Free Race by Mobashar Qureshi Page B

“You know?”
    “Of course.    You do what we say and don’t ask any questions and we assist you in alleviating your troubles.”
    Burrows looked around the parking lot.   It was empty.   “Is this some kind of prank? Am I on some reality TV show?”
    “Not quite.”
    He eyed Martin hard. “You said I won’t have any more problems?”
    “None whatsoever, If you do as we say.”
    Burrows nodded.   “Okay. I’m not doing anything anyways.”
    Martin gave a signal and a white Lincoln drove up with Hause at the wheel.   Kong and Suraj emerged from the vehicle.  
    “What about my car?” Burrows asked.
    “We’ll park it at your home.”  
    Burrows reluctantly handed over the keys to Suraj who immediately went to work.    “Mr. Burrows, get in.   You’ve got a lot to do.”          
     
    NINE
     
    Burrows sifted through the pile of paper—reading and glancing at the writing, scribbles and notations.   Finally he said, “This is not what we were working on at Bantam.”
    Ms. Zee, sitting across and watching his every move, said, “The chemist took liberties and made some modifications. Some of the ingredients in our product are…not officially permitted.”
    “Who designed this?” he asked.
    “That is not important, only that the product is made.”
    “It can be made, but I need some time.”
    “A few days are all we can give.”
    “About my ten thousand…”

“Consider your problem solved.   Your debts are no more.”
    He nodded and went back to the notes.     “It is supposed to cause relaxation and numbness.   From what I can tell there were several variations of the painkiller made.    But…” he paused.   “Why so many variations when the first painkiller does take effect?”
    “It wasn’t effective enough,” Ms. Zee answered.
    “What results are you looking for?”
    “Overwhelming.”  
     
    ***
     
    I convinced Beadsworth to take my car.   Compared to his it was not in the best of shape, but it was my turn to drive, so I didn’t care.   
    Beadsworth instructed me to drive to a condominium in the West end called Palace Pier.   I had never heard of the place but it sounded pricey.
    Palace Pier looked like a five-star hotel.   “Are you sure we’re at the right place?” I said, getting out of the car.
    “I believe so,” he said.
    “You sure he’s a DJ?” I said as we walked up to the main doors.
    Everything looked rich and elegant.   The carpet I was walking on was worth more than all of my assets combined.
    As we moved to the elevators, the security guard eyed us suspiciously. He knew everyone at the building.   He didn’t stop us and I think it had more to do with Beadsworth than me.   Beadsworth was decked out in a fine suit while I was wearing what had smelled cleanest in the morning.
    We waited for the elevators.   I was still admiring the luxuries of the place.  
    “Drug money,” I whispered to Beadsworth .
    Beadsworth said nothing but I could tell he was suspicious too.
    We went up to the fourth floor and knocked on the addressed door.
    No answer.
    We knocked harder.
    No answer.
    I banged on the door with my fists.   “ Yo !   Grilled fish delivery. Open up.”
    Beadsworth shot me a look, “Grilled fish?”
    “I don’t know,” I shrugged.   “I’m making it up.”
    “Hold on!” we heard a voice from behind the door.
    “See,” I said to Beadsworth .
    Two seconds later the door eased open.
    DJ Krash , or someone we thought was DJ Krash , was short and skinny, wearing a Nike t-shirt, shorts, and socks.    He looked tired, as if someone had just interrupted his sleep.
    “I didn’t order any grilled fish,” he said, but before we could answer, he said, “Oh, you guys must be from the magazine.   Am I late?”
    We both looked at each other.
    Seeing the confused look on our faces, he said, “You’re not from Lyrics & Beat for my interview?”
    Beadsworth flashed his badge and said, “No.   Are you Max