Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Willy Tamarack
Title: More Juice !
Part: 10 of 12
Universe: 'Vegas
Summary:
Keywords: (MF)
Language: English
@(C) 2008 Willy Tamarack Commercial use in any form requires the written
permission of the author and will ensure a portion of the proceeds goes to

the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML).

   !!!!!  ATTENTION !!!!!

   Before we get going here, a couple of notes.  The following is a sex
story.  A stroke story.  A porno story.  The content is unsuitable for
youngsters and some adults may find it objectionable.  I've ensured my
material is properly coded and registered.  Adults, who have custodial
responsibility for young minds, must ensure this smut doesn't fall into
their children's hands.  To charge the government with that
responsibility...Wow !  Don't get me started.

   This story is total fantasy.  It is fiction.  Made up.  As a friend of
my wife calls it, MSU (made shit up).  Las Vegas - The City of JUICE.  The
mobsters coined it but left it to the politicians.  The politicians used it
to enrich the usual suspects.  Their families and friends for sure.  Some
claim it's dead after the recent conviction of several county commissioners
for taking bribes.  They're wrong.  JUICE is alive and well.  Sometimes
it's money.  Sometimes it's sex.  Sometimes it's just an introduction.  The
currency is immaterial.  It's called JUICE !

   And while the plot and subplots of the following tale stem from the
author's fertile imagination; the characters...Well, the characters are
also total fantasy.  They don't exist, never have and never will.  Any
public figures mentioned are for back ground and time line purposes only.

   Remember now...Sex should be fun !  As always e-mail your comments to
the usual.

   More Juice !

   Book X

   (MF)

   by

   Willy Tamarack

   In Tribute

   With thanks to the founding fathers and the U.S.  Constitution

   Chapter Twenty-Eight

   The wind was calm.  The water out by the moored ships was smooth and no
moon, which was most important !  Jake Morrison and Daniel Haefner, with
faces, shoulders and arms blacked out, were holding on to what one of
Daniel's old surfin' buddies called a "sled." This sled had eighty military
B-4 bags loaded aboard with a separate package filled with several cases of
bottled water and lots of packaged food.  They'd been in the water for a
little over three hours.

   Another surfin' buddy of Daniels sailed them out a mile off shore the
main beach at Big Corona.  Using swim fins and hand paddles, they had moved
the sled over a mile and were tired as shit.  The beach appeared vacant. 
Daniel lifted his hand and checked his watch...One fifty-seven.  Jake was
peeking around the hull of the boat, they were using for cover.  He was
wearing a pair of swim goggles, searching for the "Viper." Jake's eyes were
sensitive to salt water.

   The "Viper" was heading right toward the group of boats.  "Yachtsman"
had them painted with radar.  He was about a mile away from them and
steering at about five knots.  Jill was lying prone on the cabin with a
pair of night vision binoculars, scanning the boats.  A moment ago she
thought she saw something.

   Minutes later.  "Half a mile out," came over her headset.

   "No visual." Jill reported back.  "Yachtsman" was essentially blind,
using the radar exclusively.

   "Yachtsman" was just about to call out a quarter mile when he heard Jill
through the headset.  "Visual, Mike.  I've got a visual.  They're behind
the ship at twelve o'clock.  Parallel parking and we've got it made."

   Jake didn't see the "Viper" until it started to come about and almost
simultaneously he could hear the electric motors whirring.  He swam down to
where Daniel was holding on to the sled and grabbed his arm.  He pointed
out to sea beyond the boat, they were hiding behind.  Daniel immediately
slipped the harness over his shoulders and started to swim.  The sled was
moving and Jake was swimming to catch up with Daniel.

   "The "Viper" was just moving with the tide and almost perfectly aligned
behind this other yacht, about twenty feet away.  "Yachtsman" was throwing
a rope ladder over the side.  The sled was around the other boat and moving
toward the "Viper's" aft.  Jake came out of his harness and swam like hell
for the rope ladder.  "Yachtsman" had his arm out and helped him aboard.

   Daniel was attaching his harness to the rope ladder.  He clambered on
board the sled and started tossing the bags of B-4 bags to Jake, who was
lining them up on the decking around the cabin.  Jill was standing and
sweeping the area with her night vision binoculars.  Three minutes later,
Daniel was attaching the sled to the mooring of the boat, they were using
for cover.  Five minutes after she arrived the "Viper" was moving out to
sea.  Jake was busy distributing the eight B-4 bags evenly around the
cabin, even using the roof of the cabin.

