No Direction Home

By Sagonige Uwohili

No Direction Home is a dramatic action adventure inspired by a true story. An all-American Indian boy leaves the backwoods of the Smokey Mountains and moves with his family to Southern California.

Maturing into a gifted athlete and a musician, he runs afoul of his traditional fathers values. Joining the marine corps, he goes to Vietnam, thriving in an environment of killing fields. Severely wounded, he returns to SoCal after two combat tours. The marine corps reassigns him as a weapons instructor in Quantico, Virginia.

The CIA recruits him for a clandestine operation in Mexico. He assassinates some bad guys then remains undercover to gather data on the escalating drug war. Organizing flights of tons of marijuana and documenting the web of conspiracies, he amasses a fortune but is eventually betrayed by his CIA contacts. Moving through Columbia, Mexico, and the western United States, he eludes capture and survives against fearsome odds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546248415

Book preview

NO DIRECTION

HOME

SAGONIGE UWOHILI

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

Copyright © 2018 Sagonige Uwohili. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/10/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4842-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4840-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4841-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018910791

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

SUMMER, 1977 – NORTH CAROLINA

SUMMER, 1977 – HEADING WEST

DECEMBER, 1976 − MEXICO CITY

PHOENIX, ARIZONA

TOTOLAPAN, MEXICO

PHOENIX

SUMMER, 1977 – HEADING WEST

JANUARY, 1949 – NORTH CAROLINA

SPRING, 1955 – HEADING WEST

SUMMER, 1977 – HEADING WEST

1967 – VIETNAM

JUNE 1977 – HEADING WEST

JUNE, 1977 – HEADING WEST, MOVING EAST

JUNE, 1977 − NORTH CAROLINA TO FLORIDA

WEST TO TUCSON

LAKELAND, FLORIDA

JANUARY, 1977 − RENO - LAKE TAHOE

TO MEXICO CITY

RENO – LAKE TAHOE

OAXACA, MEXICO

JUNE, 1977 – LAKELAND, FLORIDA

1968 – LA PUENTE, CALIFORNIA

1968 - HEADING EAST

BLACK MESA, AZ - NAVAJO COUNTRY

FLAGSTAFF, AZ, AND EAST ON I-40

EAST TO OKLAHOMA CITY; SOUTH TO DENTON, TEXAS

EL PASO, TEXAS TO JUAREZ, MEXICO

SOUTH TO DURANGO, MEXICO

CULIACÁN, SINALOA

1977 - LAKELAND, FLORIDA

1977 - COLOMBIA, S.A.

SEPTEMBER, 1977 - SANTA MARTA, COLOMBIA

BACK IN CALIFORNIA

1979 - GUADALAJARA, MEXICO

CALIFORNIA AND COLORADO

COLORADO TO CALIFORNIA

PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO

RETURN TO CALIFORNIA; ON TO COLORADO

TO COLORADO SPRINGS

1967 - CAM LO, SOUTH VIETNAM

TWO YEARS ON THE ROAD

TEXAS

CHIAPAS, MEXICO

TEXAS

THREE YEARS ON THE ROAD

1984 - HEADING WEST

1993 – RACHEL

If I have dreamed myself into this existence, then my quest would surely be to experience everything in my creation until Spirit can be set free.

For indeed I have sailed on every ocean and set foot on every shore amidst the thunder of roaring cannons, knee-deep in blood and gore.

I have heard the tender cries of newborns arriving through earthly doors and I have buried my mothers and fathers beneath her crusty floors. I fathered all the children and fought in every war. I’ve been praised and honored by millions and mocked and shamed by millions more.

Poised with equal vision, I can see myself in everyone, in every single raindrop and every cosmic ray sent forth by Mother Sun.

So now I can share this story because I have played every single part—Coyote, Rabbit, Bear and even the Great White Shark.

Sagonige Uwohili

Blue Eagle

Along life’s highways

There are many roads,

Many directions for us to go.

Thousands of choices and

Millions who’ll choose

Between the wise ones

And blind ones

Of idiots and fools.

Old Eagle 1921-2003

This novel was inspired by a true story

SUMMER, 1977 – NORTH CAROLINA

Shining his penlight into the darkness underneath Old Eagle’s cabin, Rocky Crooked Toes started his low crawl as quiet as the Indian he was. There was a soft light glowing from an old oil lamp burning in the center of Old Eagle’s cabin. It was hard to imagine that anyone was still up at that hour, but Old Eagle was well known for his midnight rendezvous with Grandmother Moon. Lifting sage and cedar smoke in his prayers was now taking on a more regimented routine. According to Dolly, ever since he discovered a new medicine stored under their cabin, he had been howling at the moon on a regular basis. Most of the time, however, all he ever seemed to do was grunt approval after devouring his meals. Dolly had been pleased to hear from her sons when they called to inform her of their impending arrival from Arizona. She loved to cook for them, and listen to their stories about all the places they had been.

Red Bear and his brother had chosen to come up to their parent’s cabin at the early morning hour of two a.m. They wanted to get the sea bags that were stashed underneath before their parents woke up. Rocky Crooked Toes was now well up under his father’s cabin. Red Bear, on his hands and knees, waited at the little trap door. He could see Rocky’s penlight making a 360-degree sweep of the crawl space where Rocky said he had stashed the bags.

What’s up, Bro, you see ‘em? whispered Red Bear. The light went out and Crooked Toes crawled back towards the trap door. Rolling over on his back, Rocky looked up into his brother’s eyes. Beneath a million stars, he proclaimed, They ain’t there!

What the fuck you mean, they ain’t there?

Just what I said. Help me out of here. Red Bear took Rocky’s outstretched hand and pulled him the rest of the way out through the trap door.

Man, there’s only one person who would go up under there, and we both know who that is. Just then a whirling whiff of smoke circled their heads.

You smell that? whispered Red Bear.

Yeah, and it’s coming from inside, proclaimed Rocky. Walking around to the front door of Old Eagle’s cabin, the aroma of sweet smelling marijuana permeated their senses.

