April 15
Kacky and Diesel showed me to a back room where we could have some privacy. They wanted to discuss laundering my money and how we may be able to help each other out. The Hawaiian Baby Woodrose hadn’t kicked in yet, but I was beginning to feel a little queasy. That’s how it starts, they tell me. I don’t believe ingesting Woodrose constitutes a slip in my sobriety. “It’s more of a religious sacrament,” Kacky assured me. “It weakens the membrane between our corporeal selves and the spirit world.” I’ve been sober for over two years now and this will be the first mind-altering substance I’ve partaken of, aside from some low-dose Hydros I got from the dentist after having two teeth pulled last year.
Diesel tells me about their connection in New York:
“There’s a girl at Bloomingdale’s who moves Fentanyl through the purse department. The drugs come from China, and a counterfeiting operation could complement our efforts to give the New York end of the supply chain more leverage in price negotiations. Apache (slang for fentanyl) could end up costing half of what we pay now, if we paid you instead. We’d buy your bills for fifty cents on the dollar and use them to pay for the Fentanyl. You’d only get, maybe ten cents on the dollar from anyone else. Fake US dollars are easier to pass in Asia. There’s no secret service breathing down their neck. Our Eastern connection, a guy called Trung, is highly motivated and we believe this could be lucrative for everyone.” Diesel proclaimed.
“And what’s in it for you? Where do you guys fit in? I’m just trying to suss out your motivation for wanting to help me.” I asked.
“The job is making you paranoid, man.” He laughed. “We’re middlemen. We work out logistics and we connect people.”
“Through these parties?” I asked.
“And various other networking channels. Kacky and I are the legitimate face of a consortium of… colorful characters.”
I met Kacky an hour earlier at the bar. I was shocked to find that they weren’t serving alcohol here, only mocktails. I couldn’t figure the place out. My friend, Frankie, told me about the party. I stopped in Provo because I knew a couple of people; acquaintances that were close enough that I could crash at their home, but not so close that they’d meddle in my business. Frankie and her husband ended up with Covid this weekend and stayed home to quarantine. I was staying in their guest house, but I’d rather not be there at all. I was a germaphobe even before the pandemic. Going to this party was a much needed break from four months of a perpetual grind, something for which I had nothing to show. The venue was some kind of theater called “Ralph’s Cinema El Grande”. It was basically just a concrete building next to some apartments on 500 North.
When I walked in, Kacky was doing a bar trick where she pulls the magnetic strip out of a dollar bill with her teeth. It was very sexy and after she did it once, I produced one of my fake hundreds and asked if she could do it again. This was me trying to get close to her. She took my bill and effortlessly tugged the tiny metal strip from the bill with her teeth, a skill about as useful as tying a knot in a cherry stem. She examined the strip closely once she’d removed it and immediately noticed that it said “USA 5” instead of “USA 100”.
“Where did this come from?” She asked me pointedly, like a girlfriend discovering another girl’s underwear in the laundry. Now, I hadn’t slipped up at all since I started turning five dollar bills into hundreds. Prudence was my biggest asset. I planned my work and I worked my plan. I didn’t make any extravagant purchases. I limited my motel stays to two nights. I never hit the same store twice. I lived like a hobo. No one knew my secret. It was hardly the life I’d imagined when I concocted this scheme. My loneliness was getting the better of me. It had been four months since Karen and I split up. Now here I was, about to expose myself for a potential fling. “I made it,” I said, with much hesitation.
Kacky introduced me to Diesel and Diesel introduced me to Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds. That was the only drug available at the Cool Shoes parties. It contains a naturally occurring variant of LSD, called LSA, or Lysergic Acid Amide. It’s also found in morning glory seeds, but you would have to ingest hundreds of them to get the same effect of five or six Woodrose seeds. LSA will give you a big tummy ache, and then “an invitation to the other side,” as D put it. He crushed mine up in a coffee grinder, then sprinkled the resulting crumbs into some hummus. I scooped it up with Stacy’s pita chips until I’d eaten all of my allotment. Six seeds was the dose Diesel prepared for me. He said he and Kacky usually ate ten.
