He was nervously shifting the phone from ear to ear while he talked: “No . . .listen, I have to get off; they probably have the phone tapped . . . yeah, I know, it was horrible, but it’s all over now. . . 0 MY GOD! THEY’RE KICKING THEDOOR DOWN!” He hurled the phone down and began shout ing: “No! Get away from me! I’m innocent! It was Duke! I swear to God!” He kicked the phon against the wall, then leaned down to it and began yelling again: “No, I don’t know where she is! I think she went back to Montana. You’ll never catch Lucy! She’s gone!” He kicked the receiver again, then picked it up and held it about a foot away from his mouth as he uttered a long, quavering groan. “No! No! Don’t put that thing on me!” he screamed. Then he slammed the phone down.
“Well,” he said quietly. “That’s that. She’s probably stuffing herself down the incinerator about now.” He smiled. “Yeah, I think that’s the last we’ll be hearing from Lucy.”
I slumped on the bed. His performance had given me a bad jolt. For a moment I thought his mind had snapped-that he actually believed he was being attacked by invisible enemies.
But the room was quiet again. He was back in his chair, watching Mission Impossible and fumbling Idly with the hash pipe. It was empty. “Where’s that opium?” he asked.
I tossed him the kit-bag. “Be careful,” I mattered. “There’s not ‘such left.”
He chuckled,. “As your attorney,” he said, “I advise you not worry.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Take a hit out of that little brown bottle in my shaving kit.”
“What is it?”
“Adrenochrome,” he said. “You won’t need much. Just a little tiny taste.”
I got the bottle and dipped the head of a paper match intoit.
“That’s about right,” he said. “That stuff makes pure mescaline seem like gingerbeer. You’ll go completely crazy if you take too much.”
I licked the end of the match. “Where’d you get this?” I asked. “You can’t buy it.”
“Never mind,” he said. “It’s absolutely pure.”
I shook my head sadly. “Jesus! What kind of monster client have you picked up this time? There’s only one source for this stuff . .
He nodded.
“The adrenaline glands from a living human body,” I said. “It’s no good if youget it out of a corpse.”
“I know,” he replied. “But the guy didn’t have any cash. He’s one of these Satanism freaks. He offered me human blood – said it would make me higher than I’d ever been in my life,” he laughed. “I thought he was kidding, so I told him I’d just as soon have an ounce or so of pure adrenochrome – or maybe just a fresh adrenalin gland to chew on.”
I could already feel the stuff working on me. The first wave felt like a combination of mescaline and methedrmne. Maybe I should take a swim, I thought.
“Yeah,” my attorney was saying. “They nailed this guy for child molesting, but he swears he didn’t do it. ‘Why should I fuck with chi Wren?’ he says; ‘They’re too small!”‘ He shrugged. “Christ, what could I say? Even a goddamn were wolf is entitled to legal counsel . . . I didn’t dare turn the creep down. He might have picked up a letter opener and gone after my pineal gland.”
“Why not?” I said. “He could probably get Melvin Belli for that.” I nodded, barely able to talk now. My body felt like I’d just been wired into a 220 volt socket. “Shit, we should get us some of that stuff.” I muttered finally. “Just eat a big handful and see what happens.”
“Some of what?”
“Extract of pineal.”
He stared at me. “Sure,” he said. “That’s a good idea. One whiff of that shit would turn you into something out of a god damn medical encyclopedia! Man, your head would swell up like a watermelon, you’d probably gain about a hundred pounds in two hours . . . claws, bleeding warts, then you’d notice about six huge hairy tits swefling up on your back .. .” He shook his head emphatically. “Man, I’ll try just about anything; but I’d never in hell touch a pineal gland.