I don’t believe it, said Red Bear, peeping into the window. There sat Old Eagle in the middle of the floor, surrounded with stacks of money, a smoking pipe in his hand, and newspapers laid out in front of him, with bundles of sweet red buds everywhere.

Come on in, boys, I’ve been expecting you. I guess you know you can’t keep anything from your old father.

Entering the cabin, the boys stared at their father, sitting half naked under his prayer blanket, red eyed, a big shit-eating grin on his face. I’m rich, boys, and ya’ll have made it right on time. Now, that’s what I call Indian time, ya’ll know what I mean? As you boys can certainly see, I have been blessed with more money than I’ve ever seen in one place, and this smoke is the best medicine I have ever smoked. Here, he said, holding out the pipe to them. Red Bear took it and drew a few puffs, then passed it to Rocky.

Where did you get all these blessings from? asked Red Bear, as Rocky blew out a thick cloud of smoke.

Funny you should ask such a question, since both of you were just up under my house looking for some yourselves. Come on, boys, help your old Father count all his money. Every time I start counting I fall asleep, there’s so much of it.

"How can you sit there and say this is your money, Father?" asked Red Bear.

Well, if it is not my money, then whose money might it be? asked Old Eagle.

It’s mine! declared Red Bear.

Wait just a minute here, whose house is this? asked Old Eagle. Just answer me that question.

Why yours, Father.

That’s right. This is my house! Now tell me, my son, why are you now so concerned about what has clearly been established as belonging to me?

I’ll tell you why I’m so concerned, Father. I have just driven 44 straight hours from Arizona for the purpose of retrieving those bags that you have now claimed as yours. What’s more, I can prove they belong to me!

How can you prove such a thing, my son, when they were under my house?

Because Rocky put them there, right, Rocky?

Yeah Pops, I put them there about six months ago. Red Bear told me to hide them in the safest place for a rainy day. And Pops, it’s raining real hard right now. We won’t be able to send our Thunder Birds south until October. So we drove all the way, nonstop, to pick them up. That’s the reason you heard us under your house.

Old Eagle sat very quietly, staring at the bags. For a minute it looked as if he would cry. Then he smiled and said, Do you have a house, Rocky?

Of course I do, Father, you know this.

Then why did you not stash these bags under your house? asked Old Eagle.

To be perfectly honest with you, Papa, Red Bear told me to put them under your house because he said they would be safer there; no one in their right mind would even consider coming on Old Eagle’s land, for he is a man of great vision and knows things other men can only believe or disbelieve.

Well-spoken, Little Brother, said Red Bear, grinning. Now let us fill Father’s pipe with his First Son’s medicine and speak no more about this foolishness. Besides, Father, you can keep as much of the herbs and money as you want. After all, you have protected it for me.

Now while it was true that their father was an old man who wasn’t born yesterday, nor did he just fall off a watermelon truck, he was proud of his sons, even if they were known as ‘outlaws’. They were still honest men, and no one could ever accuse Old Eagle of being dishonest. And so it was after all as Red Bear said it was. They filled the clay pipe and smoked it until the sun blessed the skies with her appearance.

* * *

Dolly was so happy that morning finding her two sons there. She made fry bread and cooked up a mess of trout and eggs and grits, and set out fresh homemade chili sauce. Later the boys helped weed Old Eagle’s garden, admiring his giant tomatoes and colorful Indian corn. Dolly put together a basket of home-cooked food for their journey back to Arizona.

Rocky took both the money bags and hid them back under Old Eagle’s cabin. He was sure his Father noticed what he had done and knew it would make him proud that he had done so. Red Bear had no use for the money. His pockets were full and there were several bags in the root cellar at his house in Phoenix. They had driven two thousand miles for one thing, and now they had it.

Father, thank you for the understanding you have shown us. Mother, thank you for your unconditional love. They are the light that guides us on our path, Red Bear told them as they said their farewells.

Father, before we go, give us a word of wisdom to contemplate as we journey back to the land of the setting sun.

Old Eagle beamed with pride, for he loved to be considered the source of his sons’ wisdom. Pointing to the earth, he said, The snake will always crawl on his belly, as he looks to the heavens. And the eagle will always fly high through the sky. Then with his most deadpan poker face he said, The white man will always speak with forked tongue, telling many, many lies.

Rocky chuckled and Red Bear smiled in his heart as Old Eagle continued. The black man, he no remember where his grandfather really come from, for now he acts just like the white man, but, more often than not, on the wrong end of his gun.

With his most radiant smile spreading across his smooth dark face, he proclaimed, The Indians are waiting patiently for the Great Spirit to unfold his plan, when the white man and the black man kill each other. Then, looking his sons dead in their eyes, he went on, just make sure you boys save some of that money to help buy us back our country from Japan.

The boys hugged Dolly, and Old Eagle said "do na da goo huh ee", which means ‘we shall meet again’, for they never said ‘Goodbye’. This was their way; the circle would never be broken, not even in death.

* * *

Back on the road again, the two crossed Galamore Bridge and stopped at their cousin Big Marvin’s house. They gave him a pound of the weed, smoked a joint with him and hauled ass.

They headed up through Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, then caught I-40 West, heading toward Knoxville. Red Bear pushed cruise control, slid in an Eagle’s cassette and popped open a Tecate as Rocky rolled about 20 joints. They were racing the big Suburban toward Arizona. Susan, Red Bear’s second wife, was holding down the fort in Phoenix. It was a spacious four bedroom, 4,000-square-foot house just east of downtown surrounded by tall palms, orange and grapefruit trees. With four acres, there were stables and a huge riding arena. It was a very comfortable place, complete with a root cellar. They kept four horses, two dogs, and three cats, for they both loved animals.