Diesel looked exactly as a person named Diesel should: he was a bald headed bodybuilder in a gray suit with Italian shoes, and surprisingly, zero tattoos. It was hot in this room and he had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He straddled a chair backwards when he addressed me, like an after school special teacher about to get real about the dangers of marijuana. Kacky reminded me of Parker Posey. I quickly learned that she’s not into guys after watching her kiss Ginger, her girlfriend, on the lips ten minutes after I met her. She walked with a strange limp, and somehow still carried herself with a great degree of poise. I couldn’t help but notice the odd disconnect between this scene, and the horrifying world of fentanyl addiction. I wasn’t even sure if I could let myself be a part of something so dangerous. But here, at this party, with these people, the opiate epidemic felt far away. The less I thought about it the better. The closer we came to an agreement, the more I could rationalize this move.
I have been driving towards Redwood National Park since January, stopping along the way to eat, sleep, and print money. That’s what my days had boiled down to. This had become a full time job, exactly the thing I was trying to avoid. The art of counterfeiting, the way I do it, isn’t art at all. It’s a tedious science. I soak five dollar bills in degreaser, then print hundreds on the paper after it dries. I go to a Walmart, or Walgreens and use my bills to purchase Visa gift cards, which I am then able to spend freely. But the stress I put myself under is grueling. I wear disguises each time I visit a store. I keep a trunk full of random Goodwill clothes and hats. And every time I leave a town, I ditch the clothes. I’m considering swapping my Tacoma for a different vehicle, just to keep my cover fluid. I paid cash for it and had the title sent to my brother in Cheyenne. He’s worried about me. So is my sponsor. I haven’t been home since Christmas. I convinced my parents I found a good job in Salt Lake City. But my brother, Steve, knows a little bit more. He knows I’m driving west, but doesn’t know how I’m affording it.
I excused myself to the restroom to potentially throw up. Something was happening in my stomach. It felt like a creature was waking up and preparing to emerge from my esophagus in a parade-like fashion. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My facial hair was unkempt and I was in need of a haircut and a shower. My shoes were definitely not cool enough for this party. As I looked closer, and the LSA began to saturate my mind, I discovered that I could toggle how I saw myself. I could tell myself that I’m a cool hipster, and then my disheveled appearance seemed more justified. But if I identified as a bum, then I appeared homeless. That is a fine line walked by every skinny bearded guy wearing a flannel shirt and a Carhartt hat. I was desperate to see myself as a cool millennial Tyler Durden-type character. This was the break that I’d been waiting for. It was finally happening. I wanted to go back to the office and hug Diesel. I wanted to kiss Kacky. Provo could be my new home. They’re offering me $25,000 to make 500 bills. I wasn’t even sure how long that would take. A couple of days? It would be worth it. I’d work around the clock.
Back in the little office, Diesel shook my hand and we made a gentleman’s agreement. He gave me $5,000 up front. I told him I could have the money made in two days. I’ve never had to work under a deadline, but it would provide me with structure, something that’s been lacking in my life. We went back to the party and it felt very different. Maybe because of the Woodrose, or because I’m now making enough money that I don’t have to struggle so much. I sat down on a sofa and exhaled. My tongue fell out of my mouth involuntarily and all my bones were turning to mush. I was a blob on that sofa. People walked past me and commented that I looked smoother than before. I was an alien to this crowd of juggernauts. I felt lonely and I became aware of vast cobwebs in my mind. They were symbolic webs, but they were also literal. I could see them. These networks of silk were clogging up my psyche. To clear them out I had to turn my focus to things I’d been avoiding, like Karen. The cobwebs were my fears and resentments.
