You'd never guess it by looking at me now, but there was a time when I was a cocky little fucker. Today, my Zen-master vibes are the real deal; I'm comfortable in my own skin and cool with the cards the universe dealt me. But there was a time when I wasn't so chill. My cousin Gene once told my mom, "Someone is going to murder Jon. He's going to die young just like his dad." Which, I'm sure, thrilled her to no end.
My cousin wasn't the only one who contemplated ending my run early, nor was he the first to threaten to take me out of the race.
As I've discussed a few times, I was a high school dope dealer. I had a natural business sense, which would have served me well in a young entrepreneurs club at school, but it got me into some serious trouble in the criminal underworld very early on.
Thad, a friend-of-a-friend of my stepdad, was my very first connection. He sold to quite a few high school-aged, up-and-coming dealers like myself. Through him, I scored high-grade marijuana at a great price and was able to make a healthy profit. I should have been happy with that, but I wasn't. Remember, I was a cocky little fuck. I set out to discover where he was getting his dope from so that I could cut out the middleman: Capitalism 101.
Thad, a friend-of-a-friend of my stepdad, was my very first connection. He sold to quite a few high school-aged, up-and-coming dealers like myself. Through him, I scored high-grade marijuana at a great price and was able to make a healthy profit.
One day, Thad drove me to his connection's house and had me sit outside in the car while he went in to score. I recognized the place; my old friends, the Taylors, lived there before moving to Nevada. More importantly, I recognized the guy who opened the door. It was Redhead Ray, as everyone knew him. Ray Mann was a heroin addict, and I had watched him shoot up with my stepdad a few times. I knew he'd remember me.
I looked up Ray Mann in the phone book and cold-called him. I told him I was looking to buy a pound of Thai Stick and how much I was willing to pay (about half of what Thad was selling it to me for). "No problem. Come and get it!" he said. And that was the beginning of a very lucrative period in my dope-dealing venture. I couldn't have been happier with my business decision.
Meanwhile, Thad wondered what had happened to me. Why did I disappear into thin air? He called and asked me if I was dry and if I needed to replenish my supply. "No thanks, Thad, I'm good." I didn't consider his feelings at all and showed zero respect for the business relationship we had built over the previous year. That shit meant nothing to me. It was just business, after all.
On the very next purchase from Redhead Ray, he drove over to my place and pulled up in our driveway, as per usual. I walked out and sat in his car. He handed me a half-pound package, which, strangely, was wrapped completely in layers of duct tape. He said it was Maui Wowie green bud, "It's the same stuff I've been selling you, trust me." I didn't have any reason not to trust him.
Later on, when I was finally successful in pulling some of the tape off the package, I discovered I had been burned, and burned badly. He stuck me with a half-pound of low-quality dirt weed. I was fucking pissed. I called him, and he said, "How does it feel?"
"Excuse me?" I said.
"You stabbed my friend Thad in the back by coming to me, you little asshole," he told me. "You're not getting any more from me or Thad. So, good luck, punk!"
He slammed the phone in my ear.
I was livid. I decided to confront Redhead Ray face-to-face. The next day, I drove my mom's car (I was 15 and didn't own a car) over to his house and pounded on his front door. And then, I pounded some more. He wasn't home. I knew that house well; I had spent a lot of time there when my friend Tommy Taylor lived there. I went around to the side gate and entered the house through the garage door, using a credit card to jimmy it open. I made my way directly to Ray's personal stash and made off with a pound of primo Hawaiian bud.
We all sat down and had a back-and-forth discussion. They accused me of ripping Ray off, which I denied. And I accused them of ripping me off, which they didn't deny. Then, things really went south.
Not long after I arrived home, the phone rang. It was Redhead Ray. And now, he was the one who was pissed. "Hey, you little fucker…"
I hung up on him. Then I unplugged the phone from the wall.
