CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER
MR. TEMPLE, WELCOME,” SAID CONNOR LORD.
They were at the latter’s estate in Malibu, standing around the same patio table as had Steers and Lord on her trip there with Nash.
“Thank you,” said Temple. “Nice to meet you.”
“I was curious as to why you wanted to meet,” continued Lord after the men had sat. “I thought you had removed yourself from the business. At least that is what I was told.”
“I tried to remove myself, but it kept calling me back.”
Temple knew this was the biggest business pitch of his life and if he screwed it up, he was dead. But instead of filling him with anxiety, the challenge actually calmed him.
“You’ll need to explain that.”
“I came prepared to do that and a lot more, which I think you will find beneficial to both our interests.”
“Go on, please.”
Steers had drilled him with facts and background on Lord. Chess prodigy, super-high IQ, ruthlessness to match any cartel boss concealed behind a smooth, civilized, even aristocratic facade. But Temple had one advantage here.
This guy is, minus the brag and bluster, exactly like my father, who I knew better than anyone.
“First things first,” said Temple. “Victoria Steers left you with a good business but also a lot of potential problems.”
“I know the FBI piece. But that has been resolved.”
“Even though they said Walter Nash was framed?”
“He has also not reappeared. I have it on good authority that he is not working with the Bureau any longer. He could well be dead.”
“He could be,” conceded Temple. “But you need to know that I fired Neisha Mirza and appointed myself as CEO of Sybaritic.”
Lord lifted his teacup and took a sip. He was dressed in a dark two-piece suit with a light blue shirt. His pocket square matched the shirt. His complexion was perfect, his teeth the same. His hair had a high-dollar cut. His shoes cost thousands. He was the poster boy for a pampered existence.
Not just like my father, just like me, thought Temple.
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I can do a much better job than she could. And I want to prove it to you. And since I know how intelligent you are—”
“Excuse me, but how do you know this?”
“If you weren’t, you would not have survived this long in the world we both inhabit. And when Steers spoke of you it was with respect. . .and fear. I never heard her talk that way about anyone else.”
Lord nodded. “All right. You’ve made yourself the CEO. What now? Please keep in mind that your answer will be a factor in my decision on allowing you to remain CEO.”
And living, thought Temple.
He leaned forward, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial level. “As an intelligent man, you’re no doubt wondering why I said the business has potential problems.”
“Please elaborate.”
“Your partners. Their business goals do not necessarily align with yours.”
Lord shrugged. “I know that they believe we’re killing too many of their customers.”
“And Steers caved to that belief by pulling back on the fentanyl in the product. Consequently, for that reason, and others, deaths associated with the drug have dropped substantially. Which I know is not in line with your expectations.”
“Nor mine,” said a voice.
Temple turned to see Masuyo standing there. She had somehow crept up on them.
“I believe you two know each other,” said Lord, who did not, to Temple’s mind, look pleased at the woman’s sudden appearance.
But it actually was very good for what Temple was attempting to accomplish. He rose and bowed to Masuyo. “Mrs. Steers, how are you?”
She sat down in one of the chairs. “That is no concern of yours. Now sit and explain.”
Temple retook his seat. “If you put fentanyl back in the precursor process it will anger your partners. But even if you can overcome that, there are other issues standing in the way.”
“Such as?” demanded Masuyo.
“Narcan, which can reverse an overdose. And better counseling and treatment methods. The fact that users often take the drug in pairs, so one can administer Narcan to the other if they overdose. They’re also cutting pills into smaller quantities, lessening the effects and halving your profits.
But besides all that, for me at least, the biggest problem is this: Fentanyl is a depressant. ”
“Why is that an issue?” said a puzzled Lord.
“Your overall goal, as I understand it, is to disrupt this country in a grand way. From the bottom to the top.”
“And you know this how?” snapped Masuyo.
“I worked for your daughter for a long time, Mrs. Steers. If I didn’t pick up on that, I’m too stupid for this job.
Now, I have no dog in this hunt. You want to screw this country over?
I don’t care. I’m rich enough to live in another country, or a dozen if I want to.
The French have better food, wine, and women, in my humble opinion. ”
“And your point?” said Masuyo irritably before Lord could interject a query. To Temple’s mind, the man was clearly growing frustrated with her. Which might be a good thing for him, Temple thought.
“To disrupt, I mean really disrupt, you don’t want people to die quietly and alone. They’re found, buried, and that’s it. Yes, there is some disruption for the families and the like, but what I have in mind is far greater, and it will achieve your and your partners’ goals at the same time.”
“Tell us,” ordered Masuyo.
This was it, thought Temple. The holy grail if he could sell this. “You would agree that if I can do this a reward would be in order?”
“What sort of reward?” said Masuyo—again, before Lord could ask.
“I don’t need more money, if that’s what you thought it would be.” He paused and then took off his jacket, undid his cufflink and rolled up his shirt sleeve, exposing the long scar on his arm.
Masuyo watched him closely, as did Lord, who looked mildly repulsed by the wound.
“Your daughter had this done to me,” he said. “She actually wanted to kill me, but my father talked her out of it. So my reward, with your permission, is to kill her.”
He slowly rolled down his sleeve and reinserted the cufflink. He looked at Masuyo. When she said nothing he looked at Lord. “And I will deliver her head to you, as proof.”
