This is a fictitious web novel. All characters, living or dead,
and locations or events in this web novel are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental.
Chapter 8
and locations or events in this web novel are entirely fictitious or merely coincidental.
Chapter 8
The waft of sweet cannabis filled the house of the rogue botanist despite his best efforts to shuttle it through flexible ventilation shafts from the hydroponic garden to the attic.
Race asked if he was wary of local authorities noticing the smell coming from this house.
Not as long as I continue to put money in their Paypal bribery account. Otherwise, rumors of my check in-don'tcheck out house keeps almost everyone away.
Almost everyone?
The front yard is monitored by
laser sensors relayed to alarms and monitors in each room. The backyard
has a nearly impenetrable boundary of very nasty plants which I’ll show you in
the morning. Maybe there will also be an opportunity to show you my special way
of dealing with anyone crazy enough to make it to the interior of the back
yard.
Race scanned the front room
with awe and admiration. On one wall were shelf after shelf of glass jars
filled with dozens of cannabis strains – Kush, Blueberry, AK-47,
Critical, Super Silver Haze, Big Budda Cheese…. On
another shelf were hundreds of smaller jars; the end product of years of
extraction from plants for their psychoactive alkaloids. Some labels he recognized –
Lysergic Acid Amide from morning glory seeds (Ipomoea violacea),
mushrooms (Psilocybe cubensis)/(Amanita muscaria), DMT from
huisache (Acacia farnesiana), Salvinorin from Yerba de Maria (Salvia
divinorum). Others were unknown to him – iboga (Tabernanthe
iboga), Hawaiian woodrose (Argyreia nervosa) and corkwood tree (Duboisia
myoporoides). The amount of psychotropic plants was impressive for one
room until Race found the same setup in every room in the house. Even
the bedroom which only allowed enough space for a cot, computer and shelf-less
wall with disturbing overlapping drawing of hundreds of dismembered stick figures strewn
around a nuclear mushroom cloud.
I’ve set aside a space for you
to rack out.
The botanist led Race to a
small enclave with a cot where his dogs Kahn, Othello and Mr. Spock
slept. Race never questioned the eclectic accommodations. He
accepted that the botanist was too far gone to join the rest of society.
He dropped off his gear and luggage to join the botanist for dinner and as
expected it was boiled chicken and rice. It was boiled chicken and rice when he visited last time and it will be the same dinner years from
now. After dinner the two sat down to a vaporizer of the botanist’s
finest stock and discuss the current mission. At face value the botanist
loved the idea of Dungpileton destroyed in a Zombie apocalypse but he knew it
wouldn’t stop there.
How far are you willing to let this go?
How far are you willing to let this go?
Until I can eliminate the top
level insurgents in our government and it starts with the thin man. If I
have to wait until this town is one big zombie slave camp then so be it but I
won’t let it go beyond to other cities. My first meeting with the Family
operatives is in two days. Until then, you know as much as I do.
Now, what’s this about some geek babe you met at the Comicpaloza?
I still find it hard to believe
this chic is a geek’s dream come true. Her name is Debbie and so far she
passes every test with flying colors. I’ve yet to stump her on Star Trek
trivia and that is what bothers me.
How so?
The answers are too perfect and
detailed. I mean, I bring up Stovokor and she goes into a long story
about Jadzia Dax and Worf’s quest to honor her death. This led to a two hour
discussion of fluidic space where the Borg starts a war with Species
8472. It’s like she memorized every Star Trek episode down to its
most nuance event just for me. Then there’s that faint
Russian accent in Debbie’s’ voice when she rambled on.
Race glanced at the floor in
contemplation. Something about a beautiful Russian woman, and he’s known
many in his life, was formulating in his brain but he could not focus in his
condition. There was an easier solution.
Ok, if you can remember the
details then let’s look them up on the computer and see if some of what she says is just pure
internet trivia. Do you have a picture of her?
Yeah, I snuck one in with my
cell phone but I’m having problems with my screen. I’ll send you
it.
Their search for a connection
between Star Trek trivia and Debbie’s’ insincerity proved
inconclusive. Race didn’t see any justification for the botanist to fret
so much.
Look, you need to start a real
relationship instead of spending all your money on hookers. Like Freud
said, Sometimes a cigar is a cigar.
The botanist could accept this if it weren’t for the connection between him and the assault on Jessica. Race knew his old friend well. When he came to a crossroads there was only one way to reach a definable outcome.
The botanist could accept this if it weren’t for the connection between him and the assault on Jessica. Race knew his old friend well. When he came to a crossroads there was only one way to reach a definable outcome.
