had the ultimate tragedy in my life of dealing with Alzheimer's Disease.

 

As an answer to these questions that I've asked myself (while creating an exciting and interesting

story with compelling characters and a lesson), I've hoped to bring some attention to their

issues within the pages of this novel. The writing touches upon not only the two that I've mentioned,

but also other socio-economic issues affecting everyday American citizens…every day.

 

It is my sincerest hope that with The Help of God and God Willing, my effort will not be for naught;

that somehow, some way, through whatever (if ever) profit this may yield, a percentage of your purchase

can go toward contributing to these causes.

 

In my wildest dreams, if this is successful, I hope to establish a dual-purpose foundation;

one concentration battling Alzheimer's disease, and the other, the blight of homelessness in America.

 

All this being said, please, forgive me for my audacity...

 

...How dare I write a book?

 

John Harrington

 

 

                                 Happenstance

 

The abduction of a young, brilliant mechanical engineer who happened to be a pot-head,

in his pursuit of the finest reefer in the world, leads to an adventure with potentially dire consequences.

 

An unlikely crew assembles in an effort to thwart a diabolical, sinister, murderous criminal mastermind

in his scheme to take political and financial control over the booming new marijuana legalization.

 

The Triangle Thinkers have other things in mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Harrington
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201177607

John Harrington

John Harrington has worked for more than 25 years as an active photographer in Washington, DC, and around the world, working with both editorial and commercial clients. His successful photography business has seen income rise tenfold since he launched it. He has spoken at courses and meetings of The NPPA's Northern Short Course, The White House News Photographers Association, Smithsonian Institution, Corcoran School of Art and Design, and the American Society of Media Photographers. He is the author of the bestselling first and second editions of Best Business Practices for Photographers, as well as More Best Business Practices for Photographers. Editorially, his credits have included the Associated Press, The New York Times, The Washington Post, Time, Newsweek, US News and World Report, The National Geographic Society, USA Today, People, MTV, and Life. For corporate and public relations clients, John has successfully placed images with the wire services (Associated Press, Reuters, Gannett, Agence France Presse, and UPI) over 300 times. Commercially, John has worked with well over half of the top fortune 50 companies, and even more of the top 500. Ad campaigns for Seimens, Coca Cola, General Motors, Bank of America, and Freddie Mac, to name a few, have been seen worldwide.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

A Little Too Close To Home

Dinner was ready. Sheila was watching the evening’s national newscast, anticipating Peter’s like-clockwork arrival home from Schrafft’s. He was uncharacteristically late. She was terribly upset. There had been some headlines recently about civil unrest throughout the country, and on the news was a story about an underground group having been thwarted in an attempt to kidnap an executive from a major oil company. It was presumed that this was the same group as those responsible for seven other high-profile missing persons, and according to the person featured in the piece, their plan was to take hostages and hold them until their demands were met. Sheila, like most Americans, agreed with the would-be kidnappers’ gripes, just not their tactics.

Sheila watched as what looked like the leader of the group was being led off in handcuffs. He could be heard yelling over his shoulder, You may have us! He was violently agitated. We’re only a fraction of the team! He spat out bleeped profanities and tried to pull himself away from the S.W.A.T. police officers. Seattle! he yelled. San Diego! Austin! Miami! He spat again, this time taking aim at one of the responders on the scene. New York City! L.A.! Watch out! Watch Out Big Pharma! Watch out! We’re tired of it! Gas! Oil! Insurance! Electricity thieves! Watch your backs! You spineless political thieves! You’re the worst! All of you!

The door of the S.W.A.T. van slammed shut. After the madman was gone, his last words resonated deeply for Sheila, and he yelled them so fiercely and directly into the camera that a shiver ran through Sheila’s entire body. My Peter IS NOT one of those! she yelled at the TV. He’s one of the good guys! The roar of boos that spectators directed at law enforcement on the scene muffled the sound of the reporter signing off.

Away from the angry crowd, another reporter was having a conversation with a bystander.

They’re right, the bystander said. How many yachts do these people need? They’re living in the lap of luxury because they’re nothing but blood-suckers. Everyday citizens like you and me, Mr. hard-working reporter, us, everyone here’s paying through the nose! The man had become more upset, the more he spoke.

So you agree? The reporter asked.

Of course I agree. I bet you do too! How’s your electric bill doin’? Pay that or else, right! These guys have it right. Something has to be done. We’re all suffering.

The guy’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. Excuse me, my wife. Nice talking to you.

As he walked off, the network anchor returned to the screen; something about a similar incident happening in D.C.

To upset Sheila even further, just as the station went to commercial, Sheila heard a noise at the back door. What the heck was that? She murmured.