Susan was a beautiful young woman of Cherokee, Irish, and German descent. She loved her Red Bear even more than she did her horses and dogs. She was strong and self-assured, loving life and full of sexual energies. She was able to quell that restless pulse in Red Bear that tempted him to take more and more chances with his life. He had met and married her in 1973 after returning from Durango, Mexico, where he had served three years in prison. Susan had the power to absorb the darkness locked into the memory banks of Red Bear’s mind. That darkness was clearly driving him to the very brink of self-destruction.

The memories leading to imprisonment were still vivid and recurring. They seemed to never leave his mind, whirling like dervishes, spinning images into sensations of pain and loss. But he was accustomed to dealing with such things. Survivor’s guilt had a clamp on his heart so tight it’s a wonder his heart beat at all. Every time he smoked a pipe filled with wildflowers, memories flushed over him like a tidal wave engulfing an island, floating in a mist as thick as that which filled the delta, while enemy voices mocked, Here I am, Joe.

Red Bear suffered extreme Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, though he didn’t know its name. In fact, he accepted each and every sensation associated with each memory as being a part of his own territory, his own cross to bear. After all, today he was still here, and ‘Joe’ was not. Once when Dolly was cleaning his room after his second tour of duty in Vietnam she found a poem he had written while in the ward at Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego, California.

As thunder still pounds in my chest,

Lightning forever flashes through my mind.

I can’t believe life still dances through this clay vessel

As each day that passes reminds me of all my yesterdays.

Yet the fury of tomorrow hides in the fallen shadows of my dreams,

As the faint whisper of a fleeting moment proclaims

Dreams are for those who sleep.

But if I were to awaken, where and whom might I be?

Is this not the end?

Death has not set me free?

Shame and dishonor wait for me, surely I must die.

(Balboa Naval Hospital, 1967)

SUMMER, 1977 – HEADING WEST

The shipments of weed coming across the border were mainly old, dried, pressed dirt weed, not something the boys had much interest in. On December 25, 1976, they brought in a DC-3 loaded to the hilt with 6300 pounds of some of the best marijuana ever brought out of Mexico in volume. It would become known as ‘The Christmas Weed’. The forty pounds they had just talked their father out of was the very last of that load.

Damn it, man, this shit is bad to the bone, eh Bro? said Rocky as smoke seemed to be coming out of every hole in his head. It was darn good thinking on your part, Bro, to have me stash this shit, and worth every mile we drove to get it. And it was great to see the folks, wasn’t it?

Yeah, it was, Rocky. The old man sure played us just like a violin, didn’t he?

Rocky chuckled. He always does, don’t he?

You know Rocky, when we lost the Howard 500 in Tahoe, I knew we were going to need something to hold us over. And leaving it under the Old Man’s house was the best place on earth to hide it.

How much money you lose on that banana boat anyway?

"Well, let me think. One thing’s for sure, I lost a lot more than money on that deal, and almost lost my life to boot, not to mention the respect I once had for Dino. Moneywise, I lost eighty five grand on that monster, and it’s a good thing it crashed before getting airborne, or we would have had a real messy problem with a lot of explaining to do.

"I had left forty grand in Oaxaca that morning it crashed in Tahoe. If that dumb bitch Serena had left the sixty grand behind, we would have had another shot at bringing the rest of that harvest out of there. I blame myself for not forcing her to do so. Dino, or more likely his crazy wife Marty, talked her into trying to bring it back. I think they offered her seven grand. I would have given her ten grand to leave it. They ended up losing three times that much, with legal fees and taking care of Serena to keep her mouth shut. We’d just gotten off the flight from Mexico City, and I knew from the look on Manuel’s face something was terribly wrong. We called and all they said was ‘The truck crashed’. That night I fucked her brains out and drilled the new rules into her head. I told her, ‘once we get to Mexico City, Serena, you don’t know me anymore, you understand?’"

"‘Yes, Mr. Red Bear,’ she said. ‘I understand, but you need to understand that everybody doesn’t have the kind of money you and Mr. Big Shot have. Everybody takes risks, and I’m going to do my part.’"

The rest is history, continued Red Bear. When we came through Customs at LAX I glanced back, and she was about ten people behind me. All the color had drained from her face. She looked like a sheep headed to the slaughterhouse. I knew she was going down. I waited outside. After everyone else on that flight cleared customs, I asked a luggage porter if he had seen a big-tit woman with long brown hair inside. He said, ‘Lord, yes, you waitin’ on the right one, Son, she got a bale of money this high and she crying too.’ I guess you know what I did next.

Yeah, you hauled ass, Rocky said, laughing.

"I sure did, and I didn’t stop until I was on the other side of that airport, and let me tell you, that was one hell of a run. This all went down on Saturday afternoon. I called Dino in Arizona and let him know how he had just fucked up. ‘Get her out, Bro!’ he said, sounding panicky. ‘There’s no telling what she might say’.

"So I made a call to an attorney I knew in East L.A. and he told me not to worry. There was a Federal Judge he was close to, and he promised me he’d have her a bond within 24 hours. He was good to his word. When we went to get her out of the Federal holding facility there were Feds everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that moved. I stayed in the back seat of Jose’s Caddy while he and the bondsman walked over to the entrance and they released her into his custody. Brother George picked us up in East L.A. and we drove to Chino, where I’d left my truck. Serena and I drove back to Phoenix. Dino assured me that he would take care of everything, and as far as I know, he still is.

I haven’t seen her since she and that crazy motherfucker Frank took off with the load we helped them get from Caborca. Teresa told me Serena bought a mansion in a place called White Springs in Florida. It looked like she was just going to get probation. If we ever get down that way, I’ll look her up. That big titty girl has some good pussy, Rocky.

I’ll bet she does, all them girls are fine to the bone, agreed Rocky.

Roll us one, Bro, said Red Bear. Rocky pulled a rolled one out of his shirt pocket and fired it up. They popped open a couple of Tecates, slid in an Eagle’s tape and were running down the road with what was left of that last Christmas load.

* * *

On those long hard rides across the country, there was plenty of time to reflect and sort things out in your mind. These were the times Red Bear enjoyed the most, because he had a lot on his mind. He hid it well, though the flashbacks were ever recurring, often putting him right back in those jungles he thought he’d left so far behind. Those were the most consuming of all his memories, and he was at a point where he actually invited them to manifest.

