Blogging for Freedom

The old woman slipped furtively through the door, the tinkling bell alerting the shopkeeper. Looking around the store, Molly pulled her hat lower down around her face until she was sure no others customers were there. There weren’t. The owner was in attendance today, bent down stocking plastic bottles of varying sizes onto shelves against the back wall.

Molly used to be a regular customer so Kate recognized her with a cheery “Well, hello there. Haven’t seen you forever.” She always trusted Kate, their conversations had actually been quite friendly and detailed over several years, but Molly knew now, these days, you can’t trust anyone. No chit-chat today. Molly wanted to buy what she needed as quickly as possible and get out of there.

She had a list which she gave to Kate. At the bottom she’d written in red, “Please box all items and tape securely”. It wasn’t much protection, silly almost, but it gave Molly some comfort to know the police would have to get a search warrant to open sealed boxes. If she got pulled over on the way home, if they were watching the store and followed her and then pulled her over … risks even this old lady has to take, she reminded herself.

As Kate gathered the items throughout the shop and put them in a plain brown box, Molly looked at products she hadn’t seen before. Bright colored labels promised amazing results. Bigger, better flowers, more vigorous growth, protection against mites and pests and fungus. 1000 watt metal halide and 400 watt high pressure sodium lights hung from the ceiling with different shaped hoods to fit any space. Against another wall, black plastic pots and growing medium overfilled shelves onto the floor. Water bubbled from a circulating fountain in the middle of the shop, with voluminous greenery reaching the ceiling and front window.

The bell tinkled and Molly swung around to see a tanned and muscled “hippie” walk through the door. He had the requisite long hair pulled back into a ponytail, the ‘peace & rock’ t-shit was just dirty enough, the jeans only slightly ragged with barely a hint of the crease that once was ironed in. He could just as easily been wearing a sign saying “Undercover Cop” since undercover he obviously wasn’t.

Molly’s heart eased into her throat. Long ago she learned not to respond or make any sudden move around cops. Her facial expression remained friendly, her body language neutral. She’d prepared at home keeping her gaze straight, her breathing normal, practicing somewhat dramatically that Nazis were at her door and she had to pretend that Jewish family wasn’t really living in her basement.

Now she was face to face with a determined member of the Spokane County Drug Task Team and/or DEA and he had her in his sights.

... to be continued