California Healthcare Collective’s demand was becoming an insatiable beast whose appetite couldn’t be quelled. We were processing more and more patients every day. Sitting at the desk, I tried to think of a way to meet this demand while filling out paperwork for Wells Fargo. They were going to take over our payroll processing. We needed something more convenient, and since we had CHC’s business account with them, it would be an easy addition.
In 2005, banks were still doing business with marijuana dispensaries. This changed a couple years later and would force dispensaries to operate outside financial institutions until the present day.
“S-1,” Tony called over the radio. “There’s a guy here that says he wants to speak with you or Rich.”
“I’m a little busy right now, Tone. Can’t you take care of it?”
“I’ve already tried. He said he will only speak to you or Rich.”
“Alright,” I conceded with irritation. “I’ll be right there.”
I walked into the salesroom, and standing off to the side of the counter was a guy I had seen in the dispensary before. Upon seeing him, I remembered having a couple conversations with him about growing. He was fairly knowledgeable. He wasn’t very tall, on the skinny side, and appeared to be in his early thirties. He was dressed in typical skater/surfer attire: flat-brimmed hat, shorts, and a gray DC shirt. He smiled when he saw me.
“What’s up, my man? What can I do for you?” I asked.
“Luke, right?” he asked. I nodded. “I think it’s more of what I can do for you.”
“Oh yeah? And your name is. . .?”
“Addison,” he extended his hand. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
“Sure, go ahead and go back through the reception lobby, and I’ll let you into the office.” I walked back through the office and showed him in. “Please have a seat.” I waved toward one of the empty seats. I was eager to listen to this guy and then get back to the pile of paperwork. “Now, you were saying?” I folded my hands on the desk.
“Well, I’ve been coming in here the last few weeks, and to be totally honest, your guys’ selection is pretty narrow.”
“Yeah, we do what we can,” I said defensively.
“Don’t get me wrong, you guys have some good bud occasionally, but not consistently. What if I told you I might be able to help you with that problem?”
“If you’d like to make a vending appointment, I’ll have Amanda set you up,” I said dismissively as I stared at the pile of payroll documents I still had to do.
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Addison corrected. “I have a friend up north who may be interested in meeting with you. He could solve all your supply problems with strains like Sour Diesel, OG Kush, and Granddaddy Purple.”
Now, he had my full attention. “Granddaddy Purple?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Yup,” he confirmed. “Among other high-grade medical strains.”
Granddaddy Purple, or GDP, was a rare and prized purple strain. Everybody wanted it, nobody had it, and it was incredibly valuable as a result.
“I’m definitely interested. When can he come by and meet with us?”
“I’m afraid he can’t. He doesn’t do much traveling. If I were to set up the meeting, we’d have to go to him if he agrees. I had to see if you were interested first.”
“Whereabouts would we be meeting?”
“Mendocino, Humboldt area,” Addison said. “At his place.”
Mendocino and Humboldt County are at the heart of what is known as “The Emerald Triangle,” the region of northwest California that has been the epicenter of marijuana cultivation in the US since the 1970s. It is rural, remote, and densely forested, and almost everyone there at the time subsisted or thrived by growing marijuana.
“Alright, well, sounds good,” I said calmly, trying not to show how excited I was. “Just let me know if a meeting can be arranged, and I’ll see if I can be available.”
Addison stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”
Later that night, I sat in Rich’s kitchen, rolling a blunt.
“You think he’s being real?” Rich asked.
“He seemed genuine to me,” I sparked the blunt. “But I don’t know.”
“It just seems too good to be true,” Rich accepted the burning cigarillo. “All of a sudden, some guy walks in and offers us the supplier that everyone in the world would give their firstborn to meet.” Rich smacked his lips like he tasted something unpleasant. “This doesn’t taste very good.”
“Shit, that’s damn near the best we’ve got right now. Some mediocre ass White Widow.” I grabbed the blunt back from him. “You think it’s a setup?”
“It just sounds too good to be true,” Rich repeated. “And you know the saying.”
“Oh, I know what you’re saying for sure. We’d be extremely vulnerable at this meeting. We have no idea where we’re even meeting at. Or they could be luring us out of the dispensary and hit the spot while we’re gone. We’re definitely taking risks.”
“Yeah, but what choice do we have?”
“None.” I extinguished the cigarillo in the ashtray, tired of choking down some mid-grade weed. “And that’s what scares me. We’ll just have to make sure everyone is on point before we leave. We’ll bring in extra security, too.”
“And we’ll have to go up there strapped,” Rich said gravely.
“Like a Velcro shoe,” I nodded. “But I don’t know how much good that’ll do. You think Miguel and Tone can hold it down while we’re gone?” I looked at Rich, adding a new dynamic to the problem. It would be the first time we’d leave the managers by themselves all day.
