Leonard preferred cash transactions. Skinner had gotten into the habit of springing for most of his credit card purchases. When Leonard snuck away with Trais for some R&R in St. Maarten, far from Natasha’s jealous eyes, Skinner came through. When Leonard wanted Ann and Sasha Shulgin ferried to a psychonaut conference in Virginia, Skinner picked up the airfare.
Hotels? Car rentals? Restaurants? Only ask: Todd swiped his AmEx card. How he could afford such generosity was never discussed. Leonard figured Skinner’s lavish lifestyle could be traced to Gardner Springs or Warren Buffett.
“We still thought at that time Skinner was as he claimed: heir to an industrial fortune,” said Pickard. “And though an exotic drug abuser, also one who was intensely supportive of psychedelic research. We had difficulty turning down Skinner’s largesse, or his credit cards, all of which made him believable.”
Ever since Skinner first invited him to submit a grant proposal, Leonard held out hope for a Buffett-backed drug policy conference. While he remained skeptical, Leonard finally took the plunge. What did he have to lose?
His position at UCLA grew more tenuous by the day. He rarely showed his face in Mark Kleiman’s office any more. As time went on, the prestige of a Harvard gathering seemed too delicious to ignore: sublime resolution to his constant juggling act.
A successful symposium might even lead to med-school admission . . . and not just some random also-ran like the University of Guadalajara. How did Harvard Medical School sound? If a doofus like John Halpern could cut it, why not a seasoned psychonaut like Leonard?
Lucille would have been so proud.
For weeks, then months, Leonard waited. When would he hear from Buffett? Without wanting to seem too anxious, Leonard hectored Todd at every opportunity.
Patience, counseled Todd. Warren was a busy man.
During a brief sojourn in Chicago, Pickard arranged to meet the mysterious ET Man.
On May 8, he and Natasha flew there together, courtesy of Todd Skinner. They stayed at the Ritz Carlton, where James Edward Miller was to meet with Leonard. Miller showed up with another man Leonard didn’t know and steered him to a secluded corner of the lobby. Natasha did not join them.
The meeting was no joke. According to Skinner, who watched from several yards away, their discussion surrounded the importation of $10 million in ergotamine tartrate. Todd might be footing the bill, but Leonard kept him at arm’s length. No sense spooking his spooks with so much ET on the table.
After the ET Man left, Leonard rejoined Skinner. He laid out his plan: Apperson would pick up four boxes of precursor from a prearranged location, drive it to Kansas, and bury it near the lab until it was needed.
There were unforeseen delays. Apperson went MIA. Skinner offered to substitute a pair of his Gardner Springs employees to escort the ET, but Leonard shook his head “no.” Apperson was usually very reliable, but Leonard suspected he had a tootsie in Albuquerque. Didn’t everyone?
Apperson eventually turned up in Tulsa, rented a car in Chicago, and delivered the goods to Skinner a month later in Salina. Apperson wanted to buy a post hole digger to bury the payload, but Skinner said he’d take care of it. The ET never did get buried.
While he was in Chicago, Pickard also weighed Skinner’s suggestion that he open an account with the venerable commodities trading firm ED&F Man. As Skinner explained it, the account made it possible to move large sums without being scrutinized by the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN). Under federal law, casinos, banks and brokerages had to file Suspicious Activity Referrals (SAR)2 whenever fraud, tax evasion or some other crime looked like it was being committed. ED&F Man did not have to file—or so Skinner told Pickard.
“I neglected to open an account,” said Leonard. “In retrospect, this was a prime example of Skinner building a record to implicate others in his laundering activity.”
Todd had other business in Chicago, too. He incorporated Skinner Industries in Illinois and named Leonard vice-president. Unbeknownst to Leonard, he also granted him power of attorney over his Wamego Trust.3
Any doubt they were doing business together officially vanished.
Skinner bookended his Chicago visit by totaling two cars.
On April 30, he cracked up his beloved $225,000 four-wheel drive Boxster Porsche outside of Topeka. Two weeks later, he creamed a rental car in Berkeley. He had to be taken to the Alta Bates Hospital for treatment of minor injuries.
Leonard called Katherine Magrini from Los Angeles the next day. Todd seemed accident prone. Was he all right?
A few scratches and bruises, said his mother. Nothing to worry about.
Pickard hung up, mollified. Again.
Todd Skinner kept getting into trouble, yet led a Houdini existence. He had more lives than a Cheshire cat. An unlikely warlock in which to place one’s trust, he was as smooth-talking a grifter as Leonard. Having him on Pickard’s side seemed far better than having him as an enemy. Still, he worried Leonard.
On his way back to Vegas for another rendezvous with his new partner, Leonard made a pit stop in Anaheim. While they could no longer be called a couple, he and Deborah remained friendly. They would always have Melissa in common.
Pickard met mother and daughter on Main Street USA, smiling wide and long as he caught his leaping moppet mid-squeal.
For one May day in Disneyland, Leonard forgot about Skinner, Halpern, Wathne, and Petaluma Al. Guilders and ET and the swimming pool project were artifacts of another place and time. He remembered instead his vows as a Buddhist priest: to live in the now with his once true love and their little girl.
“Flying on Dumbo with Melissa,” he remembered.
