Little Green Houses 1

Dave Says

"Because of the overwhelming response to the query letter, requesting so many proposal submissions, each with a different set of rules I have decided to post the proposal below. It will run as a series of posts until I get the representation I need. I want to thank all the wonderful agents for their excellent response to the initial query. I have never had so much interest, so fast, including responses to queries for my published work Where Hell Freezes Over (Thomas Dunne Book 2005)

Little Green Houses: Florida Grow Houses and the Rise of Home Grown Organized Crime

Non-fiction, current events, roughly 300 pages with photos.

By David A. Kearns

Agent (TBD)!!!

Publisher(TBD) !!!

Copyright David Anthony Kearns

I. Overview

1. Meet the Flintstones: a hypothetical case: They’re the modern stone-age family. Only in this case, Wilma, Fred, Pebbles and Dino are part of a living ruse, a human diorama put on display to thwart the suspicions of law enforcement and nosy neighbors. Months after Fred’s lay-off, when all the unemployment benefits had run out, and just after Wilma was downsized from the car dealership where she worked as a part-time book-keeper, Fred got an idea. He knew a guy down the street who mentioned something about this deal. Before long, Fred agreed to move his entire family into a three-two ranch house out in upstate, East Jesus, Florida, and pretend to be a normal, law-abiding citizen.

Fred had been snapped up into a funnel feeding him directly into the high-volume, no mercy production end of the business attached to organized crime. Multiple houses, multiple employees who are considered expendable to the management. The money is great at first, a welcome break from poverty. Fred and Wilma receive $10,000 per month to live rent free. Most of that income is off-the-books. On the books, Fred runs his own tile business. But neighbors whisper that he never seems to have any customers and he’s always just sort of hanging around the house, watching and waiting.Yes, the snag attached to this dream job is the weed, the marijuana stuffed into two rooms, and the garage. It’s everywhere they look. It’s not funny or cute anymore. Fred and Wilma have to take care of that weed, make sure it gets the proper lighting, and nutrition; make sure the water pumps, lights and air handlers are working 24-7. And because Pebbles is a toddler now, they have to watch her to make sure she doesn’t get into the chemical fertilizer, or touch the wrong wire on the jury-rigged electrical system which is tapping into the next door neighbor’s property; feeding and snaking throughout the house; cords leading to overloaded outlet boxes beneath blaring lights in hallways and closets.“No no, don’t touch! That’s youchy!”They are raising their little girl in a safety hazard. They don’t know what it’s doing to her, either.This new existence of theirs is an all-engrossing, all-encompassing nightmare because, these aren’t Fred and Wilma’s plants anymore than the house is. And the couple doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if they disappointed the real owners.Do you think you know Fred? Think you can judge him? Fred is a growing statistical population that mirrors the entire spectrum of Florida, and the United States, for that matter. Part black, part white, part Hispanic, part Asian, part Native American. Yes, he’s all of it. Think you can judge him from his socio-economic background? Well, statistically speaking, Fred just got through ten years working as an aircraft mechanic, or maybe he’s a former real estate agent, or a perhaps he’s a drywall hanger with no more drywall to hang in this market. Or maybe Fred and Wilma are exploited immigrants brought here from Cuba because this thing cuts a wide swath in this state.

It’s got no preference for race, creed, sex, sexual orientation, religion, or national origin. In this particular hypothetical case, Fred used to deal a little herb in college, which is typically what happens; entry level people have a familiarity with the drug under reasonably innocent, pleasant circumstances in the past. And like some people who thought they weren’t going to have to go back to waiting tables, and did anyway, here’s Fred involved in weed again. He’s doing whatever it takes to feed his family, and keep a roof over all of their heads, because he lost the last one to foreclosure, and if he hadn‘t thought of something fast, Wilma might have left him, taking Pebbles with her to her mother‘s in Tampa.Yes, instead, Fred was open to anything. Nothing does that to you like having your Chevy Silverado repossessed right in front of your wife and baby daughter. Now he wishes he hadn’t; wishes he had just bought some seed off the internet and started small, or maybe not gotten involved at all. Because different from back-in-the-day, this weed is strong stuff. It makes everyone jumpy just being around it. You can smell the THC coming from those gigantic, pine-cone-sized buds. The juvenile plants go for $1,000 a pop for God‘s sake. The adults are valued at four grand! Fred has never seen anything like this. There must be a chemist up the chain of command somewhere, because half the stuff they’re telling him to do anymore is organic chemistry, gobblety-gook. He can’t keep up and they are getting pissy; never a good sign in any employment situation.There are all these creepy guys who keep showing up ordering him to do this and that, sometimes in the middle of the night. Every so often they show up with a bunch of ATVs, and they drive around to about twenty other little houses that Fred helps them manage. They use the drainage canal systems to access the homes from the back yards, but the feds may be wise to that too now, apparently, as the water control district started putting up fences and unmarked cars have been spotted staking those canals out in the middle of the night. The neighbors are getting suspicious with all the late-night ATV runs too. I mean, who rides an ATV in the middle of the night? Fred is sure that any day he’s going to get caught. He wants to put the family in the car and head north, or west. But now, so many different sets of eyes are on him. He thinks the organization has moved someone in down the street just to keep tabs. He knows his wife and daughter aren‘t safe anymore. Never mind Dino, who ran off when the company brought in a pit-bull and chained him up in the back yard.And let’s not even talk about the rippers; the gangs and other desperate types who could break down his doors at any minute, and wipe out Fred, Wilma, and little Pebbles in spray of bullets just to get after all that weed. And it’s happening, too. Last week four people were murdered inside a house two streets over. Fred thinks they may have been involved, or had been, a few months ago.The organization doesn’t have an HR department he can complain to, either. And like any organization there’s infighting, new people showing up, others leaving mysteriously. Last week they brought in a team of people to trim the pot plants, and bag the product. None of them spoke English, and a few of them were obviously making rude comments about Wilma.Fred’s goose is cooked. He can’t believe he’s put his family into this situation but there doesn’t seem to be a way out now.He thought about going to the local police but Fred’s sure he recently saw an off-duty cop talking to one of his handlers down at the Home Depot. Had money been exchanged? Who knew? Pretty soon, whoever these people are, they won’t need Fred, Wilma and Little Pebbles, anymore.Fred and Wilma are out there right now, either being recruited, involved up to their neck or being processed through the court system, somewhere in Florida. A new franchise is going up all the time. Little Green Houses, will document their stories, as well as the stories of law enforcement. This work of non-fiction is a ringside seat in real time complete with photos from law enforcement, diagrams of some of the homes and the equipment used in them. All the weapons, solar panels, power inverters, screens, ventilation devices; specific up-to-date information on the extent the growers are using to get the job done.