At twelve midnight, Swithin called Carlton and told him he was coming over.  In Carlton’s apartment, Swithin asked him for his sheets of acid.

“Why do you need them tonight?” Carlton asked, as he handed his sheets to Swithin.

“I’ve got an idea that I have to follow through with before sunrise,” Swithin replied as he walked into the kitchen.  He placed the sheets on the counter and carefully folded them over. “Do you have a mailing envelope and a Ziploc bag?”

“Yeah,” Carlton replied as he opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out an envelope.  He opened another drawer and pulled out a Ziploc sandwich bag.  “Will these do?”

“Perfect!”  Swithin replied.  He took the folded sheets placed them into the envelope, then placed the envelope into the bag and zipped it up. 

“What’s the idea?”

“I can’t go into it right now,” Swithin replied as he left Carlton’s apartment and started walking down the hallway.  “But, trust me…  It’s brilliant!”

Once outside, Swithin walked to his car, hopped in and drove across the Bay Bridge.  On the east side of the bridge, he drove into the Oakland Hills and parked a few hundred yards from the unpaved country road that lead to Gifford’s house.  With Carlton’s sheets of acid in hand, he sneaked down the unpaved county road and up to Gifford’s front door.   He quietly placed the sheets of acid under Gifford’s doormat, turned around, walked back to his car and drove home.

The following morning, at eight o’clock sharp, Swithin called Johnson from Carlton’s apartment.

“Hey, Saint Swithin,” Johnson answered.

Swithin cleared his throat.  “We’re meeting up at the dog park in two hours.”

“You want to make the exchange at the dog park?”

Swithin paused for a moment.  “It was the representative’s decision, not mine.”

“The Asian guy?”

“Yes, the Asian guy.”

Johnson huffed.  “Hold on.”

Swithin heard the sound of Johnson’s phone being passed.

“It’s Gifford.  You’ve been to my house.  Come over and we’ll exchange here.”

“It’s not up to me.”

Gifford sighed.  “Then call your family friends and tell them the plan needs to change, or they’re going to loose a client.  Because I’m not exchanging in a dog park.”

A streak of perspiration slid down the middle of Swithin’s back.  “The Family’s been at this for a long time.  They know what they’re doing.  Just hear me out, and you’ll understand.”

Gifford paused for a moment.  “Alright, I’m listening.”

Swithin took a breath.  “Johnson and I meet up at the dog park today at ten am.  He brings along two fast-food bags, one for him and one for me.  My bag should have the money in it—all hundred-dollar bills, rubber banded into 15 flat bundles, nine bills in each.  Once I’ve counted the money, you get the tabs.”

Swithin heard Gifford turn away from the phone.  Gifford’s voice faded, but could still be understood.

“Is this guy for real?” Gifford asked.

“You tried the tabs,” Swithin heard Johnson reply.

“I’m not talking quality, I’m talking quantity.”

“From what I’ve heard, Paul’s moving his tabs at 8 bucks a pop—no complaints.”

“And he went through this bullshit to get ‘em?”

“I guess so.”

“Are you okay exchanging in a park?”

“I’ve exchanged in public before.  But, this is your deal.  So it’s up to you.”

Gifford returned to the phone.  “Saint Swithin?”

“I’m still here.”

“Johnson‘ll meet you at the park at ten.”

The phone went dead.

Swithin flipped his phone shut.

“Is everything cool?” Carlton asked.

“I think so… I’m meeting with Johnson at ten.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” Swithin replied pensively.

“Do you want me to do anything for you?  Let you into the building, or call you like yesterday?”

“Nah…  Just hang here.  I’ll come back when the deal’s done.”

Swithin arrived to the bench early.  Unlike the day before, dogs and their owners were playing and standing about in the park.  Swithin sat gathering himself and watching the dogs and their owners play. A few minutes past ten, Johnson walked up holding two fast-food bags.  Without saying a word he handed Swithin one of the bags.  Then he sat down next to him, opened the bag he was holding and pulled out a cheeseburger.

Swithin looked into his bag and saw buddle of hundred-dolor bills rubber banded together just asked he’d asked.  “What?” Swithin said playfully.  “No food for me?”

“Buy your own lunch, dickweed,” Johnson replied in a low voice.  “Just count the bills.”

Swithin turned and looked at Johnson.  “What’s with the dickweed comment?”

“Count the bills!” Johnson repeated, taking a bite of his cheeseburger.

Swithin shrugged his shoulders, looked back into his bag and started counting.  Three minutes later he smiled.

“Done?” Johnson questioned, smiling uncomfortably at a dog owner walking by.

“I am,” Swithin replied.

“Then give me the tabs.”

“Call Gifford.”

Johnson turned and looked at Swithin.  “Stop dicking around and give me the tabs.”

“I’m not dicking around. Call Gifford.”

“Do you have the tabs are not?”

“They’re with Gifford.  Call him.”

Johnson suddenly snatched Swithin’s bag out of his hands and stood up.  “You fuck, I trusted you!”

Swithin reached out toward his bag, but stopped himself short of grabbing it.  “Everything’s fine,” he pleaded nervously. “Just call Gifford, and you’ll see…”

Johnson stood in front of Swithin.  “Call him yourself, he’s standing behind you.”

Swithin started to stand, but immediately felt hands on his shoulders forcing him to sit again.  “Settle down…  You’re not going anywhere.”  Gifford walked around to the front of the bench and stood at Swithin’s right.  He sniffed, rubbed his nose and sat down.

