A Kendall O'Dell Mystery

Chapter2-2

He looked away for a few seconds and then stared at the floor, fidgeting. “Oh, you know how she is. Always on my a*s about something.”

“Something? Like what?” Considering their hostile behavior towards one another, his vague answer didn’t fly with me.

The elevator chimed its arrival and when several other people crowded in with us, our conversation ended. Everyone rode in the usual strained elevator silence, but when we stepped into the parking garage, I put a restraining hand on his arm. “Sean, level with me. What’s going on?”

He hesitated for extended seconds, his gaze guarded. “Okay, well…I guess I messed up a little.”

“What do you mean, ‘messed up a little’?”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I kind of got busted last week for selling pot to an undercover cop. No biggie.” A defensive grin accompanied his protracted shrug.

“No biggie?” I gawked at him. “What the hell were you thinking? You should know better than to pull a stupid stunt like that!”

A dramatic eye roll. “Oh, man! You sound just like Mom and Dad. I know what you’re thinking. Here he goes again. Sean is always a disappointment, such a loser. It really pisses me off to hear them constantly comparing me to you and Pat.” His voice dripped with resentment. “Patrick’s got a great-paying job, Patrick’s got a big, honkin’ house, Patrick’s married with two perfect kids, look how smart, ambitious and successful Kendall is, blah, blah, blah. Why can’t you be more like them? Why can’t you make something of yourself? I’m sick of hearing it!”

I drew back, stunned by his bitter sarcasm. “Sean, you’re twenty-five years old, not sixteen. You do understand what you did was wrong?” When he didn’t answer, I continued with, “Last time I checked, dealing drugs was against the law, so don’t try to lay this off on me and Pat.” I wanted to add that he should also be ashamed of himself for what had to be hugely embarrassing to our parents. I was quite familiar with how lightning-quick news travels in small towns.

He scrunched his face unattractively. “Well, it’s a dumb law. And I don’t need a third lecture from you. Just chill out, okay?”

“Chill out? Seriously? You knowingly commit a felony and I’m supposed to be fine with it? Well, I’m not.” I struggled to control my rising temper. “Frankly, I’m surprised at you. Have you forgotten all the misery Aunt Alyce caused the family?” I asked, referring to my mother’s younger sister. “Have you forgotten the devastating results of her constant drinking and pill popping? Her marriage breaking up, all of her trips in and out of rehab? How screwed up our cousins are now because of her? I haven’t forgotten the trail of c*****e she left behind and vowed I’d never be like her.”

“Well, aren’t you a Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.”

My anger flared hotter. “I’d rather be known as that than a low-life d**g dealer.”

“I’m not a d**g dealer!” he responded with a snarl. “I was in a bind and needed a little quick cash, that’s all.”

“Whatever.”

“You know what your problem is?”

I flashed him a look of disbelief. “What my problem is?”

“You’re still living in the Dark Ages. Look, Mom and Dad are old school. I get that, but I thought you’d be more enlightened,” he griped, poking my shoulder painfully with one finger. “Smoking a little dope isn’t the same thing as getting hammered. It’s not harmful and it’s not addictive.”

More irritated than ever, I shoved his hand away. “I’m hardly in the Dark Ages, little brother. I’ve read enough about this subject to know that we’re not dealing with your grandmother’s pot. The stuff being grown now is way stronger and it can become addictive…”

“Too bad we can’t all be as smart as you think you are,” he cut in, looking genuinely peeved. “Sorry, but you don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about.”

The much-anticipated visit was off to a poor start. I forced myself to calm down. “Okay. Truce. So, what’s going to happen to you now?”

“I dunno. Dad posted my bail and got me a lawyer. I guess I’ll go to court and probably just get probation ’cause it’s my first offense.” His dismissive, unremorseful attitude conveyed that his arrest for dealing drugs was on par with jaywalking. “Me personally? I don’t think smoking a little bud is any worse than sucking on a cigarette or having a couple of brewskis. You’re all making way too big of a deal out of this. All my friends get high.”

I pressed the remote and unlocked the car. “Maybe you should get some new friends.”

He stared at me, his expression cynical. “Come on, Kenny, get with it. Are you telling me that you never tried a little w**d? Not even once?”

The way he said it made me feel like I was fifty years older than him instead of five. “Apparently I’m not as cool and hip as you are or you think you are, but no, I never really felt the need to get into the d**g scene, cover myself with tattoos, pierce my tongue or wear a nose ring for that matter.”

He stared at me like I’d just landed from another galaxy and I stared back at him as if he had. “I got news for you, Sis. I’ve seen you throw back a few drinks in your time and I’ll tell you what, booze can have far worse consequences than getting high. I’ve been helping out a buddy who owns a bar and believe me, I’ve seen some pretty nasty s**t go down there.”

“I can’t argue with that. I’m not defending any kind of substance a***e. If someone gets tanked and starts a knife fight, beats their kids or drives drunk and injures or kills someone, I’m with you, but the last I heard it wasn’t against the law to have a glass of wine.” I reached for the door handle.

“Oooh, check out these wheels,” he crooned with an approving nod at my iridescent, lime green Jeep. “Makes a statement. It’s a given nobody is going to miss seeing you in this color. Cool choice.”

“Thanks.”

“Four-wheel drive?”

“Of course. It makes it a lot easier to maneuver the rough back roads I have to travel sometimes.”

He nodded. “It looks like something an Arizona girl would own.”

“Thanks. I love her.”

“Her?” he asked, cracking an impish smile.

“Yeah, I call her Peppy, because she really is compared to my old Volvo.”

We slid into the seats and he inhaled deeply. “Mmmmm. New car smell. Sweet!”

Shifting into reverse, I backed out of the space and could feel his gaze boring into me. I eased down the ramp and turned to meet his questioning eyes. “What?”

