“Once
again, the National Weather Service was issued a Blizzard Warning for
the entire listening area. Citizens are advised to stay indoors, and
to avoid travel whenever possible. In other words, curl up somewhere
safe, cats and kittens, ‘cause we’re looking at ten to twelve by
morning!”
Max
had been counting. It was the fourth time that the radio announcer
had repeated the announcement that hour. Verbatim. Including his
lame little joke at the end. As he pulled into the driveway of his
ex-roommate’s house, he thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn’t
have to listen to a fifth. Grabbing his backpack from the passenger
seat, he climbed out of the car.
The
frozen grass crunched underfoot as he made his way to the front door.
The snow had yet to arrive, but the wind had a smell to it, one
humans could recognize instinctively. It was crisp, and wet despite
the cold. All of nature could feel the storm coming, could sense
change in the air.
Before
he had a chance to knock the door was yanked open, and something soft
and furry hit him just below the chin. “Max-ie! You made it!”
the girl squealed, hugging him tight.
“Nice
to see you too, Tara,” he replied, patting her on the head fondly.
“But remember, I asked you not to call me Max-ie? It makes me
sound like a tampon.”
Tara
grinned, and stuck her tongue out at him. “I thought that was a
complement. I mean, that’s the aspiration of every guy right? To
be stuck in....”
“Oh
my God, you aren’t wearing shoes!” Max said, cutting her off.
“It’s like, four degrees out here! Aren’t you freezing?”
She
shook her head. “Don’t you know we hippies have very resilient
feet? It comes with all the sandal-wearing.”
“And
the skirt, and tank top? I suppose those parts are tough from all
the time you spend rolling naked in fields of daisies.”
“Okay
okay fine,” Tara exclaimed, her teeth starting to chatter. “I’m
fucking cold. Let’s go inside already!” With that she grabbed
him by the hand, and pulled him through the door. “Guys! Max is
here!”
“Ah,
the prodigal son returns!” his friend Bill cried, bounding off the
couch. He gave Max his traditional shoulder punch of greeting.
“Long time no see man. How’s life treating you?”
“Over-worked,
under-sleeped. That’s graduate school for you. Melinda...wow you
look AWESOME!”
The
girl gave him a hug, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’re
sweet to say so, hun.”
“I
mean it - you’re practically glowing. You almost look...you aren’t
still getting taller, are you?”
Melinda
grinned, bouncing up on her tip toes. “As if I’d need it? Five
foot ten is quite enough, thank you. Besides, anyone would look big,
standing next to Rumpelstiltskin here.” She pointed her thumb at
Tara.
The
smaller girl’s eyes widened in mock horror. “I’m not going to
take that from you, you bully - even if you ARE a head taller than
me. Get down on your knees so I can kick your ass.”
“Oh
hush,” Melinda laughed. “You know I’m jealous of your figure.
Let me have my fun.” She turned back to regard Max. “Thank you
for the complement. In all seriousness, I just think the new job
agrees with me. I get plenty of exercise, if nothing else.”
Max
looked confused. “New job?”
“Later,
later!” Bill interrupted. “Come in, sit down. Let’s catch
up!”
They
moved to the living room, and Max sank into his favorite arm chair.
Tara offered him a beer and sat down at his feet, lighting a
cigarette. “So Max,” she began. “We don’t see you for
months. Then all of a sudden you say you want to come over – on a
Thursday night, no less. What’s the story?”
“Okay.
First, I want to say I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you guys....”
“Don’t
worry about it,” Melinda cut him off. The others nodded agreement.
“Thanks.
Well, here’s the deal: I’ve been going twenty-four-seven for
months now, but I think I’ve found a way to take a couple days off.
First off, this storm. We’re supposed to get a foot of snow
overnight. I think we can pretty much assume that classes are going
to be cancelled tomorrow, right?”
“Seems
reasonable,” Bill said.
“Okay.
Second, I’ve been excused from weekend lab hours, because I’ve
been given a little homework assignment. See, we’ve been testing
various isomer configurations, attempting to see which has the lowest
action potential, the greatest physiological response per micro-gram,
and I’ve been asked to design some retrosynthetic routes to...oh,
sorry,” he said, noticing their confused expressions. “You talk
like that long enough, it gets difficult to turn off. I’m, ah,
tweaking the shape of a drug, trying to make it have fewer side
effects, and be more effective with a smaller dose.”
