The only marijuana magazine bringing you the stories of other pot smokers and smugglers.

Growin' Our Own (page 2)

I was A Grass Runner for A Biker Crew

By: Running Free

This story is about grass running days for a guy, Bobby, who was a big unpredictable tattooed enforcer for a bad ass biker group. Finally he was convicted for murder and sent to prison. He was a smuggler, pilot, drug dealer, who just a few years later planned and carried out big drug money ripoffs with a crew armed with machine guns. Bobby, always armed and dangerous, looked for trouble and was involved in everything you could imagine. In about 1969 he was arrested at an airport flying in a load of grass from Baja, Mexico in a stolen Cessna. The 800+ pound load was destined to be distributed by the well known biker club and like many other loads he brought in weekly would have been distributed and out of his hands within 24 hours. This airport bust stopped him for a while, but others took his place in this Southern California based smuggling operation and the loads never stopped coming. Loads went as far north as Sacramento and San Francisco. Mules from around the state were staying at a motel in a nearby town, waiting for the late night phone call to "Hit the Road." This was the code, a signal telling me that my car was already loaded with my "fronted" 100 bricks of grass. I was one of Bobby's trusted mules (although I preferred to be called a runner) who would drive grass a few hundred miles up state and sell it. All you had to do to get a mule's job was you had to be connected to the group and be accepted on the inside, and given Bobby's O.K. They really liked straight looking nerd types for transporting weed around the state of California.

My First Trip as A Runner

When I checked into the motel I gave the clerk my phoney name which was already down for a reservation. This was about 10 at night. My black haired American Indian girlfriend and I went to the room for some fun and sex games while my car sat out in the parking lot with the doors unlocked and keys hidden over the visor. After a hot sex bout in the tub and some TV watching, we fell asleep. About 2 a.m. the phone rang. When I picked it up I heard in a bad accent, "Hit zee road." Without any delay we were dressed and out the door getting into my car in less than 5 minutes. When I opened the door my car smelled like a hay truck inside. I was worried about whether it would eventually smell that strong outside the car. I didn't look around to see if we were watched or for cops, as I slowly and cautiously pulled out of the motel driveway and onto the Highway 101 freeway ramp. I had met nobody except the motel clerk who wasn't in on the deal as this was all prearranged by Bobby. Before we checked into the motel I'd filled up the gas tank and checked all of the lights and turn signals at the gas station, so after my car was loaded we were ready to roll on our late night marathon driving up 101 to Monterey. About an hour north of Santa Barbara on 101 I was driving like I had cruise control, when a CHP black and white came up behind us. I wanted to roll the windows down to air out the car, but I thought he would really smell the weed, so we kept driving. Without turning my head I kept my eyes on the speedo, rear view mirrors, and the highway in front of us. I never mentioned the cop on my tail to my girlfriend as it is always human nature to turn around and look, arousing suspicion. The cop paced us for about 8 miles before he finally passed. I kept wondering if the cop could smell the weed, but was relieved when he took off and passed us. There was no traffic on the road and if he had wanted to, he could have hassled us with some made up excuse. At a time like this you don't want to discover that you have a taillight out. This CHP was the only alert and otherwise it was just a normal drive at night. Nearing Paso Robles, we encountered some hella thick fog. We could hardly see anything and I just tried to see the lines or side of the road, which was nearly impossible. I was doing about 20 in this nighttime pea soup fog. Finally I tried to get off 101, and got lost on some one lane road called 41. This was a really curvy useless road and I lost a lot of time by making this mistake. Finally as it was getting daylight I hit some other marked road and headed back west to 101. Arriving at my home near Monterey, CA, I parked in my garage. I told my old lady to go get some sleep and she went off to bed. Now alone without my woman or any other witness I opened the trunk. In this business if you were careful, didn't brag, and had no witnesses, you might make it for a while without getting busted or ripped off. I always tried to have the best insulation I could create.

