The Lincoln jetted down the Gardiner at speeds well over one hundred kilometres an hour. Hause was behind the wheel.
“Slow down,” Ms. Zee ordered from behind. This was no time to be pulled over.
Ms. Zee had asked Martin to accompany them. He had been acting different these days. She didn’t need her business advisor getting any ideas. She was going to pay close attention to him. That was why she had sent Kong to pay him a visit at the BUBBLE T SHOP. The close encounter with the black officer had made Martin even more…difficult. He was constantly asking about Nex, suggesting, not in exact words, that they pull out of the operation.
They drove to an address near Bathurst and Dupont Streets and parked in front of a semi-detached house.
“Your friend lives here?” Martin asked.
Burrows didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to get out of the car.
“Hause, stay here,” Ms. Zee ordered. “Keep your eyes open.”
Burrows led the way from the side of the house to the back. They passed through a gate and went to the basement.
Burrows knocked. “Frank, open up. It’s Ed,” Burrows demanded.
The door opened and a short man wearing a Limp Bizkit t-shirt stood facing them. “Come in,” he said.
The basement didn’t smell too welcoming. Martin took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth. Pigs lived better than this man, Martin thought.
“Did you bring the money?” Frank said to Ed.
“First show us what we want,” Ms. Zee said.
Frank looked in the direction of Ms. Zee but didn’t make eye contact. He went to a room and came back holding a plastic bottle. There was a small table with Styrofoam boxes scattered on it. With the back of his hand he cleared it; the boxes fell to the floor.
He dropped a couple of white tablets on top of the table and stood back. “That’s what you want,” he said, still refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
They didn’t understand.
“What is it?” Ms. Zee said.
“Rapidly disintegrating tablets,” he responded, looking at the ground. “They will dissolve in the mouth within two to three seconds.”
“Three seconds?” Ms. Zee said. “Is that possible?”
“Yeah. Two to three seconds.”
Burrows brow furrowed and he made no comment.
“Try it,” Frank said.
Ms. Zee looked at Burrows, who shook his head. She didn’t even bother turning to Martin, who was still holding the handkerchief over his mouth.
“All right,” Frank said. “I’ll try it.” He picked one tablet and placed it on the back of his tongue and closed his mouth. Hardly a second later, he opened and his tongue was empty of the tablet. “It’s safe. It’s just a placebo.”
Seeing this, Burrows had to satisfy his scientific curiosity. He gingerly picked one tablet and placed it in his mouth. The tablet disappeared on his tongue. He smiled at Ms. Zee. “Yes, it’s possible.”
She picked one tablet and tried it. It was true. She turned to Martin.
Martin wasn’t interested, but her stare pushed him. He didn’t like the tablets lying exposed to the filth on the table. He carefully picked one up and immediately shoved it into his mouth. His eyes widened. Nex could actually be produced.
“It dissolves with the saliva,” Frank said. “And goes straight into the blood stream-”
“-Having an immediate effect,” Burrows completed the sentence.
There was a brief silence.
“Satisfied?” Frank said, as if he was talking to someone else in the room.
“Yes, but how?” asked Ms. Zee.
“Do you have my money?” he said.
“First. How?”
“No, no, no. I showed you, now my money.”
Ms. Zee nodded to Martin, who removed a folded manila envelope and placed it on the table. Frank snatched it and disappeared into another room.
Burrows plucked another tablet off the table and crushed it between his two fingers. “It’s powder.”
“Yes, of course it’s powder,” Frank said coming back.
“Now will you tell us how?” Ms. Zee said. “That is why we paid you.”
“It’s freeze-dried. It’s a precise process-but once done will give you that result.”
“What does it contain?” Burrows said, looking at the powder on his fingertips.
“Gelatin, mannitol, glycine, sodium laurylsulphate, and sodium hydroxide, and some sweeteners for elegance.”
Ms. Zee didn’t understand, but she hoped Burrows did.
Burrows responded, “Those are polymers, permeation enhancers and flavour and sweeteners: the usual excipients you find in any tablets.”
“Yes, the key is the process.”
He disappeared into the same room and reappeared with a stack of paper bound at the corners. “Everything you want to know is in here. The steps must be meticulously followed to ensure a functional product.”
Ms. Zee picked the stack and, without looking, handed it to Burrows. He immediately began digesting the pages.
“I never gave that to you,” Frank said.
Ms. Zee understood. Patents and copyrights were not his problem.
“Everything is in here,” Burrows said with a glimmer of hope. “It is possible to have that result.”
Back in the car, Martin asked, “How did you know about Frank?”
“Frank works for Bantam. Once I realized what the drug needed I contacted him. He refused at first; he didn’t want to lose his job. But when I told him how Bantam had screwed me and so many others and that one day they’d likely screw him, too, he agreed to provide Bantam’s secret delivery process designs. For a large sum, of course.”
Ms. Zee didn’t care for the reason, just that she now had the manufacturing process in her hands.
We were in Scarborough and Beadsworth had just gotten off the phone with Aldrich. We were good to go. Tonight we were going to raid the building across.
Shortly before, Nemdharry had notified us that the white U-Haul had made a stop at a large warehouse in Niagara Falls.
We were waiting for the sunset. We were waiting for darkness. It was only a few hours away. I was getting anxious. This was my first raid.
“Have you ever used a gun?” I heard Beadsworth say.
“Yeah, of course,” I replied.
I had trained, of course, but had never used a gun in real life.
He leaned over and from the glove compartment pulled out a Glock. How do I know it was a Glock? I watch a lot of movies.
“This is more for intimidation than enforcement,” he said.
It was heavy and black. I felt powerful and scared-all at the same time.
“Would I have to shoot anyone?” I asked Beadsworth. He was sketching a diagram of the building. Earlier he had circled the building from a distance.
“If necessary, yes,” he answered.
“Have you shot anyone?”
He paused and thought about it. “Do you mean have I fired at anyone?”
“Same thing.”
“Not quite. I have fired my gun at someone but I have never hit anyone.”
I thought about it. “What if I have to shoot someone?” I asked.
“If you have to.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then they will shoot you.”
What if I did shoot someone and they died? I didn’t know if I could live with that. Or worse, what if I got hit? I might die. This lingered in my mind.
A Toyota drove up and parked a few cars away. Garnett and Herrera emerged. Garnett had the usual I’m-gonna-rip-your-head-off look. Herrera looked different. He didn’t have the cheerful look any more. He had the Let’s-get-down-and-nail-these-guys look. I would look like that too if my partner had gotten hurt.
“Finally, we do something practical,” Garnett said.
Herrera nodded. He looked anxious, and fidgeted.
Garnett had given authority over this raid to Beadsworth. Like us, he was looking forward to ending this.
Another car approached. Two plainclothes officers emerged from inside. They were introduced as Officer Ross and Officer Moro. They were both in their early thirties and looked like they knew what they were doing.