“Wait
– drug? What exactly HAVE you been doing?” Bill asked.
“It’s
my student research project.” Max opened his backpack, and
withdrew a worn red folder. He passed it to Tara. “We’re
working in collaboration with the US Army to develop a treatment for
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. They have a substance that, combined
with therapy, can help soldiers get over their psychological issues.
We’re getting a big research grant to help them perfect it.”
“I’ve
seen this somewhere before.” Melinda had the folder now, and she
was holding up a drawing of the drug molecule. “Where?”
“You’ve
all seen it before - it was on a History Channel special that we
watched together in this very room. In fact, Tara has even tasted
something similar.”
The
girl’s head jerked toward him in surprise.
“This
drug is just three small steps away from being LSD - the good stuff
too.”
There
was a moment of shocked silence. “You mean,” Bill said at last.
“That the government wants our wounded vets to start dropping
acid?”
“I
mean, it’s not acid. Well, it’s...almost. Sort of.
Basically...yes.”
The
room exploded in laughter. “They should put THAT on recruitment
posters,” Bill said, clutching his sides.
“So...so
does that mean...you could turn this stuff into LSD if you wanted?”
Tara asked, wiping her eyes.
“Why?
Are you thinking maybe the third time’s the charm?”
Tara
made a face. “Thank you, no. Two bad trips are enough. I was
just wondering.”
Max’s
eyes went distant. “Treat the drug with Chromium Oxide to convert
the hydroxyl group to a ketone. Centrifuge, remove the precipitate.
Treat with one equivalent of hydrogen gas and a Palladium catalyst.
Dissolve the remnants in Tetrahydrofuran. Heat to 70 celsius for a
few minutes to boil off the by-product. That’s all you’d have to
do.”
Bill
whistled in appreciation. “Wow, you gonna do it?”
“Hell
no. Do I look like a drug dealer to you? I mean...I could PROBABLY
get away with it. I only figured out the process because I was
curious. Besides, I only do drugs that I can buy at a pharmacy, or
that I could grow in my backyard.”
Bill
nodded approvingly. “Good policy. How’s that Budweiser tree you
planted coming along?” He tossed Max another beer.
He
caught it, and cracked it open. “Oh yeah, Melinda! You said
something about a new job. What are you doing these days?”
Melinda
smiled, and pulled what looked like a small leather wallet from the
pocket of her hoodie. She snapped it open, and Max immediately fell
to his knees and put his hands behind his head. “Oh stop that!”
Melinda giggled, throwing her badge at him.
“Sorry,
force of habit!” He retrieved the case, and held it up to the
light to examine it. “Detroit Police Department. No shit. How’d
they let a recovering stoner like you slip in?”
“Probably
because, if smoking pot kept you from getting a government job, we
wouldn’t have a government. That, and I scored First Class in
every admission test. The academy director
said he’d never
seen anyone do so many push-ups.” Melinda rolled up her sleeve,
showing an impressive amount of muscle, and shot Tara a grin. “My
assets may not be as jiggly as yours, but I have to say they’re
probably more useful.”
“Oh?
Do yours get you free drinks, then?”
Melinda
chuckled, and turned back to Max. “Anyway, I like to think that my
years of smoking pot have helped me be a better officer. There’s
that residual instinct, the ability to detect the faintest puff of
weed smoke from a mile away. But besides that, it’s helped me
philosophically. There are some people I nail who deserve to go to
prison. Others may not be hurting anyone - except themselves. A
trip in a squad car is the last thing they need.”
A
long moment of silence followed, while they all considered Melinda’s
words, and their own encounters with the law.
Bill
was the first to break the silence. “Oh hey Max, before I forget
again, I have some mail for you.”
“You’re
still getting stuff for me? Anything important?”
“You
tell me,” Bill said, dropping a stack of letters into his lap.
Max
began sorting. “Junk, garbage, bra catalog....”
“I’ll
take that,” Tara and Bill said in unison.