   Jill led their visitors down into the cabin with the cases of bottled
water and food.  The cabin door closed and "Yachtsman" kept the "Viper"
moving out to sea with the power at combat setting.  He could hear Jill
downstairs talking to Daniel and Jake through his headset.

   Jill threw her arms around Daniel's bare shoulders and kissed his neck
and shoulders, the grease paint coming off on her checks and mouth.  He
smelled like the sea.  "Great to see you, Daniel." She broke away and
hugged Jake just as emotionally.  "What a surprise, Jake.  Welcome aboard."
Jake was still wearing his goggles.

  
***************************************************************************

   Tilly Matterhorn sat shotgun in the truck cabin.  The back of the dark
colored, liquor distributor truck was filled with eight high school
athletes and two more of Jake's distributors.  They'd been sworn to silence
and probably would keep their mouths shut as they were all promised a pound
of weed.  That translated into a lot of bucks for an evening of manual
labor.  The truck was traveling just under the speed limit.  They were
three hours away from their target.

   Tilly was using a flashlight to study the map she was given.  The driver
was an older man, a professional driver.  Cash for a piece of cake delivery
to 'Vegas.  And the chick, he was traveling with, was hot.  The night
highway was flashing by.

  
***************************************************************************

   Mindy Weathers was opening the thermos for the fourth or fifth time. 
She filled her cup.  The thermos was empty.  Anderson had the field glasses
to his eyes.  The slip was still empty and nobody had ever shown any
interest in the mooring.

   "This is getting to be a pain in the ass." Mindy stated.  They'd been at
it for a couple of days.

   "Hey !  This is what we deserve after the whoring around we did in
'Vegas.  But you're right, this sucks." Mindy laughed a bit and then took a
slug of coffee.

  
***************************************************************************

   Less than two miles away, Tilly Matterhorn was out on the dock, scanning
the area with her night-vision goggles on.  It was past one fifty-five. 
The dock was out behind a house on one of those small islands in Balboa
Bay, very exclusive.  One bridge on and off with an armed guard gate. 
"Snake" had provided the address and access.  A moneyed interest's Summer
home, far away from the desert heat.  The truck was parked in front of the
home, the young men still sitting in the rear.  Tilly had deployed two of
her friends to keep an eye on the street.

   Meanwhile, the "Viper" was moving at about three knots.  Jill was now
lying on several full B-4 bags with her binoculars, scanning the shoreline.
The rest of the eighty bags, all filled with fifty pounds of weed were
lined up along the decking.  Space was tight topside.

   "Tallyho, Mike.  Come right ten degrees." The "Viper" came right. 
"Yachtsman" stood and sighted the dock and the girl, staring back at them
through her goggles.

   One flash of a light came from the dock, interrupting the night.  Jill
rose to her knees and returned four flashes with her flashlight.  Three
flashes came back from shore.  "Identification is confirmed." "Yachtsman"
steered toward the dock.  The girl was running back toward the house, set
back from the shore.  "Yachtsman" had the angle right and started to
reverse the electric motors.  The speed of "Viper" was slowing
dramatically. Daniel and Jake were on the bow and ready to jump onto the
dock.

   In the distance you could vaguely see eight young men moving in single
file, trotting across the grass toward the dock.  All of them were dressed
totally in black.  Daniel and Jake jumped off the yacht and rushed to tie
the boat to the dock.  The young men, dressed in black, each picked up two
B-4 bags off the yacht and headed back for the truck that was parked on the
street.

   Tilly was now sitting shotgun in a van parked halfway down the street
from where the loading was going on.  The street was quiet.  She could see
the guys in black filing into the truck and coming back out again.  She
scanned the neighborhood.  It was dark and there was nobody in sight.

   "Yachtsman" was down in the hold, vacuuming and making sure there were
no stray weed or seeds floating around.  Sea water had already replaced the
weed that was weighing down the keel.  The downloading of the weed was
progressing at a good clip.  The men in black had made three trips.  Twenty
minutes later they were finished and the dark colored, liquor distributor
truck pulled away from the house and turned the corner.

