"I can't talk and jog like this at the same time."
Kramer abruptly stopped walking and turned to face me, studying me with his soulful dark eyes. "What do you want?"
"What do you want to eat?"
"A hot dog will be fine."
I bought us hot dogs and sodas at a Sabrett stand in the next block, and we sat on the concrete lip of a fountain and reflecting pool outside a bank. The tall black man ate his hot dog and sipped at his soda in silence as he stared down at the sidewalk. I wondered if he was thinking of the future Garth and I had helped take from him. I finished my dog and soda, got up to throw our wrappers and cans in a trash basket, came back, and again sat down beside him.
"I have a job for you, Dr. Kramer."
"If you want to talk to me, Frederickson, don't call me Dr. Kramer. I already have a job that you got for me."
"I have another job for you, Bailey, in addition to the one you have now."
"Mr. Kramer."
"I have another job for Mr. Kramer, if he wants it. It's not an easy job; in fact, it's so difficult that I'm not sure it can be done by one man, even you, in the time I need it done-which is by Christmas Eve, two and a half weeks. I can't pay you even a small fraction of what this work is worth, assuming it is possible for you to do it. Also, you will most likely end up in prison for a long time if you get caught doing it, because it's essentially the same kind of work you got busted for."
He slowly turned his head to look at me, and for the first time his face and eyes registered emotion-in this case surprise bordering on astonishment. "You want me to design a narcotic?"
"Not exactly. I want you to replicate a compound. Most of the ingredients are off-the-shelf prescription drugs, but one ingredient hasn't been identified, and there's where the hard work begins. What you'll end up with isn't a narcotic, but it's highly toxic. To make this compound would almost certainly be deemed illegal, at the least, and in your case a parole violation, which amounts to the same thing."
Bailey Kramer slowly shook his head. His initial look of astonishment had mellowed to mere amusement, and there was a thin smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You sure are one terrific salesman, Frederickson. Let me see if I've got this straight. You, of all people, want me to do something illegal for you, essentially the same thing you and your brother got me busted for, and you can't even begin to pay me what the job is worth."
"Yeah. That's about it."
"Would you like me to distribute the product for you too?"
"No distribution. I'm your sole customer."
"What, am I supposed to take a commission?"
"No commission. What you make won't be for sale."
"It sounds to me like you're going to make an even worse dope dealer than a salesman. Why the hell do you want to joke with me, Frederickson?"
"I'm not joking, Mr. Kramer."
"Stop calling me Mr. Kramer. It sounds silly coming from someone with whom I have such an intimate relationship."
"I didn't want to make my main pitch and then have to temporize with a lot of ohs, ands, buts, and the like. I figured it was best to give you the bad news up front."
"Devilishly clever of you, Frederickson. What's the good news?"
"I'm not sure there is any for you; that's for you to decide. Can I give you the rest of my spiel now?"
Kramer shrugged, and once again there was the slightest trace of a smile on his face. "After that teaser about the possibility of going to prison for doing this thing, how can I resist?"
I took another one of the black-and-yellow capsules I had borrowed from Margaret Dutton's supply out of my pocket, used it to tap on the rolled-up computer printout I had taken from under my arm and placed between us on the stone ledge. "This printout is a chemical analysis of the ingredients contained in a capsule just like this one. Like I said, most of the ingredients are prescription drugs-but the main ingredient, the stuff that makes it work the way it does, hasn't been identified. It's something new that's been carefully designed for its purpose, and it will probably have to be synthesized from scratch. I don't know how I'm going to get hold of the prescription drugs to add to it, but I'll think of something. I'll supply you with all the equipment, materials, space-whatever you need. I don't know how I'll do that either, but I will. You just sit down and make me a list of what you require. What I need for you to do is come up with a way to replicate that unidentified substance. I need a lot of it, enough for an indefinite number of doses in the ratio you'll find in this capsule, and on the printout. And I need it by Christmas Eve-a day or two before, if you can manage it, because I'll need time to package the doses."
"Frank did this analysis?"
"Yep."
"Did you ask him to make this stuff for you?"
"Not directly. He clearly indicated that he wouldn't even if he could, and he said he couldn't."
"So now you want me to make it for you."
"Yep."
"You going into the drug-dealing business, Frederickson?"
"If you want to look at it that way, yes. Except this dope isn't a narcotic; it's an extremely powerful psychotropic."
Kramer picked up the printout, unrolled it, and gave the contents barely a glance before saying, "It's a number of psychotropics, and one amphetamine."
"All working in concert with the unidentified substance to provide one hell of a jerk back to reality-that is, if you're psychotic."
"It looks very toxic."
"It is very toxic. I said so."
"Frank told you he couldn't replicate this. You think I can?"
"You tell me. Better yet, show me. You're the hotshot chemist. Will you do it?"
"What the hell do you want this stuff for, Frederickson? This drug compound can't be much good for anything. Normal people wouldn't get anything out of taking it but a puckered mouth and a sour stomach. Half of these drugs are already available, in carefully monitored dosages, to the people who need them if they're under a doctor's care. I don't need to know a great deal about the unidentified drug on the printout to recognize that this formulation could kill you. Any psychiatrist who prescribed this should be locked up."
"It's a long story, Bailey, so I'm going to give you the Classics Illustrated version. Right now there are about a dozen very seriously mentally ill people here in the city."
"This is a news flash? I would have thought there were more than that not far from where we're sitting."
"Not like these people, Bailey. I'm talking serious psychotic. These people are chronic schizophrenics who have been institutionalized most of their lives. But they're able to function normally, thanks to the compound in this capsule. It's true that the drug is highly toxic, but it seems to be its own antidote-probably one of many functions of that unidentified component. The problem is that you can't stop taking it once you start. It's been manufactured illegally, and used exclusively for illegal experiments on the people I mentioned. There probably isn't any way of getting a fresh supply of this stuff through any kind of normal, legal channel. All of these people are going to run out of the supply they have by Christmas Eve. When that happens, they'll first plunge back into madness, and within a few hours they'll die-quickly and badly, from massive internal hemorrhaging. The supply I want you to replicate represents an insurance policy that will buy them the time I need to try to find a way to solve their medical problem through more acceptable channels. Without a new supply of this specific compound, they're outta here come Christmas."
Bailey put the printout back down on the ledge, looked away. "Shit," he said quietly.
"This is a heavy-duty job with heavy-duty risks, Bailey. What else can I say? If I could think of any other way to get it done, I wouldn't be coming to you."
Now he turned back, and his soulful eyes searched my face. He no longer seemed amused. "So you're helping these people."