She sat back down. "We don't have to be buddies. I want to get this thing going."
"Fine, fine," he agreed. "We'll talk. How 'bout something to loosen up, first? I got some good shit here." He reached over to the nearest filing cabinet and pulled open the bottom drawer.
She shook her head. "Maybe later. I don't want to do this with a buzz on."
He closed the drawer and gave her an enigmatic smile. "Right. I didn't think so. Why don't you give me your sales pitch, then?"
A small tingle of concern flickered in the back of her brain. "Like I said, it's a merger, or whatever you want to call it-a way to get us all organized so we can stabilize the market, streamline our supply sources, and work together to keep the cops off our backs. You gotta admit, things could be better."
"Everything in life could be better," Meiner agreed. "Doesn't mean it will be. Sometimes the cost is too high."
She leaned forward in her chair. "But that's the beauty here. Your costs will go down. Only the profits'll go higher."
"Isn't that wonderful? And all because I'm such a nice guy."
"I don't care if you're a flaming asshole," she said. "I just want you as part of the solution here, not part of the problem."
"And you would be the queen of the solution? The boss?"
She shook her head vehemently. "No. There'd be a council. We could structure that any way we wanted, once we all got together. The key, though, is to get everything out on the table, eliminate wasteful competition, and build a structure with some element of security."
"Right now I want security, I take care of it myself."
"Exactly, and so does Stuey and so did Jimmy and everybody else. What's the point? What I'm saying here is just Business 101. It's not like sending a rocket to the moon. People in this line of work only think from day to day. This is a really simple concept. It'll work."
"What would I have to give up?"
"Aside from this fancy lifestyle? Nothing."
"Don't shit on my lifestyle, lady. I'm my own man here. I'm not so sure what you're selling would be an improvement there."
She sat back, crossed her legs, made her voice slightly less friendly. "Ralph. In the long run, it may not be a choice. You know how Wal-Mart does it?"
"Yeah, yeah-the big fish eat the little fish. You know, this is just a wonderful idea, assuming I had any knowledge of the drug business, which, of course, I don't. But, speaking of big fish, what would you do about the ones upstream? There're a few people in Holyoke that might not like your screwing around in their business. You wouldn't look much like Wal-Mart to them. Think how Jimmy ended up."
Sam went out on a limb. "Jimmy was dumb. He tried pushing his weight around here before he had things lined up down south. Me, I'm talking for those same people, like a representative."
Ralph Meiner was caught off guard. "You work for Torres?"
She tried not to show her own surprise. "I work for Rivera. He took the business away from Torres. Where've you been?"
"I never heard of Rivera."
She recalled the scuttlebutt about how many of the dealers had pulled in their horns following Hollowell's death, waiting for new players to show themselves. Meiner's ignorance may have been a sign of his lying low. "You will soon enough, unless you get in on it now."
Meiner pushed his lips out thoughtfully. "All right. I'll think about it. Now, how 'bout a little something to seal the deal?"
She stood up. "When we seal it, we'll see. Right now I got other people to talk to."
Meiner didn't move. "You a vegetarian, too?"
She looked at him. "What's that mean?"
"It means I feel like a meatpacker who's just been pitched by a vegetarian. Why do I get the feeling you're not so hot on the product?"
Sam felt her frustration growing. She'd been almost out the door. "I told you, I don't want a buzz on when I'm doing business."
Almost nonchalantly, he removed a pistol from his pocket and laid it on his lap. Its barrel was pointed vaguely at her knees. "Which is exactly the kind of excuse a cop would use."
The tingle she'd experienced earlier spread like an electric current. She feigned astonishment. "A cop? You think I'm a cop? What the fuck's that? Did I try to sell you anything, or buy anything? Cops don't talk about making a drug business work better. Jesus, Ralph. That's why I don't do any shit when I'm working. It scrambles your head."
"Sit down," he said, his expression grim.
"Why the hell should I?"
He lifted the gun so it was pointing at her. "Call it a show of faith. We do a little dope together, my faith in you improves."
She sat back down. "This is a pretty piss poor way of beginning a partnership."
Keeping the gun on her, he reached out and opened the filing cabinet again. "I don't think so. Name your poison."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Fine. Give me some weed. I could do with a little mellowing out, if the others're all going to be like you."
He pulled out a shoe box full of pill bottles, small boxes, twists of aluminum, and small pale blue baggies. "Fresh out," he said, not even looking. "What's your number two choice?"
Sam had no time to hesitate, and knew she couldn't stall. His refusal to give her marijuana showed that he wanted her to commit to something weightier. Narcotics officers face this choice commonly enough-it was both the druggie's equivalent of sharing a beer with a pal and a way for them to separate the undercovers from the real users.
Except that it wasn't foolproof. The courts had held that if an officer took drugs under threat of mortal danger, such a transgression was allowable.
Ralph's gun certainly helped there.
All that was left was for Sam to make a choice she hoped she could live with. Or she could just pretend to take one of his offerings, assuming he left her a split second loophole. The latter possibility encouraged her to choose a pill. "Got any E?"
He smiled. "That I do, although I would've pegged you for a cokehead."
"Used to be. I had a bad experience."
He was rummaging around in his box. "Not that I'm complaining. I like a little E myself when I'm feeling frisky. I might even join you. Maybe we'll get something going."
She gave him a warning look. "I wouldn't count on it. I'm a one-guy girl, and right now that guy is just across town, complete with bad attitude."
"What he don't know won't kill him."
She raised an eyebrow and he laughed in response. "Right," he said. "What a waste. Anyhow-here we go."
She held out her hand to receive the brightly colored pill, about the size of a large aspirin, but Meiner shook his head. "Open your mouth."
She scowled at him. "What? And close my eyes? I don't think so. Give me the damn pill."
He watched her carefully. "Listen, missy. You do this my way or we don't deal, okay? Call me finicky, but I don't like my gifts to be wasted. Open your mouth. I don't care what you do with your eyes."
Reluctantly, unsure of what she'd exposed herself to, Sam did as ordered and felt the Ecstasy tablet drop onto her tongue. From the taste, it was no breath mint.
"Here," he said. "Wash it down with this." He handed her a half-empty bottle of Scotch.
Feeling the pill dissolving already, she took a swig and swallowed hard, trying to remember what the side effects of Ecstasy were supposed to be. She knew it was the rave drug of choice, supposed to flood the brain with serotonin and release inhibitions. She also knew most such claims for illegal drugs didn't tell the whole story.
She returned the bottle. "Thanks. You wouldn't have a few more for down the line, would you?"
"Not so reluctant all of a sudden?"