The 1960’s were a historic era of cultural and political upheaval worldwide, and Los Angeles along with San Francisco were at the west coast epicenters. The 1970s amped the Vibe; from the grit of L.A, and glitz of Hollywood, to the sunny beach-lined communities north and south of the Los Angeles International Airport.
There was a thriving evolution of new ways to live, to expand one’s mind, and new ways to do business. And one of the rising big businesses was within the Drug Culture. The times were ripe for anyone to grab the reins and take hold of whatever they could. All ideas, trends, and concepts if not new, were brought forward from the past to be celebrated. With these near daily new enterprises and concepts came great ideas implemented for the good and some for the bad.
William Trent, a young private investigator, maintains his office and living space above the garages of an adjacent apartment building in the “Ghost Town” area of Venice, California. The rickety, but sturdy stairs to Will’s office were open for anyone who needed his services.
Will was experienced in both deductive reasoning and altered states of consciousness. He had taken nearly every drug, hallucinogen, and psychotropic known, and used those experience’s benefits to become successful enough to hold down his own one man investigation business.
There was much to be said for certain stoners’ abilities to use their clouded stoned appearance to actually gain detailed insight on those who momentarily let their guard down due to thinking that they were dealing with just another stoned Hippie.
Tonight’s 1972 Episode: “The Endless Night”
It was late one Friday evening, Will had just finished a tough case and was driving home looking forward to a restful night’s sleep. He backed his car into the garage below his place, climbed the stairs unlocked the door and . . .
Will awoke, sitting at his desk, feeling very groggy. All he remembered was a dark hood over his head and the stab of a needle.
He quickly scanned his office, got up and braced himself past the kitchen to the bedroom – everything was normal. As he turned he saw a note pinned to the front door. He removed the pin and looked at the note, and although his eyes were still blurry he was able to understand.
Will proceeded to retrieve his secret stash in a brilliant hiding place, removed the lids of several containers of drugs, placed the pills and stash in a pouch, tied it off, and put it in his inside jacket pocket. He then went to the kitchen and removed his snub-nosed 38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver from a coffee can, and strapped on his low thigh-level sheathed Bowie knife and tied the leather strap just above his knee.
He got in his car, took a deep breath, opened his cigarette case and lit up a personally-rolled joint, took a deep inhale, held it, then exhaled. He then pulled out the pouch downed a couple pills, started the car and took off.
Will had an encounter with a group who had sought him out, mainly because his Stoned Private Eye notoriety had begun to reach certain aspects of society who recruited certain individuals. These individuals understood and agreed to their involvement which only surfaced on rare occasions. Will was one of these individuals – this was one of those occasions.
He had only been called upon once before and it was of an initiatory state. The people behind it all were who Will deemed as good people. These recruited individuals were by no means numerous, a half dozen or so to Will’s knowledge. Will did not like clubs, or any organized groups, and saw them first and foremost as rule makers. The group Will was involved with broke rules.
As he pulled up to an old gas station on the outskirts of the Inglewood oil fields he felt the warm embrace of the hashish-laced joint and the subtle surge of the psilocybin spread throughout his body out to his toes and fingertips.
He got out of his car and walked up to the door of the station, as he opened the door the light from a flashlight crossed his face.
A female voice from the shadows: “Follow us.”
She flipped on a dimmed light as two men came into view from the darkness. They turned and Will followed the two men and one woman to a door, that when opened, revealed an elevator.
As they all entered the elevator Will was tripping on the opening sequence of the TV series “Get Smart” with the series of doors that kept opening.
When the elevator doors opened they were joined by two other men, and all six walked down a hall into a large conference room.
Will had not said a word to anyone, he knew why they were there, as well as why he was there.
Just then he heard knocking on a door, his office door, which woke him up from deep sleep and a detailed dream. He got up from his desk, stumbled to the door, and opened it to see Gwen, Big Kahuna’s sister who ran “The Head Shop” while he was in Hawaii.
Gwen, excited: “Will, you gotta come quick!”