Sheila immediately turned off the kitchen lights and hid from the view from outside. She thought she heard footsteps. Sheila realized that she wasn’t breathing. She peeked around the corner from the hallway and relief came with the sound of Peter’s voice announcing his arrival. She whipped around the corner and ran across the kitchen, practically knocking Peter over with her hug.

What’s up, hun? Are you alright? He could feel Sheila trembling. Calm down! Is everything OK?

Am I alright?! Is everything OK?! Are YOU alright?! Why the back door?! Oh Peter! She almost cried, hugging her husband especially tight. I got so scared! The news on TV! Seven high-profile missing persons! You being late! The noise at the kitchen door! Why are you so late?! What possessed you to use the back door?! Sheila was almost hysterical with panic.

C’mon babe, Peter said as he put down his briefcase and turned on the lights. He wrapped Sheila in his arms again and then put her at arm’s length while looking into her eyes.

I’m fine. You have me worried here. Now calm down. Breathe, honey, breathe. Try to settle down. I’m home now. Peter hugged her some more. That’s enough now. You don’t have to worry about anything. We’re OK. Relax babe. Relax. I’ll put on the kettle then we’ll go sit on the couch. He held her at arm’s length again. I’m right here with you now. Breath, honey, yes, that’s it. Good job. OK now. We’ll sit and have a nice pre-supper cup of tea, just you and me. Nobody’s gonna bother us.

Oh Peter, if anything bad ever happened to you…

Peter interrupted, giving Sheila a gentle shake. Stop, honey, please just stop. Nothing bad’s going to happen to me. We’re safe and sound, we’re right here, here in our own home. There’s nothing to be concerned about. Now, Sheil, let me go hang up my coat and do what I do when I first come home. You set up the tea and then we’ll sit. There’s a lot I have to tell you about tonight.

Peter walked down the hallway to the front door, hung up his overcoat and left his briefcase on its table. He flicked the front porch light on and off; a signal to his new security detail that all was well and he was in for the night.

So, my darling husband, lots to talk about, you said.

Sheila took her usual place beside Peter.

Boy oh boy, where do I begin? OK. I might as well get to the bad stuff right away. Peter took off his shoes with a sigh of relief.

Bad? Sheila replied. How bad can it be?

About four thirty, Patty Boyle comes over the intercom on my phone. Says there’s an urgent call from Cheryl Marcella down at Vine Street Headquarters.

Cheryl the cop who lives across Oak Street from Patty’s?

The one and only. She’s moved up though. Now she’s the top dog down there.

Wow, good for her. I always liked Cheryl.

Me too; Cheryl’s a good girl. Anyway, I talk to her and she tells me that she got a call from the Capitol Police down in D.C. They want undercover and uniformed police coverage on me. She says that their doing it for all Congressman and Senators and that they don’t have the manpower necessary for everyone that they want to be protected.

Protected from what? What I just saw on TV I hope! Sheila told Peter about the national news she’d just watched.

That’s exactly what she meant. After I talked to her, I got another call from a reporter wanting to conduct an interview with me live on TV about what’s happening. I had to excuse myself from that one. I was worried. I had to come home. It was already late enough in the day after the conversation with Cheryl, and I was worried about you being here alone.

Did Cheryl mention anything about spouses?

No, but of course I have you covered. When I walked out the front door of the building, you won’t believe who I saw.

Who’d you see, honey? Was it anybody I know?

Honey, it’s Charlestown old home week. Sitting right outside the door, in an unmarked SUV is none other than Jocko McCabe and Freddie Santos…’member them? We used to play hockey together.

Of course I remember Jocko and Freddie. Freddie played right defense and Jocko was your left wing when you were only young.

Yes, very good memory, hun. Wow, you remember all the way back to my Bantam days. Wow! Anyway, they’ve been assigned the detail. We talked. They brought me home.

You actually took a ride? That’s a first. Bet you missed the walk.

This is new ground, babe. Besides, I was in a hurry to get home and make sure you were safe. And to boot, they said that they had to give me a ride. Cheryl’s orders. I’ll see about that. It was their suggestion that I use the back door; just in case. Micka McDonald too. You remember Micka. I know you could never forget Micka. They told me that they’d just relieved him and some new kid from Dorchester. Those two will be the early detail watching out for me. I asked about you and Freddy said that he wants your schedule for tomorrow. He gave me his B.P.D. business card with his cell number on it for me to call him tonight about your comings and goings. Are you still going to the Pine Street Inn tomorrow?

I haven’t thought about changing anything. I plan on being over at the Harrison Avenue sight first thing.

Are you going to be there all day?

I would think so; at least until after we serve dinner.

That means the same as usual. You’ll probably leave there at about ten. I’ll call Fred right now.

Peter reached around to his back pocket for his wallet to get Freddie’s card. When he did, he gave Sheila a peck on the cheek. He whispered, Stay calm honey. Everything’ll be alright. We’ll get through this. He went to his briefcase for his phone, came back and then dialed Freddie’s number.