Unloading the Bricks

Looking in the black carpeted trunk I saw four big black plastic garbage bags. I took out one of the bags and opened it. Inside was an open cloth sack which had Mexican logos and writings all over it. I reached inside and pulled out one of the many red paper wrapped bricks of Mexican reg grass. I emptied the whole sack, one brick at a time, stacking the bricks cris-crossed as they had been placed into the sacks. After I followed this process of emptying all 4 of the sacks I had 4 nice neatly stacked piles totaling 100 bricks of grass. Only then did I peal off the masking tape from the red paper on one of the bricks and examine the pressed buds and sample the weed. You see this was not some ordinary weed deal, where you see a pound, sit around and sample it or have some small party. This was a business deal set up by bikers. This dealing is much higher up in the chain as these bricks came from the smuggler, Bobby, himself. It was all meant to happen where I met nobody, and the bricks were mine without paying for them in advance. I was just trusted with over 200 pounds of weed, and there was no talking, meetings, parties, or negotiations. I was the only hippie involved, as this smuggler and his crew were just bad ass biker dudes making some quick money. All I had to do to get into this operation was keep my mouth shut, follow instructions and pay for the load one week later. It was a great responsibility to be fronted all this weed, as I had to pay for it no matter what happened. If I had been busted on the highway, or any other time, or if I got ripped off, I still had to pay these guys or suffer their wrath. I could have no excuses for not making the payment. Also this was somewhat of a retail deal where Bobby made more money as I had to pay $110. for each brick. If I paid cash at delivery I could have bought these bricks for $90. each. I sat on the concrete floor smoking a joint, looking at the most grass I'd ever seen in my life, wondering how my week would go by. I rearranged the piles into a closet and went to bed hoping I could off this much grass and make my payment on time. I hoped Bobby and his crew wouldn't rip me off either. They could sell the same bricks a few times if they ripped me off, and the next guy, etc. I had no trouble curling up beside my soundly sleeping naked Indian lady and I went to sleep in the daytime.

Offing 100 Bricks of Marijuana

As I said nobody knew about my night trip and nobody knew I had these bricks. I was just some love and peace hippie, who didn't like to circulate unless it was with really close friends or totally out of my area where I was unknown. Now to get rid of all this grass I had to figure out who to circulate a story to so I could get them to sell these bricks for me. I just couldn't run an ad in the classified ads to sell 100 bricks, and I didn't want to meet 100 different people or have 100 different sales. A close friend came over in the afternoon and I showed him 1 brick. He said, "Oh my God," when he looked at the artwork of pressed buds. I asked him to roll a joint and evaluate the weed. He lit up a jay and took a wine taster's hit. While exhaling he explained his conclusion to me that it was very high quality Mexican reg. He asked me why I had a whole brick when usually I might have a few ounces. He was impressed with this brick. I told him I met a guy in Big Sur, who said he could sell me these bricks for $140, each. I told my friend that I didn't want to be involved as I didn't want to deal in bricks, but the guy from Big Sur wouldn't meet anybody, and only wanted to go through me. I told him I didn't even want the brick around my place as it was too much weed for me to be holding. I asked him if he would mind taking the brick and see if he could sell some of them for the guy in Big Sur. He looked surprised at me wanting the brick out of my house, but he quickly taped it up, and placed it under his coat. I told him, "One last thing, if my name ever comes up, or if I hear a rumor about me, this will be cut off from you forever. Do you understand?" His answer was, "Affirmative." "This is between you and the other guy and I'm just stuck in the middle. If you sell 10 bricks he'll give you a price break to $135. So if you sell 10 bricks for $160. you can end up with about 2 bricks for free. " My friend took off on his new money making venture with a really solid and steady connection, the non-existent guy from Big Sur. I repeated this story with some friends circulating in different groups who I hoped wouldn't cross paths. My friend was back the next day with $1,350. cash some smokers had fronted to him and for some ounces he had sold from the brick that I fronted to him. I told him I needed to use his car to pick up his bricks and that he was in luck as the guy from Big Sur had just called to tell me he was in town. I said, "Now you got the 1 brick already, so he owes you 9 more." I drove my friend down to a hamburger joint where I dropped him off. Then I drove back to my place where I loaded some paper grocery bags with 15 bricks into his trunk. Later I found out that most dealers will rent an apartment where they keep the stash, and won't keep it around their house like I was doing. I fronted my friend Tim the 5 extra bricks so he wouldn't be coming back so soon. I knew he'd be wanting them and more at these low prices. Anyway I killed some time at home with my old lady and then went back to pick up my friend Tim. It was only about 45 minutes that he had been waiting. He looked in his trunk and I drove him back to my pad. He was excited about the 5 extra bricks and he took off to deliver his weed to his customers and to sell the 5 extra bricks. This was how it went with various friends and dealers. I kept this circle very small and people were wanting to meet the guy from Big Sur so I wasn't the man for these deals. Finally I had assembled all the money to pay Bobby for the 100 bricks of grass. Actually I only had to sell about 82 bricks at $135. to pay Bobby his money, and the rest of my profit remained in 18 bricks which were now already paid for.

