tomatoes spread across vast farms.
Once over the valley, south of Fresno, Peña sent a text message from his phone and received a numeric answer in less than a minute. He wrote the coordinates on a piece of paper and went forward to the pilot’s cabin. The flight computer would find the field.
On the ground, Mojo’s limousine was driving over the crest of the Grapevine Pass in the Tehachapi Mountains on Interstate Five. His driver was alone up front, and he had one bodyguard with him. The vehicle drove smoothly enough that he enjoyed watching a re-run of the Laker’s game from the night before. At the base of the mountain range, the freeway flattened for hundreds of miles of fertile plain. They took the first exit onto route 166 west toward Maricopa. There was a private grass airstrip isolated in the middle of a lemon grove where they would meet. The grove hid more than a hundred acres of cannabis growing between rows owned by Mojo.
Nearing the airstrip, the pilot did several spiral turns at lower altitudes, each time while Peña and Ramon examined the perimeter carefully. Finally, the pilot was cleared by Peña to land on the three thousand foot strip, barely long enough to approach safely. On grass, the pilot used full flaps and engine braking to avoid skidding. They taxied back to the middle of the runway, parking on the opposite side from the limousine. After some moments, the plane door opened. Peña stepped from the plane as Mojo closed the car door, walking alone to mid-field. It was equally safe or equally dangerous for both men, depending on viewpoints.
Luca extended his hand. “Mojo, my dear friend.” They embraced to check for weapons. Neither was armed.
“Luca, buddy. What’s happening?” Both men kept moving their heads slightly, watching for anything alarming. Mojo was almost a head taller than Peña and a physical match would be completely one-sided, but this was a business meeting.
Luca began, “Mojo, how’s business?”
“Ain’t nothin’ better now, Luca. Growin’ bigger each year.”
“Mine as well, my friend. We will be encountering each other more frequently soon as we both expand our territories.”
“I know you’s right, Peña. So, what you gonna do ‘bout it. You gonna quit and retire, or wait till we have a showdown?”
“Well, Mojo. I think we should avoid that. I want to offer you a proposition.”
Mojo smiled. “You mean, let’s-make-a-deal kind of proposition?”
“Precisely.”
“Okay. Lay it out.”
Luca looked at him. He had never respected Mojo for his intelligence. The man was reckless and had just been lucky, avoiding prison. Peña knew Mojo’s drugs came through Calexico, away from the high-visibility portals, but that wasn’t the result of superior wisdom, it just happened as a result of his fear of flying farther from LA. Tijuana was saturated with petty criminals, DEA and Border Patrol. Calexico was quiet. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.
On the other hand, the supply was limited, which Peña could help. He explained. “Look, Mojo, I import more coke (cocaine) than anyone this side of El Paso. I could bring more. You have a good distribution chain. I say let’s combine forces. You guarantee to move my entire product, and I’ll give you all my distributors outside Northern California.”
Mojo stared at him, thinking. “You mean you’s gonna stop competing in Nevada and Arizona and give it to me if’n I buy ever thing you bring in?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t any. You’re good at distribution, and I’m best at shipping supply. It’s a good match.”
“Who’s the boss?”
“You and me, both. I don’t want to know anything about your business, and you won’t know how I get the goods. It’s a perfect match.”
Mojo seemed skeptical. He didn’t like being manipulated. “How’s I know I can trust you?”
“Look, Mojo. Why would I betray you? I make a good buck moving the big shipments, and they’ll only get bigger with our territories under your control. I’ll get more deals from the producers, and the Mexicans will get less. That’s all.”
Mojo stood silent for a moment, then said, “Sounds promising, Luca. How do I know I can trust you?”
He answered. “How do I know about you? It’s pretty simple really. Once we’re mutually dependent, I don’t have distributors, and you need me for all your supply. That insures our cooperation.”
“How’s I know you won’t cheat me? I don’t like bein’ cheated. I move my stuff cheaper’n you. I could lose my business if’n you raised my cost.”