I’ll be right back, honey, Sheila said as she gave Peter a smooch. I need to check the dinner.

What is it? Smells great.

It’s one of your favorites. Made a little trip to the North End today and you are gonna love dessert.

Peter was talking on his phone when Sheila returned to the parlor with their tea. She sat and listened.

…Yes. Harrison Ave. OK. Micka? Alright, OK Freddie, hold on a second. Peter turned to face Sheila. Leave here at six thirty? he asked.

That’d be perfect. We’ll be able to beat the traffic and get there early enough.

Fred, Sheila says six thirty. You heard her? Peter listened and then talked to Sheila again while holding his hand over the mouthpiece.

He says not to worry about traffic. They’ll be able to flash the bubble lights. Says it makes people get out of the way. He spoke back into the phone. Fred, we’re all set. We’ll see Micka and the new kid; what’s his name? Peter listened.

Billy Walsh; OK. We’ll see Micka and Billy tomorrow. OK… OK, bye. Peter put the phone on the coffee table.

We really need to think about this one, Sheila said after a brief moment of silence. This can’t go on forever. It’s gonna suck, pardon my French, not driving myself out and about. What happens if there’s an emergency with one of our people and I need my car to help out? What if I, God forbid, got sick and had to come home? We can’t be using this as our own private taxi service, Peter. I don’t like this one bit. It feels like my freedom has been taken away. What happens if … Sheila didn’t continue.

Peter had jumped up with a start. Did you hear that? Sounded like someone was at the front door.

Oh my God honey; I didn’t hear anything.

Don’t move a muscle.

Peter tiptoed over to the bay window. He gingerly moved the curtain with his finger and peeked toward their entry-way. He moved the curtain a little more and bent to get a better look. Sheila could see the light coming from the gas lamp on the sidewalk. Gently letting the curtain go back into position, Peter turned away from the window. He started toward the front door and had his hand ready to turn the doorknob when he thought better of it.

I think I’ll go out the back door and sneak around to the front and see what’s up. Babe, stay right where you are. Is the flashlight still in its charger at the head of the cellar stairs?

Sheila almost whispered; panic in her tone. It was the last I saw it. It should be where it always is; all charged up. Please, please Peter, be careful. She paused. And just in case why don’t you grab that little souvenir baseball bat that’s hanging there beside the flashlight. Just in case. She started to get up but Peter gave her a stern point to the couch, with his other index finger held to his lips. She sat back down. Peter sneaky-like opened the cellar door and grabbed both. He used tiptoes again through the kitchen. Like he was a burglar getting away with the goods, Peter silently turned the back door knob. The storm door latch presented a problem. It always made a loud click when it was pushed to open the door. Peter used both hands to open it as silently as possible. He went down the three steps without using the flashlight. Turning the corner of the house, he didn’t notice anything out of place. He made his way in the dimly lit alley on the side of the house to the front and peeked around the corner. Everything was as it should be. He looked up and down the street. There was a black pick-up truck parked up on Mt. Vernon Street at the top of his street and it caught his attention. He’d never seen it before, and he saw the profile of someone sitting in the passenger seat with the window half open.

Meanwhile, against Peter’s directions, Sheila was peeking outside the same way Peter had when he first became alarmed.

Peter crept to the front steps. Again he looked around. He turned his focus on the house. There was a package up on the landing. He approached it carefully. It was a square cardboard box, wrapped heavily with packing tape. Just as he motioned to pick it up, the black pick-up roared to life and sped off, without squealing tires, but overly aggressive. Peter was startled by that. Simultaneously, the light on the ceiling of the front entry-way went on.

Sheila yanked the heavy door open and held on to the open storm door. No, Peter! She exclaimed. Peter don’t you dare touch it! Sheila was frantic. We don’t know what that could be! She was so wild with fear that she was actually spitting as she loudly whispered through her clenched teeth. Get in here right now! Come! We have to call Cheryl! Come! Come now! Peter, please come in! Let’s call! That friggin’ thing could be a bomb for all we know! Get your ass in here! That could be a bomb!

Peter followed Sheila inside. OK; where’s my phone? He was flustered as he began to rummage through his briefcase at the door. OK, he said in frustration. Where is it!? He slammed the briefcase back onto its table.

Calm down honey. Please calm down. It’s on the coffee table. You left it there after you talked to Freddie. Get it together, Peter. You’re always the calm one. YOU take a breath. Breathe, babe, breathe. Good, that’s it. Good. Now, did you put Cheryl’s number into your contacts?

Peter grabbed the phone. Yes, hold on. He dialed and put the phone on speaker. He was pacing in the parlor.

Now honey, be calm when she answers. Relax.

OK. OK, I’ll relax. Whew! This is….

Cheryl answered. Hello?