   The men in black were already filing into the dark colored van at the
end of the block.  It pulled away from the curb and followed the dark
colored truck.

   The "Viper" was well under way and heading for the harbor master.  Jill
was piloting the vessel and they were making about four knots under sail.
Mike was covering the electric motors and preparing to be inspected.  He
had their passports and the port call papers from Canada laid out on the
table in the main cabin.

   An hour later they bid farewell to the harbor master, who once, not so
long ago, received a comped weekend at one of the 'Vegas casinos - first
class treatment, too !  His old lady loved it.

   Mike sat next to Jill.  It was still quite warm down here, much
different from most of their voyage.

   "Harold acted normal.  You think we're clean, Mike ?"

   "No.  We're still hot, dear.  Regardless of how our good friend, Harold,
the harbor master, acted.  I'm sure they wouldn't let him in on anything.
But we're logged in and we've cleared customs.  We're legal.  They will
have to prove that we did anything different from what our log shows.  And
I keep an excellent log.  So does my first mate." He kissed her on the
lips, their tongues dueling for a few moments.

   Mike pulled away.  "But we'll act like we're being watched at all times.
I want to spend a couple of days getting the boat ship shape before we head
to 'Vegas.  That'll also give `Snake' a couple of days to set up our escape
and then we'll slip away one night.  That means setting up a lookout as
soon as we dock."

   "You think they'll hit us as soon as we get docked ?" It was coming up
on zero five hundred hours.  Sunrise was a long way off this time of year.

   "Probably not.  Some nobody will have this watch.  The decision makers
will be sleeping until a descent hour.  I'm hitting the rack and so are
you." He laughed.  Jill laughed with him.

   Chapter Twenty-nine

   "Snake" was pacing up and down the room.  Casey was sitting at his desk
staring up at the ceiling.  A computer monitor, that was totally black
except for the flashing cursor, sat on the cluttered desk.  The last
message arrived over three hours ago.  The team was in position.  It was
now just past three.  Colleen was sitting on the couch, across the room,
smoking a joint.  There were dinner dishes and drink glasses littered all
over Casey's office.

   "I still don't understand this.  How come this is better than the
satellite ?  I thought that was undecipherable or whatever.  I thought you
couldn't break it." Colleen's expertise just didn't go back that far. 
Nobody used virtual private networks anymore but it still works.

   Casey looked up from the monitor.  "It's not the network itself but the
way it's set up.  This kid, Jake, was a genius using frequency hopping
theory to allow two computers to talk and while it might be possible to
break in and monitor...Well, the resources it would take would be enormous,
especially if you've got a hundred or so tied into the network." Casey took
a drink of Coke.

   "I hired a couple of hackers, I know, to try to get something a couple
of nights ago between this computer and Jake's laptop.  They didn't get
shit and I told them when we were communicating.  It was amazing.  They
didn't even know we were tied together.  Thought we were just surfing the
net." The screen came alive.  Casey called down to the end of the room,
"`Snake' something is coming through."
From: Tilly
To: Casey
Cargo on the five-five at 0310.  Team in trail.  ETA 0800.  No noted

problems.

   "Snake" visibly relaxed.  Colleen was leaning over Casey's other
shoulder.  Casey reached for a loaded pipe and used a lighter to get the
bowl going.  He took a great big rip and handed the pipe to Colleen.  While
Colleen was hitting on the pipe another message started appearing on the
computer screen.
From: Jake
To: Casey

   "Bonerboy" and I on the five-five at 0320.  Coast appears clear.

   "Now we just got to worry about the weed, two hundred and fifty miles is
a long way.  That fucking `Yachtsman' can take care of himself.  Where's
that fucking Carlos ?"

   "You sent him into town, `Snake.' He'll call when he gets to the
casino." Colleen was standing at the glass and watching the dark lake.  She
could see Casey's high school squeeze down in the "play" room.  She was
drinking with a couple of other girls who Carlos brought out the first
night.  Colleen's daughter was down there smoking weed with her husband. 
She was sure her husband had fucked all the young women already, probably
her daughter, too.

   "Snake" was dialing his cell phone.  It rang once before Carlos
answered.

   "Just getting to the casino."

   "I'm on my way." The connection ended.  "Snake" headed for the door. 
"I'm going to pickup Carlos." The wall opened and "Snake" disappeared into
the hallway.