“They should be alright,” Rich reassured. “What day we leaving?”
“Wednesday at six in the morning. Addison said we’ll ride up in his truck, and it’s about a four-hour drive. You figure two to three hours for the meeting. We won’t be back until six or seven at night, at the earliest.”
“Man, I hope this goes good,” Rich said, concerned. “But I’m skeptical.”
It was an unseasonably chilly June morning in California. The wind was blowing hard, and the sun had just peeked over the buildings when we pulled into the Walmart parking lot. Addison was already waiting for us in a gray F-150. Neither party was comfortable revealing where they lived, so the plan was we’d leave our cars in Walmart’s parking lot as a type of short-term parking. It was close to the freeway, so it was convenient. Our concerns regarding a potential set-up were slightly alleviated when Addison told us not to bring any money. He said the day would be a preliminary meeting, and no business would be conducted. I knew what that meant: the Mendocino guys wanted to meet us first and see if we passed inspection. Our only concern at that point was the vulnerability of the dispensary. Well, that and being kidnapped, but these were necessary risks.
The travel time took every bit of four hours. We arrived in the small forest town of Willits. Venturing off of the paved roads, we made a series of turns on some backwoods dirt roads, eventually arriving at a home built on the side of a tree-laden mountain. It was a magnificent dwelling surrounded by towering redwoods and sprawling wilderness. The main part of the home extended off of the mountainous incline, held up by fifty-foot wooden beams, which looked like long stilts pressing the house against the hill.
We parked in a gravel driveway and walked up a set of stairs to an outdoor deck that encircled the perimeter of the house. We were received by two men at the top of the stairs. One looked a little older than me, late 20s, thick, with tanned skin covered in colorful tattoos. The man next to him was older by about twenty years, not as well kept and a bit on the thin side, with long hair.
Addison walked up to the younger of the two. Jerry Scarbrough was a local Mendocino boy who, I would later discover, was basically the distribution hub for a large network of growers in the Emerald Triangle. In other words, Jerry was the man to know in weed, and it wouldn’t be long before we would realize this.
Addison and Jerry shook hands and embraced. “These are the two guys I was telling you about,” Addison opened his arm toward Rich and me. Jerry examined us. “Luke, Ricardo.” He nodded back toward Jerry. “This is my buddy, Jerry the Willits legend.” He smiled.
I stepped forward and shook Jerry’s hand, “Nice to meet you.” Rich did the same.
Jerry gestured toward his companion, “Guys, this is my buddy, Carl.” Obviously, Carl was security for the meeting.
After introductions, we sat around a table on the far side of the deck that looked out onto the surrounding forest. A young pregnant woman came out and brought us drinks.
“Addy,” Jerry said, “you remember Shannon.”
“Of course,” Addison stood. “Look at you. You look great.”
Rich and I stood. “Ma’am, nice to meet you,” Rich said.
“Ma’am,” I nodded.
“I hope you guys aren’t in a rush,” Jerry said. “Shannon made a late lunch.”
“Nah, of course not,” Addison answered.
“Good,” Jerry smiled. “Because she’s made enough to feed a small army.”
The evaluation had begun.
Hours later, Jerry gave us a tour of his property as we walked with drinks in our hands. Jerry’s house sat on several acres of breathtaking land. We still hadn’t discussed one word regarding business.
“Jerry,” I said as we walked back toward his shed. “You have a very beautiful place here.”
“You know, Luke,” Jerry took a deep breath. “I’m a simple guy. Give me some land, my family, and some hunting in the fall. I don’t need a lot.”
“I could get used to simple living like this,” Rich said, and we all laughed.
“I’m really a city guy,” I said. “I like the speed and activity of things. But coming up here, I can definitely see the appeal.”
“Jer,” Addison said. “We really should be going. We have a long drive ahead of us, and these two have an early day at work tomorrow.”
“Right, of course,” Jerry turned toward me and Rich. “How is business at the dispensary going for you guys?” This was the first mention of anything business-related.
“Good,” I answered. “We’ve only been open a handful of months, but we’re steadily growing and making progress.”
“If we do business, I’ll need your guys’ personal guarantee that you won’t be hit and miss, and that you’ll be able to take the entire harvest each time it’s ready.” Jerry focused on both of us.
I looked at Rich, “what are we talking here, amount-wise?” I didn’t want to agree to something and then not be able to fulfill our end of the agreement.
“Say about fifty a week for starters.”
I looked at Rich again. He shrugged. “Yeah, we could handle that,” I answered, though I wasn’t entirely sure. Fifty pounds of marijuana in small increments was a lot of sales, especially in seven days. “Are we talking all high grade?”
“For the most part,” Jerry nodded. “And I’m told you guys want the Granddaddy Purple?”
“Yup,” Rich said.