Hi, Cheryl. It’s me, Peter. That was fast. You picked up on the second ring. Hope I haven’t disturbed your evening.

I see Peter J. McGillicuddy on my caller ID and I answer.

Thanks for that. We have a little problem over here on Chestnut Street. Thought I should call you right away.

Is Sheila OK? Are you OK?

Yes, we’re fine but here’s the problem and I’m not sure if I should be telling you over the air, but I kind of have to. It’s kind of urgent. Here’s the problem. We were sitting here and I thought I heard someone come to our front stoop. I peeked out and there wasn’t anyone there so I crept around from the back of the house to the front and I found a strange, unexpected package in front of our door. We thought I should call you before we touched it. What do you think we should do?

Don’t you dare touch it. I’m on my way. Three minutes.

About three minutes, you think? Good, we’ll be here.

Peter hung up and plopped onto the couch. Sheila cozied up beside him.

You heard. She’s on her way. They sat in silent shock at what was happening to them. Peter leaned forward and put his socks and shoes back on.

Sheila broke the silence. We probably interrupted Cheryl’s supper, and look, our games are starting. This night isn’t going to be normal I guess, huh?

Not at all and we very well could have spoiled her night at home. But you know Cheryl. She’d never say so if we did. Just in case though honey, is there enough in the oven for three?

There’s plenty. We just won’t have any for leftovers. Think I’ll check it again; maybe turn down the oven to just keep it warm.

The anxious couple rose simultaneously. Peter went to the front door while Sheila headed for the kitchen mumbling, I can’t believe this is happening! This is like the movies for cryin’ out loud! Unconsciously, she opened the oven quietly.

Honey! I think she’s here. A black unmarked cruiser just double parked. I can see it through the peek hole.

Wait! Wait, Peter! Sheila rushed back from the kitchen. Let’s make sure it’s her before we open the doors.

It’s Cheryl. C’mon Peter opened the doors to go out.

Cheryl Marcella didn’t get all the way out of her car. She stood beside the driver’s side opened door with her right foot on the seat, holding a walkie-talkie to her mouth. She gestured her acknowledgment to Peter and Sheila. After her ‘over and out’, she approached the front steps. You were right to call me Peter, she said. Bomb Squad’s on their way.

The Boston Police Department Bomb Squad is coming to our house?! I cannot believe!... This! My Dear Mother of God in Heaven! Please, Peter, please! Please just tell me we’re in a bad dream! Shake me! Please! Wake me from this nightmare!

Sheila was falling apart. Peter wasn’t doing much better, but he managed to maintain his composure in front of Cheryl. Sheila sobbed with her head buried in his shoulder.

Sheila! Cheryl spoke sternly while walking up to the landing. Get it together. Panic won’t do any good. Come on, now. Be thankful. She wrapped an arm around Sheila. No one’s been hurt. You and your Peter are alright. I know these boys that are coming. Pull yourself together. We’ll be in good hands. Now come, both of you. Let’s get away from that thing and go down the sidewalk a little way, just in case.

I’m so glad you’re here, Cheryl. Sheila was still weepy. Peter and I… well… she paused to dab her eyes with the kitchen towel hanging from her apron strap…we never expected anything like this ever happening to us, especially right here on Chestnut Street.

I know, I know. This is awful. Cheryl let go of Sheila and continued talking as she walked back to look closely at the package. You guys aren’t the only ones. These bastards mean business. This same scenario is being played out right now in places all over the country. So far, gladly, no one has been hurt. Just before you called me Peter, we heard about a similar package being taken away from a home in Dallas. It’s being analyzed as we speak. This is the same thing; about the size of a shoebox. I told that to the Commander of the unit and he’ll be prepared to deal with it when they get here. She re-joined Peter and Sheila on the sidewalk.

Looks like the Bomb Squad now, Peter said. Just like friggin’ TV. Look at that rig coming up the street. In real life it makes the street look like a little path, it’s so huge. We’re in for some chaos now honey. Try to buck up. Be my strong girl. Now it was Peter’s arm around Sheila.

Stay right here, Cheryl said. I’ll go meet Commander Quirk. Don’t move.

After the vehicle stopped, an official-looking man came around the front and met Cheryl at the curb. Another vehicle followed, stopping behind the bomb disposal truck. In the blink of an eye, there were officers everywhere. They cordoned off the area using their police barricades. Two of the Bomb Squad officers brought out two German Shepherds that they made sit on either side of them, seemingly waiting for orders. Another pair of the team members was heavily clad in bomb-removal regalia. One of them reached back into the van and took out a dolly with a heavy grey steel box attached to it. Peter and Sheila couldn’t hear what was said over the noise of the diesel engines as the action began. Men carrying their tools of the trade followed the men with the dolly. The dog handlers proceeded directly to the package on the stoop. Cheryl and the official came to Peter and