“As proof of her death?” said Lord. “There is no need for that.”
“No, as proof of my loyalty to you. Steers did things her own way, and not always in a way that benefited the mission.” He looked back at Masuyo as he said this.
“She got you out of that prison, but it seemed clear to me, from the brief time I was there, that you two butted heads almost right away. Tell me if I’m wrong. ”
Masuyo did not answer, which was an answer in itself.
He looked again at Lord. “Someone tried to kill her not too long ago. I heard on the news that they mowed down everybody in that house, only she wasn’t there.
” He turned to Masuyo. “Apparently she and Dillon Hope were out when the attack occurred. That is too big a coincidence. Which means someone tipped her off.”
Masuyo bristled. “Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Temple?”
“There’s only room for one leader, right? And it seemed to me that you had lost faith in your daughter to be that person. So you stepped in.”
“Then, instead of warning her, you think I had something to do with that attack at her home?” Masuyo said, drilling him with a dark look.
“Let me put it to you this way: When my father was killed, I made it my business not to be anywhere near where he died, at least that was provable. And I know you’re a lot smarter than I am, Mrs. Steers.
So when bodies started tumbling at your daughter’s estate I was not surprised to find you were not there. ”
He let that statement fall and then said nothing else. He used his peripheral vision to see Lord’s reaction. The man looked suspicious, which was exactly what Temple was going for.
So Masuyo had instigated the attack, without getting approval from Lord first, deduced Temple.
Masuyo sat up straighter and then receded back into her chair, her manner not nearly as commanding.
Lord said, “So what is your plan to appease our partners and also achieve our goals?”
“Methamphetamine,” replied Temple.
“It is an old, tired drug,” said Masuyo dismissively, clearly trying to regain the advantage. She glanced sharply at Lord. “This is all he has, really?”
Temple plowed ahead. “It is an oldie but a goody. For starters it’s a stimulant, not a depressant like fentanyl.
Mexican labs already churn out the stuff, then distribute it throughout California and the southwest, where it’s pipelined to the rest of the country.
They don’t need pseudoephedrine anymore to make it; they did a chemical workaround.
And it’s more potent than the old version.
They took a page from the cigarette manufacturers and tweaked the formula to make it even more addictive.
One pop, you’re pretty much hooked for life.
Narcan has no effect on it. Methadone works on fentanyl but not on meth.
There is no real treatment, no FDA-approved drugs to help beat the addiction.
They try to detox you and get you through in-patient rehab, family therapy, and the like.
But it’s a long road with a low success rate.
Meth comes in a pill, crystals, powder, and liquid, which is a really dangerous way to take it.
You can snort, smoke, swallow, or inject it.
The effects last for hours and even days.
People forget to eat, drink water, sleep.
They have delusions, hallucinations, they get violent, they tear shit up, howl at the moon, run into traffic, attack people, pick at their skin.
It floods the brain with dopamine; the pop is unbelievable and people will kill their mother and their own children to get another hit. ”
“Interesting facts, Mr. Temple, but your point?” said Lord.
“My point is, you can combo meth with xylazine, an animal tranquilizer, and get some more deaths out of it, but you’ll also create some turbocharged crazy shit happening all over the country.
Long-term effects are cognitive decline, depression, heart valve issues, stroke, brain bleeds, and meth mouth, meaning your teeth fall out as your gums rot.
So, at a massive scale, all that will end up bankrupting the health care system in this country. ”
“But it is not immediately fatal,” countered Masuyo. “That is the whole point.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, since nearly forty thousand died from overdosing meth last year in this country.
But, again, why have death as the main goal?
As I alluded to before, nobody sees the body except the police, the funeral director, and the family.
The media reports on it occasionally and you have some sob stories here and there.
But I don’t call that true disruption, just sweeping it under the rug, really.
With meth you got people climbing trees, attacking Grandma and their own babies, stealing and trashing stuff, walking onto interstate highways, invading homes and businesses.
Police gunning them down. Hospitals full of berserk nutjobs.
People scared to go outside. Needles and glass pipes and drug paraphernalia everywhere.
And again, one pop and you’re hooked, so maybe you start getting people to take hits without even knowing they are.
You got a lot more addicts that way. And a lot more chaos.
” He paused and then fixed his gaze on Lord.
Temple continued: “I guess it comes down to which do you think is more disruptive. People lying quietly in graves and urns, or the fucking zombie apocalypse? And it’ll get your partners off your back because they won’t be losing so many customers, and because meth is so addictive those customers will keep coming back until the country goes right down the toilet, while you make more money than you ever have before because meth is cheap as shit to make and easy to get past police checkpoints. ”
He stopped, spread his hands, and said, “That’s it. That’s my plan.”
He saw Masuyo quivering with some emotion but then Lord said, “A well-thought-out plan, Mr. Temple. I am impressed.” He looked at Masuyo. “Aren’t you?”
Masuyo didn’t answer right way but then said, “It seems to have reasonable potential.”
“So if it works out I can kill your daughter and bring you her head?”
Masuyo turned to him and said, “It would give me great pleasure.”
“What are the next steps?” asked Lord.
“A trip to what I like to call ground fucking zero,” replied Temple.