Thief: The Scarab Beetle Series: #1 (The Academy) (37 page)

He glanced over at me, as if having second thoughts about telling me. He pursed his lips for a moment. “A few weeks ago, a new brand of synthetic weed rolled into Charleston called JH-14.”

“Synthetic?” I asked. “Why make a chemical based one when the real thing is out there? Why not just grow and distribute that?” It seemed impossible. Creating a new drug similar to one that already existed would require a lab, and the brains to use it. Drug dealers did this?

“Synthetics go under the radar. They’re undetectable on drug tests. It attracts middle class buyers, interested because they can use it and not get fired from their jobs when they get selected for random drug screening. Kids tend to like it, too, because they can hide if from their parents and school easier. It’s also not illegal yet. This makes it very popular.”

“But why not call the police? I mean if it’s a drug deal. Shouldn’t the DEA or someone be taking care of this?”

“The DEA and the police can’t do anything about it,” he said. “Not until there’s a ruling by a judge to make it illegal. First they have to find a sample, and then test the product, find the chemical sequence and at the end of it, they have to go through court proceedings and bureaucracy. By the time any judge gets things together to make it illegal, this batch will have been distributed and they move on to the next formula. A new synthetic drug that they have to start all over again. It’s an endless cycle.”

“I don’t understand why you’re interested.”

“Because this particular batch is bad,” he said. “Normal side effects of synthetics are extreme cases of paranoia and aggression. This batch is much worse, and can create permanent damage. Not to mention the physical side effects vary from person to person. It’s the worst I’ve seen.”

“Could it kill people?”

“I believe it already has,” he said. “There’s been an increase in the local suicide attempt reports and we’ve made the connection that they were using these drugs. There’s people going into the hospital with flu symptoms and dying but they’ve not made the connection yet to this. Some people react differently to it and don’t get sick, but I think it depends on how much is injected or smoked or whatever the hell they’re doing with it. While instances seem to have been contained, I’m hoping to stop anything more from happening.”

“So we’re going to go find the individuals that bought it and warn them?”

“No. It’s possibly too late for that and we have no chance of tracing all those distributions. It gets to the point to where we’re chasing ants. We’re looking for the ant hill.”

“The last batch?”

He nodded. He brushed his palms against the steering wheel. “We may not stop everything, but we can stop any more from being distributed.”

“How?”

He smirked, and looked over at me. “Sweetheart, you may not have noticed, but I’ve got a few extra dollars in my pocket.”

“You’re buying?”

“I’m buying it all,” he said. “I walk in, pretend to be interested in catering to the super wealthy and in dire need of a synthetic.”

I placed a fingertip along my eyebrow, smoothing the fine hairs over. “Let me see if I understand. You found out there’s this batch of synthetic weed that’s really bad. So you’re buying it all so no one can have it?”

“That’s the gist.”

“What are you doing with the stuff once you’ve got it?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got that taken care of. The important part is, I’m getting it out of the city.”

Could this be true? It sounded crazy. But then, was it any crazier than a group of guys snooping around the city and looking for trouble in order to make it better? Was I going to judge him for doing what it sounded like the boys would have done? They probably would have helped him if they knew. “But what about the next time? What happens when the next box of synthetics arrives in town? Are you going to have to keep buying it up?”

“We’re working on that,” he said. “Doyle and I. We’re finding the source. In the meantime, I just have to hope the next batch isn’t deadly.”

I tapped my knee. I wasn’t sure if I was going to tack on any of my own information, but I needed to ask. “Does Mr. Fitzgerald work for you?”

His hands clutched tighter at the wheel. “How do you know about him?”

“He was at the party and then ... I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Kate,” he said. “Look at me sweetie. I need to know. What do you know about him? Is this informant group you’re with investigating him, too?”

“They were interested in you,” I said. “They wanted to know who you were connected with.”

His eyes darkened. “He’s an innocent player who got mixed up in it. You’ll have to tell your buddies that. Leave him alone. I can’t explain it, but what we really need to focus on is getting this last batch and then finding the source.”

“What happens when you find the source?”

