"Society's Cesspool," Chapter 6 Book 3

      

                                                      Chapter 6

Vincent D’Alleva continued to spiral deeper and deeper into his depression.  The longer his relationship with the Headman existed, the more he felt sickened.  Vincent had developed severe indigestion and found himself ingesting at least a dozen antacids daily. He had almost hoped that the encounter reported at the Newark pier would list the narcissistic man among the casualties, but instead, the newspaper only named members of the Vargus Syndicate amongst the deceased.   He could not deny the fact that his business was once again prosperous.  Nor could he deny the fact that his company was being inventive and productive, but the fact that there was a known drug syndicate operating on his property continued to gnaw away at him. He tried to accept things as a mere business arrangement.  At the moment, no one had died, and the mysterious Headman had made good on each and every one of his promises. 
He had kept an extremely low profile and not even been seen on the property in the past week. The only thing he had insisted upon was testing out some of the larger pharmaceutical machinery in the main plant to process and purify his new, safer strain of fentanyl.  The opioid product, labeled as extremely hazardous to its handlers, was on the verge of becoming safe to the touch, but still as addictive as ever.  Vincent along with his best chemists had been invaluable at making the drug safer.  Their new benefactor was unlike a common drug dealer in the fact that he preferred his clients to stay alive and forever chasing their original high.  It had not been easy, but the chemists had been successful at taking apart the fentanyl molecules and reassembling them in a form that was not as easily absorbed through the body’s mucous membranes. This less dangerous form still provided the user with favorable therapeutic effects and was less likely to cause an overdose.
In addition, Vincent had had continuing success with the development of his new plant fertilizer, as wells as some other products previously in prototype form.  The company had applied for sixteen new patents since the start of their four-month relationship and ten more waited in the wings for submission.  Several international product developers had already expressed interest in three of them, and all that needed to be done was to discuss a profitable relationship between the new partners.  Everything was returning back to a state of financial profitability for Bacro Industries.  The name D’Alleva was on the road to becoming a household name associated with some of the newest and cutting-edge technology in the nation.  But none of this mattered to the CEO.  He could not allow himself to be happy knowing that his financial gain was backed by the blood money of a drug cartel.  He needed to break away from the Headman’s influence, but everything he had concocted to date had failed.  The first time he envisioned shooting the arrogant man, the experienced drug lord had seen the ruse for what it was and threatened the life of his children.  The Headman had forgiven the Vincent’s lapse in judgment and had remained cordial even attempting to develop a friendship with the CEO.  The work being performed on the once defunct shipping terminal had also benefited his bottom line, cutting the costs of paying outside companies to transport his products across the state and the country.
Just then the phone on his desk rang.  He lifted the receiver to his ear to hear the familiar sound of his secretary’s voice.  “Mr. D’Alleva, you have an important call on line two.”
“Patch it through Vivian.”  He muted the phone and sighed loudly before clearing his throat.  He had become familiar with the verbal clues provided by his personal secretary in regards to the identity of the caller.  The drug dealer had asked that he not be identified by name over the phone lines ever and the two had honored his request.  He unmuted the phone.  “Hello, Dr. Skee.”  The Headman had used the alias in the past, he had even earned a bachelor’s degree under the auspices of that name.  As far as the world knew, Doctor Charles Romley Skee was a fine and upstanding pharmacist who had worked with several world-renowned pharmaceutical companies.  The man had been quite successful at living a double life.
“Hello, Vincent.  So good to hear your voice again.  I was wondering if we could meet up for some lunch.  There are several things I would like to discuss face to face.  How’s your upcoming calendar?”
Vincent knew that the request was part truthful and part suggestive.  The drug lord was inquiring about his availability, but in reality, was telling him that he wanted to see him that day.
“I have some time this afternoon old friend. Does 2 o’clock work for you?”
“That would be divine.  I’ve got a hankering for Antonio’s fettucini alfredo. what do you say?”
“Sure.  Would you like me to have Vivian make the reservation?”