Swithin glanced at Gifford’s eyes. His pupils were dilated.

“Are you fucking with me?”  Gifford asked Swithin.

“No,” Swithin replied in a timid voice as he did his best to avoid eye contact with Gifford.

“Then where are my tabs?”

Swithin swallowed hard.  “They’re under your doormat.”

Gifford’s face twitched and he reached into his right coat pocket.

“Don’t, Gifford!” Johnson exclaimed.  “Don’t…”

Swithin looked across Gifford’s lap and saw that he was gripping something inside his right pocket.  Then he looked back at Johnson.  “Don’t do what?”  He asked anxiously.

Gifford relaxed his right shoulder, but left his hand in his pocket.  “I’ve been patient with you, Saint Swithin.  But I’m done playing games.  Where are my fucking tabs?”

Swithin took a breath.  “They’re in a plastic bag underneath the doormat on your front porch.  I put them there last night.”

Gifford paused for a moment, and pursed his lips.  He gestured to Johnson.  “Call Taylor!”

Johnson pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. 

A moment later, Swithin heard Taylor’s voice on Johnson’s phone.

“Hey Johnson!”  Taylor said enthusiastically.  “What’s up?”

“Give me your phone!” Gifford snapped at Johnson.

“Hold on Taylor.  Gifford wants to talk to you.” Johnson handed Gifford his phone.

“Do me a favor and go to the front porch.”

“Why?”  Taylor questioned indignantly.

Gifford looked at Swithin.  “Just do it!”

A couple of seconds passed. 

“Okay, I’m on the front porch.  Now what?”

“Pick up the doormat.”

“Are you tripping Gifford?  ‘Cuz I don’t’ have time for this shit!”

“Lift up the doormat Taylor!”

There was a moment of silence.

“Is anything there?”

“A white envelope zipped up in a plastic bag.”

Gifford looked up at Johnson.  “Pick it up and take it into the house.”

“What’s in it?” Taylor asked.

Gifford looked at Swithin.  “We’re going to find out.”

“They’re the t-tabs,” Swithin stuttered.

“Inside the envelope are sheets of acid with little purple bears on each tab,” Taylor said.  “They’re cute!  Can I cut some off?”

“Not now,” Gifford replied.  “Are all the sheets the same size?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to count the number of rows and columns for me.”

Taylor sighed.  “You know I don’t like math.”

“You’ve been railing my stash behind my back for the past two weeks.  The least you can do is count for me!”

A minute passed.

“There are…” Taylor trailed off.  “Thirty rows and fifty ups and downs.”

“Columns,” Gifford huffed.

“That’s right,” Taylor said. “Columns.  I forgot the word.  Thirty rows and fifty columns on all three sheets.”

“That’s 4,500 tabs,” Johnson said.

Gifford pulled his hand out of his pocket revealing the impression of what looked like a gun.

Swithin looked at Johnson.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s nothing,” Gifford said, as he stood up and walked past Johnson.  “Give him his bag and let’s go.”

Johnson stuffed Swithin’s bag into his lap and shook his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.  I hope you know that.”  He turned and started walking off with Gifford. 

Swithin stayed seated, started coughing, then suddenly lurched forward and threw up.

“He’s puking!”  Johnson said to Gifford as the two walked away.

“What the fuck do I care?”  Gifford replied.

By the time Swithin finished throwing up Johnson and Gifford we long gone.  Johnson had left his bag behind, so Swithin used the napkins inside to wipe himself up.  Once he was relatively clean, he stood up and started walking back to Carlton’s—avoiding eye contact with two dog owners who stared at him as he walked by.  Back in Carlton’s apartment, Swithin spilt the cash and lied about how the exchange had gone.

“Johnson showed up and I counted, “ Swithin said to Carlton.  “Once I was sure I had all the money in hand, I told him to call Gifford.  Then, I told Gifford where the tabs where...” Swithin suddenly stopped talking.

“Where were the tabs?” Carlton asked eagerly.

Swithin continued.  “Under his doormat.”

Carlton smiled.  “So that’s why you needed the tabs last night!”

“Exactly…  I had to put them under Gifford’s doormat before morning.”

Carlton squinted as if in thought.  “Why not just hand the tabs off when you got the money?”

“Because, if cops showed up all they’d see was money changing hands—no crime in that.  And, if Johnson didn’t show up with the cash, or tried to strong-arm me, he’d get nothing, because I had nothing.”

“Ah…  And, once things settled, you could sneak back to Gifford’s and pick up the tabs!”

“Because,” Swithin added with a smile, “he wouldn’t know they were there.”

“Brilliant!” Carlton exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Swithin replied as he looked at his wristwatch.  “I’d like to stay longer, but I’ve got a shitload of things to do today.”

“No problem…  Get out of here.  Get your shit done.”

As Swithin was leaving Carlton tapped his shoulder.  Swithin turned around.

“Thanks for doing what you did...  The money’s gonna help out a lot.”  Carlton reached out and rested a hand on Swithin’s shoulder.  “You da’ man!”

Swithin smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

A half hour later, while he was brushing his teeth, Swithin caught the reflection of his face in his bathroom mirror.  He locked onto his eyes, stopped brushing and spit onto the mirror.  “Fucking idiot!” He said to himself, then wiped his mouth and turned off the lights.

Chapter 25: The Reunion >>