“Well, you guys won’t have to look for that anymore. Why don’t we set up our first shipment on Friday?” Jerry said.
“That sounds like a plan,” I said, and we all shook hands. “Jerry, if it’s all the same to you, this is the only time Ricardo and I can make the trip together. We’d like to be able to alternate if possible. This way, one of us stays home to hold the fort down.”
“Yeah, that’s cool,” Jerry said. “I understand you guys have some paperwork for me to sign.”
Addison stepped in and clarified his stake in the deal. “For every pound you guys receive, there will be a hundred dollar fee paid to me as a broker fee. Is that agreeable to both of you?”
Rich nodded, “that’s fine.”
“I guess I’ll make the first trip up this Friday,” I said.
“Okay,” Jerry acknowledged. “Don’t talk about business over any phones. Don’t talk about amounts or prices or anything. I’ll just give you guys a day to come up, and you come up.”
With that, the three of us loaded into Addison’s truck and returned down the mountain.
Friday afternoon, I picked up our first shipment from the fertile soils of Mendocino County. It consisted of twenty-five pounds of Granddaddy Purple, fifteen pounds of OG Kush, and ten pounds of Sour Diesel—all top-grade indoor flowers. I was really impressed with the appearance and quality of the Granddaddy, or what became known as GDP. The entire shipment was purple, dark purple, with not much green on it. It threw me off. One grows up with the idea that marijuana is green. There were other slight colorations to different strains, but nothing like these solid purple buds before me. Moreover, the buds looked crystallized, almost like thousands of little purple Christmas trees with crushed diamonds sprayed all over them. Plus, the fragrance had a pungency that was unrivaled. Imagine a beautiful flower with the fragrance of a sweet bag of Jolly Ranchers. That’s the best way I can explain it. It was some of the best cannabis I had ever seen.
These rare treasures arrived in Modesto late Friday night, bundled into two large hockey bags, twenty-five pounds each. I called Rich immediately after entering the city limits and told him to meet me at Eric’s house. Eric, who worked our sales counter, lived alone so we had moved a huge six-foot gun safe into his garage. We didn’t want to keep too much product at the dispensary, so this was our storage space.
When Rich walked in, I had several Granddaddy pounds opened up on the kitchen table in an elaborate display. His face lit up! He looked like he wanted to pop a bottle of champagne, smiling from ear to ear. We got our strain!
Tony took several pounds back to the processing room the following morning. Within minutes, the entire staff was gathered back there admiring the exotic cache. Every one of them wanted to reserve some GDP to purchase after work. I assured them there was no need to worry, there’d be plenty available to them. We priced it twenty percent below what the Bay Area dispensaries sold it for. Not that we were worried about it selling; we could have priced it twenty percent higher than our competitors, but we wanted to show love to our community of patients. Plus, we wanted to make this exclusive medication affordable to our community. It was also simple economics: with superior product and lower prices than our competitors, we would dominate the market. To be completely honest, when we agreed to Jerry’s terms, I was a bit worried that we wouldn’t be able to deliver. Selling fifty pounds a week in several-gram increments was no small feat. We weren’t doing half those kinds of numbers. While I pondered this, Rich came into the processing room with a cigarillo filled with GDP.
“C’mon,” he nodded toward the door. “Let’s take a quick break and field test the product.”
“Let’s go,” I smiled.
Ten minutes later, we were parked in front of a construction site near CHC. Since it was the weekend, it was empty.
“Damn, this Granddaddy is potent,” Rich said, coughing. “It hits your lungs like a punch in the chest.” He handed the blunt to me.
“Yeah, I’ve seen some fire trees before, but nothing like this.” I exhaled, faring no better than Rich. I caught my breath and wiped the tears that were streaming down my cheeks. “Damn, this is heat!” I cleared my throat. “Listen, Bro, I’m a little concerned with the weekly amount we’ve committed to receive. If we don’t fulfill our end of the agreement, we can’t afford to lose Jerry as a vendor. I don’t want to go back to searching for inventory for hours on end each night. Plus, all of our grow sites are going to start producing next month.”
“I don’t want to do all of those late-night missions either,” Rich said as he rolled down his window all the way. “But, we’ll be alright, man. Jerry will work with us if we need it. He didn’t seem completely inflexible. If we still have inventory left when he’s ready next week, we’ll just store it. We can also slow our other vending appointments down. We’ll make it work.”
“We’re going to have to more than triple our sales volume,” I said.
“We will,” Rich answered confidently.
“I hope so,” I thought to myself.
When we got back to CHC, the sales room was packed. It had only been about forty-five minutes since we’d left. The word that we had GDP was already spreading like wildfire. By mid-day, we ran out of white paper bags. By closing that day, we had broken our sales record, nearly $40,000 in sales. The next day, we broke the record again. We were in the big leagues now. And the other store would take notice. No longer were we a second-rate establishment in the Valley. Nope. We were Gucci now.