The Payoff to Bobby the Smuggler

I was 2 days early when I went to a house where I simply dropped the $11,000. cash into the mail slot which went into the wall of the designated house. The way you arrange this cash is the big bills go outside and graduate into the smaller bills on top. Each thousand of cash is rubber banded and the whole wad of cash is rubber banded or you may make 2 or more stacks if the wad's too big. The whole system worked and Bobby was paid in full. All of this was successfully done without meeting anyone from Bobby's crew, and they didn't meet me. Then I got a call from a stranger who was setting up a meeting to go meet Bobby in another city 100 miles away. Bobby praised me for being early with my cash payment on my first run, and said, "I wish all my guys were as quick as you. Are you ready to do it again?" I said, "OK, but I had a problem when my car smelled like a hay truck." He said, "I'll take care of that and it won't happen again. And if you ever need any muscle on collections or protection just let me know." I thanked him and left for my home.

Ongoing Enterprise and Quitting the Business

The night had been arranged for me to check into a different motel. The uneventful next trip was about the same with no fog, and when I got home and opened my trunk I smelled moth balls, which were loosely placed in my trunk to cover up the sweet smell of marijuana. I made over $2,000. a week doing this repeatedly, which was more money than I could spend. Finally I gave it up as these red paper wrapped bricks were talked about everywhere, the market was saturated and I figured my friends and I were getting too hot with the cops. I had moved over a ton of grass for Bobby in about 3 and a half months and was flush with cash, ready for a vacation. I told Bobby I was too hot and had to quit. He sadly understood and left me alone. He said, "I could put pressure on you, but I'm not going to. If you ever want back in or need muscle call me." He always remained my good friend although I rarely saw him. Within a week I was on a Pan Am 747 jet headed for London, with a one year open return ticket . I was only 20 years old but ready for a different adventure. Also I wanted to get away from the cops, Bobby, and the weed scene. For a change I told as many people as I could find that I was leaving for a year so the rumor would be circulated far and wide. If I was under investigation or got hot later, the cops couldn't do a thing when they discovered that I was out of the country. I figured they would forget about a guy they couldn't talk to or watch. One who moved out of the country would require moving onto other local and available fish. Tim was the most disappointed at my sudden news and thought he would go broke from the loss of all this easy money. He wasn't my problem and if he hadn't saved his cash that too was his problem. My old lady was disappointed too, but I told her she shouldn't have pressured me to marry her. She was a wonderful person and I heard that after our breakup she moved to Colorado, and is married with 4 children. I wish her the best.

When I returned from a tour of Europe I met up with Bobby and some others at a bar and they all wanted to come to my house for a party. We closed the bar and went to my house for catching up on our lives. I went into my room and a foxy lady came in sitting on my bed Indian style with her thighs wide open and ankles crossed. Her short dress revealed no panties and a nice crop of brown hair. She said, ‘Can we stay in here for a while? I want to jump your bones." I couldn't refuse getting to know this stranger intimately so I locked the door and we had some passionate sex. Nobody looked for us but I wondered if she was a set up so Bobby could search the rest of my house looking for my money or guns. When we got up to see the others they were all gone. I asked who she came with and she told me she came with her old man Gary. I was shocked, as I figured she was a party girl a groupie who just came along to parties. "Gary's your old man?" I questioned her in my shock. Gary was as bad as Bobby and a person you never crossed. I hoped he wouldn't kill me. Well, it was too late now so I spent a few days with her. Gary called 3 days later looking for her and I sincerely apologized to him. He said it's OK and I'd like to meet you at the bar Friday night. I reluctantly said, "OK," figuring he would beat the shit out of me or just kill me. After I hung up the phone I went looking for Bobby to see if he would intervene in a domestic matter. He laughed when I told him and said he would fix it with Gary. Friday night came and I went to the bar to meet Bobby first and Gary second. Gary was shooting pool and I couldn't avoid him seeing me. Bobby was nowhere to be seen and I was worried. Gary rushed up to me and moved swiftly with his right arm raising it and throwing it my way. I braced for the impact when he suddenly dropped his hand towards a handshake. He laughed and said, "Hey, she was a slut." A few years later I heard that Bobby was doing machine gun ripoffs of other smugglers loads and their cash, and while on a cocaine binge he was finally arrested for a butcher knife murder. Gary was found murdered in a cabin about 2 years ago. Bobby's story will be continued in a later issue of Bud Life.

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Mike Golden, the Radio Rebel