The Nightmare on Trap Street. C. N. Phillips
over the room for a few moments before she clicked the next slide. A photo of a small white pill popped up, and engraved in it were the letters “VEM.” She let them look at it for a few seconds before she clicked to the next slide, which was a five-minute video. The video had been taken inside the labs in Azua and showed the effects of what taking one VEM had on five different patients over the course of a week. They watched them complete normal day-to-day tasks and talk about how they felt while on the drug. One of the patients, a black woman in her mid-thirties, appeared on camera with a bright smile on her face. She was sitting on a chair in the middle of what looked to be a bedroom in the lab.
“How did you feel?” an off-screen voice asked her soothingly.
“I felt . . . fantastic,” she told him. “It’s crazy. I took one pill, and five minutes later, it was like I smoked a fat blunt of Granddaddy Purp, except I didn’t come down from the high after a few hours.”
“And when did you come down from that high?”
“This morning.”
“And when did you take the pill?”
“I think two days ago.”
“Did you have a headache when the high wore off?”
“No. It was just like my feet touched back down on the ground. I can’t . . . I can’t explain the feeling the pill gave me. I just felt good, really good. Like I could do anything. After that, I don’t know if smoking a blunt will ever be good enough, and the relaxing high other pills used to give me just seem mediocre now. This is just . . . it’s crazy. Can I . . . can I have another? Another pill, I mean.”
“We have just a few more questions to get through, and then yes. Yes, you can.”
The video suddenly cut to another patient. That time it was a white man in his early twenties. He, too, was sitting in a chair facing the camera, talking to someone off-screen. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and the needle markings on his arms stuck out like a sore thumb.
“I’ve never felt like that in my life. It was like I was outside of my body, watching myself live my life,” he was saying. “Except I wasn’t fucking shit up like I usually do when I’m high on coke and heroin. I was high for two days, and in those two days, I was more productive in this room than I have been anywhere else in years.”
“Explain?” the off-camera voice asked.
“I mean, I cleaned it, for one, and I never clean shit. I let my wife do that. That’s one of the reasons she hates me. I’m always high, dirtying up shit, breaking things, and angry.”
The man suddenly looked puzzled as if he had just realized something.
“Is something wrong?” the off-camera voice asked.
“Yeah. I mean, no.” The white man shook his head. “I just thought of something. I’ve been angry at the world for the past three years since my mom died. Not a day has gone by that I wasn’t angry . . . until I took that pill you gave me. I’m not even angry now, and the high is gone. Did I tell you I started writing poetry in that notebook you gave all of us to document shit in?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man, and I didn’t even know I could write poetry. I didn’t know I could not be angry all the time. When I was high, I just felt like . . .”
“Like what?”
“Like I could do anything.”
“If I told you right now that in order to get another pill you would have to throw away the needles and heroin you don’t think we know you snuck in here, what would you do?”
Without hesitation, the white man on the video stood up and went to the twin-sized bed behind him. He reached under the pillow and pulled the needles and drugs out, tossed them into the waste bin by the bed, and handed the bin to the person off camera.
“Can I have another pill now?”
Sadie froze the camera on the man’s eager, almost-desperate face. She wanted the people in the room to see the need for VEM, and by the intrigued looks on their faces, they did. Before she spoke again, she grabbed the thick white binder that she’d brought with her and opened it. Inside, stapled to the paper in the binder, were four Baggies that each contained 500 pills. She tore the Baggies from the binder and went around the table, placing them in front of Legacy, Arrik, King Dex, and Cyril.
“VEM comes in the form of a single pill, and as you can see, the subjects used for testing are all different races and sizes,” Sadie started. “As you can also see, they had better than great reactions to the drug. Not only does it give you a high comparable to the best weed you’ve ever smoked, but it has no side effects. One pill lasts up to two days, guaranteed, and it doesn’t leave the user stuck or too high like crack, cocaine, or heroin. While high on VEM, you are still more than capable of doing all of your daily tasks while feeling good and confident about yourself. No red eyes, munchies, or feeling sluggish. Just a natural cloud-nine high for two days straight. Also, did I mention that it is undetectable in any existing drug-testing process used in the world?”
“So, we’re supposed to believe the words of five users in a video?”
“No, but you can believe the hundreds of users already hooked in Azua,” Sadie said, clicking to the next slide.
Suddenly they were all watching videos of loud clubs filled with people partying and popping VEM. Many of the club-goers were holding the small Baggies with white pills in their hands. The next slides were photos of restaurants and even schools that had people casually popping the pills from the small Baggies, all smiles.
Sadie watched Ahli’s expression of wonder shift to one of indifference. Sadie hadn’t told her that they had already started selling it overseas. She knew now, though.
“And so you all don’t feel like guinea pigs, I want to let you know I’m starting distribution here in Michigan tomorrow,” Sadie informed them all.
“Tomorrow?” Ahli asked, clearly taken aback.
“Yes, tomorrow, and I’m going to need you and Rhonnie to plug all my lieutenants.”
Ahli looked like she wanted to say something else, but her sister nudged her.
“We’ll be on it,” Rhonnie said with a nod.
“How much does a single pill go for?” King Dex asked.
“One two-milligram tablet is one hundred dollars,” Sadie answered.
“So ten of them is a rack,” Cyril said, doing the math. “Damn.”
“How did you come up with the recipe for this drug?” King Dex asked with a raised brow. “Forgive me for asking, but it seems like you’ve done something that nobody else has done since the crack era. I’m just trying to figure out how.”
“Let’s just say a little birdie pointed me in the right direction,” Sadie answered simply. “Vita E Morte is and will always be something that only The Last Kings will have. Even if, and I say this loosely, you were to get robbed of your entire supply, the drug will never be able to be duplicated. If you were to try to figure out on your own how to make it, you wouldn’t be able to. Not without the best team of scientists in the world, and I already hired them. And since nobody at this table has more money than me, you’ll never be able to buy them out.”
“Ooooh, big flex,” Arrik said, shaking the bag of pills. “So what do you want us to do? Buy these off you?”
“No. Consider them a gift from me. Those are yours to distribute. I want you to see firsthand the treasure I have given you. I have confidence that I will be hearing from each of you soon. Very soon.” Sadie connected eyes with King Dex. “Those are on me, but when you want to buy, and I’m sure you’ll want to, the only way to do so is to merge.”
“If what you’re saying about this drug is true, we will cross that bridge when we get there,” King Dex said without