The Bellie, a cruising mustang, as his cheuffer called it, began to heave it’s steel –framed body up the busy street. The wind was calm, and beginning down the street he was bewildered. Things looked oddly obscure tonight, perhaps it was the lack of heat ripples ascending from the concrete; it made the night look too still, too dark. I have been here before, thought Mitzi, but everything is so dark it is hard to tell. Regardless, he laid back and relaxed in the seat cushion and let his mind wander. The Indians must have been mighty pissed that we took their land, he thought, but that was the way the world worked.
All places had at one point been taken over, right? Could the road he was driving on possibly be the exception? Doubtful. Once, a Native American walked on this very earth, the earth now covered by concrete and asphalt, rubber tires, and a retro steel-framed mustang. A beautiful mustang it was! How glad those Indians must be to have things like Mustangs and concrete and asphalt to drive them on. That sucks though about the smallpox and the firewater… well you win some, you lose some. After all, we brought civilization and women like Amanda, and apple pie and Levi’s and… what am I thinking? My parents were still in Ukraine living like paupers when old Chrissy Colombo came over… what was the saying? In 1492, Colombus sailed the ocean blue? That had –
“We have arrived, sir.”
“Ah, yes.” Mitzi pulled a twenty from his pocket and handed it to the driver over the front seat.
His mission was clear: NORML had hired him on the low to salvage an insider of the operation – a Mr. Katz – and return him to their base in Los Angeles. Mitzi was possibly up for Mr. Katz’s position, and upon learning that Katz had gone psychotic because of various reasons, Mitzi had last week pushed his name up the agency’s ladder until the VP got wind of his it. He was promoted and sent on this mission, and he was positive beyond doubt that this was his chance to prove himself. NORML, the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, since early 1970, had had its stingy voice in the public policy debate; claiming to represent “those Americans who smoke marijuana responsibly.” Recently, a more aggressive approach had been advocated by its private endorsers and the branch Mitzi was currently working for was thereby developed. He took his oath and began the grudging task of paperwork, “advertising assistance” as his seniors termed it (a euphemism for coffee-runner), and getting out on the street for public protests and so forth. He had shown his loyalty, and three years after his oath, he became a senior himself and was briefed on the upcoming mission in the newly developed and highly classified branch, christened “Project Violet.” The name had been too classified for even Mitzi, but he let that bygone go and aimed all of his attention towards Katz.
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