DECEMBER, 1976 − MEXICO CITY

They were now on their last leg of preparation for Operation Christmas Weed. Christmas Day, 1976 would be the biggest load the boys ever moved at one time.

Ted and Billy, their pilots, said they could get five tons on board with little problem. Red Bear had said that 6,500 pounds was all they’d get on the plane, if they were lucky. He had spent the last two seasons in Oaxaca working in the fields, trying to develop a higher quality of product through new packaging techniques and cutting down the volume of seeds. They were determined to make their product appealing to the connoisseur markets.

Up until now, most all the marijuana coming from Mexico had been pressed into kilo bricks. With the Hawaiian, Thai, and California markets flourishing on the West Coast, the big money was being invested in those markets. There was now a highly competitive market growing Hawaiian and Thai sticks. The herb grown in Oaxaca was of a very good quality, long, sweet, lime green buds, laced with dark red hairs running through them. The special fragrance that distinguished it as a connoisseur’s product was also a major characteristic of this year’s harvest. It was a shame that until now this product had been treated as a commercially-valued product brutally pressed into bricks, destroying the cosmetic beauty of those long, sweet buds, some up to three and four feet in length.

Red Bear’s partner, Dino, knew all about the West Coast connoisseur’s markets and was determined to be a major player in it. He and Red Bear had long discussions on just what was needed to bring their product up to that level so they too could cash in on the big bucks.

* * *

So, Mr. Red Bear, Dino tells us you’ve come up with a better way to package the weed, Billy said, as he drank down a powerful gulp of whiskey.

Red Bear was staring out the window of the plane. He turned slowly and faced the big, red face of Billy Watson, who was sitting in the middle seat between Ted, also known as T-Bone, and himself. After taking a few seconds to study Billy’s disposition, he said, I guess if that is what Dino told you, then it must be true.

Yeah, well, Billy continued, I understand that this new packaging bullshit will cut down the amount of weight we’ll be able to get on board.

Again, your understanding is commensurate to your perception, but do I detect doubt in your assessment of the overall good we have been working so hard to achieve? asked Red Bear sarcastically

"I get the feeling you don’t like me much, Mr. Red Bear. What is it, Red Man, no trust pale face?

"Would you trust me if every time you turned around I was so fucked up that my attitude was that of an asshole?"

Oh, so I’m an asshole, is it? said the drunken paleface.

Look here, Billy, this ain’t got nothing to do with your egotistical misgivings. The only damn thing that interests me is your ability as a pilot. After all, two hundred grand is an awful lot of money, especially since you’ve only been pulling ten grand a trip since you’ve been in the business. Let’s cut to the chase. What’s your problem, booze or greed?

He’s right, offered Ted, who up to now had been peacefully reading a book. Lay your hand on the table, Son. Ain’t nobody playing games here.

The only thing I’m worried about, said Billy, is that if we don’t get that five tons on the plane, we’re not going to get paid.

Just what I thought, said Red Bear, greed!

Billy Watson was a damn good pilot but a spoiled brat. Ever since Dino brought him into the picture, there was an awful lot of babysitting going on.

We got to keep an eye on this guy, Dino had told Red Bear. We need him, even though he drinks too much, snorts too much, whores too much. And this was a mouthful coming from Dino, ’cause nobody whored more than he did. But Watson was totally self-indulgent. This was why he was such a good pilot as well; he got into everything he did. His greatest asset, however, was his access to his father’s Beech Baron, a very nice executive twin engine airplane that Dino often utilized. Dino could snap his fingers and Billy was at full attention.

Billy never could figure out just who that long-haired Indian dude was and how he fit into the business. It seemed like in the beginning, everywhere he went he saw that Indian. It finally dawned on him that Dino was a leery dude and the Indian was watching every move he made. Red Bear knew things about Billy Watson that Billy thought no one else knew. But some things are better left unsaid and this was one of those things. Billy only saw Red Bear when Red Bear wanted him to, but still Billy sensed that Red Bear knew, and this played on his mind when in the Indian’s presence.

T-Bone, on the other hand, was a shy and elusive character. He was from ‘Somewhere’, North Carolina. He had flown for Air America during the Vietnam War. He was an accomplished aviator, a quiet no-nonsense kind of guy. He had no visible vices other than being a compulsive reader of fiction novels. This unlikely pair, opposites in just about everything except the love of money and airplanes, was chosen to fly the newly acquired DC-3 at an unheard of fee of $200,000 each.

Don’t worry about not being paid, Billy, said Red Bear. You do what you’ve been hired to do and you’ll get every cent promised you. When we get to Mexico City I’ll fill you guys in on more details, because we’ll be staying overnight there. Besides, there’s entirely too many ears on this plane for any more of this talk.

* * *

Mexico City was, and still is, one of the world’s filthiest cities. With a hundred thousand tons of smog hanging over it, the sky could literally fall at any given moment. After landing and clearing customs, the boys headed for a hotel through the grime.

Where you gonna post us for the night? asked Billy.

The Holiday Inn is no more than 250 yards from here, said Red Bear. They got a bar, too.

Let’s go then, said Billy, I’m dying for a drink.

"I understand and appreciate the fact that ya’ll been running the border for a while, and you being fully aware of the rules of engagement, nevertheless, I’m going to try and keep culture shock to a minimum. Rule One—this may very well be the most crucial of the two—don’t under any circumstances drink the water! Rule Two is simple…don’t drink any Corona beer."

What’s wrong with Corona? asked Ted.

Trust me, said Red Bear, we don’t have time for me to show you the river it is brewed from.

Then what do we drink? asked Billy.

Tecate, now that’s a man’s kind of beer. Red Label Thunderbird, a little salt and lime, a big fat joint, and in less than an hour, it’s siesta…you’ll be sleeping like a baby thunderbird.