Half an hour later, Thad and Ray arrived at our house. My mom didn't know anything about the drama or what was going down, so she let them in. She was friends with Thad and knew Ray as well, so she didn't think much of the visit. For all she knew, I was still on good terms with Thad.
They stormed into my room without knocking and shut the door behind them. We all sat down and had a back-and-forth discussion. They accused me of ripping Ray off, which I denied. And I accused them of ripping me off, which they couldn’t deny. Then, things really went south.
"My neighbor saw you break into my house," Ray said. "You can stop denying that it was you and fucking admit it. I want my stash back!"
"Your neighbor saw me? Oh, really?" I said. "Then tell me, how did I get to your house, Ray?"
"What?"
"Did your neighbor say that I was on a bicycle? Was I in a car? Was I on foot?"
"It doesn't fucking matter!"
"Yes, it does! If you have a witness, then they would know how I got there!"
"Give me my fucking shit, right now!"
"I told you, it wasn't me," I repeated for the umpteenth time.
Ray leaned in. Thad leaned in with him. And then Ray made a threat. "You better watch your back because I'm coming for you. Your ass is mine."
"This is serious now, Jon," Thad said, backing up Ray. "Just give him the shit."
Ray went further. "And your mom and your sister… they're dead. I'm going to kill your mother and your sister."
I stood up and got in his face. "You're going to be dead by the time you get home! Get the fuck out of my house!"
"I'm scared. Are you scared, Thad?" Ray said dismissively. He and Thad laughed all the way to their car.
I took the threat seriously. I wasn't sure what to do, at least not right away. But then it came to me. I decided to call the scariest person I knew, next to my stepdad—Joey Marquez.
Joey and his brother Bill were hardcore criminals. They were early members of the Mexican Mafia, big-time drug traffickers, and arms smugglers. They were far more hardcore than I could even imagine at the time. All I knew was that they used to run with my stepdad, Rod and that they both absolutely loved my mom and my sister. They also felt an obligation to protect them while Rod was doing time in state prison.
In less than 15 minutes, they were sitting in my room in the same chairs Thad and Redhead Ray had been sitting in.
They both looked me in the eye, and Joey asked, "Ray said he was going to kill your mother and your sister?"
"Yes."
"Ok…" Joey reached into his jacket pocket. "Take this gun, take these bullets, and if you see Ray anywhere near your house, empty the fucking gun into him."
"Don't fuck around. Don't hesitate. Shoot him dead," Bill told me. "You're 15-16; you'll be out of Youth Authority in two years."
Joey and Bill calmly walked down the hall, small-talked with my mom for half a minute, and took off in their '63 Buick Riviera low-rider.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. I picked it up, "Hello?"
"It's Joey, Jon… I am standing here with Redhead Ray at his house."
I didn't know what to say. So, I said nothing.
"Ray has something to say to you," Joey told me, then handed the phone to him.
"I-I'm sorry, sorry, Jon. I lost my head. I didn't mean what I said. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you or your family," his voice was shaky. It sounded like he had the piss scared out of him.
All I said was, "Ok." Then the line went dead.
I found out later that Ray had actually pissed his pants, soaked them through and through, as soon as he opened the door and found the Marquez brothers staring at him.
Joey told me to keep the gun, a .38 snub nose revolver with the serial number filed off, just in case. He told me to tell him if I saw Redhead Ray in my neighborhood, anywhere in the Crescent Park area of Palo Alto, and that he would take care of him.
I never saw Redhead Ray or Thad again.
And here’s the kicker: I found out that Ray was scoring all of his shit from Joey, and before that day was done, I had the best connection in Northern California.
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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "What a page turner! This story is an amazing piece of investigative work—both compelling and heartbreaking." - Amazon review
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I’d seen the author’s work in OZY but was blown away by this book. It’s SUCH a great read, written from the heart! Full of interest for those historians of the hippie generation, North Beach, corrupt cops, mobbed up pols, and San Francisco in general. Very well written and paced up to the last pages. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. Buy this book now!" - Amazon review