Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [18]
‘There’s a girl coming out of the building,’ he said, speaking quietly, mouth close to the transmitter microphone. ‘She should be emerging any minute now. Don’t, repeat do not arrest her. If anybody approaches her it’ll blow the whole operation. If she is in any way aware of a police presence we’re in trouble. Am I making myself clear? We have to let her go.’
He waited for acknowledgement from Chavez in the command van then switched the radio off. He stood up from the edge of the tub and for a moment was sickeningly dizzy.
He gathered his balance slowly, standing weaving in front of the mirror. The cocaine was opening like wide gentle wings in his head. But there was some other sensation, too, something unfamiliar. Not the boo or the wine of the beer. Creed wadded the bandage and threw it into a bin beside the toilet. Then he lifted the lid off the cistern.
He tucked the small flat radio inside, underwater, positioning it carefully where it would be concealed by the flushing mechanism but wouldn’t interfere with its action. He only just remembered to flush the toilet before going back into the living room.
The older Mayan smiled and nodded at him when he came out and returned to his place on the sofa. The angry kid brother was still sullen but Creed got the impression he had suddenly cheered up for some reason.
The hooker shifted over to make room for Creed as he sat down. Their legs grazed again.
‘I’ve been hearing a lot of things about it,’ Larner was saying. ‘Some good, some bad, but all interesting. I’m eager to get my hands on some and find out what the true story is.’
‘I hear you can screw all night on it,’ said the younger Mayan, glancing over at the hooker. He was definitely perkier for some reason.
‘I’ve heard it’s a drug for mind games,’ she said, cutting him dead.
‘Yeah,’ said Larner. ‘A young person’s drug, all right.’ He smiled, his teeth a brilliant white. ‘You know sometimes I worry I’m getting out of touch. Getting old.’ Creed knew exactly what he meant. He liked Larner.
‘I can’t stand the music kids listen to,’ said Larner. ‘And I can hardly keep track of these weird drugs they use. I wouldn’t even know what they were calling this one if its name wasn’t spray‐painted on half the walls in this city.’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Winterhill. ‘When I first saw it I thought it was referring to a person.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Creed, ‘but it’s a good name for a drug.’
‘Warlock.’
‘It sounds scary, but interesting.’
‘Probably some marketing ploy,’ said Larner. ‘They probably paid some consultant a lot of money to come up with it.’ He looked up at Creed. ‘Where did you first hear about it?’
And then, for some reason, the room fell silent and everyone in the room turned to look at Creed, waiting for an answer.
The truth was, Creed had first heard about the drug one winter morning, coming into the old precinct house, its walls washed with bright reflected snow light. He’d sat in Chavez’s office and Chavez had looked up wearily from his computer screen and said, ‘There’s a new player in town, and it’s bad news.’ He’d passed Creed a surprisingly thin police information file with a couple of terse declassified IDEA memos attached.
That had been almost a year ago.
‘Oh, you know,’ said Creed. Everyone was still looking at him, waiting.
For a moment he had the horrific stoned belief that they could all read his thoughts. Maybe he was giving himself away by the expression on his face, some obvious anxiety they could read in his body language.
‘On the street somewhere,’ Creed said. His own voice rang oddly in his ears. Was he babbling? ‘I don’t remember exactly. But I was certainly intrigued as soon as I heard about it.’
Larner chuckled. ‘You really are a total dope fiend.’
Creed found himself calming down, smiling at Larner. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I can hardly wait to try some.’
‘You already have,’ said the younger Mayan brother. Now this little shit was