Upon Billy’s insistence, they took single rooms. You never know, Chief, we might be dragging us back some Mexican whores tonight.

The heat of ten million roaring smog-makers was busy sending tons of unnamable metallic particles into the polluted sky over the city. This alone was enough to keep the boys sitting at the bar most of the day. Later that evening, they went over their sectional maps in Ted’s room, pinpointing the landing zone, six miles due west of Totolapan.

There’s sure a lot of high mountaintops in that area, said Ted.

Some well over twelve thousand feet, said Red Bear, but the elevation of the L.Z. is 5700 feet. It’s on a grade of about two and a half percent running west to east. You’ll be going uphill, taking off east to west. When you’re out of runway, the river is straight below you. We’ll fly over this entire area tomorrow.

It looks like a cake walk, said Ted.

From the air, it is, Red Bear assured them. But getting there from here will be like trying to pull a grizzly bear’s tooth. As you can see here, tapping the map, it’s only six miles due west to Totolapan, yet it will take us ten to twelve hours to reach the summit.Darn that means ya’ll will be leaving a day early or real early the morning of the twenty-fourth."

Either or, don’t know yet. I’ve got forty Mexicans, five trucks, six winches, and five tons of top grade marijuana to get onto the top of that plateau before four p.m. on the twenty-fourth. And you can bet your asses I will be there. So as you are flying down, boys, say a prayer or two for the ground crew. We’ve got our job cut out for us. And you can believe the whole valley will be praying for ya’ll. We’ve had over a thousand workers in those fields all summer, and everybody wants to be paid. We’ll have four 55-gallon steel drums of freshly tested fuel that we’ll tack down behind the cockpit and feed it through your cross-feeds. Make sure you bring the pumps! Real important, said Red Bear. This will give you enough to turn around up there in Northern Arizona and fly back to the mines at Caborca if the cowboys are waiting on you.

* * *

Chief, do Indians celebrate Christmas? asked Billy.

"Funny you should ask me that, Billy, ’cause when I was a kid I used to think Christmas was when they all got dressed up in their best clothes, dyed eggs all night and put them in a big basket. Then they would hide different colored eggs in the woods and everybody would hunt for them. Whoever found the most eggs would be the winner, and that means it’s Christmas. But as I got older and wiser, I realized that Christmas was when they all got dressed up real scary looking. Then at night they would take a bag and go knock on everybody’s door. The people would put candy and gifts in their bags, and at the end of the night the one with the most treats was the winner, and that means it’s Christmas. But now I know I was so wrong. Now I know Christmas is when they go into the woods and cut down a tree, drag it back to the house, take it inside and fix it up with lights and decorations and wait for this dude named Santa Claus to show up. And if that sucker steps outside and sees his shadow cast against the wall, that means it’s Christmas and we got six more weeks of bad weather."

Damn it to hell, Chief, that’s Ground Hog Day, that ain’t Christmas, offered Billy, laughing.

Oh man, said Red Bear, no wonder the only holiday I celebrate is Ground Hog Day. They roared with laughter, clowning around like kids. Billy started feeling a lot better about everything, and a bond was established between the three of them.

You know, Chief, you’re a funny guy. Just looking at you, people might think ‘Oh shit, this guy might kill me’. But damn it, man, you are really a pretty good Indian, said Billy, about half drunk.

Hold on there, Buffalo Bob, I ain’t dead yet, protested Red Bear.

I know you ain’t dead, Chief, Billy said. I’m not trying to disrespect you, Brother. I didn’t mean nothin’ by what I said.

Relax Billy, said T-Bone, ain’t you ever heard that old saying, ‘the only good Indian is a dead one’? Okay, here, said Red Bear. How about we pass the peace pipe? Snort a line of this shit and sober up. They passed the 8-ball back and forth a couple times, then started popping Tecates. They horsed around and told their best jokes, then Red Bear broke it off with what he told them he would disclose on the flight from Phoenix.

You can bet your asses there’s gonna be five tons sitting beside the runway on the twenty-fourth, said Red Bear. "And we’re gonna do our best to cram every bit of it into the fuselage. But I’m here to tell you, all we need to get on board is 6500 pounds to realize our plan. Like I said, I know we can get at least that much on board. Didn’t Dino show you the photos I sent him? A picture is worth a thousand words." Billy and Ted looked at each other, then both said no.

I guess he wants you to see firsthand. Man, we’ve been cutting ourselves short for so long while the Northern California boys have been cleaning house on all the big bucks. Now, the Thai sticks and Hawaiian markets are also entrenched along the West Coast headed east. The only difference in our weed and their weed is the way it is packaged.

Now, hold on there, Red Bear, Billy interrupted, you can’t possibly think that any weed coming out of Mexico could ever compare with the likes of Kona or Thai stick. The skunky fragrance alone of that weed from northern California sets it in a league of its own.

He’s got a point there, said Ted.

Red Bear waved a hand dismissively. "For the last two years, I have worked like a migrant field hand in those river bottoms in Oaxaca. I used the very best seed stock available from all over the region, along with some native cross-breeding techniques that would blow your mind. As a result, we have grown on a massive level some of the best marijuana anywhere," he boasted.

Now that’s a hell of a claim, said Billy.

Well, like grandma always said, the proof is in the pudding, smiled Red Bear. "Tomorrow you’re gonna see it, smell it, and smoke it. I’m not asking you to take my word; I’ll let you be the judge. As long as you guys have been hopping across the border, flying weed here and there for whoever had the setup, how many people have you met who can honestly testify to having smoked the best marijuana ever produced in Mexico? I have smoked weed in Vietnam, Thailand, Hawaii, Colombia, Africa, and California. I can honestly say that what we have sitting down there in Oaxaca is as good if not better than anything I’ve ever smoked. We’ll get $500 a pound and then the price will go up. We could get $1,000 a pound for this shit, which is considerably lower than these markets invading the West Coast today.

