sacred
Out of context: Reply #16
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- kingjulien0
I know it sounds suspicious, but it really happened to a friend. His last name was Redfern but we called him Red-partially because of his last name, and also because he had red hair. The funny thing is, he's a red-headed step-child. His foster parents were well to do--both scientists--and they had three adopted children: Red, his Vietnamese brother Charlie (I'm not kidding) and this cute black girl named Jonnel, who used to date the halfback for the 49ers. Needless to say, it was an eclectic bunch, a Santa Barbara version of the Royal tenenbaums, and I always had a smile on my face when I got to attend Sunday dinner.
One time Red got a DUI, and the arresting officer was downright sexy. We were coming home from the bar, and when Red saw the lights in his rear view mirror, he proceeded to park halfway up the curb (I sat in the backseat at a 45 degree angle). When she arrived at his window--hair in a bun, breasts perky in those tight blue unforms, he hopped out and asked--once she was done giving him a field sobriety exam--if she was willing to meet him for drinks the following Tuesday. The cop said no--deadpan and as serious as can be, and handcuffed him on the slanted hood. While it was hard to laugh in the moment, we found ample time the following morning.
To make a long story short, Red spent a night in jail, and he got two new best friends--one named Jesus (who hated it when I called him Hey Zeus) and the other named Achilles (although I could never get it straight and often referred to him as Ulysses). These guys were coke dealers from Tijuana, and once they appeared on the scene I slowly eased my way out. You can only get so far talking shit to this crowd. One day you've gone too far and you wake up buried in a ditch 30 miles from the border, a scar across your stomach from where the kidney used to reside.