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"Shorten it."
"I don't have time. She's fine."
Doyle frowned. He slowly relinquished the paper to Blake. He picked up a packet of cigarettes by the keyboard and selected one out of the box. He fished a lighter out of his pocket, lit the cigarette and inhaled deep. He blew out the smoke in my direction. "If I end up in a jail cell, or deported, I'm not going alone."
??????
When Blake and I were back outside, I coughed hard, trying to replace the thickness of smoke in my lungs with clean air. I felt like I had breathed in a sponge.
Blake popped me on the back in an effort to help. "Don't die," he said.
"When were you going to tell me you are buying drugs?" I asked in as cool of a voice as I could muster given that my throat was in dire need of some water. I'd been holding back the question while we were inside.
Blake made a face. "Who said anything about drugs, pretty bug? No one's said any such thing."
"The fact that neither of you said it made it obvious. And the fact that there is a batch being distributed to school kids in Moncks Corner. Is it pot or crack?"
"Kate..." He strolled to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for me. He pointed to the seat. "Come on."
I stalled, and tucked my hands into my pockets. "Oh, no. You lied to me. And I've seen enough. I get it. If you get me involved in your little crime antics, you'll hold it over my head and threaten to take me to jail with you if I rat you out."
“That’s not...” He made a face, shoving a palm over his eyes and rubbing. “I know what it looks like, but you have to trust me. And we don’t have time to wait.”
“Why?”
“Because the longer we stand here, the higher the chance this stuff gets put out on the street and we don’t want that.”
I squinted at him. His face was stern and the golden flecks in his eyes darkened. He wasn’t joking with me now. “What’s wrong with the drugs?” I asked. “And why are you so concerned?”
“Get in,” he said. “I swear, Kate, I’m the good guy. Just get in. You can come help me. We won’t get into trouble. You’ll be able to tell whoever you’re working for that I’m not dealing drugs. It’s just the opposite.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just get in,” he said. He pressed his palms together in a pleading gesture. “Sweetie, just this once. After everything we’ve been through today, haven’t I proven myself? You’re the one who has all the secrets, now. I don’t know anything about you other than your first name, that you can pickpocket, and you’ve got a black hole stomach.”
I masked my urge to frown. One of those three wasn’t even correct. Maybe he was right. Maybe the guys were making the same mistake, jumping the gun on assumptions about this guy. Maybe he’s just like them. He’s on to something that he’s trying to fix.
“And you’re beautiful as hell when you sleep,” he said in a quieter tone, the same serious note in his voice. “And in those moments when you’re not worried about whatever it is you’re keeping to yourself.”
I snorted. “So I’m ugly otherwise?”
“No,” he said. And those gold flecks started to shine. “Otherwise you’re ... no, angel’s not the right word.”
“Enough,” I said, disbelieving.
I waved my hand through the air to cut him off but he captured it. He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed at the knuckles. “Honey doll, I’d love to play with you right now, but either you come with me, or you’re staying out here with Doyle. I don’t have the time.”
That part I hadn’t thought through. It was several miles to the next house, and miles beyond that to the nearest town. I’d be stuck here with the odd smoking Irishman. And there didn’t look to be any food in the house except old pizza. “Okay,” I said, unwilling to admit it was more than just my irritation at being left behind. I didn’t want to think of it, but Blake, and not for the first time, was pulling on heart strings I didn’t know I had as recently as a few days ago.
He urged me into the car, shutting the door for me and running around to his side to get in. He turned over the engine and started down the road.
THE WORST DRUG DEALER EVER
Blake found a local road that led straight to Moncks Corner. It was a quiet side road that occasionally met with bits of neighborhood that required slowing from 70 miles an hour to 45. He shifted gears, speeding down the road and barely slowed for the 45 miles an hour stretches.
“What are we after?” I asked. “What are we doing?”
He glanced over at me, as if having second thoughts about telling me. He pursed his lips for a moment. “A few weeks ago, a new brand of synthetic weed rolled into Charleston called JH-14.”