We’re only paying $40 a pound right now, but after this load I see it going up to seventy or a hundred. Mark my words, there’s a lot of work in keeping the quality consistent, and that takes man-power, not to mention the fact that the DEA is pressuring the Mexican government to control their drug problems. But this is still Mexico, and money talks. I foresee us having to grease some palms way up the food chain sooner or later. Pedro told me that in February a whole division of Army troops will be combing the mountains looking for Mary and Juanita. That’s why we got to make this thing work, insisted Red Bear.

Has Pedro got the resources to keep them people out of his business? asked Ted.

He will when we move this load, answered Red Bear, but over the last four months there’s been seven aircraft crashes along the Roller Coaster, resulting in three deaths and four pilots laid up in various hospitals in traction.

Damn it, man, proclaimed Billy, Old Bill and Tom told me about the Roller Coaster. They said it’s the most dangerous LZ in the world. Flying over it on final approach, you can see the wreckage of all the jokers whose skills just were not good enough to grab the golden ring.

Yeah, and to add salt to the wound, Manuel has put the word out to all would-be contestants, ‘If you crash, you die’; there won’t be any more trips to the hospital. From what I’ve heard, he’s already used his nine millimeter on at least two, said Red Bear.

The Roller Coaster was a strip setting on the very edge of a mountain tip that shot straight up from its threshold. When landing, as soon as an aircraft touched down, it rolled maybe 75 feet before shooting up, as if on a roller coaster, at a forty-five degree angle or more. Upon reaching the summit the pilot had to lock the brakes on one wheel and spin the craft around 180 degrees, pointing the nose of the plane straight back down the way it had just come. The crew on the ground would throw ropes around the tail of the craft. These were secured to trees while the wheels were quickly blocked with rocks. The strip was so narrow the pilot had to hold the craft on line without the slightest deviation right or left or he’d join the ranks of all the others who did not make it.

The way I see it, said Red Bear, we can come center stage moving hard and fast, at $500 a pound, undercutting every connoisseur market out there. In fact, we’ve got a guy right now sitting on a million bucks ready to take two thousand pounds as soon as ya’ll touch down in Page, Arizona.

Has this guy seen the stuff yet? asked Billy.

Yeah, in a way. I sent some pictures back to Dino, and they were so impressive this guy brought his money to Arizona two weeks in advance, making sure he’s got first shot at it.

Wow! exclaimed Billy, this is sounding more interesting all the time. I may want to take some of this stuff in place of cash.

That’s always an option, said Red Bear.

My question about this whole thing is a simple one, said Ted. I realize the answer is the key to your well thought out plan, which you have explained to us in great detail. But even if this million dollar man comes through and takes a ton, what makes you so sure you’ll be able to break into those higher and well-established markets that are conditioned for quality the likes of Kona, Thai sticks, Colombian Gold, Jamaican Lamb’s Bread and so on?

I hate to answer your question with a question, T-Bone, but you’ve opened the door for me to do just that, said Red Bear. How can you be so sure that the airplane won’t fall out of the sky once you’re airborne with the weed? Red Bear smiled, then continued. "It’s all based on calculations, and from them we all take our risk. There’s only one thing in the whole universe that doesn’t lie. Do you know what that is?" He looked from one to the other.

God, answered Billy.

NUMBERS! yelled Red Bear. "Fucking numbers! ’Cause words don’t do a damn thing but take you in circles, and as we can certainly attest to after all the words I’ve spoken to you thick-skulled motherfuckers tonight, we’re right back where we started from.

"Just as you are willing to take the risk that the goddamned plane won’t just fall out of the sky, we’re willing to take the risk that we’re going to break into the big money markets based on our calculations and our experience as seasoned veterans in this business. One thing is for sure, nothing ventured, nothing gained. You get this shit to Page without the plane falling out of the sky and both of you will be paid in full the next day if I have to pay you out of my own pocket!

I never do anything in the blind, Red Bear continued. Everything is on line for our success, and a deal is a deal. You’ve both been paid $20,000 and the only goddamned thing either of you needs to be thinking about at this point is the task ahead of you. Good Fucking Night! I’m outta here.

Damn it man, do you think he was mad? Billy asked T-Bone after Red Bear had left.

He’ll be all right, said Ted. "We’ll all be all right. Goodnight, Bill. I’ll see you bright and early."

PHOENIX, ARIZONA

The same night that Red Bear and the boys were hashing over the three Ws—wishing, wondering, and worrying—Dino was laying a foundation for their first million bucks. If all went well, as soon as the DC-3 touched down on Christmas Day the money would be placed in his hands. Looking across the room at the handsome young man in front of him, Dino was impressed by the confidence he projected. Sitting there in Teresa’s leased desert mansion off Indian School Road, ‘Shawn’, from Lake Tahoe, seemed perfectly at home. Money and grand surroundings seemed as much a part of him as cactus and rattlesnakes were to Dino.

Dino briefly wondered if he might be a Fed. No, he wouldn’t have all that weed and he wouldn’t snort cocaine. Dino was a very leery man, especially meeting people outside his own circle. In fact, he was even leery of those in his own circle. Dino could not smoke weed socially. It made him feel very uncomfortable, but he had no problem snorting cocaine, though usually only with women.

So, Christmas Day is our day? Now that’s real appropriate, said Shawn.

Well, if he is a Fed, they now know when, thought Dino. How did you find that out? he asked.

It wasn’t hard to figure out, Shawn told him. And where was it you said they were flying into? Shawn asked with a warm smile.

"I didn’t say where or when, said Dino. For all I know it might be tomorrow and it could be Buckeye. Those are security issues that aren’t talked about outside those who are actually involved in the work."

I understand, said the young man. I’m just kidding you. Teresa told me you were very close-mouthed, and she was correct. I appreciate that. She also mentioned that your friend… Red Wolf, Red Bear, something like that, was into the crafts—carving, beading and drum and pipe making.

Yes he is, in fact he shot those frames we looked at yesterday of the merchandise, said Dino.

Oh, they looked like they were shot by a professional, Shawn said. "I can’t wait to meet him.

