said,
“For cash customers only, I throw in a little something special.”
“I doubt if it’s humour.”
He produced a small brown bottle, asked,
“What do you know about GHB?”
“Grievous bodily harm?”
“Not in the sense you mean. It’s alias ‘liquid E’ and it is apainkiller. Within twenty minutes of downing it, your movements, control, vision and brain become impaired. Inhibitions, clothes, self-control disappear. It doesn’t have the rush of E. Do you want to know how they hit on it, if you’ll excuse the pun?”
He had a feverish glint to his eyes. Now I knew where he lived, . . . pharmacology. I said,
“Hit me.”
“It was first manufactured as an experimental anaesthetic and aid to childbirth. It relaxes the muscles. Alas, it was banned in America because it caused seizures. Then it became linked to Rohypnol, the date rape number. Its big plus is the morning after. It leaves you perky and alert.”
“I like this already.”
He held the bottle up, said,
“Now for the downer. Mess with the dosage and you can go into a coma. Taken properly, it gives you euphoria and libido. Listen carefully . . . are you listening?”
The two reds I’d popped couldn’t possibly be kicking in yet, but I was definitely on the mend, said,
“I’m rapt.”
“OK, here are the rules. Never mix with alcohol or any other chemicals. Always take the right dosage. Wait forty minutes between doses. Let somebody know what you’re doing. On no account drive a car.”
“Got it.”
“You certain?”
“Yeah.”
He added the bottle to the other goodies. He sat back, gave me a long look, and I went,
“What?”
“You know, Jack . . . you don’t mind if I call you Jack, do you?”
“It’s my name, just don’t wear it out.”
His eyes lit and he said,
“Don’t tell me . . . Robert De Niro to Ed Harris in . . . shit, what is the film?”
The pills had hit big time, and I was almost warming to him. As I couldn’t recall the movie either, I smiled enigmatically. He said,
“OK, that’s cool, it will come to me. Anyway, I was going to say, despite your smart mouth . . . and boy, do you ever have that. . . I have a sneaking regard for you.”
I was full tilt boogie now, said,
“Glad to hear it.”
He was on his feet, saying,
“Tell you what I’m going to do.”
I waited. Shit, I felt so fine, I’d have waited a week. He said,
“I’m going to Vike you.”
I didn’t know was this some sex thing or had I simply mis-heard. He went,
“Vicodin is a prescription painkiller. It’s Vike that kept Matthew Perry in rehab.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know
Friends’?”
“I’ve seen
Buffy.”
He waved that aside, continued,
“It’s the drug of choice for rappers, rockers and the A-list. Eminem has a tattoo of the ovoid shape on his arm. He even put a graphic of Vike on ‘Slim Shady’.”
I was lost, if happily so. On he went.
“An American psychologist characterised the average Vike user as having all the attributes of the economic winner today . . . agility, problem solving, system application. It’s abastard to get supplies of, but I’m expecting a delivery soon, and your name goes on the list.”
“Thanks, Stewart.”
He stared at me, so I figured it was time to go. I stood up, wanting to glide, said,
“It’s been a time.”
“Stay in touch, Jack, for the Vike vibe.”
“Gotcha.”
He put my purchases in a McDonald’s bag and let me out. For the sheer novelty of a pain free walk, I headed for the River Inn. There is no sign of a river and the canal is a good two miles away. I’d been in here once before. I took a window seat, and a girl in her twenties approached, said,
“Howyah?”
“Great.”
“What can I get you?”
“Coffee.”
I didn’t need a drink; I didn’t even want one, just to bask in the glow of the drugs. A man was sitting near me, engrossed in a book. He looked up and nodded. With my fresh bonhomie, I asked,
“What are you
“For cash customers only, I throw in a little something special.”
“I doubt if it’s humour.”
He produced a small brown bottle, asked,
“What do you know about GHB?”
“Grievous bodily harm?”
“Not in the sense you mean. It’s alias ‘liquid E’ and it is apainkiller. Within twenty minutes of downing it, your movements, control, vision and brain become impaired. Inhibitions, clothes, self-control disappear. It doesn’t have the rush of E. Do you want to know how they hit on it, if you’ll excuse the pun?”
He had a feverish glint to his eyes. Now I knew where he lived, . . . pharmacology. I said,
“Hit me.”
“It was first manufactured as an experimental anaesthetic and aid to childbirth. It relaxes the muscles. Alas, it was banned in America because it caused seizures. Then it became linked to Rohypnol, the date rape number. Its big plus is the morning after. It leaves you perky and alert.”
“I like this already.”
He held the bottle up, said,
“Now for the downer. Mess with the dosage and you can go into a coma. Taken properly, it gives you euphoria and libido. Listen carefully . . . are you listening?”
The two reds I’d popped couldn’t possibly be kicking in yet, but I was definitely on the mend, said,
“I’m rapt.”
“OK, here are the rules. Never mix with alcohol or any other chemicals. Always take the right dosage. Wait forty minutes between doses. Let somebody know what you’re doing. On no account drive a car.”
“Got it.”
“You certain?”
“Yeah.”
He added the bottle to the other goodies. He sat back, gave me a long look, and I went,
“What?”
“You know, Jack . . . you don’t mind if I call you Jack, do you?”
“It’s my name, just don’t wear it out.”
His eyes lit and he said,
“Don’t tell me . . . Robert De Niro to Ed Harris in . . . shit, what is the film?”
The pills had hit big time, and I was almost warming to him. As I couldn’t recall the movie either, I smiled enigmatically. He said,
“OK, that’s cool, it will come to me. Anyway, I was going to say, despite your smart mouth . . . and boy, do you ever have that. . . I have a sneaking regard for you.”
I was full tilt boogie now, said,
“Glad to hear it.”
He was on his feet, saying,
“Tell you what I’m going to do.”
I waited. Shit, I felt so fine, I’d have waited a week. He said,
“I’m going to Vike you.”
I didn’t know was this some sex thing or had I simply mis-heard. He went,
“Vicodin is a prescription painkiller. It’s Vike that kept Matthew Perry in rehab.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know
Friends’?”
“I’ve seen
Buffy.”
He waved that aside, continued,
“It’s the drug of choice for rappers, rockers and the A-list. Eminem has a tattoo of the ovoid shape on his arm. He even put a graphic of Vike on ‘Slim Shady’.”
I was lost, if happily so. On he went.
“An American psychologist characterised the average Vike user as having all the attributes of the economic winner today . . . agility, problem solving, system application. It’s abastard to get supplies of, but I’m expecting a delivery soon, and your name goes on the list.”
“Thanks, Stewart.”
He stared at me, so I figured it was time to go. I stood up, wanting to glide, said,
“It’s been a time.”
“Stay in touch, Jack, for the Vike vibe.”
“Gotcha.”
He put my purchases in a McDonald’s bag and let me out. For the sheer novelty of a pain free walk, I headed for the River Inn. There is no sign of a river and the canal is a good two miles away. I’d been in here once before. I took a window seat, and a girl in her twenties approached, said,
“Howyah?”
“Great.”
“What can I get you?”
“Coffee.”
I didn’t need a drink; I didn’t even want one, just to bask in the glow of the drugs. A man was sitting near me, engrossed in a book. He looked up and nodded. With my fresh bonhomie, I asked,
“What are you
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