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“Back in Georgia. I’m driving a rental.”
A rental? Why would he be driving a rental?
Kyzer got me fastened into the passenger seat, then circled around and got in, buckling his seat belt.
“I’m going to have to give you directions,” I slurred.
What the hell?
“Not necessary,” he replied, sounding as if he were miles away instead of just inches.
My head flopped back against the headrest of the seat, my eyes closed.
I thought I heard him mumble, “Sweet dreams you lying, little bitch.”
CHAPTER 40
(Taz)
Lindsey’s text message had come in right before 5:00 p.m. It had simply said: Not feeling very well. Gonna lie down for a while. I’ll call you when I wake up. Sorry?
I had already started the preparations for our dinner, so I went ahead and finished, eating by myself. She had probably gotten shit-faced with Darcy this afternoon, and was sleeping it off. I doubted very much if she would call yet tonight.
I was stretched out on my bed going over the notes that Slate had composed after his meeting with Davey earlier. The chemist actually had the balls to try and negotiate with Slate to have his time shortened for providing him the interpretation of the chemical formula equation.
Slate told him the lab could give him what he needed to know and got up to leave. Davey had told him any chemist could translate what was on the paper, but it was only partially there.
Slate questioned him as to what was missing.
“One key ingredient,” he had told him. “It resides right here.” Davey had pointed to his head.
“Why would you have done that?”
“It was a matter of trust,” Davey told him. “I trusted no one with good reason it seems.”
Slate finally sealed the deal, telling Davey he didn’t have the authority to reduce his sentence, however, he did have enough clout to see that the rest of his sentence was served in a cell with a new roommate named “Bubba.”
After describing “Bubba,” along with his sexual idiosyncrasies and showing him a photo of a current inmate fitting that description, the small-framed, lightweight chemist was amenable to assisting.
The formula, minus the key ingredient, had been concocted and successfully tested as an “organelle” to develop a hybrid for Khat, a plant that is legal to harvest in places like Kenya, Somali, and Ethiopia.
Apparently, the leaves of the Khat plant contain cathinone, a potent amphetamine which is illegal in the U.S. When the leaves of the plant are picked, they dry within 48 hours, and the decomposition quickly reduces the potency of cathinone to cathine. The Khat plant takes seven to eight years to reach full height and potential. The plants can be harvested four times a year.
According to Davey, the organelle that was developed allowed a mutation to occur during cross-pollination with the host Khat plant. The hybrid, or prototype, allowed the leaves to stay at max potency for thirty days or longer, which of course, made the value increase a hundred-fold.
Davey said that it was Susanne that had approached him on the development, and provided him with the initial composition research conducted by another individual. Davey couldn’t recall the name of that individual. He claimed that Jack had not been part of this scheme initially, and that in fact, Susanne had implicitly told him to involve no one else.
Somehow right before the bust had taken place, Jack had gotten wind of it. It had caused a major argument between Jack and Susanne that Davey had witnessed.
Susanne had promised Davey some major bucks if the prototype was a success. He scoffed sitting there talking to Slate about it. He asked Slate when that bitch was going to get her just desserts. Slate told him he may have to be satisfied with karma as no one had a clue where she was.
“At least I know that nothing can come of that formula,” Davey had spat. “And no way in hell I’m giving up the missing ingredient.”
Slate didn’t care about the missing ingredient. He only wanted to find the perps who had commissioned the development.
When Slate returned from the interview, he and I discussed the cathine. That was the powdery substance that had been on the roses. What the fuck? My money said Susanne and Jack were back in the country.
I turned the basketball game on, putting the notes aside for now. I had spent enough time for one day learning about cathine, organelles, and slimy criminals that had slipped through the cracks.