  
***************************************************************************

   Agent Jimmy Martinez came alert to some sound, a car driving by ?  He
looked through the glasses.  Fuck !  The boat was there.  The name "Viper"
Balboa Bay, California filled the lenses of his night vision binoculars. 
He widened the view.  A man was up on the dock right next to the boat
opening what looked like a metal box of some kind attached to the utility
pole at the end of the slip.

   He was now pulling some hosing out of the box and attaching it to the
boat.  Shit !  He better call.  The man was now connecting an electric cord
to the boat and heading for the back of the boat.  The phone was ringing.

   "Weathers"

   "It's docked or whatever.  One man observed.  Looks like our guy.  He's
down inside the boat now."

   "You call me as soon as you see any activity...Any, you understand."

   "Yes, mam." The connection was closed.

   Agent Weathers sat up in bed.  Anderson had already left for the
bathroom.  She was naked when she walked across the room but Anderson
hardly looked at her when he got out of the bathroom.  He was dressed
before she entered the bathroom.  He got to his cell phone when Mindy
entered the bathroom.

   "Okay !  It's docked.  We're going down right away.  I want a customs'
team down here by eight o'clock to get briefed.  Two of our guys are going
with them." Anderson listened for a few moments.

   "No, I want it to appear like a normal inspection.  They've been out of
the country for fifty some days, they used a port in Canada.  I want the
boat searched.  Use a warrant only if you have to." Anderson listened for
just a second before cutting in.

   "Of course they'll be armed.  This guy is a drug runner.  He'll probably
be loaded for bear." The other agent talked for a few minutes and then
Anderson closed his phone.  Agent Weathers was dressed and ready to go. 
They both checked their fire arms and then left the hotel room.

   It was exactly twelve minutes from the time the first call was made
until Agents Weathers and Davies drove by the surveillance car and parked
in an alternate observation spot.  Anderson was driving and Mindy had the
glasses to her eyes.

   "Looks locked up tight.  You think, maybe they split ?"

   "If there's dope on board, they won't be leaving.  Relax, Mindy.  I
think our superior intel is about to leap frog us one step ahead of these
guys.  And then it will be lights out for these shit heads." It was five
forty-seven.

  
***************************************************************************

   They were both awake, cuddling and touching.  Mike had a morning boner
and Jill was doing her best to get it between her legs.  The clock above
the cabin door read zero nine hundred hours.  His cock was entering her
from behind.  She pushed her butt back against him, forcing his cock deeper
into her.  He was moving now and she was very wet.  It didn't take long. 
The events of the past evenings were fresh in their minds.  The tense
excitement took a toll and Mike came in one or two weak spurts of semen.

   The "Yachtsman" appeared topside at exactly nine twenty as so noted on
the DEA's log sheet.  He was seen to be eating breakfast and surfing the
web with a laptop computer.  He was wearing a baseball cap with a "T" shirt
and, it appeared, swim trunks.  He was bare footed.

   Jill was inside the cabin observing the shoreline through a powerful set
of spy glasses attached to a tripod set on the galley table about eight
feet back from the window.  She quickly noted the man in the silver Camry
putting his cell phone to his ear.  She scanned further to the south. 
Another vehicle with two guys in it, one with binoculars to his face.  No,
it was a woman.  The other was on his phone.

   She could find no sound dishes with which to catch their conversation.
She unscrewed the glasses from the tripod and stored them away; then
crawled forward, remaining down below but right by the stairs to the upper
deck.

   "Two cars, three agents.  Two communicating and one with a good set of
glasses.  No dishes visible other than the usual TV shit."

   Mike Minter felt the chill run down his spine.  Fuck !!  Two fucking
surveillance cars !  Just like that fucking time in Columbia when the guys
came out of the jungle with all the heavy artillery.  He was scared.  This
was no small deal drug bust.  But then two tons wouldn't be, would it !? 
He knew there would be more agents on the way now that he was topside.  He
pulled a well rolled joint from his "T" shirt pocket and lit up like any
smoker would.  Jill started laughing.

   "Aren't you pushing the limit here a bit, old man ?"

   Mike looked down into the cabin and smiled at her.  Hiding his face
behind the computer screen he whispered, "Fuck'em, if they can't take a
joke." Jill laughed again then headed forward to get dressed.