“Synthetic?” I asked. “Why make a chemical based one when the real thing is out there? Why not just grow and distribute that?” It seemed impossible. Creating a new drug similar to one that already existed would require a lab, and the brains to use it. Drug dealers did this?
“Synthetics go under the radar. They’re undetectable on drug tests. It attracts middle class buyers, interested because they can use it and not get fired from their jobs when they get selected for random drug screening. Kids tend to like it, too, because they can hide if from their parents and school easier. It’s also not illegal yet. This makes it very popular.”
“But why not call the police? I mean if it’s a drug deal. Shouldn’t the DEA or someone be taking care of this?”
“The DEA and the police can’t do anything about it,” he said. “Not until there’s a ruling by a judge to make it illegal. First they have to find a sample, and then test the product, find the chemical sequence and at the end of it, they have to go through court proceedings and bureaucracy. By the time any judge gets things together to make it illegal, this batch will have been distributed and they move on to the next formula. A new synthetic drug that they have to start all over again. It’s an endless cycle.”
“I don’t understand why you’re interested.”
“Because this particular batch is bad,” he said. “Normal side effects of synthetics are extreme cases of paranoia and aggression. This batch is much worse, and can create permanent damage. Not to mention the physical side effects vary from person to person. It’s the worst I’ve seen.”
“Could it kill people?”
“I believe it already has,” he said. “There’s been an increase in the local suicide attempt reports and we’ve made the connection that they were using these drugs. There’s people going into the hospital with flu symptoms and dying but they’ve not made the connection yet to this. Some people react differently to it and don’t get sick, but I think it depends on how much is injected or smoked or whatever the hell they’re doing with it. While instances seem to have been contained, I’m hoping to stop anything more from happening.”
“So we’re going to go find the individuals that bought it and warn them?”
“No. It’s possibly too late for that and we have no chance of tracing all those distributions. It gets to the point to where we’re chasing ants. We’re looking for the ant hill.”
“The last batch?”
He nodded. He brushed his palms against the steering wheel. “We may not stop everything, but we can stop any more from being distributed.”
“How?”
He smirked, and looked over at me. “Sweetheart, you may not have noticed, but I’ve got a few extra dollars in my pocket.”
“You’re buying?”
“I’m buying it all,” he said. “I walk in, pretend to be interested in catering to the super wealthy and in dire need of a synthetic.”
I placed a fingertip along my eyebrow, smoothing the fine hairs over. “Let me see if I understand. You found out there’s this batch of synthetic we
ed that’s really bad. So you’re buying it all so no one can have it?”
“That’s the gist.”
“What are you doing with the stuff once you’ve got it?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got that taken care of. The important part is, I’m getting it out of the city.”
Could this be true? It sounded crazy. But then, was it any crazier than a group of guys snooping around the city and looking for trouble in order to make it better? Was I going to judge him for doing what it sounded like the boys would have done? They probably would have helped him if they knew. “But what about the next time? What happens when the next box of synthetics arrives in town? Are you going to have to keep buying it up?”
“We’re working on that,” he said. “Doyle and I. We’re finding the source. In the meantime, I just have to hope the next batch isn’t deadly.”
I tapped my knee. I wasn’t sure if I was going to tack on any of my own information, but I needed to ask. “Does Mr. Fitzgerald work for you?”
His hands clutched tighter at the wheel. “How do you know about him?”
“He was at the party and then ... I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Kate,” he said. “Look at me sweetie. I need to know. What do you know about him? Is this informant group you’re with investigating him, too?”
“They were interested in you,” I said. “They wanted to know who you were connected with.”
His eyes darkened. “He’s an innocent player who got mixed up in it. You’ll have to tell your buddies that. Leave him alone. I can’t explain it, but what we really need to focus on is getting this last batch and then finding the source.”
“What happens when you find the source?”
The sly smile slid across his face. “Maybe we’ll leave a friendly note with our own lovely neighborhood FBI informant.”
I rolled my eyes and then looked out the window at the trees and homes as we passed by. Slowly, the countryside turned back into residential sprawl. We were getting closer to Moncks Corner. “You couldn’t have told me this before?”