“Here’s
something...TransCon Credit - that’s the bank that issued my
student loan. Probably just a yearly statement.” Max opened the
letter, and scanned the opening paragraph. Immediately his mouth
went dry.
“Max,
you okay sweetie?” Tara sounded concerned. “You’re shaking.”
Max
began to read. “Congratulations on achieving your Bachelor’s
Degree in the field of, et cetera et cetera. Please be aware that,
under the terms of Provision Blah, Section Blegh, your interest grace
period comes to an end upon your graduation date, which our records
indicate will be May 1st, 2010. Your first payment will be due June
1st of same year. Please be aware that late payment carries a fee
of....” Max crumpled the paper, and threw it across the room.
“Bill, do you have any MORE mail for me? From these same guys?”
“Umm....”
Looking embarrassed, he went to the coffee table and sank to his
knees. He lifted a side of the table, and pulled a small stack of
envelopes from beneath one leg.
Max
snatched the letters from Bill’s hand. Each bore a large, red
stamp, with words like ‘Immediate Action Required,’ ‘Delinquent
Account,’ ‘Final Notice.’ He selected the one with the most
recent postmark, and ripped it open. “Are you fucking KIDDING?”
he screamed.
“How
bad?” Tara asked quietly.
“Principle...two-hundred
fifty...thousand...dollars. How the hell did I spend that much on
tuition?”
“Well,
you DID go to one of the most expensive schools in the country,”
Bill said.
“Yeah,
but....”
“And
didn’t you use that loan to pay for your rent, and your groceries,
and your car?” he added.
“True....”
“And
remember that scheme you had to claim Grey Goose as an educational
expense?” Tara said.
“Shut
up!” He looked at the paper in front of him again. “Late fees,
compound interested...over three hundred thousand dollars. The
payment just to tread WATER is twice my monthly income. What am I
going to DO?”
Bill
held up his hands. “Right this second? I recommend you chill out.
We’ll go to a loan councilor first thing tomorrow, and find out
what your options are.”
Max
took a deep breath. “Sure, you’re right. It’s just...best
case scenario, I’m going to be neck-deep in debt for the rest of my
life.”
“You
guys!” Tara yelled suddenly, jumping to her feet. “Come look!
It’s snowing!”
They
were all thankful for something to lighten the mood, and crowded
around the window. “Wow, it’s really coming down out there,”
Bill observed.
“It’s
pretty,” Tara said, her voice child-like. A pristine blanket of
white had fallen, with not a single footprint or tire track to
disturb the perfect landscape. The world, Max remember, could really
be beautiful sometimes. It made him feel a little better.
“The
other day, I pulled a speeder over coming off of I-94.” Melinda
was speaking. Her voice surprised him, and Max realized that she had
been silent for quite some time now. “The guy was acting
suspicious, and his license was expired, so I decided to search him.
Turns out his trunk was packed to the brim with marijuana. Fifty
pounds of it.”
Max
turned to look at her. Melinda had her back to him, her eyes firmly
fixed on her shoes. “We estimated the value to be somewhere around
$200,000. The thing is, I also found a small glass vial in his
pocket, with a tiny bit of liquid inside. It turned out to be LSD -
pretty low-quality stuff, we found out later.”
Bill
and Tara had lost interested in the snow. Melinda’s voice was
barely above a whisper now. “There were upwards of fifty-thousand
hits in it. From less than one ounce of liquid. They determined
that the street value...would have been over four-hundred thousand
dollars.”
The
only sound in the room now was the soft susurrous of snow falling
outside. “If we were talking about heroin, or coke...I would feel
different. Those drugs are addictive, drive street violence, destroy
lives. But acid? It’s sort of morally ambiguous. Harmless, by
comparison. And...I have contacts...I know ways people keep from
getting caught....”
“Mel,
if you’re suggesting that....” Max began.
She
turned, looking him in the eye. “I’m not suggesting anything.
I’m just talking.” Melinda walked to the fridge, and grabbed as
many cans of beer as she could carry. She set them down on the
coffee table, and flashed him a million-dollar smile. “I thought
this was supposed to be a party.” She opened one of the cans, and
raised it above her head. “To bad decisions!” she toasted.
They
all drank.