Hexagram 8, line 5, The Last Run (Story of Neil, written by A Friend Overseas)
This was a long time ago, when I was in the club business. Another promoter I was on good terms with asked me for my help. A while back, he had fallen into hard times on account of his wife becoming disabled and his business collapsing. He had joined a firm of big-time cannabis importers. This is the story of what was to be his last assignment. There were a million pounds to deliver, and he was worried as things had not been going according to plan. He consulted me, as he had done before he started with them. Here is his tale.
I gave the following advice: "What you want to do is dangerous, and things may not go as planned. You must stick to your course and do what has to be done efficiently. If you do this, you will be OK. As a professional, you have the necessary skills to do this.
I could see that not a great disaster like a bust was coming; otherwise, I would have warned to back out. However, the oracle was not really good either. So, it was up to him.
I became a cannabis importer. I had been promoting live music in London with my wife. We were a great team and doing very well, but then she got sick, very sick, and never got better. I had to cut back on business and look after her. And then there were bills for alternative medicine and therapy. I was soon broke, and on meeting an old friend who was quite a big operator, I was naturally tempted when offered a driving job. Driving meant carrying cannabis all over London. My friend was not a gangster and did not deal in anything else, so I thought the risk was quite good. He was a veteran smuggler of Hemingway proportions. He had bought from Druze Militias, Cartels, Thai gangsters, and many more without being caught—he was a legend. The bad guys loved him and his stories. Anyway, I am a smoker myself, and I am aware that for every so many joints I smoke, someone must go to prison, so I saw it as an honorable thing to take my turn.
Things went very smoothly for about a decade. We made easy money, and we were protected by the boss's powerful friends. But all good things come to an end. The boss, who had sneered at us married guys, got hitched. She was a Thai bar girl, and not one of the better ones. He started drinking too much and doing coke; things were getting slack.
I had another little job, which was to carry the cash back over the water to Europe. This was about a million pounds in smallish notes. Three huge washing bags are stuffed into the back of the bosses range rover. I didn’t like the feel of it from the start, but I was committed. I drove to the ferry and over the channel out of the UK with no problems. The same at the Belgian end—they hardly check as virtually all smuggling is done the other way. Then the long, lonely drive over the autobahns, never leaving the cab except to piss or shit within sight of it. The boss lent me his Range Rover, but the car didn’t feel good; he should have gotten a new rental, as was the usual form. We had talked about having a backup car or two, but as our firm had only three people—the boss, the underboss, and me—we didn't trust anyone else. So I was alone.
At the destination, I was to drop the cash at the safe house where someone would check it in, as this was the usual form. When I got there, though, no one answered the bell. The flat was three stories up, and I had to carry all three bags myself. I couldn’t leave any behind, so I made rather slow and ungainly progress. I had the key to the door and the safe house, so I went in and stashed the cash. Then I went straight to the nearest payphone and called the boss. He didn’t seem to take it seriously and said I should not worry and come back in my own time. I decided to go back immediately, as I had a bad feeling. The car started to play up and was getting worse. In the end, only the four-wheel drive gears worked, and I had to crawl along with clouds of burning hydraulic stinking and bellowing out behind me.
Customs in England decided to take me apart as well; they were suspicious of such a short trip and questioned me while searching the car in vain. I got out of customs, then the car gave out, and I had to call the AA and take a train home.
I called the boss to complain, but before I could say anything, he said, “Where is the money?"—the money had gone! Fortunately for me, my reputation protected me from suspicion. I went to see the boss a few days later and told him I quit. He was very understanding (he only liked staff that were keen as mustard), and we parted amicably.
Wilhelm/Baynes: Holding together brings good fortune.
Holding together suggests the need to keep your wits and stay focused. From acting in this way good fortune will come.
Line 5
Wilhelm/Baynes: Manifestation of Holding Together. In the hunt the king uses beaters on three sides only and foregoes game that runs off in front. The citizens need no warning. Good fortune.
This is somewhat confusing, but does give the idea of having to hold on very tightly and there being some complications.
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