Jim William West
The following evening, Bob is again around, this time with Tanya. I roll a joint, and put the grass outside, under the tiles. Half the busts in ‘hippie land’ happen because freaks are too lazy to walk that extra ten feet. Not me, I’d seen too much of the Tepic prison. Bob and I are passing the J back and forth, when something prompts me to get up, and have a look out the front window. By the light of a full moon, I see Federal Troops piling out of a large truck. Many things happen, very quickly. I eat the joint and tell Bob to run, then bolt out the back door, down the path, through the barbed wire, into the low scrub, and hit the ground just as they start shooting. I’m hidden, but they can see Bob, heading for the banana plantation. His trousers are full of shit, and this must be slowing him down. We left his daughter Tanya behind! She’s screaming, crying, and pleading, all at the same time. “Come back Bob, please, come back.” Adrenaline has kicked in. The jungle shimmers. I’m in a crystal clear, Technicolor, stop motion movie. Soldiers’ boots pound along the path, not far from where I’m hiding. Then the shooting stops and I know they have Bob. Through the bush, I see a soldier coming towards me, rifle held nervously across his chest. Up to now, I figure they’ve been shooting into the air, but this guy might get spooked, and fire in my direction. I stand, hands up, then it’s back to my place and a reunion. The front door was unlocked, but they still broke it down, then ripped the house apart, looking for drugs. I’ve had my place turned over twice, by the CID in Britain, but these Federal Troops were much more thorough. Had drugs been there, they would have found them. Salt, sugar, flour, oats, rice, tea, everywhere.
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