Sedona Law 4 by Dave Daren (ready to read books TXT) 📕

sell fresh eggs and meat. They’re all free-range chickens, so the folks around here like that.”

“You just sell them here?” I asked. “To the locals?”

“We sell them here,” he said. “And to some of the restaurants, like Blanc.”

“Blanc, really?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but Blanc’s our big account. They keep me in business.”

“I didn’t realize they were so locally invested to buy their produce here,” I said.

“Nah,” he said, “they don’t. I think they got a big corporate supplier in California for that. They just buy our eggs, and sometimes our chickens. Bet those snooty-tooties that eat there would shit a brick if they knew their ‘cheese souffle’ came from this shithole.”

He laughed heartily, and I nodded.

“The buyer I deal with is reasonable enough,” he said. “Good guy, actually. But, there’s not a thing on that menu I would eat, all fancy uppity stuff like cor-don blue. I don’t even know what that is. They’re good people though, far as I can tell.”

I just laughed and shrugged at my dad who smiled at me and shook his head

“You probably eat there, don’t you?” Alex gestured toward me.

I just nodded and smiled ruefully. “I like all kinds of food.”

“He met Keith Richards,” my dad blurted out.

Alex turned to me wide eyed. “No shit.”

I sighed. “I used to work in entertainment law in Los Angeles, and my firm handled a licensing deal between the Rolling Stones story and a film Netflix wanted to produce about it. Long story short, Keith Richards flew to L.A. to negotiate the terms. I ran one of the many meetings that were held regarding the deal.”

“No kidding,” Alex said. “What was he like?”

“Professional,” I said. “You get this image of these rock stars as entitled pricks, and I guess they can be at times. But, most successful entertainers can actually handle themselves quite well in a professional situation.”

Alex nodded. “I like that. Keith’s a good man. Say, I want you guys to try something. Hold on.”

He held up his palm and then scuffled off into a travel trailer behind the stand. My dad and I looked at each other.

“What did you get me into?” I mumbled.

He laughed. “Just worry about your fancy shoes. That should keep you busy enough.”

I laughed. “That bad, huh?”

“How much did you pay for those shoes?” he asked.

“How much you pay for Jimi’s locker?” I replied.

He laughed. “Alright, fair enough.”

Alex returned with a small wooden box in his hand and a smile. He set the box up on the counter of the produce stand.

“This here,” he said, “is my new tea blend.”

“Tea?” I asked.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s all natural... and all legal. But, I’ve been perfecting this blend for years, and I think I’ve got it.”

He smiled as he pulled out some dried leaves and handed them to us.

“Smell this,” he said. “Ah, it’s perfection.”

I raised an eyebrow and took a leaf. “What is this?”

“It’s a hybrid herbal blend mainly made of maca and ginseng and with a couple of herbs,” he said. “It’s taken several generations of putting these plants together to create this tea.”

“What kind of tea is it?” I asked.

“I don’t have a name for it yet,” he said. “But the effect of it is supposed to enhance your sex drive.”

“Sex drive enhancers?” I repeated. “I didn’t think you could do that with an herb.”

“Of course, you can,” he said. “All of those chemical supplements you see on TV? This is nature’s way of doing the same thing, but without putting all of these dangerous toxins in your body. I want you to try it.”

“Okay,” my dad shrugged. “We’ll give it a try.”

He looked at me, and I shrugged back. Alex looked like he had hit the lottery he was so excited.

“Alright,” I said.

He motioned off to the side of the stand where there was an old wooden picnic table.

“Sit down,” he said. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

My dad and I sat at the table, and Alex busied himself in the stand. He lit a small portable burner and then poured a couple of bottled waters into a kettle and turned it on. Then, he rigged up his cell phone to a small bluetooth speaker, and he set it down on the table to play All Along the Watchtower. Alex joined us with a self-satisfied smile.

“Ah, yeah,” my dad said reverently. “It’s Jimi.”

“Jimi,” Alex whistled. “You know I saw him in ‘68.”

“Did you really?” my dad asked.

For the next several minutes, my dad and Alex exchanged notes on Jimi Hendrix. Then they occasionally made me embellish stories about the hour and a half in a conference room I once spent with Keith Richards and his entourage. Finally, the tea kettle whistled. Alex smiled and banged his hands on the table.

“Tea time,” he said, rose, and went back into the booth. He messed around for a few more minutes and then came back.

“It will take a few more minutes before it’s ready,” he said as he set a phone timer. “But I got fresh pomegranate if you want to wait.”

My dad was into it, and so Alex pulled some old pomegranates out of a crate, and we all ate pomegranates and listened to more Jimi Hendrix. Alex explained that he had finally decided to sell the unit when Jimi came to him in a dream one night.

“He came to you in a dream?” my dad repeated.

“It was wild,” Alex said. “It started out, I was out by our pomegranate field, and then, Jimi appeared. He was walking down the open field with a guitar on his back. I saw him coming toward me, and he looked at me straight in the eye, and