Snake Eyes

It was the first time they’d used any name for him. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone but the spider tattoo on his chest appeared to speak for him. He wore his leather vests open to display the creature, even though he had no recollection of when or why he had opted for such adornment.

Already he had scored and used several classes of drug in order to become part of the underground scene. He’d inhaled Beat, a simple mood enhancer preferred by dance club enthusiasts. The effects lasted about four hours and the come down was negligible. He had smoked Mist, his favourite so far, which was a combination of synthesised opiates and cannabinoids. It had drifted him into a day-long torpor that took two more days to recover from. Although he enjoyed it, he knew it was the kind of drug that would render him more or less useless in a difficult situation.

He decided to concentrate his efforts on the greatest and most dangerous menace—the Sooth dealers. Sooth was cutting edge, the latest and most powerful psych drug available. It was hitting the streets hard. Turnover was immense and it was impossible to police conventionally. There were other characteristics that made it unique as Johnson discovered the first time he scored.

“You know what to do right?”

“Kind of.”

The dealer had picked up easily on Johnson’s deliberate subtext.

“First timer, huh?” The dealer produced a tube that resembled a roll of new coins and removed a Sooth unit. He held it up for Johnson to see. “Ok, ten Saturns—ten pills inside ten discs. You push the pill out of the centre of the disc; you stick the disc in your viewer and the pill in your mouth. If you get it the wrong way round, you’ll need the Heimlich manoeuvre and a new viewer.” The dealer had laughed.

Johnson had decided to play himself real serious, real dumb. He shrugged, reached out. The dealer looked him in the eye. Johnson drew out a transparent hundred and handed it over. The dealer passed him the tube.

“Instructions are in the tube, dude. You can’t go wrong.”

Chapter 18

Sooth was expensive, about ten dollars a disc, but it was the wildest drug in circulation and the one Johnson felt compelled to go after. It was also widespread; he could nail dealers all year round and never run short of business. If he did his job well, the bonuses would roll in and he’d be able to start making some adjustments to his lifestyle.

He took the first Saturn, alone in his apartment. Popping Beat caps and smoking Mist were easier in public. The actions necessary could be disguised. Sooth, however, required at least a hand held viewer and the results of the initial effects were too obvious and instant to hide. The user would mumble a stream of incoherencies and for a few minutes would be incapacitated and immobile. It was the trancelike state and the rambling verbals that gave the drug its name. It was reminiscent of the oracles. Taking the drug was called Saying Sooth.

The first night, he had planned to go back out after the initial babbling had worn off. He pushed the base of the black cylinder the dealer had given him for his hundred bucks—the first dealer he planned to turn in. The first Saturn came into view. Thumbing the tiny spherical pill from the centre and holding it in one palm, he placed the disc in his viewer and checked the enclosed slip of plastic before placing the pill in his mouth. There was only one other stipulation in the simple instructions:

Think of what you want most.

He swallowed the pill with a sip of Wild Turkey and sat back.

“Play.”

The screen showed only static, salt and pepper pixels. For ten minutes he sat waiting, convinced that nothing was happening until he became aware of a voice, speaking rapidly in what sounded like a foreign language. He looked around the room to locate the source of the voice. It was his own. He laughed.

Looking back at the screen, he saw it was now blank. His babbling stopped. Before he could say ‘off’, the buzzer sounded on his door phone. He froze for a second and then reached for his pistol before studying the monitor to see who was outside his apartment. It showed four angles of a woman he recognised immediately.

“You sure you should be here?” He asked

“I think it’s early enough in your tour that no one will notice.”

Johnson buzzed her in.

The door closed behind her and she was then locked briefly in the security chamber which scanned her for dangerous items. The door phone display showed two blades, a telescopic baton, nylon cuffs and a pistol loaded with both sleepers and live rounds. He wasn’t about to ask her to deposit it before entering.

Johnson opened the door manually to be polite and used the other hand to usher her in. He smelled her perfume again as she passed into the room, a tang of natural scents; flowers and cinnamon. He let the door close and followed her into his featureless home.

“This is routine?”

She turned to him.