She pointed to the one peak. “This is the analysis of the first sample-the orange tablet. From the Mandelin test we already knew it contained Ketamine but this further verifies it. Ketamine is the sole component in the tablet.”
She pulled out the second print. This one had two peaks.
“This is for the green tablet. Earlier, through the Marquis test, we had verified it contained Ketamine and caffeine, but we did not know how much. If you look at the graph, caffeine has a higher peak, almost five times as large as Ketamine.”
She pulled out the third graph. This one looked like it had gone berserk. It had many peaks.
“This is a mixture of many components. The largest being Ketamine-just by looking at the peak you’ll agree. Then caffeine, then MDMA-”
“What?” I said.
“Ecstasy.”
“Thank you.”
“Then pseudo ephedrine.” Before I could say something she said, “If taken in large quantity it has the same effect as speed. You’ll find it in Sudafed.”
I looked satisfied so she continued.
“Then DXM, found in Vicks formula. Finally, methamphetamine, more potent than amphetamine.”
“That’s a lot of components in one drug,” Beadsworth said.
“Yes, but not uncommon. That is why it is so dangerous. This particular tablet contains components that give you the speedy effect with ephedrine, caffeine, and methamphetamine. The relaxation effect with DXM. And the altered state of consciousness effect with Ketamine.”
“So it can numb you, relax you, and then pop you back out?” I asked.
She thought about it and then said, “Yes.”
Beadsworth and I looked at each other.
“But, it will not take immediate effect,” she said.
We both blew a sigh of relief.
“Is there any way for it to take immediate effect?” Beadsworth asked.
“Intravenously. That’s the only way I can think of.”
She handed Beadsworth a brown envelope: The Certificate of Analyst.
Beadsworth didn’t look inside; he just nodded and thanked her.
SIXTEEN
The ride through downtown was tough. I was upset. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get myself in a good mood. I kept seeing Barnes’ face-bloodied on the floor. I couldn’t shake off the fact that it could have been me.
I shook my head.
That was too much to think about.
As we drove by I saw people sitting outside on benches eating and chatting away. I wished I were outside eating on one of those benches. I wished I worked in one of those big financial buildings. All I would do is get up in the morning, dress, and go to work. Work eight-to-four, or my favourite, nine-to-five. Not ever having to worry about your co-worker getting hurt.
I hate to admit it.
My mother was right.
She’s always right.
On my sixteenth birthday my mom got me an entire year’s subscription to Business Weekly magazine. She hoped by reading these I would somehow be enticed to enter the world of finance or commerce. I remember now what a lousy birthday that was. I was hoping for the latest Nike Air Jordan’s. I can truly say my heart was broken.
It suddenly struck me.
“Shit,” I yelled. “Tomorrow is-”
“Is everything okay?” Beadsworth said.
“Yeah, great,” I said. “Just thinking.”
“You want to talk about it,” said Beadsworth.
“Talk about what?”
“I mean what happened at the House of Jam. You’ve been unusually quiet.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Yes, of course,” he said and abruptly shut up.
We drove in silence, passing more of Toronto’s magnificent buildings. “Can you drop me off here?” I said.
He stopped the car. He didn’t say anything.
I said, “I just need some time to myself.”
He nodded and drove off.
I walked down Yonge Street. I saw a store and entered. The place smelled nice. A girl behind the counter smiled as I walked up.
“I’m looking for a perfume,” I said.
It was obvious. This was a perfume shop.
“For someone special?” she asked.
“Very.” I smiled.
“Do you know what she likes?”
“Perfumes. That’s all I know.”
“That’s not a problem,” she said, and began showing me different brands from the display counter. She handed me a strip of hard paper and sprayed one of the brands on it. I smelled it. Nice.
She sprayed another. Nice too.
Then another.
And another.
By the fourth one my nose had had enough. After that, all of the brands smelled the same.
“Any you think she might like?” the girl behind the counter said.
“I’ll take that one,” I said pointing to the first brand, not because I thought it was better but because it was the one that registered most accurately in my nose.
I thanked her, paid, and left the perfume shop with a bag containing Elizabeth Taylor’s Black Pearl.
With the bag of perfume under my arm I strolled out onto the street. There were too many things on my mind. What was I doing in Operation Anti-RACE anyways?
I was walking along the sidewalk when I felt something-on the road-follow me. I could feel a presence, as if a car was right behind me, moving at my pace.
I stopped. I sensed that it stopped, too.
This was bullshit. I turned.
A familiar orange and navy green taxi had come to an abrupt halt. The driver instantly looked away as if he was sightseeing.
I shook my head.
I went over and knocked on the window. The driver rolled down and innocently looked at me.
“Sir,” I said in my police-like tone. “Are you following me?”
“No, sir,” he said.
“Then you’re stalking me. That’s illegal in this country.”
“No, I was not stalking.” He shook his head.
“Then what were you doing?” I demanded.
He paused and then said, “I was waiting to run taxi over you.”
I laughed.
Mahmud Hanif laughed back.
I got into the back.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“Nowhere special,” I said, stretching in the back, but then suddenly I went upright. “Did you turn on the meter?”
“It’s not working,” he said. He tapped the meter.
“Yeah, right,” I said. “Let me see.” I leaned over and began poking into the small machine.
“No,” he protested. “It will break.”
“I thought it was broken,” I said.
“Yes, but it will break more.”
“Turn it on.” I was now serious.
He hesitated.
“Now.”
He complied.
“Good,” I said falling onto the back seat.
“Something wrong?” he said. “You don’t look good.”
“Just that one of my co-workers was brutally beaten and of course I’m the one to blame. Also, I’m going nowhere in the force. In fact, I might just quit the force all together. Apart from that, everything is great. How ’bout you?”
He narrowed his eyes and through the rear-view mirror looked at me hard. “You’re making jokes, yes? You call it sarkasim.”
“Sarcasm,” I corrected him. “And no, I’m not joking. Mahmud, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Your covert operation not going good?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
“You’re not beating evil people?”
“No. It looks like they’re beating us.”
“You know what you need?”
“What?”
“Chai.”
“What?”
“Indian tea. That’s what you need. Hot cup of chai.”
I just shrugged. I wasn’t a tea drinker.
“Come, I’ll take you to a place where they make the best chai.”
“Maybe later. I need time to collect myself.”
“Collect?” he said.
“Time to think.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes. One camera tape from the House of Jam was missing. My gut told me it was the very same tape that had recorded the attack on Barnes. My gut also said that something was happening behind my back. Something that I was not supposed to know. What could it be?