Chapter 1
Chicago – Brynn Tyson was seated on her purple couch, and methodically rolled a marijuana bud between her manicured fingers. “I’m checking for bugs, coloring, aroma, mildew, things I wouldn’t want to ingest,” she said, leaning forward to hold the quarter-size, White Widow flower up to the sunlight. She paused and gave it a twirl. “This looks good enough to smoke,” she concluded. Then she fired up the blunt she had rolled on the espresso-colored table and let out several halo puffs. “I rate it a four star.”
“Oh, she’s good,” Poncho stated, leaning over my shoulder as I read the daily Chicago Post Tribune newspaper.
“Yeah, she’s aight,” I responded, jolting upright and slightly spilling a few drops of coffee on my desk from the teacup I was holding.
Poncho shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think you understand who SmokinLady is.”
How about I didn’t even know your ass was standing behind me.
“Her columns are known to make or break marijuana businesses. One mention of your farm from her and boom,” he opened his arms wide to bring emphasis to his words, “you’ll have a mega business. People from all over the world will be clamoring for your product.”
Nodding, my eyes drifted over to the picture of SmokinLady, firing up a blunt, and underneath it read:
Brynn Tyson has written thirty reviews for the Chicago Post.
“Right,” I agreed with him. “I used to follow her blog sites, until she started writing for the paper.”
“Man, her blogs had over twenty thousand followers and she did a segment every week on the pureness of weed or the effects on the human body or how to smoke weed properly. I heard she had several papers bidding for her.”
Smiling, it was clear to me that Poncho was a super fan of Brynn. He knew her stats, her age, and even her damn relationship status.
“She’s single, man, and graduated college Summa Cum Laude.”
“Nice,” I uttered, not wanting to spill the beans that I already had a personal relationship with SmokinLady.
“Shiiit, Crim, she has a nice rack and a fat ass.” He sucked his teeth. “If I ever get a chance to meet her, it’s on.”
“Ha, is that right?” I asked, feeling a little possessive.
“Hell yeah.”
Poncho was a long-time employee of my father. He had been on the farm for twelve years and was one of the line managers. He knew this farm like the back of his hand. Over the past three years, we had become great friends. He was my right-hand, and my eyes and ears when I took my trips back to Chicago.
The farm was located two hours outside of the city limits, and I rented a high-rise in the south loop of Chicago. The big lights and fast-paced living attracted me to immerse myself in the culture of the Windy City.
“Let me see the rest of this?” Poncho asked.
Shaking my head, I handed over the paper to his eagerly awaiting hands. It was hard for me to keep female employees on the farm because Poncho had banged most of them. So, I knew he meant that shit about meeting Brynn—he’d make her his next victim.
He slapped a hand on my shoulder after a few moments and tossed the paper on my desk.
“I’m telling you, man, we need her review,” Poncho shouted over his shoulder as he exited the trailer and trudged toward the greenhouses.
Sighing, I reared back in the brown leather chair and took a sip of my lukewarm coffee. Since I’ve inherited the Cromwell cultivation center, business has been slow but steady. A few of our vendors didn’t take kindly to a new owner and had taken their business elsewhere; said they didn’t want to do business with a kid. I gave those owners a few choice words and canceled their last loads. The loss of the clients didn’t quite hurt the business, because we gained four new vendors the same year my father passed.
But Poncho was right about one thing, though … if I could get SmokinLady to write an article on my farm, I wouldn’t have to worry about money for years to come and we would have enough vendors to take our overflow stock.
The problem was, SmokinLady—known to me as my ex-best friend, Brynn—hated the ground I walked on. To this day, I really didn’t understand what I did wrong. Whatever I had done to her that day, she walked out of my life without a second glance. However, the personal shit I had going on with my father had my head fucked up. Over the years, I thought about reaching out to Brynn to get her side of the story, but honestly, I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know why she left. I know I hurt her bad for her to not return my calls. I rehashed our last encounter in college several times in my head and couldn’t pinpoint the reasoning on her walking out of my life.
You would think at thirty-five years old I’d have some insight on how to treat women, but I still hadn’t found my better half.
I preferred women I had more in common with. Like with Brynn. We were both avid weed smokers, so it was no surprise to me that she became a pot critic. The girl smoked more than anyone we hung out with in our group. For her, she was at her best when she was high.
She was indeed someone I should’ve kept in my life. We were thicker than thieves. However, there was no need to keep going down memory lane, because I needed to make it back to the city for my date with Jordan. She was an American actress and had starred in over twenty blockbuster movies. Us dating somehow leaked to the world, and now I couldn’t go anywhere without being noticed.
I groaned. Jordan Steel loved the limelight and tried to encourage me to indulge in it more. That wasn’t my thing; I was more lowkey. In fact, I wished I’d never dated someone who was considered America’s sweetheart. Our life together was cameras, us signing autographs, folks gawking and pointing. Oh, and let me not forget the bodyguards that followed us around all the time.
Being out here at the farm gave me peace from the folks who wanted to stare at Jordan’s new boyfriend. It was crazy how now random women would reach out to me on Facebook and leave their numbers. Some even left their damn address.
Snatching my wallet off the desk and slipping it in my back jean pocket, I glanced around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Shit,” I cursed, noticing my cellphone peeking out from under an embroidered gold envelope.