What tribe is he from?"

"Red Bear’s a Cherokee and Catawba, from North Carolina. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do what he has accomplished. It takes honesty and genuine loyalty for anyone to step into the position Red Bear commands. He could do just about anything he wanted to, because the Mexicans trust him like one of their own. They are putting all that weed on our plane because they trust him, and that’s why I’ve got to make sure I get the money back down there as quick as I can."

So he works for you, then?

We work for each other.

It was Little Tim Rivera who had introduced Red Bear and Dino about a year ago. Red Bear and Little Tim had met while they were in prison in Durango, Mexico. Red Bear had been down for two years when late one night guards came to his cell and told him they had captured another Norte Americano. He was on his way to the prison and they needed Red Bear to translate for them.

Tim had been in a serious car accident and his arm was in real bad shape. Without the compassionate care Red Bear ministered to him, he would more than likely have lost his arm. This bonded them as friends for life. Little Tim was a gifted pilot. Shortly after their release from prison, the two had become very successful flying marijuana from Chihuahua and Guadalajara, Mexico in early 1974. Now Tim was back in prison in Hermosillo, and Dino and Red Bear were doing everything they could to buy his freedom back.

* * *

Dino was a shrewd businessman. Seriously intelligent, intensely self-assured, he was a well-groomed, handsome, soft spoken Sicilian in cowboy boots. Born and raised in Apache Junction, Arizona, he would do whatever it took to keep his end of any deal straight. It had been his idea to bring the Mexican commercial markets up to grade with the big money markets. Red Bear was very receptive to the plan, for he knew that the marijuana grown in some areas in Mexico was as good if not better than any grown anywhere.

Teresa, also a shrewd and wily business competitor, kept her two younger sisters and a handful of beautiful girls to help her operate the distribution of tons of marijuana all over the United States and Canada. Teresa was the sexiest of the sisters; not that Big Tits Serena or Kathy weren’t sexy, because they were, but Teresa had a special talent. She knew how to treat people. She was a manager of affairs and she kept impressive contacts. The sisters had grown up in Bisbee, Arizona, right on the Mexican border. As young teens they had actually even managed to rob a bank. It was said they had more balls than most men.

The horse ranch in Scottsdale was where Dino stored and distributed all the weed he and Red Bear smuggled across the border. The girls handled these operations, while Dino provided the security for them. On many occasions in the past couple of years, Red Bear had driven his big water truck packed with 2800 pounds into the barn himself from Silver Bell Road near Tucson, back when Little Tim was flying three loads a night from Caborca. While Dino’s boys unpacked the monster truck, Red Bear would be inside playing the piano, singing and admiring the beautiful women making him breakfast. Teresa knew of Susan, but did not know her. Susan did not know Teresa, or even of her, and that was the way Red Bear left it.

* * *

Just as Shawn tried to divine the ‘when and where’ of operation Christmas Weed, Dino wondered where all that money was. Shawn had to have brought it with him, Dino thought, if he planned to hand it over as soon as his two guys had their hands on the merchandise. Shawn had his men at the Best Western in Scottsdale, waiting to drive the ton back to Tahoe.

Shawn had brought with him to Arizona the million dollars in cold cash he was using to buy the one ton Dino promised him. He also had a few hundred pounds of sticky, blonde-haired Thai sticks. The only other person who knew where the cash and Thai sticks were stashed was Teresa. She had a very secure double lock closet in her bedroom where she and Shawn stored the loot.

Teresa’s desert mansion was not only used to hold money and other contraband, but also served as a meeting place for exotic people. Tonight Teresa and her girls were entertaining the most exotic people she knew, Shawn from Lake Tahoe and Dino Tescali from Apache Junction. Shawn had with him a collection of show-quality antique Navajo rugs. They were beautiful, to say the least, and kept everyone’s focus and attention. All the ladies in the house loved to smoke pot, snort coke and talk about Shawn’s beautiful collection of rugs.

Meanwhile, in Mexico City, the boys were now sound asleep as Dino set the stage and spun his web. History was in the making. Two thousand pounds of Oaxacan Lime Green for one million dollars was unheard of, but, like Red Bear told the boys in Mexico City, ‘The secret is in the packaging’. And Dino Tescali was not programmed for failure.

TOTOLAPAN, MEXICO

The flight to Oaxaca was uneventful, other than the spectacular view of Popocatepetl, an active volcano where legend has it that Montezuma hid his gold in its lake. Since no one has yet found it, the legend remains. Pedro and his brother Manuel waited in their VW Kombi van for the three North Americans to exit the terminal there in Oaxaca. Once they were inside the vehicle and all the howdy do’s were over with, they headed to Totolapan, two hours southeast of Oaxaca City.

The drive is very demanding, for one is continuously negotiating a road that winds through twists and turns, 90-degree cutbacks that spiral and curve along its course. Called the Pan-American Highway, it runs straight through the tiny village of Totolapan, headquarters for the Mexican Southern Mafia. Pedro Diaz was their leader. His family ran every money-making enterprise outside the law, and the marijuana business was their number one endeavor.

Hey, hold on, cried Billy, sitting directly behind Red Bear in the Kombi. I thought you said they had us a 206 ready? It looks like we’ve headed out of town towards those towering mountains there, he pointed.

That’s exactly where we are going, Billy, said Red Bear. When we get to Totolapan, I’m going to show both of you mule-headed shitheads just what I’ve been talking about since yesterday. Then we are going to drive another two hours to where the 206 is waiting for us.

And where’s that? asked Ted.

At the very top of Roller Coaster Ridge, exclaimed Red Bear.

What?! Billy yelled, leaning forward from the back seat.

You heard me. The Ridge of Death and Lost Dreams is where the 206 is waiting for us.

You mean to tell us we’re going to take off from that place? Of all the safer locations, such as the airport back in Oaxaca ya’ll could have secured, you are now going to have us risk our lives on that Godforsaken mountain? Billy objected.