Will, still dazed from the vivid dream: “What?”
Will and her had a short fling, and stayed friends, so Will was attentive.
Gwen: “There’s something going on back behind the Shop.”
Will, trying to discern the emergency: “Gwen, is this something that can wait until tomorrow morning?”
Gwen gives Will a look that he knows too well and gathers his jacket and follows her down the stairs to her car.
On the way she tells Will that when she was closing up she heard strange noises coming from behind the Shop. When Will asked what kind of noises all Gwen could say was that they were scary enough to come get him.
Will backed into a parking place in front of the Shop, and told Gwen to stay in the car. He then jumped up on the side wall, climbed to the roof, and went toward the back of the Shop; he wanted the aerial advantage over whatever it was.
As he crept to the edge he could hear something, it was a sound he could not identify. Then he heard a rustle among the bushes, he could see movement. Something was emerging from under the bush, something large.
Will was braced to jump on whatever it was until it revealed itself to be a local hobo having a restless night’s sleep. Will just smiled and thought, “restless or not, at least he’s getting some sleep.”
He climbed back down, and informed Gwen of the noisemaker.
She apologized and although Will’s place was only a couple miles away she offered for him to crash at her place only several blocks away. He felt abnormally worn out so he agreed.
Once at Gwen’s apartment Will sat down on the couch as she went into her bedroom to get some blankets for Will.
When she returned she handed them to Will and as he took the blankets from her he also took the only thing hiding her totally nude body.
Gwen smiled.
Will smiled back.
Gwen, taking his hand: “C’mon, the bed’s better.”
As they entered her bedroom a blinding light and loud harsh horns blasted Will’s sleepy, but lustfully romantic mood into the reality that he was in the middle of the street!
He ran to the curb and looked around, it was dark except for street lights and the amber glow from lights within a few houses and buildings. He was just down the block from his place. As he walked back in the darkness he wondered what was happening to him? Had his drug consumption finally taken toll? Had he taken too many drugs? Not enough? Or was he truly losing his mind?
Will’s mind reeled; this was very weird. These dreams were far too real, and how could they be dreams if he was never asleep? And now out in the street? Was he really in the street or was it just another realistic hallucination?
When he got back to his place he sat down on his couch, he looked at the clock on the wall, it was 2:30 AM. He rested a bit to get his bearings, then got up to go straight to bed when he noticed a piece of paper on the floor. He squatted down, picked it up, and got the shudders as it was the note that was pinned on the door from . . . a dream?
Will sat down at his desk. He needed to focus. The mind is limitless, he knew that sometimes drugs like LSD can create very convincing alternate realities, but these were too real and were like a revolving door.
He looked at the note under the light of his desk lamp. It was the same size, but not the same note, it was a receipt from the local 24 hour Chinese take out, Wing Dang Noodle’s.
But then Will realized that he hadn’t had Chinese take out in over a week. He looked at the receipt’s date, it was today’s date.
Suddenly, the smell of noodles filled the air. Will moved to the kitchen to see his friend Mike standing there slurping noodles with chopsticks from a takeout container from Wing Dang Noodle’s.
Mike, with a mouthful: “So, how’re ya feeling, good buddy.”
Will noticed the tone at the end, as if there might be a question about that.
Will, beginning to get the picture: “Mike . . . what are you doing here?
Mike: “They got good noodles and I was in the area so I thought I’d drop by.”
Will’s not buyin’ it: “So, what else did you do tonight?” He pauses, then adds: “But be truthful, Mike, good buddy.”
Mike knows he’s busted and knew he’d never get away with anything with Will, but thought that in the end he would thank him.
Mike, seriously: “OK, now sit down and remember that I only had your safety in mind, well, and some other stuff, but, well . . “
Will: “What?”
Mike: “A friend, a trusted friend, just got back from a South American jungle with some exotic stuff . . “
Will interrupts: “Stuff? What stuff?”
Mike: “It’s hard to pronounce, a-yahoo-aska, yeah, that’s it.”
Will, trying to control his mounting anger: ”And what, you slipped me a mickey of this stuff?”
