Mobashar Qureshi - Race

“Everyone,” answered Aldrich, as if he was proud of this knowledge. “Anyone can use it to cope with stress,” Aldrich continued. “A CEO, who is putting in seventy hours a week, stressed out; he might take a pill. A single mother, unable to handle three children and two jobs, might take one. Teenagers who just want to experiment might take a few and in doing so get addicted. Movie stars, athletes, singers, anyone might be enticed to use it.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Simon Nemdharry.

Aldrich crossed his hands behind his back. “One of our undercover officers stumbled upon RACE. At that time the drug squad was maximized in its resources. New investigations were not a priority. But this undercover officer was resilient. He felt that this new discovery could pose a real threat. I authorized the officer to investigate. In a span of four months he began to uncover the inner workings of RACE. They were working on something big. Nex.”

With a hand raised, Simon Nemdharry said, “Will the undercover officer brief us?”

“No. There will be no direct contract with the officer,” replied Aldrich.

Simon Nemdharry waited. We all waited for an explanation.

Aldrich said, “We will continue our investigation. I know and understand that most of you, except for Detective Beadsworth, are not familiar with drugs and narcotics and, if it were up to me I would wait until the probe into the drug squad was completed before establishing this unit. But, time is not on our side. We believe RACE will bring out Nex into the market within the next few weeks. Once out it’ll be very difficult to control. The chief has requested that this task force be setup and officers outside of the drug squad be brought in.

“Two weeks ago we received information that prototypes of Nex were produced in the basement of a house in Mississauga. Officers were sent in but found nothing. RACE had moved their laboratory. We believe they are relocating every few weeks until they have a fully potent and effective product.

“With the internal probe filling the front pages of the newspapers, we cannot let any information regarding this team be known to the public. You are not to contact any officers of the drug squad regarding this unit. This is a classified investigation. You are to report directly to me. Detective Garnett will be assisting me during the investigation and in certain situations he’ll be accompanying you.”

He looked at the clock and then at us. We were all beat. Or, at least I was.

“You’re dismissed for lunch. We’ll go over certain things afterward.”

I looked at my watch. It was after twelve. My stomach was making ghoulish noises.

Everyone prepared to leave.

“Before you go, pick these at the front,” Garnett said, holding papers in the air. “These forms state that you agree to be part of this new unit. Human resources has requested that they be filled out. A technicality. Bring them back after lunch.”

They all lined up. I waited till the end. I went up and Garnett’s face turned foul. I slowly picked up the forms. He was staring at my every move.

“Officer Rupert,” I heard Aldrich say.

I faced him. It’s Rupret, you blonde pompous jackass .

“Sergeant Motley spoke highly of you,” Aldrich said.

I bet he did.

“I like you,” Aldrich said.

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“You’re young.”

Uh?

“Imaginative.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to fully understand what was coming out of his mouth.

“Creative.”

Where was he going with this?

“Bold.”

He had lost me.

“You posses the qualities this unit requires.”

Oh, right . Why didn’t you just say that?

“That is why you were chosen. Contrary to what Detective Garnett believes,” Garnett turned his head away, “I think you did the right thing. You showed initiative. Your instincts told you something wasn’t right and you acted. Foolish-procedures are procedures-but gutsy. There will be a lot demanded of you here and I hope you are prepared for it.”

I nodded, not sure what to say, and left. I went out into the hall and saw the other members gathered together.

Barnes said, “Come join us for lunch.”

“Um…I have to make an urgent phone call,” I said

“Okay. We’ll be in the cafeteria,” he replied.

With the forms clutched in my hand I headed to the washroom. I splashed my face with cold water and took a deep breath. This was not happening to me.

They were in a white Lincoln with Hause driving and Martin and Ms. Zee in the back. A few cars behind, Suraj was following in his red Sundance.

“It was difficult to arrange this,” said Martin in his business tone. “He is very anxious.”

Ms. Zee stared out into the passing streets.

“It wasn’t wise to get rid of Armand,” he said.

“He was playing with us,” she said.

“Who will continue the work?”

“We’ll find someone.”

“Ms. Zee, we’ve built three samples, and each time we have failed. It’s bad business when you don’t deliver on your promises.”

“This is different,” she said.

“No, it’s not. Business is business. Our associates want to make money. We want to make money.”

She understood, of course, but had no answer. “How many employees do we have?” she said, to change the subject.

“Almost twenty. I’ve personally screened each and every one of them. Not one has a criminal record. I’ve registered companies under different aliases and have rented several stores all over the Greater Toronto Area. This will keep the police busy if they are ever onto us. But.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “We know that won’t happen, thanks to our friend inside the force. And they are too busy clearing up the mess of the drug squad.”

“Yes, by then our product will be everywhere. Are the machines in place for mass manufacturing?”

“They will be in a few days. All we need are the ingredients.”

“We’ll have that soon.” She was certain. It was a matter of finding and persuading the right person. She was also certain that she was the boss. She was the one who was financing this venture and she was the one who had found Armand.

“We’re here,” Hause said.

The Lincoln turned left into a narrow street inside Regent Park. There are twenty-five hundred units in Regent Park and all are social housing.

They parked and got out. A small group of children was playing games: skip-the-rope, hopscotch, marbles-kids games. They moved past the children, Martin in front, Ms. Zee in the middle, followed by Hause, who kept his eyes on the area like a bodyguard. They went inside a building.

On the second floor they knocked and a woman answered the door. She got out, locked her apartment, and took them down to the laundry room. The worn-out door was shut. She tapped twice and a skinny black man answered it, suspiciously eyeing the people behind the woman. He nodded. They were allowed to enter. The woman left.

One man was standing beside the washers. He wore an expensive fur coat.

“Marcus,” Ms. Zee said.

“I’ve been waiting,” the fur-coat-man responded.

“The laundry room,” she said. “How ingenious. Doesn’t anyone here wash their clothes?”

“Do you have it?” asked Marcus.

“Not yet,” she answered.

“Figures.”

“Why, because I’m a woman?”

“Hey, no. I never said that,” Marcus began to explain. “All I’m saying is that if I had to get it done, it would have been done by now.”

“It will be done.”

“You could…” he paused, dramatically scratching his chin.

“Give you the formula,” she said, knowing what he was about to say next.