The sly smile slid across his face. “Maybe we’ll leave a friendly note with our own lovely neighborhood FBI informant.”

I rolled my eyes and then looked out the window at the trees and homes as we passed by. Slowly, the countryside turned back into residential sprawl. We were getting closer to Moncks Corner. “You couldn’t have told me this before?”

“I needed to know who you were, Kate. I needed to know you weren’t going to get crazy and run to the local police with what I was up to.”

“Could they have done anything?”

“They could slow me down. Make things difficult for me. I’ve got a rather tidy criminal record, meaning to say, there’s nothing there. I’m not usually on their radar. I’d like to keep it that way.” He smiled and looked at me. “Not that I mind beautiful FBI informants crashing my party, but you have to admit, not all of them are as lovely and interesting.”

I hid an eye roll and the glint of a smile at the corner of my mouth. He did it so smoothly. I didn’t believe him for a moment, but you had to admire a guy when he was trying. “What do we do?”

“Well,” he said, leaning over the wheel and checking a street sign. “If you’re not put off by this plan, I say we go in as a couple planning an expensive party.”

“How can we just walk in?”

“They know this is a bad batch. I don’t think they know exactly how bad yet. Word on the street is people aren’t coming back, buyers aren’t buying, now they’re looking to get rid of it. It’s probably why it’s out in Moncks Corner. They couldn’t get the middle class to buy again after samples were spread out. They’re just trying to pawn it off on kids. The ones I’ve had to deal with so far have been more than happy to relinquish it for a lot of cash.”

“They didn’t worry about you being the FBI or DEA?”

“It’s not illegal to buy,” he said. “They only work in this underground system because when smoke shops started selling this stuff, the cops would seize merchandise in raids. Cops wait until a batch was made illegal, and raid the shop looking for old merchandise. They’d use the opportunity to get a hold of new merchandise and test for new synthetics to make illegal. Handling it through the underground drug rings made it easier. Made it harder for cops because it takes them longer to make these illegal. Now smoke shops just give you an address. This last batch was hard to track, because it was the last one, and it’s a big one, because no one wanted it and they all funneled it out to Moncks Corner. I was about to get it last night before it got that far.”

“But...”

He smiled. “Turns out I got distracted and had to rescue a damsel in distress.”

If everything he was saying was true, Blake Coaltar wasn’t doing anything illegal at all. He was buying what was currently legal synthetic weed and he was getting rid of it in a way that he had every right to. “If you buy this, doesn’t it just encourage drug dealers to continue making bad batches?”

“Not when we’re done with this,” he said. “Drug dealers generally don’t want to kill off their market. Doyle is helping spread the word about this particular batch, but word of mouth is slow in an underground world where they have to filter out rumors. When they hear this stuff killed people, they’ll want to get rid of it. There will probably be a lot of change higher up this particular drug ring. But this will be a process. For the moment, we’re getting this really bad batch off the street before anyone else gets too hurt. One thing at a time.”

I sat back. “What do you want me to do?”

He slid a glance at me and then back out front, where rain drops had started to splatter against the windshield. “Let’s just get through this part. If you don’t believe me after this, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

He rolled into the location, which really wasn’t an abandoned house, but a pit in the ground where there may have once been a house, and a warehouse planted nearby as if watching over the pit.

He stopped the car a short distance down the road, but we were still within sight and probably pretty obvious to anyone paying attention.

“Okay,” I said. I’d been quiet for a while, trying to absorb all of the information. It all seemed surreal. He seemed surreal. I felt a million miles away from home, and completely out of my element, drawn to Blake Coaltar and his cause, and to him in a strange way. Part of me was excited that I was finally getting an answer. I was starting to feel that the boys had been completely wrong. That my brother was safe. That after this was over, those Academy guys didn’t have anything to worry about and I ... I wasn’t sure what would happen to me, but whatever it was, it had to be better than what it had been.

“I understand what you’re doing,” I told Blake. “I still don’t understand why. I mean, you’ve got a big house, and a yacht, and a fancy car, and a tiny boat.”