“So, you’re not bullshitting me? You got through college and never got high even once? No w**d, no coke, no…”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Again, the look of disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Unreal.” He stretched and yawned. “You don’t know what you’re missing. There’s some really outstanding product out there now. Know what I think?”

“What?”

“It should be legal to smoke everywhere like it is in Colorado, Washington and a bunch of other progressive states. I think the whole country is heading in that direction.”

His self-righteous smirk increased my irritation further. “Look, Sean, I guess you’re entitled to your opinion, but I have a different view. I mean, look at what’s going on right here, for heaven’s sake. Illegal d**g trafficking is no joke. Arizona is a major smuggling corridor. Hell, they just discovered another elaborate tunnel near Nogales the other day and seized drugs with a street value of more than a million dollars.”

His expression turned smug. “My point exactly. Make all drugs legal, problem solved.” He dusted his hands together. “The government can tax the s**t out of it and make a bundle of money. Everybody’s happy.”

“I doubt it would be that simple.”

“There are tons of people who think like me. What’s your solution?”

I shook my head. “I honestly don’t have the answer, but I do know we’ve got serious issues here with the criminal d**g cartels operating right across the border and spilling into Arizona complete with kidnappings, murders and ruined families as a result.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but then said, “Well, on the bright side, I read that the good citizens of Arizona are actually more open-minded than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. The medical m*******a law that passed here.”

“That’s true.”

“So, what do you think of it?” Before I could answer he tacked on, “Wait, don’t tell me. I’m guessing you’re against people with cancer and glaucoma, anxiety and chronic pain being able to get a little pot to help make them feel better.”

He was obviously trying to bait me. “You can drop the snarky attitude. Did I say that? Evidently you didn’t read the articles I’ve written on this subject where I present both sides. They’re online, you know.”

“Sorry. Missed ‘em. Been kinda busy.”

“Apparently,” I answered him dryly. “Anyway, my point is, the medical community is miles apart on how effective the program is and the jury is still out on how workable it’s actually going to be. In fact, problems have already developed. Over sixty thousand medical m*******a cards have been issued and they’ve discovered that a fair number of these card holders are getting their prescribed ounces from the dispensaries and then selling it for profit on the street, not to mention that the Feds are raiding dispensaries in other states as we speak because it’s contradictory to the Controlled Substances Act. And on top of that, now small children are getting ahold of it and ending up in the emergency room, so there’s a movement on to have the law repealed.”

“Well then, those people have their heads up their asses. It’s just a plant for crissake! It should be legal the same as booze and cigarettes, only at least c******s has proven medical benefits. Lots of other countries realize this and are now growing it for profit.”

I felt like I was talking to the wall. “Sean, the majority of medical practitioners I quoted in my piece question that assertion and also suggest that m*******a is considered a gateway d**g to the more dangerous ones like h****n, cocaine, meth and…”

He cut me off with a harsh, “That is so totally bogus!”

His defensive stance roused my suspicions. “Is it?”

Red-faced, he glared at me for several seconds, then declared earnestly, “Here’s the deal. I don’t think government belongs in the business of regulating drugs or regulating me or you in any way, shape, matter or form.” He folded his arms and added matter-of-factly, “I guess if you want to stick a label on me, you could call me a Libertarian.”

That didn’t surprise me. He’d always been a free spirit. “Reality check, Sean. Until drugs are legalized, keep in mind that right now, today, it’s still against Federal law in most states to be in possession, use and certainly to be dealing drugs. Got it?”

“Oh, cut me a freakin’ break, will you? I totally thought you’d be more cool about this.” His petulant expression reminded me of how he’d been as a kid: rebellious, adventurous, determined to always have his own way. A problem child. A difficult child. He’d gotten into minor scrapes as far back as I could remember, but his pranks and bad behavior escalated as he got older. My parents had been heartsick when he’d been expelled for two weeks his junior year in high school for verbally challenging one of his teachers and then being accused of shoplifting along with some of his buddies. He’d often been defiant when it came to following rules and he and my parents repeatedly clashed. I remember several times my mother stating with great drama that someday he’d be the death of her.

I circled down the ramp and drove around the terminal to the entrance I calculated was the closet to where my parents were waiting. Turning to Sean, I placed a hand on his left arm as he reached for the door handle. “Maybe we can continue this discussion later when we have more alone time, okay?”

He sighed deeply, staring straight ahead. “Why bother? We’re never going to agree.”

His churlish behavior made it difficult for me to keep my hair-trigger temper at bay. “Hey, don’t take it out on me just because you screwed up. I’m willing to listen to your viewpoint and conversely, maybe you could open up your stubborn-as-a-donkey ears and take a little advice from your older sister.”

He turned back to me. “You guys are so mired in your close-minded opinions you don’t give a s**t about mine. You know what? If Mom hadn’t gone through my bag and flushed my w**d before we left, I’d be feeling nice and mellow now instead of being stressed out from this s**t storm coming down on me.”

“You mean the s**t storm you brought on yourself?”

Ignoring me, he said, “Don’t sweat it, Ken. Everything’s cool. Really. You guys are making way too much out of this.” He pushed the door open, slammed it shut and sauntered towards the terminal.

As I watched him step through the sliding door, I had to admit to myself just how uncomfortable I felt about the whole situation as it hit home that a close member of my family was not only a pothead, but had been arrested for selling it. I could only imagine how angry and mortified my parents must be. It disturbed me greatly that Sean seemed so self-absorbed and nonchalant about getting busted. From what I remembered from Pennsylvania law, they were pretty hard on d**g dealers and Sean could possibly go to jail. He’d better have a really good lawyer. I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes, a slight headache tapping at my temples. My well-laid plans for a perfect day continued to unravel.