Pot costs about $800 a pound in California and several years ago two boys from Duchess County New York decided to drive cross-country, score ten pounds, and drive back with the weed to sell OZs at $80. Neither Mike not Earl could remember a big bust in their hometown for ages. The cops were old and over-worked. Everyone wanted cheap weed and they could use the money.
The two twenty year-olds cut their hair, dressed in their Sunday suits, packed up their BMW SUV with empty bags, and headed west from the Poughkeepsie at dawn. The strain of the long haul was eased by good tunes and a few joints for the road. By the time they crossed into Ohio, the duo were high and the stash was down to a single joint. None would have been better, since the 1st Commandment of an outlaw was to only break one law at a time.
West of Cleveland a state trooper stopped them on I-90. He had a dog with him. It wasn’t a poodle, but a Alsatian drug sniffer, which had probably been raised on hash cookies and was jonesing for a bag of weed.
“It’s factory regulation.” The trooper was almost as young as them. His hair was cut to the bone. HIs body fat zero. A gun was on his hip. He was everything they were not.
“What’s the problem, officer?”
“Those windows are too dark for this state.”
The trooper’s dog barking meant one thing and he ordered the two boys out of their car. The dog found the last joint in three seconds. The $8000 was next to it. Things looked bad, until the trooper offered them a deal.
“Boys, you’re probably heading to California to get some weed. $8000 worth. Come back to New York and make a little fortune. You tell me the truth and I’ll let you go.”
The two had never trusted a Duchess County cop, but decided to place their fate in this mirror image of law and order.
They admitted their guilt.
“Good, now I want you to turn around and drive back to New York. Don’t come through this way again. You’re getting off easy, just remember that. Cops farther west would have you in cuffs and you’d lose the car and the $8000.”
“Yes, officer.”
Mike and Earl were grateful for this gift. They threw out the joint and turned around on the next interchange. Both tried to figure out why they had gotten off so easy.
“Maybe Ohio is soft of weed.” Mike had a cousin in Cleveland. He said that the police were only after crystal meth.
“Naw, it’s because the state is broke and they don’t have the money to try small-timers like us.”
Their debate was cut short by the whoop of a siren. Another state trooper pulled them over for tinted windows. He had a dog. The dog found the marijuana scented cash in 5 seconds. Mike and Earl explained the story to the state trooper, who called his fellow officer on a cellphone.
“Just keep heading east.”
“Yes, officer.”
None of the headers in Duchess County believed Mike and Earl’s story, but after a few homegrown joints they called the incident the “Ohio Getaway’.
A true miracle of the Drug Wars.