Carlos Rivas
Present day...Twenty-Nineteen.
Carlos was reading a magazine on the front porch of one of his many Rustic-styled houses in New York. He invested himself in the special catalogue written on the cannabis sativa plant. He observed the image of the green plant on the side of the page. The paper had termed it evil, but to Carlos, it was divine.
He looked up when he heard rushed footsteps approach. The sky had reddened as the sun set in the west. Carlos watched his most trusted man lift himself onto the wooden floors.
"Our informant with the police contacted us. They know. They're coming for the gold," the man said.
The gold was their code name for their cargo. Their prized possession. Their narcotics.