“Oh shit,” I shouted out loud. I had forgotten to respond to my boy, Ant, that I’d be in his wedding. He was a long-time friend; we went way back. I scrolled to his name in my phone, pushed the talk button, and waited for the phone to connect. After several rings, his voicemail picked up.
“Hey, Ant, it’s Crim. I’d be honored to stand up in your wedding, bro. Get at me. One.”I hung up.
“I think that’s everything,” I mumbled, looking over my shoulder. Suddenly, my chest hit something hard, and a slight feminine whimper echoed through the air.
“Damn, Jenny, I’m so sorry,” I apologized, lifting her pint-sized body off the floor.
“You just knocked the hell out of your sister, fool,” she fussed, using my outstretched arm to steady herself.
“Man,” I took a step back but still kept a hand on her arm, “I was rushing out of here to get back home for my dat —”My words died on my lips when Jenny waved a hand in the air.
“Why are you still dating Jordan ‘Stick in The Ass’ Steel?”
I shook my head. Jenny wasn’t a fan of Jordan and rightfully so. No matter how many times Jordan had met Jenny, she conveniently still couldn’t remember her name.
“You deserve better, Crim.”
I was two years older than Jenny, and nowadays, she still gave me better advice than the older cats in my life. Before Jesse started playing his disappearing tricks in my life, Jenny and I were really close. At a young age, I never spoke to her about the issues I had with our dad, but deep down she knew I harbored unresolved feelings towards him, because Jenny was wise beyond her years. When Jesse died, he left me the farm and all his real-estate properties to Jenny. The money in his bank accounts were split fifty-fifty between us both.
The autopsy report said he died from prostate cancer, but no one in the family knew of his diagnosis. I had a feeling that there was more to his death. Given our rocky history, I still couldn’t believe that he left me anything.
Jenny and I first met when I was seven and she was five. She was the little sister I always wanted, and I believed I was the brother she needed.
Her mother, Linda, didn’t like how close we were, but Jesse made sure we kept a close bond. Maybe he knew one day we would need each other.
“Yes, I know,” I answered, tuning back into our conversation. “Jordan is not all bad … she has a good heart when folks are not around. She has to keep up this damn fa?ade for everyone.”
“Hmmm. All I know is I don’t like the chick.”
If I didn’t end this conservation soon, Jenny would go on for hours about how Jordan was a horrible actress and got her start based on her looks. Which was why I said, “Okay, Jenny, I’ll holla at you later.” I smiled, exiting the door.
“Hey, bro,” she shouted.
Turning, I watched as she flopped down in my chair and kicked her white Nikes up on the desk.
“You know I came to smoke your shit, right?” She laughed with a smirk.
Jesse was the one who introduced us both to marijuana at a young age. He was a grower before it was legalized in Illinois. I was ten when he let me hit his joint one time in the barn. “Don’t tell your mother,“ he told me. “Shit, you’re going to try it one day with your knuckle head friends anyway, so I want you to know how to do it responsibly and safe.”
I think Jenny was around the same age when she took her first drag.
Smiling, I responded, “That’s the reason Jesse left me the farm and not yo ass.” I pointed my index finger at her with a chortle. “You would’ve smoked up all the products with your pot head ass friends.”
She smirked because she knew my smoking these days was more social, and she needed it to function. Letting out a hearty laugh, she picked up her pink cellphone. “You might be right, big brother. Damn, you might be right,” she huffed.
Chuckling at her crazy ass, I made my way out of the trailer and glanced around the farm. The sun was setting in the distance, and the lights I had installed a year ago on the property had started to illuminate. Being this far out in southern Illinois, there was nothing but empty land for miles. There were fifteen greenhouses that sat on the four-hundred-and-forty-five acres of land, and a barn over to the left of the trailer, which we used to prepare, certify, and expect the weed plants.
The main house sat to the right of the trailer, and I allowed the workers to use it to eat or cook lunch. Also, the rooms were utilized by the nightshift workers to send shipments out to our high-end customers.
On rare occasions, I would bunk in the main house, but too many memories of Jesse would invade my thoughts. I could’ve sworn that one night while I was sleeping, I saw the man’s silhouette standing at the foot of my bed. Needless to say, that shit scared the hell out of me. I packed my bags and went back to my condo in the city.
Hopping in my truck, I turned the ignition in the F450 pick-up truck, and it shook, coughing a few times before it fired up.
Laying back against the headrest, the weirdest thing was on those random nights I dreamed of him, it felt like Jesse was trying to tell me something or lead me to something. I never stayed in the dream long enough to figure it out. There were times I was sitting in the trailer and a piece of paper from my desk would land on the floor.
Jenny said I should see a tarot card reader about it, but I didn’t believe in that life after death shit, and especially not in ghosts trying to make a connection with family members left behind. I’ve watched the show Hollywood Medium before, and either that Tyler dude was really in touch with the dead or they paid those folks some nice money to put on the waterworks when he told them he’d connected with their loved ones.
As the truck bumped over the uneven gravel, I rolled the windows down. Setting my Spotify to Jay-Z’s greatest hits was a habit. I had a three hour ride back to the city, and the hype music was exactly what I needed to prepare myself to deal with Jordan’s unwelcoming world.