Lance, You Lie: End

Previous Chapters Here:

One Two Three Four Five Six

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I went through the plan with Kim in great detail for what was to happen once he and John landed. He was not to look for me, shout, or do anything that might look unusual. It was going to look unusual enough just having a private plane touching down behind the sheriff’s headquarters. I made Kim repeat all the steps back to me about a million times. John assured me he could land the plane and stop quickly. He and Kim would throw the duffel bags out and Kim and I could have them in the car in less than thirty seconds. John would begin his take off as soon as the last bag left the plane.

Total time on the ground: less than one minute. “Beautiful. I hoped it actually turns out that way,” I remember saying to them both. If you’re wondering what happened to Kirk, well he’d had enough of the Lance and Kim Show, and decided to hang it up. No problem; we really didn’t need him anyway. Ditto for Joe after his release from hospital and we returned his car to him.

The day before the flight, I made Kim take the Impala to the shop and purchase new tires. He balked at this, but I explained to him that I did not want to be driving around Lake Charles with over a hundred pounds of pot and have a blowout. He took the car and bought the tires. I had satisfied myself that all was in order and had made several final recons of the landing site just to make sure someone had not decided to begin a construction project in the middle of my runway. No one had. We were set.

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Lance, You Lie: Chapter Six

Chapters: One Two Three Four Five

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There were a few other escapades no less bizarre during this time, but I won’t recount them here. Like the infamous naked, midnight go-cart ride over and through some very nicely landscaped yards of the Lake Charles rich and famous. Well, rich anyway… “Don’t start Lance. Get on with the pot smuggling story.”

After several more ‘adventures’ as described above, Kim and I decided we needed to go to McAllen to expedite things with the Mexicans. We took our partner Kirk with us for balance and also because he had some friends in San Antonio we could hang out with before we drove south to McAllen. We ended up staying in San Antonio for several weeks before making our way south. Long story why and not particularly exciting, so I’ll skip it.

We arrived in McAllen late one sultry Saturday night and having nothing better to do until morning when we were to hook up with Pablo, we decided to drive into Mexico and visit ‘Boy’s Town’ in Reynosa. Kim had been there before and told us how the deal worked:

“Before we go, we have to make sure the car is clean. No pot, no guns, no nothing. If we get busted they will put us in jail for a w-h-i-l-e.”

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Lance, You Lie: Chapter Three

 

So we set about the business of selling marijuana in earnest while looking for a way to increase our volume to meet the ever-increasing demand in Lake Charles. The first order of business was to find a pilot. As I was the ‘behind-the-scenes-guy,’ Kim took on this assignment. I knew that if there were a candidate anywhere within one hundred miles, he would find him. Within two weeks, I was being introduced to John Byrd, who, along with his new bride, owned a pet shop in town. Barbara, (A veteran of the off-shore oil rigs—really. She was an ex-roughneck) ran the place. John was flying roughnecks back and forth to the oil rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico when they met. He was a three-tour Vietnam vet chopper pilot—First Cav—and he was bored. We, well Kim, had found our man, but Kim would not tell John anything about our business or his potential role in it until I had met him and given my blessing. At least, at this point, Kim was following my rules. This would change later.

We ‘hired’ John one night over beers, pizza, and loud music at one of the local hang-outs and our next task was to find a contact with contacts in Mexico who could turn us on (pun intended) to a supplier. South Louisiana and South Texas had no shortage of Mexicans (Generally referred to as “Meskins” in the Texas vernacular, but not by me, finding that a little too much “country when country wasn’t cool”) then or now, and it wasn’t too terribly long before we had our contact. His name was Pablo (I swear) and he lived with his family down around McAllen, on the southern Texas border. He also had family in Reynosa, Mexico which was just across the border from McAllen. Things were looking very good for us.

After we made all the contacts, had everything set up (too easy, in my mind), and were making plans to move forward, two things happened: Our local supply dried up and our money ran out. We were losing the apartment, the Harley, and some of Kim’s ‘good friends.’ The last didn’t upset me at all.