I reached for my phone to open a new Google Doc. I suddenly felt the need to jot down what I was experiencing. My thumbs typed enthusiastically. I was writing song lyrics, something I hadn’t had time to do in my new life. That’s what was missing: time. Under the influence of psychedelics, I could see that time was an infinite expanse and that it stretched in every direction. I’m sitting in the middle of an Endless Weekend:
We can break away from our everyday lives
And revel in the moments that we never had time to realize
We’ll take this weekend, make an endless expanse of time
And make some memories that will last us for all time
It’s an endless weekend, no boundaries or lines
Where we can go and do whatever strikes our minds
We’ll make the most of this weekend, as far as the eye can see
And find out just how far our love will take us, endlessly
We’ll go for a drive and see where it takes us, no destination in sight
We’ll dance to the rhythm of the stars in the night sky so bright
Our worries and cares will disappear like smoke in the wind
As we set ourselves free and watch our love begin
No one needs to know what we’ve been through
No one needs to share their story
We’re gonna go, go where nobody knows us
We’re gonna be free, free of all the pain
The next morning, waking up in Frankie and Richard’s guesthouse, my mind was clear and centered. I was more focused than I’d ever been. I had one objective: print 500 bills. I got to work. I went to my bank and got 500 five dollar bills. The story I had prepared was that it was my brother’s birthday and his lucky number is five. Silly, I know. But they didn’t even ask. I ordered three pizzas and worked all day. I had Monster energy drinks to keep me going. By sundown I had made 200. I took a short nap then trudged on. I had Prime Video on the TV in my room and was watching Mad Men while I worked. I watched the first two seasons. It was a show that I’d been meaning to see for the past ten years but never got around to it. I love Elizabeth Moss. I powered through the night and had 350 bills by dawn. Another nap. I’m on season 4. Don and Lane got hookers. Where do you even find hookers? I’ve stayed at the sleaziest motels in the Midwest and I’ve yet to see one. I guess you have to know somebody…
At 6:46 pm on day two, I cranked out my 500th bill. I even printed out little bands for them with a symbol that I made. I kinda ripped off the AA logo, but who cares. I texted Diesel and he said he would send someone by to pick them up. About twenty minutes later I heard a knock on the guesthouse door. It was Ginger, Kacky’s girlfriend. She took my bag of bills and paid me. $20,000 in clean money. I fell onto the sofa with the money in my arms. I slept for 6 hours, only to be awakened by my phone. It was a text from Diesel saying, “we need to talk”. Shit. I knew it was too good to be true. I thought about leaving town with the money and just never coming back here. I was afraid if I called him he would tell me there was something wrong with my bills. Like they weren’t good enough or something. I don’t deal with rejection well. But, in sobriety, I’m learning that I have to face my fears.
I called Diesel and he told me that there was a problem. My bills only had four unique serial numbers. I asked him why that was bad. Apparently, in a proper counterfeiting operation, each bill would have a different serial number. To be harder to trace. I’d never spent more than four bills at one time, so I didn’t have a reason to make more serial numbers. He was polite and said I could keep the $25,000, because we had an agreement. He said that he should have been more specific, and that, in the future, I would have to make each bill unique. I thanked him for his generosity. The call was downright pleasant. I always make things out to be worse than they are. I have enough money to get to the east coast. And I can take my time. All my fakes will be in New York, far away from me. This is my best case scenario. I told D that I’d work on making more serial numbers, but that’s far in the back of my mind right now.
The first thing I did was trade my truck for another one. I got another Tacoma, but this one is white. I had Steve mail me the title to the old truck last week. I didn’t see Frankie or Richard after the night of the party. They’re no longer contagious, but I said my goodbyes via text. I was looking forward to being on the road and as far away from illegal activity as possible. Before I left Provo, I went to the South Utah Animal Shelter and got a dog. His name is Django. He’s a four year old border collie. I think he’ll make a great travel companion. We’re off to see the Redwoods.
Embrace life's detours 