Chapter 7

Melanie Wright rolled over and looked toward the green numerals on the electric clock. She crawled over and squinted a bit. Four-Thirty in the afternoon. She shook her bleached blond hair about as she rolled out of bed and lay naked on her back on the floor. She started working and didn't stop until she had counted out fifty crunches. Her stomach hurt. Her tits were sweaty. Guys always went crazy when they made her tits sweat. She lay on the floor and waited until her breathing came under control then rolled over and got to her feet.

The T.V. was still on in the den. MTV. Her laptop was lying on the coffee table. She couldn't remember putting it there. What the fuck! She plopped down on the couch and fired up the laptop. She was up again and on her way to the kitchen. The OJ tasted great. Melanie had a slight headache. She hadn't arrived home until a little before seven this morning. A good night, though. One of her favorites and a very good tipper. She looked over at the wad of hundreds lying on the coffee table next to the lap top.

She watched her email program search out the satellite. They were getting so technical now a days. She had to devote time and effort to keeping up with the changes in technology. Mostly to keep a step ahead of the police forces that populated the Las Vegas Valley. Three cities and the county, all with their own police forces. And all the politicians corrupt as they could be and still get elected. The bar was not high in Nevada, especially in Clark County.

She had email from Daniel Haefner. God! She hadn't heard from him in several months, since she branched out on her own.

To: "Honeybutter"

From: "Bonerboy"

How you been, babes? Hope your ass is hot as usual. Got a gig for you next weekend. You and me with the "Yachtsman." The usual perversities with a married couple. Not sure of the angle. "Yachtsman" says it'll be no sweat. Will pass travel arrangements ASAP.

She lay back against the rear of the couch. How long ago did it start? She could barely recalled that summer. It seemed so long ago. She didn't have ten bucks to her name and now look at her. The great room of her condo yawned at her. It was nice and going up in value every month. And her other properties. This place was a gold mine. She was so glad she left California and sailed with Daniel and the "Yachtsman" that summer.

Summer 1989
Balboa Bay, California

Mike Minter lay back in the flimsy lounge chair that he kept on the yacht and reached for the pipe. The kid had paddled by here every day for the last three days. Mike took a hit off the pipe. The marijuana smoke drifted away in the breeze. The harbor was almost calm. Here he came. Mike started puffing like a fool. He put the pipe down just before the young man raised his head. He was knee paddling on a very long surfboard. Mike didn't think they made them that long any more. Shit! Maybe it was a paddle board?

He exhaled. The young man had stopped paddling and just coasting. He dragged an arm in the water and the surfboard turned toward "Viper." Mike sat up in his chair. His dark glasses cut the glare but he still had to squint.

"Interesting incense you're burning, sir." The young man called to him. He was smiling up at Mike.

"Why don't you come aboard and you can examine the brand." He paused just a bit. "I didn't catch your name."

"Sorry. I'm Rick Wagstad. And you are?"

Mike liked the directness. After all they were talking about an illegal substance. And Mike had close to a half a ton left in the hold of the "Viper." Under the floor boards, in the keel, great ballast. His first trip North to the fields in British Columbia. But getting it up to 'Vegas was a pain in the ass. He hated the drive.

"Mike Minter. Come aboard, Rick. You can store the board on the dock." Rick was already making the transition to the dock. He hopped up on to the surfboard and jumped up on to the dock. The board started to slip away but Rick reached out and grabbed the tail, dragging it up on to the dock...

... It was after seven before Rick started home and it took him about an hour to paddle home that evening. His old man was pissed he was out so late. "That fucking paddle board doesn't have running lights, asshole." Rick was still stoned so he just laughed and couldn't quite figure out what all the problem was. He'd scored weed! He was super stoked!

Mike Minter met Melanie Wright two nights later. Rick brought her. The two of them drove over. Mike wanted to fuck her that first night. He knew "Snake" would eat her up. Eighteen. Nineteen. Big tits. Sexy looking. Mike thought he just might have come across some couriers.

The small sports car with the long surf board strapped to a roof rack made the turn at more than twenty-five miles an hour. The "g" force threw him into the gear shift, almost. As the "g" came off, Daniel Haefner straightened up in his seat. He didn't bother checking on his board. He knew it would still be there. The man driving the car had informed him several times that it was the best surfboard rack on the market. That was just Rick's old man's way. He had bounced around a lot. So said Daniel's parents. But now had made it big! The beach house was just part of the image. No wife and a reputation for getting a lot of pussy impressed a nineteen year old who had just finished his freshman year at UNLV. That's the University of Nevada - Las Vegas for those of you not familiar.