“No, that’s quite alright.  I’ll phone it in.  See you at two. Cheers!”
“Will do.”  He hung up the phone receiver and slumped back in his chair.  What could the drug dealer possibly want now that he didn’t already have access to?
What the current CEO was unaware of was that the Headhunter scientists had been working closely with Hotwire in order to utilize his recently-developed F.A.C.E technology.  The design was solid and the neural net was more than suitable for completing basic physical tasks.  Declan had envisioned the technology being incorporated into cyborg security guards and possible drug mules.  These androids could walk directly into rival gang regions in order to forcefully remove the lower-quality drug dealers.  They could also collect funds from potential buyers, or simply supervise product deliveries.  None of the Headman’s agents would ever need to fear an attack on their life with the indestructible android troopers, and if the language software improved, they could soon take on more sentient speaking roles as well.   At the moment, Hotwire’s best idea was using wifi and two embedded optical cameras in order to link the android’s surroundings with an actual person. The tech operated similarly to facetime and until the robot became more autonomous, it would allow the seller to communicate with the buyer face to face, instead of over a mobile phone line that could be hacked by the feds.
The artificially-created organic skin had also developed to a point where it could remain intact for over 150,000 repeated movements.  The skin from a distance of six or more feet looked realistic and oddly enough, human.  It was only upon closer inspection from several inches away that someone could ascertain its artificial construct.
If Vincent knew that Hotwire’s technology would soon be employed to increase drug sales in the smaller communities all along the east coast, it would surely push him over the edge.  He glanced over at the clock on the wall.  It was only eleven a.m. and he still had a lot of stops to make in the building before his impromptu lunch with Dr. Skee.  He scoffed at the man’s chosen alias.  Did he really think that everyone was oblivious to the fact that his name was a slang term for the smack he was peddling? Surely his name had to set off alerts somewhere on the government servers.  Was he truly that brazen?
Vincent shook the thoughts from his mind.  He hated and loved the Headman at the same time.  If it hadn’t been for the man’s intervention all those months ago, his body would be lying in the cold dark earth, and his children would be fatherless.  Now. his company was once again prosperous.  He was even expanding overseas and into India.  His stockholders were ecstatic and no one could rival his new innovations, but the stigma of it all being funded by the blood money of the opiate trade weighed heavily on his conscience.  He was tired of lying to everyone, but mostly to himself.  He would rid himself of this cancer soon...or die trying.
The phone rang a second time on his desk.  The extension lighting up reminded him that he needed to make his rounds and check progress on some of the newer projects.
“Yes, Hotwire. I’m actually on my way over now.”
“Oh, good pops. I thought you may have forgotten.  I know how absent-minded people your age can get.”  The CEO had grown accustomed to his inappropriate jokes.  Had even come to expect them, so he was ready this time.
“You keep missing deadlines and you’ll be lucky if you even make it to my age.  I’ll be down in ten minutes.”  Without waiting for a response he hung up the phone.  That should set him straight and keep him guessing. He laughed to himself, buttoned his upper jacket button and headed for the elevator.
“He hung up on me. He’s never done that to me.  To me of all people.  Does he know how important I am to this company’s success?”  The young scientist was beside himself.  Caught in between rage, disbelief, and doubt.
“I’m sure he’s just messing with you, Dr. Frankenstein.  What you said to him was a little rude.”  The scientist was far from being calm.
“Listen, Perez, I bust his balls all the time.  This was nothing out of the norm.  Gramps knows I’m kidding.”  He paused a second.  “You think he knows that I’m kidding right?  Right? I mean... he told me I missed my deadlines. He’s never cared about me being a day or two late before.”
“Maybe he’s having a bad day.”
“I don’t know something seems off about him lately.”
“Don’t overthink it Hotwire, I’m sure everything will be fine once he sees the progress that we made.”  The eccentric scientist found himself nodding in agreement.  He simply couldn’t disagree with the statement just made.  Not only had they been successful at improving the tensile strength of the Bio-skin, but they had also synthesized a new plant food that increased growth rates by six-fold and was safe to the groundwater and nearby lakes, rivers and streams.  There was no way the news could be ill-received as long as the FDA was quick to issue an approval.  Stock prices would certainly skyrocket.