appreciated but not enough to move him around the table. I couldn’t afford any new entanglements right then.
Morgan misinterpreted and, with misguided generosity, offered me a Wake County sheriff’s deputy. “Tell Deborah ’bout that guy from California yesterday,” she said, gracefully stubbing her cigarette in one of the glass ashtrays.
“That call we got about some suspicious activity out near Fuquay?”
This one was a big, corn-fed blond with an easy aw-shucks-ma’am smile, who didn’t have to be asked twice to perform.
“I got out there and found a red GT with California plates. Unattended. Trunk lid up though, and the trunk half filled with that there stuff we call green vegetable matter when we have to take the stand.”
Terry leaned forward to listen. This was evidently a new story to him and he’d worked drugs. Tobacco is North Carolina ’s biggest legal cash crop, but they say marijuana puts more cash into the state economy than tobacco, and Terry takes it personal.
“Well I just hung around a few minutes and pretty soon, here comes this joker crashing out of the underbrush with his arms full of more green vegetable matter, freshly cut. He’s stripped to the waist. Sweaty. Briar scratches on his chest. Man, he’s been working double-time.”
He paused and tipped up his beer glass, then wiped his lips with calm, assured motions.
“He’s halfway up the ditch bank before he sees me standing there, my unit nosed right in behind his little GT. He drops his load so quick you’d think all that g.v.m.’s suddenly turned to poison oak. I don’t move a muscle or say a word till he gets up level with me. He’s scared shitless and just stands there looking.
“Finally I say, ‘Son, what the hell you think you’re doing trespassing on private property?’
“He doesn’t know whether to lie or tell the truth and starts moaning, ‘Omigawd, omigawd, omigawd.’
“ ‘Son,’ I say, ‘let me see your driver’s license.’ He hands it over and now he’s whining, ‘Please, officer, I didn’t mean nothing. I was driving through-everybody says North Carolina has good weed growing wild-I thought I’d check it out. I swear to God I’ve never done anything like this before.’ ”
“Sure he hadn’t,” said Terry sarcastically.
“Well, now, Terry, that’s where you and me might differ. There was something that made me believe maybe he hadn’t. And that’s exactly what I told him. ‘Son,’ I said, ‘you’ve got the pure look of truth in your eyes, so I’m gonna let you off easy this time. You empty your trunk and then you get your tail out of the state of North Carolina and don’t ever come back, you hear?”
“Well he dumped all that g.v.m. and was in his car hightailing it back to California before you could spit twice.”
He took another deep swallow of his beer and leaned back in his chair, smiling through those sleepy blue eyes.
Terry frowned. “You let him go?”
“Well, hell, Terry,” the deputy drawled. “Far as I know, there ain’t no law yet against filling your trunk with fresh-cut ragweed.”
Laughter erupted all around and Terry threw Max’s book of matches at him. “You sorry rascal!”
As the raucous hoots and gotchas turned into general conversation, Morgan waved to a quiet older man across the room. I knew Scotty Underhill by sight, but he’d always been a family man, not one to dawdle long in bars after-hours, so I didn’t know him all that well.
According to Terry, his daughters were grown now so he’d started stopping by occasionally. Morgan offered to scoot over and slide in another chair next to hers, but he shook his head and went off to a side booth with Terry. When they’d finished their business a few minutes later, Terry motioned for me to join them.
Underhill started to rise. I appreciate good manners, but he looked tired, so I said, “No, don’t get up,” and slipped into the booth next to Terry.
“I told Scotty you’re looking
Morgan misinterpreted and, with misguided generosity, offered me a Wake County sheriff’s deputy. “Tell Deborah ’bout that guy from California yesterday,” she said, gracefully stubbing her cigarette in one of the glass ashtrays.
“That call we got about some suspicious activity out near Fuquay?”
This one was a big, corn-fed blond with an easy aw-shucks-ma’am smile, who didn’t have to be asked twice to perform.
“I got out there and found a red GT with California plates. Unattended. Trunk lid up though, and the trunk half filled with that there stuff we call green vegetable matter when we have to take the stand.”
Terry leaned forward to listen. This was evidently a new story to him and he’d worked drugs. Tobacco is North Carolina ’s biggest legal cash crop, but they say marijuana puts more cash into the state economy than tobacco, and Terry takes it personal.
“Well I just hung around a few minutes and pretty soon, here comes this joker crashing out of the underbrush with his arms full of more green vegetable matter, freshly cut. He’s stripped to the waist. Sweaty. Briar scratches on his chest. Man, he’s been working double-time.”
He paused and tipped up his beer glass, then wiped his lips with calm, assured motions.
“He’s halfway up the ditch bank before he sees me standing there, my unit nosed right in behind his little GT. He drops his load so quick you’d think all that g.v.m.’s suddenly turned to poison oak. I don’t move a muscle or say a word till he gets up level with me. He’s scared shitless and just stands there looking.
“Finally I say, ‘Son, what the hell you think you’re doing trespassing on private property?’
“He doesn’t know whether to lie or tell the truth and starts moaning, ‘Omigawd, omigawd, omigawd.’
“ ‘Son,’ I say, ‘let me see your driver’s license.’ He hands it over and now he’s whining, ‘Please, officer, I didn’t mean nothing. I was driving through-everybody says North Carolina has good weed growing wild-I thought I’d check it out. I swear to God I’ve never done anything like this before.’ ”
“Sure he hadn’t,” said Terry sarcastically.
“Well, now, Terry, that’s where you and me might differ. There was something that made me believe maybe he hadn’t. And that’s exactly what I told him. ‘Son,’ I said, ‘you’ve got the pure look of truth in your eyes, so I’m gonna let you off easy this time. You empty your trunk and then you get your tail out of the state of North Carolina and don’t ever come back, you hear?”
“Well he dumped all that g.v.m. and was in his car hightailing it back to California before you could spit twice.”
He took another deep swallow of his beer and leaned back in his chair, smiling through those sleepy blue eyes.
Terry frowned. “You let him go?”
“Well, hell, Terry,” the deputy drawled. “Far as I know, there ain’t no law yet against filling your trunk with fresh-cut ragweed.”
Laughter erupted all around and Terry threw Max’s book of matches at him. “You sorry rascal!”
As the raucous hoots and gotchas turned into general conversation, Morgan waved to a quiet older man across the room. I knew Scotty Underhill by sight, but he’d always been a family man, not one to dawdle long in bars after-hours, so I didn’t know him all that well.
According to Terry, his daughters were grown now so he’d started stopping by occasionally. Morgan offered to scoot over and slide in another chair next to hers, but he shook his head and went off to a side booth with Terry. When they’d finished their business a few minutes later, Terry motioned for me to join them.
Underhill started to rise. I appreciate good manners, but he looked tired, so I said, “No, don’t get up,” and slipped into the booth next to Terry.
“I told Scotty you’re looking