The next week, I walked into Wells Fargo with a small black duffel bag. I waited in line until the teller called me to the counter. I handed her my deposit slip. When she looked down at the number, she lost her smile.
“Sir, you seem to have made a mistake,” her smile returned. “You marked ‘cash’ on your deposit slip.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“You intend to deposit $197,000 in cash?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She looked behind her. “Sir, can you step to the right for one moment, please?”
I stepped to the side and waited. Minutes later, a gentleman in a sharp suit beckoned me to a section of the counter away from all the other customers. “Hello, sir,” the man said, smiling broadly. “My name is Chris Stevens. I’m the manager here. I was told you have a large cash deposit you’d like to make?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I nodded.
“For deposits over ten thousand dollars, we have to fill out a CTR, which stands for cash transaction report. It’s a burdensome government requirement, but you know, regulations are regulations.”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
“All I need is your ID and some real quick information. The good news is, once we’ve filled one of these out, we keep it on file, and it can be queued in seconds if future deposits require one.” A few minutes later, we finished the form.
“Okay,” Mr. Stevens said. “We can process your deposit now.”
I unzipped the duffel bag and dumped nineteen $10,000-bricks onto the counter. It took forty minutes to run all of the cash through their machine. Counting and organizing it took Rich and me ten times that long. We’ve got to get one of those money counters, I thought to myself.
“One hundred and ninety-seven thousand on the dot,” Mr. Stevens confirmed. “Mr. Scarmazzo, if you have another couple minutes, I’d like to upgrade your business account with us to a platinum account. You’ll have your own line to conduct business, and the fees are much better.”
“Sure,” I smiled. “I have a few minutes.”
We were concerned that we were going to have a problem selling the Mendocino shipment in a week. We sold it all in five days. Rich and I had to get the cash ready for him to make the next trip up north. Rich had family at his house, and since my parents lived by his place, I figured we could count at my folks’ place, and Rich wouldn’t have to travel far.
Rich and I arrived at my parent’s house with a large brown paper bag. My mom answered the door.
“Hey, Mom, Rich and I are gonna use the office for about an hour,” I said as I walked down the hallway toward my old bedroom that had since been converted into an office. The office was full of clutter and paperwork. We sat at the desk on the far side of the room. I cleared off a space and dumped the cash into a pile. “Alright,” I said to Rich. “We’ll separate all the ones, fives, and tens and band everything else in ten thousand dollar stacks.” Rich nodded, and we began separating and counting. I quickly realized we forgot to bring rubber bands. I poked my head out of the door.
“Mom, do you have any rubber bands in the office?”
“Yes,” my mom stood. “They’re in one of the file cabinet drawers. Here, let me get them for you.” She stepped into the office. “Oh, dear,” she said in surprise, staring at the pile of money. I wouldn’t describe my mom as a conservative, but she definitely wasn’t a staunch supporter of me owning a marijuana business. She was raised in a conservative Irish Catholic family and still attends mass every Sunday. She was employed as a special education teacher at one of the local high schools and regularly volunteers at the community hospice. To say she was surprised to see $200,000 cash on the office desk would be an understatement.
“Is everything alright?” my mom asked, concerned.
“Yeah, mom,” I smiled reassuringly. “We’re just organizing our bank deposit for tomorrow.” I stretched the truth. I didn’t have to, but trying to explain that Rich was driving to Mendocino County to buy six figures’ worth of cannabis would have invited too many questions and worry. Plus, we were on a time schedule.
“Oh, okay,” she said, satisfied nobody was in trouble, and retrieved the bag of rubber bands from the filing cabinet.
An hour into it, Rich and I weren’t even halfway done. It was taking much longer than I had anticipated. “You know,” I said as I banded the next stack and tossed it into the growing pile, “when I made that bank deposit, they had one of those money counters there, and it burned through almost two hundred grand in about a half hour.”
“Yeah?” Rich asked.
“Yup.”
“We should have Amanda look into ordering one for us. Counting all of this sucks.” Rich tossed a stack into the pile.
“Yes, but it’s a good problem to have,” I laughed.
“You know what I mean.”
Just then, my mom walked back in. “Do you and Richie want anything to eat?” she asked.
“No, mom. Thanks, but we have to finish up here.”
“Do you guys want me to help?” she asked.
Surprised, I looked at Rich, who just shrugged and nodded. We could definitely use another set of hands. “Sure, mom.” I cleared off a chair and a section of desk for her. “We’re putting it into $10,000 stacks.” The three of us went back to counting silently.
How ironic, I thought to myself. Here I am, counting out a huge sum of money for a weed shipment meant for a legal marijuana store with my mom. If you had told teenage me this scene would be happening, I would never have believed you.
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