“Look, Mojo. I have as much or more to lose if we aren’t fair. You can talk to any of my people after we deal, and they’ll tell you I never cheat them. That’s a ticket to the morgue in our business.”
“You got that right.” Mojo wasn’t smiling, but he was looking at Peña seriously.
They’d been on the ground long enough. Peña finished. “You have my proposition. Let me know in a week of it’s a deal.”
Mojo, nodded, “In a week.”
They both turned without shaking hands and went back to their transports, while bodyguards watched closely.
Questioning
The Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Basin is characterized by tiny historic towns, meandering creeks, beautiful natural areas, and delectable blue crabs. It is isolated from the rest of the state and Capitol region by the Bay Bridge, protecting its isolation as farmland and quaint bed-and-breakfasts.
Laura Malone grew up on the shore of the bay. Her parents operated a small farm and opened their massive Victorian house for carefully-screened guests as a B & B when the girls, Laura and her older sister, were college age. Her parents also worked for the Government in Annapolis. She grew up in a tranquil environment, free of most concerns. The schools were small and intimate, but didn’t prepare her socially for college. She nearly panicked when entering her first lecture hall with more than a hundred students, but she was ahead in most subjects and had an easier time than most achieving top honors. She graduated summa cum laude. She was attractive and popular, but avoided many of the wilder aspects of campus life. Her focus was always on a career, and college was simply a stepping stone.
After graduation, with a degree in accounting, she applied for several positions in Government, hoping to move to the Capitol Region. The FAA hired her as a GS-7 trainee in their expanding procurement department. Her parents helped her move into an apartment near the center of Arlington, close to the Orange and Blue Metro Lines. It was a lively area, near the Courthouse and one of the safest areas with an abundance of young people, entertainment and shopping. As a country girl, they wanted their daughter to be safe more than anything else. It was also a great location with direct routing to her office.
She made friends with younger single people at the FAA and immediately started enjoying activities with groups her age. There were no men that she found engaging enough to date, but had many friends of both sexes. She had a problem with her boss, Edward “Buzz” Finney. Buzz was a fortyish overweight bureaucrat with a shaved head and scruffy grey-brown goatee. He was actually shorter than Laura, but didn’t relate that way. Her first day on the job, Buzz had insisted on spending the day with her and continuing throughout the next month, “tutoring” her on her role. He’d been doing it for over twenty years, having started as an Air Force enlisted administrator that never went to college. He could recite procurement regulations and FAA processes like an encyclopedia, but he was of very little professional help. He wanted to sit uncomfortably close to her. He also enjoyed Korean food for lunch, adding to her discomfort,
Several of the girls warned her about Buzz’s aggressiveness toward women, but she didn’t know how to push back. She finally talked to her mother, thinking that she might have to quit. She hated the repulsive little man. Every girl in the department hated him, and most of the Administrators were women. She had been there almost a month when Buzz sli
d close enough to rub his thigh against hers. She squirmed away, but other body parts came into contact. He said, “You know, Laura, I’m an excellent cook. I cook sushi and crepes and elegant sea food. I know you’d love it. We should start hanging together outside work. She nearly vomited and pushed him away. He had a horrified look on his face as she stormed off to the personnel office. She’d had enough of his harassment. It would be bad enough if the man had any attractive qualities, but he was repulsive in every respect.
A short time later, he was alone in his office when an HR representative closed the door and spent an hour investigating allegations of sexual harassment. Several other girls were asked to come to HR for private interviews. Laura was given two days off with pay then called to meet with the head of Human Resources. At that meeting, she was told that the investigation had concluded that she was correct, and Mr. Finney had engaged in inappropriate actions toward her. In fact, they found other cases. He had been dismissed temporarily, pending disciplinary action. In the Government, this meant that he could be terminated.
There was an alternative solution that would be considered, only if she agreed that it was appropriate under the circumstances. Mr. Finney had never participated in any form of Gender Sensitivity training, even though it had become mandatory for all supervisors. Scheduling slots in the