Jack shook his head. “Just want to know about Berzerk. Heard of it?”

“Heard of it?” Tom Terrific snorted. “Course I heard of it. Just wish I could make the damn stuff.”

‘Tom Terrific can’t make it?” Abe said as he eased himself into a threadbare lounger. “I’ve always heard that if you can’t make it, it can’t be made.”

“True up till this new stuff arrived. But lemme tell you, man, it’s got me stumped.” He grinned again. “But I’m not alone. Got the feds stumped too. They keep trying to class it as a CDS—”

“Seedy what?” Jack said.

“CDS—controlled dangerous substance—but they can’t seem to pin down its molecular structure. Which, considering the equipment those fuckers got, must be real complex. But I’m not surprised. I mean, it’s one fucking elegant drug from the distribution standpoint because it degrades into an inert substance after a while.” He cackled. “Driving the feds and the cops nuts, man. They bust somebody with the stuff and by the time arraignment comes around, the evidence ain’t a drug no more.”

“The preppy riot guy!” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “They had to let him go because they said someone pulled a switch with the evidence.”

Tom Terrific was shaking his head. “No switch. The stuff just changed. That’s what happens, man: every bit, no matter where it is, goes inert at exactly the same time. Ain’t it cool? You gotta use it or lose it. The dude who dreamed this one up has got to be the fucking Einstein of molecular biologists.”

Jack couldn’t help recalling Nadia’s glowing praise for her hero, Dr. Monnet, about how brilliant he was.

The pieces were falling into place, but Nadia was not going to like the picture.

“If I was a customer,” Abe said, “I should be pretty mad if my stuff goes dead on me like that.”

Tom Terrific shrugged. “If it does, it’s your fault. The stuff comes with an expiration date.”

“But what is it?” Jack said.

“The million-fucking-dollar question. I can tell you what it’s not, and it’s not speed. Lemme tell you, I know everything there is to know about amphetamines, and this stuff ain’t even a distant relative. Not an opiate or a barbiturate or a clone of PCP or Ecstasy either. Stuff’s something entirely different. It magnifies whatever aggressive tendencies you have.”

“And what if you don’t have any?” Jack said.

“Everybody’s got ‘em. It’s the beast in all of us, man; it’s just that some of us are farther from the trees than others. I call it BQ: beast quotient.”

“‘The stubborn beast flesh

“What?”

“Just a line from a movie I was watching the other night.”

“Yeah, well, lemme tell you, a normal-size hit’ll send a guy who’s already violence-prone—you know, with a high BQ—right over the edge. A heavy dose can make even Casper the Friendly Ghost blow his top. Nobody’s immune.”

“Just what the world needs,” Abe said. “More blown tops. Who would make such a thing? For what purpose?”