The Deal

The Deal

“You live in one of the duplexes on the east side of the stadium?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Wait a minute. Who are you? Why do you want to know?”

“I’m Kevin. Remember Phoebe? She said you’re cool. Want to make some big money…fast?”

Situational assessment. Let’s see…he was clean shaven and, although his hair was longish, it was combed. He wore a shell leather blazer-style jacket and a flannel shirt. His jeans were clean, no rips, no tears. He knew Phoebe and spoke of “big money? So….“How much is “big money?”

I was sitting at the bar having a beer in Fontanelli’s, a pub on Buchanan Street on Campus Corner in Norman, Oklahoma in January of 1971. Just yesterday, I had moved from the Crown Point apartments on west Lindsay to a duplex immediately across the street from the east side of the stadium. It was furnished, bills paid and very convenient. It had a carport and extra storage and you could easily walk anywhere on campus. Everything was close.

…………………..back to Phoebe.

Aah, yes. Phoebe. I went into a “head shop” soon after moving back to Norman. I was looking at some small, hand carved, teak wood pipes….commonly used for smoking hashish or pot in those days. My hair was still a little short, since I had come back from Vietnam just three months earlier. The olive drab fatigue jacket I wore that day was her cue to ask if I had been to Vietnam. When I said that I had, she got “soft eyed” and asked if I was okay. I smiled and said, “Sure. I’m back.” She leaned over the counter and kissed me on the mouth…kinda hard. Then she kissed me again. She said, “Your cute. I like you.” Phoebe took me by the hand and led me to the store room. On our way, we passed the front door to the store. She locked it, then turned and smiled. The next half hour or so was an occasion to remember, but not to be repeated. Afterwards, she made sure I knew it was only a “coming home gift.” What a little hippie beauty she was. Long tresses. A beautiful body hidden by a hippie “flower power” shift. Hell, she even had cute feet. Thanks, Phoebe

………….back at the bar

Again I asked, “How much is big money?”

“Four thousand dollars in cash.”

Taken back, I quickly responded, “I won’t harm or kill anyone.”

He laughed nervously. “No, man. You’re just a middle man…a go between….you know. The deal is already done.”

“I’m not a narc or a cop, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just tell me the story.”

“The guy who has been our middle man for over a year – Tim - lived in the duplex you live in now. It’s a drop for a load of pot….. marijuana, man. He left town two days ago and hasn’t been heard from since. All of a sudden, you are living there instead of Tim and a drop is scheduled already.”

“How much pot are we talking about….20 or 30 pounds?”

“No, man.” He sounded a little desperate. “Four hundred separate pounds of primo Columbian. That’s right. 400 pounds. An guy from India, Apu, has put this deal together several times. The pot will already be paid for when it gets here. Within an hour, a yellow one ton dually pickup truck with a matching camper shell will back up to your back door. They will access your back door from Faerie Queen Lane. There are no street lights on Faerie Queen and no fences. The driver will offload the pot. Count it. It will all be there, but count it. Make sure there are 400 pounds. The buyer will pick it up just a little while after it is left here and will bring you $8,000. Soon after the buyer leaves, Apu will come to the front door. You are to give $4.000 to Apu and keep $4,000 for yourself. Apu will leave and the deal will be over. If it all goes well, you could make more in the future. Are you willing?”

“Will I need a gun? If I need a gun, I won’t do it.””

“Guns aren’t safe. Never had any problems before and you are the only new person.”

It was now or never….time for a decision. This is normally one of my shortcomings. I rarely make good impromptu decisions. Four thousand dollars was a pretty good chunk of money in 1971, especially for a student. The G.I. Bill was not going to be enough to support me in the style to which I wanted to become accustomed.

“I’ll do it. When does this happen?”

“Tonight, man.”

“Tonight! What if I had said that I didn’t want to do it!? What would you have done then!?”

“Well…..”

The next few hours were tense. I don’t remember sitting down the entire time. My nails were near chewed off when I saw the yellow 1 ton dually backing up to the kitchen door. When I opened the door, a big guy with a beard – looked like a lumberjack - said, “I’m Spencer. Who are you? Where’s Tim?” I nervously told him I was the new renter and a last minute substitute because Tim was on the lam. He laughed and started bringing in the pot. “Probably running from gambling debts. He thinks he’s a hustler.” I counted diligently…411 pounds, not 400 as expected. Spencer hadn’t bothered to count the individually wrapped pounds…just off-loaded it. “There ya go. 400 pounds.” He grabbed a newspaper and spread a couple pages on the porch. As he swept some “shake” from the bed of his truck onto the newspaper, he thanked me, saying, “Bet there’s a couple ounces there. Have a nice weekend. See ya again….soon, I hope” and drove off into the night. Spencer had been gone for about half an hour and it had gotten very dark outside when I heard another truck pull up to the back door.

