“Narcan, which can reverse an overdose. And better counseling and treatment methods. The fact that users often take the drug in pairs, so one can administer Narcan to the other if they overdose. They’re also cutting pills into smaller quantities, lessening the effects and halving your profits. But besides all that, for me at least, the biggest problem is this: Fentanyl is a depressant.”
“Why is that an issue?” said a puzzled Lord.
“Your overall goal, as I understand it, is to disrupt this country in a grand way. From the bottom to the top.”
“And you know this how?” snapped Masuyo.
“I worked for your daughter for a long time, Mrs. Steers. If I didn’t pick up on that, I’m too stupid for this job. Now, I have no dog in this hunt. You want to screw this country over? I don’t care. I’m rich enough to live in another country, or a dozen if I want to. The French have better food, wine, and women, in my humble opinion.”
“And your point?” said Masuyo irritably before Lord could interject a query. To Temple’s mind, the man was clearly growing frustrated with her. Which might be a good thing for him, Temple thought.
“To disrupt, I mean really disrupt, you don’t want people to die quietly and alone. They’re found, buried, and that’s it. Yes, there is some disruption for the families and the like, but what I have in mind is far greater, and it will achieve your and your partners’ goals at the same time.”
“Tell us,” ordered Masuyo.
This was it, thought Temple. The holy grail if he could sell this. “You would agree that if I can do this a reward would be in order?”
“What sort of reward?” said Masuyo—again, before Lord could ask.
“I don’t need more money, if that’s what you thought it would be.” He paused and then took off his jacket, undid his cufflink and rolled up his shirt sleeve, exposing the long scar on his arm.
Masuyo watched him closely, as did Lord, who looked mildly repulsed by the wound.
“Your daughter had this done to me,” he said. “She actually wanted to kill me, but my father talked her out of it. So my reward, with your permission, is to kill her.”
He slowly rolled down his sleeve and reinserted the cufflink. He looked at Masuyo. When she said nothing he looked at Lord. “And I will deliver her head to you, as proof.”
“As proof of her death?” said Lord. “There is no need for that.”
“No, as proof of my loyalty toyou. Steers did things her own way, and not always in a way that benefited the mission.” He looked back at Masuyo as he said this. “She got you out of that prison, but it seemed clear to me, from the brief time I was there, that you two butted heads almost right away. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
Masuyo did not answer, which was an answer in itself.
He looked again at Lord. “Someone tried to kill her not too long ago. I heard on the news that they mowed down everybody in that house, only she wasn’t there.” He turned to Masuyo. “Apparently she and Dillon Hope were out when the attack occurred. That is too big a coincidence. Which means someone tipped her off.”
Masuyo bristled. “Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Temple?”
“There’s only room for one leader, right? And it seemed to me that you had lost faith in your daughter to be that person. So you stepped in.”
“Then, instead of warning her, you think I had something to do with that attack at her home?” Masuyo said, drilling him with a dark look.
“Let me put it to you this way: When my father was killed, I made it my business not to be anywhere near where he died, at least that was provable. And I know you’re a lot smarter than I am, Mrs. Steers. So when bodies started tumbling at your daughter’s estate I was not surprised to find you were not there.”
He let that statement fall and then said nothing else. He used his peripheral vision to see Lord’s reaction. The man looked suspicious, which was exactly what Temple was going for.
So Masuyo had instigated the attack, without getting approval from Lord first,deduced Temple.
Masuyo sat up straighter and then receded back into her chair, her manner not nearly as commanding.
Lord said, “So what is your plan to appease our partners and also achieve ourgoals?”
“Methamphetamine,” replied Temple.
“It is an old, tired drug,” said Masuyo dismissively, clearly trying to regain the advantage. She glanced sharply at Lord. “This is all he has, really?”
Temple plowed ahead. “Itisan oldie but a goody. For starters it’s astimulant, not a depressant like fentanyl. Mexican labs already churn out the stuff, then distribute it throughout California and the southwest, where it’s pipelined to the rest of the country. They don’t need pseudoephedrine anymore to make it; they did a chemical workaround. And it’s more potent than the old version. They took a page from the cigarette manufacturers and tweaked the formula to make it even more addictive. One pop, you’re pretty much hooked for life. Narcan has no effect on it. Methadone works on fentanyl but not on meth. There is no real treatment, no FDA-approved drugs to help beat the addiction. They try to detox you and get you through in-patient rehab, family therapy, and the like. But it’s a long road with a low success rate. Meth comes in a pill, crystals, powder, and liquid, which is a really dangerous way to take it. You can snort, smoke, swallow, or inject it. The effects last for hours and even days. People forget to eat, drink water, sleep. They have delusions, hallucinations, they get violent, they tear shit up, howl at the moon, run into traffic, attack people, pick at their skin. It floods the brain with dopamine; the pop is unbelievable and people will kill their mother and their own children to get another hit.”
“Interesting facts, Mr. Temple, but your point?” said Lord.