“Hey, now. Don’t you start talking about my sailboat.”

“I mean, you didn’t wake up one day and decide to start buying synthetic drugs and save a bunch of strung out teenagers from themselves.”

“Shows how little you know me, sweetie.” The sly grin spread to bunch up his cheeks. “Maybe I do have a few secrets left.”

“What makes a wealthy playboy want to take the risk?”

“What makes a girl crash a party of a man she doesn’t know, just to try to sniff out all his dirty little secrets? Why not just get a job in a retail store and behave like everyone else?” He swung his head around as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “It’s the same reason you’re in this car now. You’re not begging me to take you home. I see that look in your eye. You’re curious.”

“Are we playing that game again? We’re doing things because we’re curious?”

“It’s been the same since the beginning, we just didn’t know the details that made up what we were curious about.” He reached out, taking a hold of my elbow. He slid his grasp down until he could capture my wrist. He clutched it between his fingers and brought it to his lips. “Kind of sad, though.”

“What is?”

“I was kind of hoping during any part of this, when you figured out what I was up to, I thought you’d finally admit the truth.”

I raised an eyebrow, my fingers twitching in his grasp. “What truth?”

“That you were curious about me,” he said, the gold flecks glinting. He kissed the knuckles of my hand. “You like me.”

I tried to pull my hand from his but he held on too tightly. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“But what you do know, you like. You’re intrigued.”

“Can we just get this over with?”

He laughed, releasing my hand and started opening his door. I opened my own door, closing it loudly.

“Now listen,” he said. “I don’t want to make a fuss about this, but I think it’s best if I do the talking.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “You’re the expert drug dealer.”

He smirked and led the way to the warehouse.

Despite the light smattering of rain, we took our time to get to the door. The small warehouse was big enough to be packed with criminals and my mind was thinking something along the lines of a mob movie I’d seen once. Wouldn’t they have loads of guns and take out anyone they didn’t know? I didn’t know who we were up against, but I wanted to duck behind Blake if someone started shooting at us.

Blake stepped onto a small concrete porch and knocked twice at a door and we waited.

The door opened, and a head poked out. He wore a thick hoodie that shadowed his already dark face. He was young, maybe my age. His shoes were worn, Wal-Mart brand. His tight curly dark hair was cut short enough at the sides of his head that you could see the skin. He took one look at Blake, one look at me and then looked at Blake again.

“This is private property,” the guy said.

“Yeah,” Blake said. “I’m looking for Ronald.”

“He’s not here.” He started to shut the door.

Blake leapt, jabbing his foot into the opening to prevent it from closing. “I’m buying the new stuff,” he said. “The JH-14.”

“Who are you?” The guy asked.

“Look, I’ve got a party happening tonight, and I need something. The girls, you know, they like their shit.” He swung his head, jerking his chin in my direction as if he was talking specifically about me. “Got to get them to loosen up, you know? I heard you had some of the new stuff.”

The guy was shaking his head. “Back off.”

Blake wasn’t going to get anywhere this way. I didn’t know how he was dealing with other drug dealers, but this was a street kid. They didn’t trust anyone other than their own. The poor and equally run down. It didn’t matter if the stuff they were selling was illegal or not. They avoided business with people they didn’t know or trust.

I crossed my arms, trying to pretend to look irritated. “He don’t know nothing,” I said, faking a hick accent. “He’s just a kid.”

Blake’s eyes met mine, as if trying to silently call me insane. “Pumpkin,” he said.

“Look at him,” I pointed to the hooded kid. “We’ll go down to Tucker’s. He’s probably got a new batch of the real stuff anyway.”

The man inside the door opened up wider. “Who’s Tucker?”

I shrugged. “He’s got some real weed growing out back on an island in one of those mini-lakes out in Goose Creek,” I said, going with an old rumor I heard in high school. “They don’t get many batches, but I heard he got some of the real stuff.”

“Sweetheart,” Blake said, starting to make a bit of a whine. This was better. He thickened his Southern accent, moving from his refinement to something I could consider middle class. “They don’t want the real thing. They want the fake shit.”