There was little time to make a decision. It was do or don’t. I chose do. I stored the extra 11 pounds away from the remaining 400 pounds. After all, they only expected 400 pounds. Right? As I gathered up the "shake" from the porch, the buyer arrived to pick up the 400 pounds. Larry was his name. He asked where Tim was and I told him the same story I told Spencer. He was happy with that and started loading and counting. There were exactly 400. He asked me to also count while he loaded. It was all there. Then, he washed his hands in the kitchen sink and reached into his pocket. There was over $8000 in $100 bills. He counted out $8000 and quietly said, “Nobody crosses Apu.” I took this to mean an unsuccessful attempt to deprive Apu of his share had been an unwise decision for someone and that this was my fair warning. I asked him to wait a minute and started to sweep up all the “shake” that fell from the containers to the floor. “You’ll want all this” I said. “It might be an ounce or two.” He laughed. “You keep it. It’s good Columbian, man.” He left.

Within minutes, Apu arrived at my front door. I gave Apu the entire $8,000. He counted it and looked surprised, then said, “Here’s your share.” He counted out $4,000. It was a trust thing….to show him that I trusted him to pay me and that I could be trusted to give him his due. He asked if all had gone as expected. I told him I had been very nervous, but everyone was nice and seemed to understand the situation and its complications. All went well. I asked why he or Kevin didn’t live here and do this part of the transaction. He smiled a knowing smile and, as he walked to the front door, turned and said, “It’s an evidentiary thing. Med school is very expensive, man; and we’re going to make a lot of money this year.” He actually grinned, then was gone. I had $4,000 in cash and more than 11 pounds of primo Columbian in the closet. I immediately called the guy from whom I had bought an ounce of pot, a guy I worked with at Central State Hospital. He was a small time dealer, but had said that his father was a bigger dealer in Bartlesville. I offered him 10 pounds of Columbian for $2000, a deal they could not pass up. Within hours, his father was in town with the cash. After trying the product, they were thrilled with their purchase. Me? I lost 6 pounds of body weight that day. I was a nervous wreck. I was not cut out to be a criminal.

So, in less than 24 hours I had made $6,000 and over a pound of Columbian, retained for personal use. Still, in the quiet hours following the deal, I did not feel too smart about it. I had risked going to jail for several years for a measly $6,000 in cash. I could have easily been Bubba’s bitch had I been scammed or caught. It was not the first time my judgment had been clouded and tempted by risk versus reward. It would not be my last. It was the most illegal, however. Maybe not. I made over $18,000 on a $100 chain letter in 1979. Still, I will reassert that $6,000 was a lot of money in 1971. I had already amassed a nice chunk in savings from some wisely thought-out profiteering while in Vietnam. I was a fairly comfortable ex-GI, as long as I was working.

By the way, I moved out of the duplex just two days later. Never did the deal again. Actually, never saw Apu again…even on campus. I did see Kevin, but he knew I had moved from the duplex and did not offer another “deal”. We acknowledged each other pleasantly and went our separate ways.

I moved to an apartment above Landsaw’s Furniture on Main St. Mrs. Landsaw gave me a special rate because I was a Vietnam veteran....$60 a month, all bills paid. It was furnished with stuff from her two stores. Each of the three larger rooms had a skylight and the living room even had a gas log fireplace....but only one window and it was in the bedroom overlooking the alley behind the store. Still, it was sweet. TV reception was phenomenal. To enter the apartment portion of the building, one would have to push a large paned mirror just to the right of the entry to the store. The mirror was a hidden doorway that hid steps to the apartments on the second floor. Very intriguing for visitors and very private. It was rumored…and I can verify…that old man Landsaw rented to hookers in the 50s and 60s. If you pushed on the mirror, a bell rang and a “lady of the evening” would greet you from the top of the stairway…a stairway to heaven. I had heard the rumor in the fall of ’64 and, along with two friends, decided to attempt to verify those rumors. They were true! When we pushed on the mirror, the bell rang. An attractive woman in her late 30s I would guess, came out in a negligee and asked, “Can we help you boys?” We left immediately. Few people knew, but that retail building on Main St. in which Landsaw’s was located for many, many years was originally the very first classroom building of the University of Oklahoma. A small corner sitting park is there now. While there is a commemorative plaque, it makes no mention of that fact. I am a two-time graduate of OU, a lifelong Sooners fan and proud to say I lived in that building.

Comments