Page 25 of Race With The Devil

“The DEA discovered that particular FedEx on Route 66 was shut down because it was sending out a shipment of that fake weed at the same time a bunch of people in Chicago died from it.”

“I heard about that weird shit,” said Tanner, rubbing my head with the towel. I languished in the luxurious treatment. When was the last time a man had towel-dried my hair? Try never. Beetle wanted in on it, so Tanner grabbed another towel and rubbed Beetle’s head.

“Come, Beetle,” said Wolf, bereft of all bravado.

“Go see Wolf,” said Tanner, and the dog finally did. I felt bad for Wolf. He wasn’t making much progress bonding with the big puppy.

Tanner said, “Who the fuck would want fake weed?”

“Teenagers, I guess,” said Wolf, perching on the edge of a grooming chair. “You can legally buy Spice in gas stations. The DEA hasn’t approved it. It’s unregulated. Sixty people in Illinois were hospitalized. Bloody noses, bleeding gums. Rat poison.”

“Who’s making this totally legal shit?” asked Tanner, picking up a comb.

I said, “Someone with a total grasp of chemistry. To make rat poison seem like cannabinoids? Seems like someone’s trying to poison a lot of people on purpose.”

We all fell silent for a few seconds as Tanner combed my hair.

Wolf said, “The chemicals are called cannabinoids since they’re similar to the ones found in weed. But they’re eighty-five times as strong as THC.”

I was utterly crushed when Tanner lowered the comb, apparently satisfied with his work. I felt as though I’d been thoroughly and cleanly fucked, beautifully fucked from all angles.

Still, I was suspicious enough to say, “Sounds like some kind of master chemist at work.”

“Evil master chemist is more like it,” said Wolf, loudly kissing Beetle’s face.