He tried calling Ramón for the third time since leaving Silver Lake, and for the third time it went to voice mail. Johan hung up. He’d already left two messages telling him not to answer the door if anyone knocked.

“Cell phone reception’s for shit in the desert,” Xander noted.

“He built his own tower,” Johan said, and sighed. “Maybe he’s working. He doesn’t usually pick up when he’s deep into a batch.”

Ramón’s genius never failed to impress Johan. It was intricate and varied. He composed music, engineered plant life, and repaired everything from diesel engines to computer tech. In 2017, he constructed a high-altitude drone that was shot out of the air by an F-18 scrambled from NAWS China Lake.

Then there were the drugs. He and Johan resumed their crystal meth operation after the incident with the Mexicans, which became more successful, but no less dangerous, as Johan acclimated to the streets. Ramón also produced his own cocaine, called Venezuelan Sugar, which he sometimes sold—but more often gave away—to celebrities. It wasn’t a profitable sideline, but Ramón didn’t care; his name was added to a string of Hollywood guest lists, and he got to rub elbows with the stars.

The people Ramón met during this time, and the stories he heard, inspired the development of Citromantyl-V4—a product that went through multiple stages of testing, and took several years to perfect. When it was finally ready, Ramón showed it to Johan.

“Think of it as a steroid for your mind,” Ramón said. “It deepens concentration, and enhances creative output.”

“A focus enhancer,” Johan said, holding the baggie of yellow powder up to the light. They were in Ramón’s workshop—a converted barn on his ranch in Pale Bone. “How is this different from the nootropics I can buy over the counter?”

“How is an Arturo Fuente different from a stogie?”

“That good, huh?” Johan opened the baggie and took a delicate sniff. “Anybody else, and I’d call bullshit.”

“The secret is in the flower,” Ramón said, and plucked a beautiful yellow bloom from a propagator on his workbench. “El Camino del Paraíso. I engineered it myself. Properties in the seeds open neural pathways and target the hippocampus. The petal gives the powder its distinct color.”

“You’re a fucking virtuoso, Ramón.”

“I call it Citromantyl-vee-four.”

“Needs a catchier name.”

“I know a few celebs, but I don’t have the widespread access that you do. You want to take it out?”