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

told me to climb Cathedral Rock. So, in the dream, Jimi and I climbed it together. I remember I had so many questions for him, but we didn’t speak the whole time. It just wasn’t right, you know.”

My dad nodded and was transfixed by the story. “Of course.”

“And then,” Alex continued, “we stood and looked out over the distance. And then he played this awesome riff on his guitar, it went like... well, I wish I could play it for you. I’m not much of a guitarist. I’ve been taking lessons ever since the dream, so that one day I could give it back to the world, as Jimi’s last song.”

“That’s heavy, dude,” my dad said.

“Tell me about it,” Alex said. “But it went like, nah, nah, nah, nah.”

Alex’s singing voice rose and fell, and he drummed out a rhythm on the table.

“Well, I can’t explain it,” Alex continued, “But then, Jimi turned to me, and then he said, ‘release me.’”

“Mmm,” my dad nodded somberly and stroked his chin.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “By that, I knew he meant the storage room. So, I knew then, that Jimi’s spirit wanted to be free, and by holding on to it, I was keeping him from peaceful rest.”

“Woooow,” my dad said. “That... is… wild.”

“Dude,” Alex said, “that was when I knew it was time to sell. I got to tell you, it was a hard decision. I wouldn’t have done it without Jimi’s permission.”

My dad nodded reverently, but I remembered what he said about having financial difficulties. It wasn’t really hard. This guy was just broke, desperate, and did too many shrooms.

“But,” he said. “I’m confident that in you, we have the right buyer.”

“I’m honored,” my dad said. “I know how much this means to the history of music, and really to the history of our culture.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Old rockers like us, they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. It’s all digital music now, and iPods.”

The irony didn’t escape me that he was streaming Jimi Hendrix on a crappy smartphone.

“Don’t I know it,” my dad shook his head.

“Do you remember,” he said. “When you had to wait for your favorite song to come on the AM radio?”

My dad laughed. “I was just a kid, but I remember that.”

The two old hippies went down memory lane for a while, although I suspected my dad was bullshitting a little. Alex was at least one, maybe two decades his senior. Then Alex’s phone timer went off.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s drink some tea.”

He went back into his booth and returned with three steaming ceramic mugs of herbal tea.

“Now,” he instructed, “Sip slowly, and tell me what you think.”

We all sipped the tea, and I was surprised to find it had a nice, sweet flavor.

“It’s good,” I said, “fruity.”

Alex grinned. “You’re tasting the fruit blend I added for flavor.”

“Yeah,” my dad made an approving face. “I like it, it’s good.”

Alex sipped his, and he made a contemplative face. “This is some good stuff. Takes me back.”

And suddenly, we were back in the sixties, when Alex was my age, and my dad was barely in grade school. We stayed there for a good half hour as we finished our tea. Finally, Alex closed his sales pitch.

“I’d love to send you home with some of this,” he said. “Take some. You gotta girl?”

“I do have that,” I said.

“She’ll appreciate it, you know what I mean?” he said.

“I do know what you mean,” I said.

“Here,” my dad said, pulling some bills out of his wallet. “I’ll take a bag. How much are you asking?”

“Thirty for a bag,” he said.

I blinked in shock. That was pricey for tea.

He winked at us. “And it’s worth every penny. Let me tell you.”

He whistled and made a hip thrusting motion, and I thought about Julianna and Gabriel.

“Throw in a bag for me, too,” I smirked and pulled out a few bills.

Alex looked ecstatic, and we exchanged money, and he brought out two satin bags of tea leaves. Each had a black ribbon drawstring and a small paper label with brewing instructions.

“My Sylvia handmakes these bags,” he said. “She does everything. From crafts to wedding dresses. Tell your friends.”

I nodded and wondered what kind of wedding dress would come out of that travel trailer.

“Now,” Alex said as he rubbed his palms together. “Onto the real business--Jimi’s locker.”

My dad smiled and rubbed his hands together as well.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

“Well,” he said. “Let me get you the keys. The last person to open the unit was Jimi himself. We had a spare key, but we had strict instructions from my grandfather never to open it. When we had the unit appraised, they said it reduced the value of it if we opened it. So, the key has been in a safe deposit box until you came along. So, yesterday, I went to the bank and got it out.”

Alex went inside his trailer, and while we waited, we put our sex tea bags into the Jeep.

“That’s for tonight,” my dad told me with a wink.

“Oh, Jesus, dad,” I said. “I did not need to know that.”

He laughed, and it took a couple more minutes before Alex finally emerged. He had a small envelope marked with the logo from Coconino Bank.

“Here it is,” he ceremoniously handed the key to my dad, and my dad handed him an envelope out of his pocket. The two opened their envelopes, cash and a key respectively.

The key was a tiny, brown one that resembled an old penny that had been buried in someone’s couch cushions for years.

“This is it,” he smiled and showed it to me. “Take a picture.”

“Alright,” I said. I pulled out my phone and