   At exactly ten o'clock four men, dressed in suits and ties, entered the
marina and talked with the day manager.  He pointed out Mister Minter's
slip and watched the four men move down the dock.  Jill was keeping watch
from the captain's cabin.  She rushed aft as soon as they appeared walking
down the dock toward the yacht.

   "Four." She whispered and then withdrew back into the far reaches of the
galley.

   Just moments later they appeared at the rear of the yacht.  Mike had his
back to them.

   "Are you the captain of this vessel ?"

   Mike stood and turned to face the men.  Immediately he noticed that they
were all carrying and it appeared to be heavy shit...Automatics, lots of
rounds.

   "Yes, I'm the captain and owner.  Name's Mike Minter."

   "Normal customs inspection, Mister Minter."

   "I thought we went through that this morning with the harbor master ?"

   The agent, who'd been talking, looked unsure then turned to one of the
agents behind him so Mike went on the offensive.

   "Well, never mind, welcome aboard, gentlemen." The agents started to
move on to the boat.  Just as the last one jumped aboard, Jill came topside
wearing the most skimpy bikini imaginable.  That and her almost buzz
haircut caused all activity to stop.  She was carrying a pot of coffee in
one hand and a coffee cup in the other.

   "Should I get some more cups, Mike ?"

   Time froze for a moment or so and only two agents were giving their full
attention to Mike.  The other two were gawking at Jill's almost naked body.

   One of the agents took charge, "Just stay where you are, lady !"

   Jill raised the coffee pot and her cup to shoulder height.  "I'm not
armed, sir." She spun around with her arms up.  "And I'd be a fool to do
anything with four heavily armed federal agents standing less than three
feet away.  I'm not a stupid lady.  Can I put my hands down now ?"

   They were a step behind; weren't prepared for a woman.  "Yachtsman"
piled on more bullshit.  "My first mate is a little tight.  She stands for
her captain's test next month.  This sail, we just finished, was her warm
up.  You want to search the boat, feel free.  My captain's log and our
passports and customs forms are on the galley table.  I was just too tired
to put them away this morning.  We been out for fifty-three days.  But then
I'm sure the harbor master told you all that."

   The agents lost the initiative.  The DEA agent, the customs' agent
differed to, moved toward the cabin door and disappeared below.  The agent,
who directed Jill to stay put, followed him.  The other two looked clueless
and just gawked about.  Mike tried to strike up a conversation but neither
agent was very talkative.  It took them fifteen minutes below before they
tired of finding nowhere to store any appreciable amount of marijuana. 
They left about thirty minutes after they arrived.  The look on their faces
could not disguise their disappointment.

   Jill went below and set up the observation post again.  Mike remained
topside and finished his coffee.  Well, they pretty much tipped their hand
with that.  Normal customs inspection my ass.  The two, who went below,
were DEA agents; the ones who stayed topside were customs, supervisors, who
wanted to get in on a juicy bust for career advancement.  That customs'
kid, who inspected them early this morning, spent twenty minutes below, a
thorough kid !

   Chapter Thirty
From: "Yachtsman"
To: "Snake"
Just boarded by four heavily armed federal agents.  They searched for
fifteen minutes.  They claimed that this was a normal customs inspection
but if so what was the twenty minute one we got at 0415 ?  Like to see the

lights of 'Vegas ASAP.  It's time to be a retired veteran.

   Casey called to "Snake." "Yo !  Dude, look at this shit from
`Yachtsman.'" The weed had arrived and was stored downstairs in the
underground vault.  Jake's friends, who never knew exactly where they were
since the van they were traveling in had no windows, were on their way back
to 'Vegas, each with a black plastic bag filled with exactly a pound of
very high grade marijuana.

   "Fuckin' `A' !  That `Yachtsman' is always just a step ahead of the law.
I'm always having to bail that fucker out." "Snake" laughed.  He was drunk.
He'd been drinking since the weed arrived.  Carlos came over and read
"Yachtsman's" message.

   "No sweat.  I got it covered." He opened his cell phone and was talking
while heading for the other end of the room.  Colleen Gilbert was asleep on
the couch.  "Snake" had thought about fucking her several times.  The
"play" room was empty.  "Bonerboy" and Jake Morrison were on their way to
their homes.  They called about an hour ago, saying they would be out to
the casino at ten tonight.  "Snake" poured another drink.  He should get
some sleep.

