Part 12 (1/2)
”Do you really mean that?” said Norval. ”You have no idea how this news fills my cup. The skies are suddenly opening-”
”Norval, isn't your performance project posted on the Web?” said Samira, with searing eyes and tone. ”I'm sure JJ would like to see it.”
Norval said he was just as sure JJ would not.
”Au contraire!” said JJ. ”Is it the Fed site? Hold on, it's in My Favourites. Right. So I punch Lit? Then ... Funded Projects?” As JJ squinted at the screen he began to resemble a schoolboy, tongue protruding as he frowned in concentration. ”Then ... 'A' for Alphabet?”
”In two words,” said Samira, looking over his shoulder.
”Let's see ... here's something called The Acrorats The Acrorats, an 'ephemeral in situ in situ water-ballet proposal to fill a barge with rats, then set it on fire to watch them dive off ...' OK, got it!” said JJ. ” water-ballet proposal to fill a barge with rats, then set it on fire to watch them dive off ...' OK, got it!” said JJ. ”Voila!”
[image]
”Jesus Chrysler!” said JJ. ”That's awesome! Although I have no clue what it means. Except for the bottom line. Way to go, Nor-”
”JJ, the moment has come. The chemical phase of the evening. Now, or I'm f.u.c.king off.”
”Motion seconded. The tribe has spoken. Follow me, guys.”
In what may have once been the dining room, JJ kicked aside a carpet and opened up a hatch door. The faint sounds of an old French song could be heard as the three guests followed JJ down a wooden ladder with rungs missing. Although less than six feet high, the bas.e.m.e.nt was surprisingly s.p.a.cious. It was also extremely bright-there were six 1,500-watt growlights-and extremely hot. Exhaust fans spun, sucking air through charcoal filters, while a series of ducts vented air out the side.
”Exquisite,” said Norval, bending over, examining some dozen plants in two-gallon buckets, between four and six feet tall, not far from harvest. ”I don't think I've ever seen plants like these. What kind of system are you using?”
”Ebb-and-flow, phototron. A heat pump that keeps the room a hair under eighty-five degrees. A generator-over there by the wall-in case of power failure. Or nosy parkers checking the meters.”
”What's with the Trenet?” said Norval.
”Grow music. Beautiful, eh?” They paused to listen to a French song from the forties. ”Que reste-il de nos amours /Que reste-il de ces beaux jours ...”
”The plants love love Charles Trenet,” said JJ. ”They really respond.” For some reason he smiled at Noel, who was smiling himself, enjoying both the sounds and odours. Not to mention the news regarding Charles Trenet,” said JJ. ”They really respond.” For some reason he smiled at Noel, who was smiling himself, enjoying both the sounds and odours. Not to mention the news regarding S S.
”Why does it have to be so hot?” said Samira, wiping her temple.
”The trick is to get the flowering tips of the female plants to produce as much resin as possible, which the leaves and flowers excrete as protection from the sun-growlights, in this case.”
”What are these beauties?” asked Norval, pointing to the two tallest plants.
”This one's called Love-in-Idleness. Steamy spicy fumes, exquisite after-bloom. Safe, short-acting, non-addictive. This one's called Yelleberry, named after its creator. Made from plants my grandfather found-plants of a species never determined by science, never seen before, never seen since.”
”This club,” said Norval, mouth-wateringly, ”is getting better all the time.”
”But aren't you afraid of the cops, JJ?” Samira asked.
”Why?”
”Well ... because, you know, it's illegal.”
”What's illegal?”
”Growing ... marijuana or jimsonweed or whatever this is.”
JJ laughed. ”This is not marijuana or jimsonweed. These are organic alternative mood elevators, imported rare and exotic herbs. Completely legal.”
Norval closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, JJ, the room, the club would have disappeared. He opened his eyes. ”JJ, you have taken all three of us down here, into this conf.u.c.kulated dungeon s.h.i.+thole, to show us legal legal plants? You can plants? You can not not be f.u.c.king serious. If they're legal, how can they be any f.u.c.king good?” be f.u.c.king serious. If they're legal, how can they be any f.u.c.king good?”
”You'd be surprised,” said JJ, unruffled. His baby face creased and dimpled. ”No, it's not the cops I'm afraid of, Sam. But I am afraid of someone else.”
”Who? Bikers? h.e.l.ls?”
JJ nodded, with a slightly worried look. ”And the Rock Machine. The first thing growers learn is this simple rule-do not mess with either gang!”
”And have you? Messed with either gang?”
”Yeah, I've sold marijuana subst.i.tute to both gangs. They found out I had a grow op-they track you down through the hydroponic supply shops, which they run-and paid me a visit. A knock 'n' talk. When you get a knock 'n' talk from these guys it's way more serious than the Mounties showing up on your doorstep. They give you two choices. One, work for them. They protect you, tell you when and how much to grow and the price they'll pay for grade-A bud, and that you better not screw it up. Or two, you give them your lights, bud, money and whatever else they want. Obviously, you can't go to the cops. But if you're stupid enough to, they set fire to your farm.”
”And have you had a ... 'knock 'n' talk'?” asked Samira.
”Yeah. The next day I found Merlin hanging from a tree. My dog. I've tried to explain my herbs are legal and not cannabis or poppy or jimsonweed or 'shroom. But they keep coming back and threatening me. I've thought of growing the illegal stuff but decided against it, being of a lawful disposition. Plus my mom and dad wouldn't have approved. Treat your body like a temple is what I say. Most of my stuff is good for you, body and soul. Here, take a look at this batch-they're all 'up-lifting.' Fijian Kava Kava, Caliban Root, Byronic Heroine, Baby Hawaiian Woodrose, Syrian Rue, Equatorial Guinean Iboga, j.a.panese White Heliotrope ...”
The magic of these words held Samira like a spell, and Norval like a bad dream. This is so wrong, he thought, on so many levels ... Noel's mind was spinning like a blender, crus.h.i.+ng and mixing and whipping up fruit-coloured forms. JJ's last two words, ”White Heliotrope,” triggered lines from a poem he a.s.sociated with his first love. A retinal circus of images, sensations, emotions ...
”Colouring?” said Norval, seeing his friend's fluttering lids. ”Noel?”
Noel rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. ”Uh ... it's nothing really ...”
”Tell me.”
”Just a ... poem. 'White Heliotrope.'”27 ”White Heliotrope? You want to start with that?” said JJ, missing one bus but boarding another. ”A smooth customer, that one. A blend of black haw, cramp bark and morning glory seeds. Rolled with wood betony and laced with oil of heliotrope.”
Here JJ opened a salesman's attache, with rows of small plastic display cases. ”For our second choice, we'll choose between Northern Laudanum and Absinthe MHGF.”
”Absinthe?” said Norval, sceptically. ”I'm afraid to ask what those letters stand for.”
A smile of delight split JJ's face in half. ”Absinthe Makes the Heart Go Fonder.”
”I'm going home,” said Norval.
[image]
For Norval, slumped on the sofa with his coat on, things could not have gone more wrong without loss of life. Was JJ a punishment, he wondered, for all the sins he'd committed? ”You sure this c.r.a.p is mind-altering?” he asked, while looking at his watch.
”Judge for yourself,” said JJ. ”So what's our second choice going to be?”
”Why don't we toss everything into a blender,” said Norval, ”pour in a quart of vodka?”
”Why don't we start with the Heliotrope and move on to the Absinthe-a mix of poppy seed, Monk's pepper, dog's mercury and a legal derivative of wormwood. A bit like E-but better for you. And then to top things off, I'll roll you a bone of my signature strain, the Yelleberry. Shall we start?”