"What's your best guess as to what this big mother molecule does?"
"It could be a kind of binder to help the other drugs work together more effectively, or it could be a whole new type of psychotropic. My best guess is that it's both."
"And?"
"I can't tell you any more than that from just looking at the molecular structure. Psychotropics act on the brain in ways that aren't completely understood. For example, nobody knows why lithium works so effectively for some manic-depressives. Give Ritalin to a hyperactive kid, and it calms him down; give it to a normal adult, and he'll start climbing the walls. I'd say this new stuff is definitely toxic. I wouldn't want any of it in my bloodstream or brain."
"Is it possible that this drug magnifies side effects, or even creates new ones?"
"Why the hell would any manufacturer want to create a drug to treat mental illness that would amplify side effects? That's a crazy idea-if you'll pardon the expression."
"Forgive the stupid questions of a naive layman. I'm not concerned with the manufacturer's motives, only in whether you think it's possible this drug might act in that way."
"I can't tell from the data I have. Where the hell did you get this stuff, Mongo?"
I considered my answer carefully. I hated to lie to Frank, but I couldn't afford to provide him with information that he didn't need to know and that could prove dangerous for both of us. I needed his help, if I could get it, and he had to remain almost totally ignorant of what I was up to if I didn't want to make him a witting accomplice. I finally decided on a reply that was at least partially true. "It's floating around on the street."
"You mean dope dealers are offering this stuff for sale and people are actually buying it?"
"Well, not exactly. It's just out there on the street."
"The drugs I can identify in that capsule you gave me wouldn't give a healthy person anything but grief."
"It's a little complicated, Frank. I just need to know all I can about that combination of drugs."
"There isn't much more to tell you, except that I don't see how this compound could have any value as a street drug. Except for the Ritalin, which is actually methylphenidate hydrochloride, and granted that I don't know what that new drug does, there's nothing in the compound I can identify that would give anybody a high. Ritalin is nothing more than a mild stimulant, and the other drugs are used to treat schizophrenia and other psychoses. You'd get a lot more bang for your buck with the amphetamines or cocaine for sale out there. An emotionally stable person wouldn't get any jolt out of taking this stuff, would still experience the nasty side effects, and might be in big trouble if he or she suddenly stopped taking it cold turkey without medical supervision."
"Why, Frank? What might happen to a person who'd been on this stuff for a time and then suddenly stopped taking it?"
"I'd just be guessing. An MD could give you a better picture."
"Please. Guess away."
"The known psychotropics in this compound alter blood chemistry, in some cases dramatically, and I have to assume the unidentified drug does the same thing-maybe in an even bigger way. So your blood and all of your organs kind of become adapted to that alteration. My guess is that once you start taking this stuff you have to keep taking it, or be weaned off it very carefully to allow the blood chemistry to return back to normal. Abrupt withdrawal could cause trauma. An analogy would be an alcoholic getting the shakes and DTs if he doesn't get his booze. Except that I suspect being suddenly deprived of this stuff could kill you. Why can't you bring me nice, simple things, like those samples of Hudson River water you lugged in here a couple of years ago?"
"You think medical people, maybe a psychiatrist or some kind of researcher, could tell me what that unidentified drug is?"
Frank shook his head. "I strongly doubt it; they'd consult the same references I did. You'd have to find the manufacturer. They're the people who researched and developed this compound, in house, and exactly how they did that is most likely a closely guarded trade secret. They're probably running computer models and doing animal testing, hoping to eventually get FDA approval for human trials. That could take years, because they've got a lot of rough spots to smooth out. They could never get approval for this formulation-too toxic. This stuff is dangerous."
"Frank, let me ask you a question. Could a good chemist-you, for example-make up a batch of this compound using the ingredients in the capsule as a model?"
He studied me for a few moments, and when he replied his voice had a slight edge to it. "Why would any respectable chemist want to do such a thing?"
"I'm just curious. Could it be done?"
"Highly unlikely. The five drugs I mentioned are off the shelf, available by prescription or DEA license. But that last drug, which makes up the bulk of the compound, is another matter. Researchers for pharmaceuticals companies use supercomputers to design and manufacture new drugs like that. It's not like processing heroin or cocaine, where the method is known. I couldn't replicate the stuff, and I wouldn't if I could. There would be no purpose. God knows how long the company that made this compound has been working on formulation, and what they have is still useless, dangerous to humans. Trying to replicate it without proper licensing is probably illegal, and the fact that there are capsules out on the street represents a serious breach of security by the manufacturer. Do the police know about this?"
"I've been reporting to the local precinct commander personally," I said, rolling up the computer printout and putting it under my arm. "Thanks, Frank. Send me a bill."
"Will do. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mongo. I hope you and the cops nail whoever is responsible for letting that stuff escape from the lab, and I hope they get put away."
I hoped for the same thing. But I didn't want them put away just yet-not until their current victims were out of harm's way, and that necessitated getting another batch of the compound, possibly a big one, before those victims went away permanently.
Step Five.
An unplanned improvisation.
I'd hoped to persuade Frank Lemengello, once he'd identified what was in the capsule, to make up some for me after he'd been told the reason I needed it. But he'd made it clear to me that he couldn't, and wouldn't, no matter what the reason, and I couldn't say I blamed him. But if Frank couldn't do it, I had to find somebody else with the appropriate expertise who might be willing to at least take a stab at it, and I knew only one other candidate-a highly unlikely one, since I wasn't sure he would even talk to me.
I waited across the street from the lab, next to a newsstand, for twenty minutes. At 12:45, Bailey Kramer, wearing a sheepskin coat, emerged from the lab and headed in the opposite direction, presumably to have lunch. I hurried across the street and ran after him, catching up with the defrocked professor as he waited for the light to change at the end of the block.
"Let me buy you a hot dog, Bailey," I said as the light turned green and I fell into step beside him.
He glanced down, and if he was surprised to see me he didn't show it. His face didn't reveal any emotion, and he simply said, "No, thank you."
"All right, then, a real lunch."
"No, thank you," he repeated, and quickened his pace.
"This is important to me, Bailey. It could also be important to you."
"What do you want from me?"