Limitless

Based on the people I’d seen coming in, and on the specimens standing around me now in the elevator car, the occupants of Linden Tower seemed like a varied bunch. A lot of these apartments would be rent-controlled from a long way back, of course, but a lot of them would also be sub-let, and at exorbitant rates, so that would create a fair bit of social mix right there.

I got out on the seventeenth floor. I checked Vernon’s card again and then looked for his apartment. It was down the hall and around the corner to the left, third door on the right. I didn’t encounter anyone on the way.

I stood for a moment at his door, and then rang the bell. I hadn’t thought much about what I was going to say to him if he answered, and I’d thought even less about what I was going to do if he didn’t, if he wasn’t home, but standing there I realized that either way I was extremely apprehensive.

I heard some movement inside, and then locks clicking.

Vernon must have seen that it was me through the spyhole because I heard his voice before he’d even got the door fully open.

‘Shit, man, that was fast.’

I had a smile ready for when he appeared, but it fell off my face as soon as I actually saw him. He stood before me wearing only boxer shorts. He had a black eye and bruises all down the left side of his face. His lip was cut, and swollen, and his right hand was bandaged.

‘What ha—’

‘Don’t ask.’

Leaving the door open, Vernon turned around and motioned back at me with his left hand to come in. I entered, closed the door gently and followed him down a narrow hallway and into a large open living-room. It had a spectacular view – but then, in Manhattan, virtually anywhere with a seventeenth floor is going to have a spectacular view. This one looked south, and took in the city’s horror and glory in about equal measure.

Vernon flopped down on to a long, L-shaped, black leather couch. I felt extremely uncomfortable, and found it hard to look directly at him, so I made a show of glancing around.

The room was sparsely furnished, given its size. There was some old stuff, an antique bureau, a couple of Queen Anne-type chairs, a standard lamp. There was also some new stuff, the black leather couch, a tinted-glass dining table, an empty metal wine-rack. But you couldn’t exactly call it eclectic, because there didn’t seem to be any order or system to it. I knew Vernon had been big into furniture at one time, and had collected ‘pieces’, but this seemed like the place of a person who had given up collecting, who had let his enthusiasm wane. The pieces were odd and mismatched, and seemed left over from another time – or another apartment – in their owner’s life.

I stood in the middle of the room now, having seen everything there was to see. I looked down at Vernon, in silence, not knowing where to begin – but eventually he managed to say something. Through the pained expression on his face and the ugly distortion of his features, of his normally bright greenish eyes and high cheekbones, he cracked a smile and said, ‘So, Eddie, I guess you were interested after all.’

‘Yeah … it was amazing. I mean … really.’

I blurted this out, just like the high-school kid I’d invoked sarcastically the previous day, the one looking to score his first dime bag, and who was now coming back for another one.

‘What did I tell you?’

I nodded my head a few times, and then – unable to go on without referring again to his condition – I said, ‘Vernon, what happened to you?’

‘What do you think, man? I got in a fight.’

‘Who with?’

‘You don’t want to know, believe me.’

I paused.

Maybe I didn’t want to know.

In fact, thinking about it, he was right, I didn’t want to know. Not only that, I was also a little irritated – part of me hoping that this business of his having had the shit kicked out of him wasn’t going to get in the way of my scoring from him.

‘Sit down, Eddie,’ he said. ‘Relax, tell me all about it.’

I sat down on the other side of the couch, got comfortable and told him all about it. There was no reason not to. When I’d finished, he said, ‘Yeah, that sounds about right.’

I immediately said, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it works on what’s there, you know. It can’t make you smart if you’re not smart already.’

‘So what are you saying, it’s a smart drug?’

‘Not exactly. There’s a lot of hype about smart drugs – you know, enhance your cognitive performance, develop rapid mental reflexes, all of that – but most of what we call smart drugs are just natural diet supplements, artificial nutrients, amino acids, that kind of thing – designer vitamins if you like. What you took was a designer drug. I mean, you’d have to take a shitload of amino acids to stay up all night and read four books, am I right?’

I nodded.

Vernon was enjoying this.

But I wasn’t. I was on edge and wanted him to cut the crap and just tell me what he knew.

‘What’s it called?’ I ventured.