  
***************************************************************************

   Mindy Weathers was beyond pissed off.  "Nothing !  Not a fucking thing
was found yet I'm positive there was dope on that boat...Positive.  Fuck !
Fuck !  Fuck !" The other agents had moved to the other end of the trailer.
Anderson was on the phone.

   The customs' guy was trying to explain to Agent Weathers.  "Our agent
saw them early this morning at three, four something.  The harbor master
knows this guy.  They're on a first name basis.  This Minter guy is going
to know that what happened this morning was not normal."

   "Do I have to say `fuck' some more.  Why didn't we know that at the
briefing ?" No one offered an explanation.  Agent Weathers' phone rang. 
The men in the trailer visibly relaxed.  The bitch would be on the phone
chewing someone else's ass.

   "Weathers."

   "Agent Martinez, mame, the woman just left the boat and is walking up
the dock, toward the marina."

   "How's she dressed ?"

   Mindy was waving her arm around.  Anderson was getting up off the bed.
"Shorts and a `T' shirt, sandals."

   "Where's the man ?"

   "Sitting on the boat."

   "We're on our way." Mindy started moving toward the door, "Come on,
assholes, get a move on."

  
***************************************************************************

   Jill paid no attention to the lone agent watching from across the
street. It was one of the agents who spent more time looking at her nudity
than paying attention to what the fuck was going down.  Her cab was
approaching.  She looked back at the yacht.  "Yachtsman" was gone; now down
stairs, manning the surveillance post.

   She got into the cab and it headed out of the parking lot.  The agent
still had his phone to his ear as the cab passed.  She then noticed the two
agents, the man and woman from the second stakeout, driving by on their way
toward the boat.  Ten minutes later she entered the grocery store.  She
paid the cabbie to hang around.  The single agent drove into the parking
lot five minutes later.  The authorities were leaning on a lot of actors to
get this done.  The cab company was happy to cooperate.

   "Yachtsman" came back topside dressed only in trunks and dove overboard.
He started a quick sprint toward Balboa Island.  He tired less than a
quarter way to the island and settled into a steady crawl.

   Mindy had him in the field glasses.  Where the fuck was he going ?  She
needed more people.  Her support was running thin at headquarters.  But
this was their only lead and she just had to follow it.  She needed to get
someone over on the island.  Was the bridge the only way on and off ?  God,
they were so unprepared.  She thought they had them, red handed.  She still
couldn't believe the boat was clean.

   She opened her phone and started calling headquarters.  Anderson was
sleeping.  This was killing their sex life.  Headquarters answered and
Mindy started talking.

  
***************************************************************************

   "Yachtsman" was turning the steaks.  They smelled great.  He was cooking
on the dock with a small hibachi that he kept on the yacht.  Jill was
cooking some fresh spinach and broccoli down below.  She'd brought back
eighteen grocery bags from the store.  They made a big deal out of storing
the shit away.  "Yachtsman" knew they were being watched from the shore
line twenty-four hours a day but didn't think there was anyone watching
them from the island, yet.  He hoped he was a step ahead and didn't want to
give them time to catch up.  The island would be alive with visitors this
afternoon and evening, making it an ideal time to disappear.

   Jill came topside with another drink.  She looked hot in her bikini and
Mike intended to spend a considerable amount of time tonight, fucking her
brains out.  But now, that would have to wait for 'Vegas.  He laughed and
grabbed at her tight ass.

   She swatted his hand away.  "Tonight, eighteen hundred hours.  Pearl
street, a dark van.  California plates GYD 902." She had her arms around
his shoulders and could feel his hardness against her belly.  She backed
away when he slipped his hand down the back of her bikini bottoms.  She
laughed as she pushed him away.  She felt his tension and knew he wanted to
leave as soon as possible.

   It was difficult trying to act normal, having to run everything you
say...Well, you get the idea.  Jill looked up toward the marina and could
see only one surveillance car.  She turned away from the surveillance
before talking.

   "How was the swim this morning ?"

   "Yachtsman" answered from behind a newspaper she brought him from the
store.  "Piece of cake but I made it look like a long haul.  You put your
ID in the plastic bag ?"

   "Yea, shit, man.  You put a wad of bills in there.  Sure I'll be able to
make it ?" She laughed.

   Continued in

   "More Juice !"
   Book Eleven