Red Rag in my trumpet case.
Friday before 3. I hustle out. Cold, cloudy, oppressively winter. Front seat, shotgun, hunched down. I know the drill. “Hey, little chilly today, ain’t it?” he says.
“Damn right. Same place?”
“Yep. You two lovebirds have a good New Years?” He pops in a Rascals 8 track.
“Yep. Good to kick back with somebody nice.”
We ride in silence. Some of these songs are unfamiliar, I’m groovin’ but it isn’t Sunday. “Doug, dumb question….”
“Shoot.”
“How do you duck cops?
A laugh. “Not a dumb question. First, rich town cops are blind and deaf. They know these kids are gonna get drunk, but they can’t bust any. Rich daddies would have their asses on a plate. Two, you just lay low. I don’t buy too much and I watch who I sell to. They’re kids I know who aren’t wimps. I make one stop, max two. Everything gets hauled out of that trunk into someone’s garage. What they do after that is out of my hands.”
I nod. Sounds logical. “So this is all for parties?”
“Mostly not. Usually for a few guys who want brew and weed to party while somebody’s parents are out. I know some that play poker for 4 hours. But occasionally there’re some larger parties.”
“How’s that work?”
“They either get a huge container of beer, called a keg or a half keg, the kind a tap goes in. Then everyone pays money to get in. Sometimes I’ve seen these rich bastards actually throw open the doors and let anyone drink for free.”
“Sounds like it’s pushing your luck.”
“Welllllllll……” he drawls out the word, amusement on his breath. “It can be. Two things make cops crazy–drunk driving and pissing in people’s yards.”
I’m hysterical. “Peeing? You’re shitting me!”
“You don’t drink yet. When you drink beer, kiddo, your kidneys shift to overdrive. I was at a party last year where one toilet went south, so we had to go out on the second floor roof and piss off into bushes.”
Now THAT sounds like something to see…………er, maybe not. This high school stuff is sure strange.