It started eight years ago with a middle of the night phone call from the parents of a teenage boy who had done some work for me, and then left for the big money up at the Mt. Tremblant Ski Resort renovation. He'd done a lot of overtime and the sub-contracter paid him for it in little one gram envelopes of cocaine. Except it wasn't. The sub-contractor was connected to the Quebec Hells Angels and the envelopes contained their drug of choice - meth. The boy had shoveled a whole gram into his nose and was starting on the second one when his heart stopped beating. By the time they got him to the hospital, he was alive but only just. He never really recovered, just creeped along for the next couple of years. I took one of the detectives investigating the incident aside and innocently asked him where this shit had come from. After all, we were living in the Laurentian Mountains, a mecca for clean living and spiritual development. The detective didn't laugh in my face but he should have. What he told me about hard drugs and the Quebec Hells Angels made me feel like I had been living in a fantasy in my little village. I spent a week thinking about what he had said and then called the detective again. He steered me in several directions and I spent the next two years getting to know some of the local Hells Angels and the cops who were pursuing them. Then I spent the next six years writing the trilogy of novels that would change my life - THE ANGELS. (lulu publishing, November 2007)
Tomorrow - hanging out with Jean-Louis, a case of brandy and a pound of Peruvian flake cocaine.
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