Mike: “Not really . . .” He backs away from Will anticipating a physical reaction. “Actually you took it yourself, I just kinda monitored you.”
Will, shaking his head in disbelief and in general sheer exhaustion: “How long does this last?”
Mike: “Well, if you haven’t . .
Will suddenly needs to use the bathroom. The sound of retching can be heard.
Mike continues: “. . . vomited yet, about a couple more hours.”
Will emerges from the bathroom looking like one of the Night of the Living Dead and walks with outstretched arms toward Mike, grabs him around the neck, pulls him toward him, and embraces him: ”Thanks Man, I’ve never experienced that one.”
Mike: “I told you you’d thank me, in the end.”
And it was the end, the end of a seemingly endless night as daylight finally came and Will fell into his bed and into a deep cosmic sleep.
That evening when he awoke the brew was mostly out of his system – but not those so very real dreams, as they weren’t dreams, and they weren’t visions either, Will knew the difference.
This experience must be singular to the brew, realities become layered and appear physically real, but slip from one to another while still only in one place. That seemed to satisfy Will for the moment, then he remembered that he was physically in the street before meeting Mike in his apartment; that broke the rule of it being a mind alteration to a physical one.
And what about the hood, the darkness, the needle. As Will went to check in the bathroom mirror for any needle marks, he considered Mike’s explanation of downing some very bitter espresso that he treated him to that night. He looked in the mirror where he thought he was stabbed but there wasn’t a mark. Still a needle mark can disappear quickly.
Will had tripped many times but this Ayahuasca was different, the episodes seemed so real that Will wondered if they had a deeper meaning, so he set to writing them down as best as he could remember, which at this point was very vivid. The known/unknown association of recruits with a clandestine mission was straight out of a spy novel or a heist movie. The noise from a hobo behind the Head Shop led to seduction by Gwen that was coitus-interrupted by teleportation in the street near his place; both unexplainable.
These specific detailed encounters that seemed lengthy probably lasted minutes. Time becomes a nonlinear more fluid reality when tripping on nearly any psychedelics, hallucinogens, or mind-altering substances; minutes can seem like hours, and hours can seem like minutes.
Still, Will felt that this brew revealed something deeper; like the brain trying to access another reality or realities, but it needed a catalyst, like Ayahuasca.
While sitting at his desk he pondered these cosmic concepts and lit up an evening bowl when the phone rang.
Will exhaled and picked up the phone: “William Trent Private Investigations”
Gwen, excited: “Will, you gotta come quick!”
Will: “What?”
Gwen proceeds to tell Will what he already knows, and as his mind reels by what is happening he tells her he’ll be right over.
On the way Will now knew that they weren’t dreams, they weren’t hallucinations, and they weren’t visions either, Will knew the difference, they were prescient experiences brought on by the Ayahuasca.
He didn’t need to climb onto the roof, he just walked around the back to the alley to see a hobo covered in newspaper in the bushes trying to get some sleep.
He informed Gwen of the noisemaker.
She apologized and although Will’s place was only a couple miles away she offered for him to crash at her place only several blocks away.
Will now knew what was next and decided to just shut up and let the experience unfold. And once at Gwen’s place, as they entered her bedroom, it did.
The next morning Will took Gwen out to breakfast before she opened The Head Shop.
On the way back to his place his thoughts became obvious; vivid prescient experiences, that was the brew’s reveal, for him at least, but one that seemed to switch to another reality as it neared its climax.
Once parked and back upstairs, Will sat at his desk and lit up a joint. His thoughts led straight to the clandestine group out near the oil fields – were these people part of a near or future encounter? And for what reason?
Will awoke, sitting at his desk, feeling very groggy. All he remembered was a dark hood over his head and the stab of a needle.
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Copyright 2019 00individual TLL
Written spontaneously over a few hours during April 1 – 3, 2019 with only The Stoned Private Eye, the 1970s, the Endless Night, and a Noir Vibe as inspiration.
THE STONED PRIVATE EYE 