Yeah, that’s right. The boys here said before they put five tons on any plane, they need to know that the pilots are good enough to risk that kind of money on. They know Old Bill and Tom have balls made of brass, and they’re a little disappointed that those two aren’t the ones flying their weed out of here. They flew in and out of the Roller Coaster all last year, dropping off their loads to ya’ll at Caborca. These guys trust them and their skills above anybody’s. So I guess you’re going to have to prove to them ya’ll got the right stuff, smiled Red Bear.

Are you going to be with us? asked Ted.

Damn straight I am, said Red Bear. "If I don’t get on that plane first, what kind of signals would I be sending them? Either I’m a coward, or ya’ll ain’t good enough to handle the Big One. They even said if ya’ll could take off from the Roller Coaster, then ya’ll were good enough to handle the risk of flying their shit back to Arizona. And remember, it’s theirs until we pay for it all," Red Bear said seriously.

Sweat was running freely off Billy’s brow. He remembered what Old Bill and Tom had told him about the Roller Coaster.

Well, grumbled Ted, this is sure an unexpected turn of events.

You got to be ready for anything down here, boys. With all them soldier boys starting to move their way, and the DEA everywhere, watching everybody, we’ve got to be careful, said Red Bear.

I couldn’t agree with you more, Ted said, but let’s not be so damn careful that we get ourselves killed in the process.

Red Bear repeated to Manuel and Pedro in Spanish what he had just told the pilots, and both of them were enjoying it to the max. They easily picked up on Billy’s fear, oozing out of every pore in his body. Actually, the plane was sitting in the middle of a cornfield where a few weeks before Pedro had cut out a bush strip for his Cessna 206 and the other small aircraft, since so many had now crashed trying to land on the Roller Coaster. However, the newly cut strip was just as dangerous, because the soldiers also had easy access to it.

* * *

Damn it, Man, Billy said with surprise in his voice, this stuff is even better looking than you described it.

Like I said, a picture is worth a thousand words. Red Bear was glad the boys liked what they saw.

Manuel handed him a joint and he lit it up. The aroma was sweet and each inhalation was so expanding he had to release the smoke as soon as he drew it into the bottom of his lungs. The high was instantaneous.

This is quality, said Billy, beaming. Let’s go to the Roller Coaster and get this over with so we can get back up to Phoenix and tighten up our end there.

Now that was music to Red Bear’s ears. When he told Pedro and Manuel what Billy said, they too felt the confidence that pulls these kinds of missions into their proper prospective.

* * *

The Diaz family lived in a large fortress three stories high, literally built into the side of a mountain. The Pan American Highway ran directly in front of their door. From street level there was a central spiral staircase that connected the upper floors. On each floor there were rooms built in a circular fashion with the stairway running directly in the center of the floor. The kitchen and bathrooms were on the top floor, along with a beautiful courtyard and four bedrooms. The bedrooms overlooked the highway below; each had a balcony that ran the full length of the room. Red Bear could sit outside his room at night and not be observed by anyone from the street level. There he would smoke and think after a long day in the fields. There was construction going on all over the home. There was even an escape route that would take them to the very top of the ridged mountain the house was built into. From there, with high-powered binoculars, one could observe the entire valley where all the sweet lime green plants were grown.

The family consisted of Pedro, the eldest son and head of all the operations, Manuel, the second son, and Margarita, 17 years old and the youngest daughter, living in Totolapan. There were three older daughters who were married and living in Oaxaca City. Their mother had the final say on everything they did. It was she who told her sons Red Bear was a real human being and could be trusted like family. Their father worked with the construction crews who were constantly improving their fortress. They were building a wall to the south side where they would keep their trucks, jeeps and other equipment. It was indeed a multimillion dollar foundation surrounded by the grass thatched roofs and dirt floor adobes of the villagers, who all worked for the Diaz family.

Slowly, there was an improvement taking shape in the Totolapan village. The grass roofs were being replaced with tin, and the dirt floors with cement. The boys would bring televisions, ham radios, washers and other appliances from the States every time they came for a load. The village was transforming right before Red Bear’s eyes. Money had been filtering through the poverty-stricken village at a swift pace in the last two years. This was happening in other communities along the rich river bottoms where marijuana was being cultivated. But the Diaz family was the principal force controlling the markets. It was only with their blessings that any other growing and smuggling activities transpired.

The people of Totolapan are direct descendants of the Zapotec Indians. Mitla, another small village between Oaxaca and Totolapan, has within its boundaries ancient ruins of Zapotec pyramids. During the times that Red Bear worked up in Totolapan, he would stay at the museum in Mitla off and on to rest and recover from the long, hard days of labor he put in. It was finally paying off. He still had his spacious apartment at the museum on lease and there were some personal items there he would have to pick up before leaving Oaxaca. He planned to fly back to Phoenix with Ted and Billy for one last powwow with Dino before returning a week before Christmas.

Once, Red Bear was at the bank in Oaxaca City trading dollars for pesos. It was during a period when the banks were giving 22 pesos per dollar as opposed to twelve up until then. Standing in line, he noticed a swarm of women with baskets on their heads filled with U.S. currency coming into the lobby. All of a sudden, there was a slight shift of energies that caught his attention. He caught a glimpse of American federal agents taking pictures of people in the bank lobby. He ducked and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, blending into the crowd in the marketplace, one of his favorite spots.

Yes, things were certainly getting out of hand, with American and Canadian citizens laid up in traction all over Oaxaca as a result of the infamous Roller Coaster. DEA and US Treasury agents were everywhere. They added pressure to the Mexican authorities to do their jobs. Christmas couldn’t come fast enough.

* * *

Manuel and Pedro told Red Bear they were ready to take them to the plane. It was a 20-minute ride to the river bottom where the Cessna 206 was tied down. When Billy and Ted first saw the bush plane, Billy let out a sigh of relief.

You’re a trip, Red Bear. I thought Indians don’t lie, he laughed, but I’m glad you do.

After giving the plane an inspection—checking