Okay, if I can’t convince you
to get a piece of legitimate ass then you will have to consult the Great Oak
and I suspect you were looking for an excuse to do that anyway.
You know me too well,
Race. The botanist walked over to a shelf above his cot and removed from
a jar his most precious hallucinogen – a button of peyote (Lophophora
williamsii). Tomorrow we seek the Great Oak’s guidance so we better
get some rest.
Race slept well as far as
sleeping well goes for him. Rarely would he feel secure enough to go into
deep sleep. His weapon stayed by his side, a Mark XIX Desert Eagle .50
caliber pistol and that, coupled with the botanist’s security arrangements
allowed him a much needed REM respite. His dreams never needed
interpretation. They were straight forward reliving of his missions and
assassinations, the too many people who died, his one true love now deceased.
She appeared to him in a ghostly vestige. They would
always caress and part with a kiss but this time, as she approached, he was
drawn back into the world of reality by the barking of dogs. When he
awoke he saw none of the dogs present. Getting up he walked to the window
of the door to the back yard. A utility pole light revealed
the botanist walking up to very thin man lying on the ground. He appeared
to be covered in tattered, bloody clothing. Without hesitation the botanist
raised his arm and brought down a mallet on the head of the man. He
immediately stopped moving. Discarding the mallet the botanist walked to
a machine with a hopper and a long, large diameter pipe extending from it - a wood chipper. The pipe bended downward over a large box container. He turned on the machine then positioned the dead man to the back of
the hopper. Lifting the hopper lid, he heaved the man into the chipper which immediately grind and exited mulched body parts into the box. All three of his dogs waited patiently beside two cats, Doobie Jr. and Motorhead. Cats being cats, they did not heed the botanist’s
orders to wait to eat the remains of the man which he scooped into their bowls
with a shovel. The dogs however gorged themselves when given the command
to do so. Race smiled, knowing he would get a full explanation in the morning
and went back to sleep.
In the morning Race walked out
to the back yard where the botanist was smoking a joint while rinsing out the
wood chipper with a garden hose. He had a joint of OG Kush reserved
for Race. Lighting it, Race took a long drag then commented on last night.
So this is what happens to tresspassers?
Yeah, another one got past
the wall. It’s always someone jacked up on meth or PCP and
stealing weed from my garden to sell for more drugs. This is always
a special treat for the boys.
Race looked behind him at the
dogs and cats sitting by their bowls, expecting to have him for
breakfast. After cleaning out the wood chipper the botanist lead Race on a
tour of the wall. The wall was groves of Hercules' club (Zanthoxylum clava-herculis) and devil’s walking stick (Aralia spinosa), interweaved with
poison ivy (Toxicodendra radicans) and green briar (Smiax
rotundifolia). At the base of the grove grew bull nettle (Cnidoscolus
texanus). Thick vines of dewberry (Rubus trivalis) faced the
back yard, offering berries in the spring.
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| Hecules' Club |
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| Devil's Walking Stick |
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| Bull Nettle |
The botanist walked over to his cannibis garden, picking up a jar of white powder which he poured around the the base of several plants. Human bone powder mixed in the soil was his secret recipe for growing the best weed in Texas.
Let’s get breakfast and head out to the oak. I'm jones'in for some barbacoa.
The Great Oak
San
Bertram National Wildlife Refuge
No one worked at the refuge on
Saturday other than law enforcement officers who were busy tracking
poachers. The route to the oak was a walk of twenty minutes along a
grassy trail to the interior of the forest. Along the route Race
posed a question to the botanist.
If you are atheist then why do
you believe you are connecting with the oak on a spiritual level?
Good question. There’s
nothing spiritual about this. In fact this is no different than a
believer praying. We are both seeking answers we already know. I
just need to dig a little deeper in the recesses of my mind. My guidance
from the Great Oak is strictly metaphorical but my presence is a real
reconnection to the natural circle of life.
The Great Oak, a live oak (Quercus
virginiana var. virginiana), was discovered by General Langford ten
years prior when he, Race and the botanist were hiking the area. It
usurped the Goose Island Oak's claim as the largest oak tree in Texas with a
circumference of thirty-two feet, a height of 67 feet and a crown of 100
feet. The age was postulated at 500+ years. Deeper in the route the
heavier canopy dispersed sun loving plants, promoting a sub-story of shade
tolerant laurel cherry (Prunus caroliniana), soapberry (Sapindus
saponaria var. drummondii), Cherokee sedge (Carex cherokeensis)
and sabal palms (Sabal minor).
 |
| The Great Oak |
 |
| Peyote |