On the night before we were forced to move out, I sat down with Kim, our other two partners (the ones who had been living in the apartment with us), and while Kim’s girlfriend cooked supper and we drank, I explained to all the seriousness of our situation. No real need to explain to anyone other than Kim, but we were ‘a team’ and I wanted complete understanding and agreement from everyone for our path forward. Kim was still in denial over his ‘empire’ crumbling, or at least in bad need of repair. The only one missing from the meeting was our pilot, but I had already spoken to him, and since he was the oldest and most mature, I had no trouble with him understanding.

The path forward was a simple one: Joe would move back in with his parents (wealthy Lake Charles family), Kirk would move in with his girlfriend, and Kim, Gerry (Kim’s girlfriend with a “guy” moniker—never did ask her how that came about) and I would move in with John and Barbara. Gerry and Barbara had become instant fast friends the first time they met, so this was an easy deal and a no-brainer.

We would all lie low while Kim and I sorted out the mess and tried to convince the Mexicans to give us marijuana on credit. A lot of marijuana. In fact we figured the plane John was planning to lease could hold well over one-hundred pounds, so that was my goal. I probably don’t have to tell you that asking for one hundred pounds of pot on credit from Mexican drug dealers was ludicrous, but I have always been cursed with a little too much self-confidence and cock-eyed optimism and I just didn’t see how we could fail.

We made arrangements to fly Pablo and an associate from McAllen to Lake Charles for a ‘face-to-face.’ After they arrived, we took them over to John’s house for drinks and food (We had told Barbara we were bringing some friends over from Texas: ‘William and Paul’—Gerry already knew the score) and laid out the plans for our, certain to be, prosperous and profitable business venture, of course partnered up with them. They spoke English well enough for me to make them understand how very professional we were. Kim lathered on his charm and had them laughing and joking with us before it was all said and done, sealing the deal. Immediately after they left Barbara asked her husband, “How come William and Paul are ‘Mexican?’”

John said without hesitation, “Honey, I suppose their parents are Mexican.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

Chapter Four

Texans For Kinky UNITE!

Now, for all y’all Texans out there in Radio Land, this Man needs no introduction: The Once and Future Guv of Texas, Kinky Friedman and his Texas Jewboys Band:

He’s just an asshole, but dammit! He’s our Asshole an’ we love him.

Fer the res’ of all y’all who were unlucky enuff to not be born’d in This-Great-Land, Way’ll, Please watch an’ enjoy.

An’ lemme say this by way of dis’claimering: Kinky ain’t no race-ist (Hell! He drives a pickup truck, not a Ferrari) agin’ Meskins. He is all over tongue-n-cheek an’ pokes fun at all o’ y’all Texicans. Most even at me.

Kinky Fer President in ‘16!

Feel Me?

I love all y’all (even all y’all Yankees)

Peace Out,

Y’all’s Lance-ikin

“Aren’t you scared the Lord will hit you with a light-en-ing bolt?”

“I figger if he did, He’d know what He was doin’. I’d just ride it wherever it took me.”

–Dave Gardner

(“Me no Alamo”)

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“According to Texas legend, in 1836, when Sam Houston, master of the strategic retreat,

220px-Sam_Houston_by_Mathew_Brady

The Raven

and the Texan Army finally allowed Santa Anna and the Mexicans to catch up with them, the Texans waded into the sleeping Mexicans at San Jacinto, yelling, “Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!” while filleting Mexicans left and right with their bayonets. The panicked Mexicans tried to scramble away, screaming, “Me no Alamo, me no Goliad!” It has come to mean, “Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t do it.”

“All the stuff I report in this book happened. I didn’t make up any of it.”

“Me no Alamo.”

–Molly Ivins

From her wonderful book: “Molly Ivins Can’t Say That, Can She?”

Molly

Molly

Read it.

And Weep.

And laugh

Yer Ass Off