Not particularly, said Warren. What are you looking for?
Just the usual all the dirt on the drug scene. Abbot fell into step beside Warren. For instance, what about Helliers girl?
Whose girl? said Warren with a blank face.
Sir Robert Hellier, the film mogul and dont go all pofaced. You know who I mean. The inquest was bloody uninformative the old boy had slammed down the lid and screwed it tight. Its amazing what you can do if you have a few million quid. Was it accidental or suicide or was she pushed?
Why ask me? said Warren. Youre the hotshot reporter.
Abbot grinned. All I know is what I write for the papers but I have to get it from somewhere or someone. This time the someone is you.
Sorry, Mike no comment.
Oh well; I tried, said Abbot philosophically. Why are we passing this pub? Come in and Ill buy you a drink.
All right, said Warren. I could do with one. Ive had a hard day.
As they pushed open the door Abbot said, All your days seem to be hard ones, judging by the way youve been knocking it back lately. They reached the counter, and he said, Whatll you have?
Ill have a Scotch, said Warren. And what the devil do you mean by that crack?
No harm meant, said Abbot, raising his hands in mock fright. Just one of my feebler non-laughter-making jokes. Its just that Ive seen you around inhaling quite a bit of the stuff. In a pub in Soho and a couple of nights later in the Howard Club.
Have you been following me? demanded Warren.
Christ, no! said Abbot. It was just coincidental. He ordered the drinks. All the same, you seem to move in rum company. I ask myself what is the connection between a doctor of medicine, a professional gambler and a mercenary soldier? And you know what? I get no answer at all.
One of these days that long nose of yours will get chopped off at the roots. Warren diluted his whisky with Malvern water.
Not as bad as losing face, said Abbot. I make my reputation by asking the right questions. For instance, why should the highly respected Dr Warren have a flaming row with Johnny Follet? It was pretty obvious, you know.
You know how it is, said Warren tiredly. Some of my patients had been cutting up ructions at the Howard Club. Johnny didnt like it.
And you had to take your own private army to back you up? queried Abbot. Tell me another fairy tale. The barman was looking at him expectantly so Abbot paid him, and said, Well have another round. He turned back to Warren, and said, Its all right, Doctor; its on the expense account Im working.
So I see, said Warren drily. Even now he had not made up his mind about Helliers proposition. All the moves he had made so far had been tentative and merely to ensure that he could assemble a team if he had to. Mike Abbot was a putative member of the team Warrens choice but it seemed that he was dealing himself in, anyway.
I know this is a damnfool question to ask a pressman, he said. But how far can you keep a secret?
Abbot cocked an eyebrow. Not very far. Not so far as to allow someone to beat me to a story. You know how cutthroat Fleet Street is.
Warren nodded. But how independent are you? I mean, do you have to report on your investigations to anyone on your paper? Your editor, perhaps?
Usually, said Abbot. After all, thats where my pay cheque comes from. Wise in the way of interviews, he waited for Warren to make the running.
Warren refused to play the game. Thats a pity, he said, and fell silent.
Oh, come now, said Abbot. You cant just leave it at that. Whats on your mind?
Id like you to help me but not if its going to be noised about the newspaper offices. You know what a rumour factory your crowd is. Youll know what the score is, but no one else must or well come a cropper.
I cant see my editor buying that, observed Abbot. Its too much like that character in the South Sea Bubble who was selling shares in a company but nobody to know what it is. I suppose its something to do with drugs?
Thats right, said Warren. It will involve a trip to the Middle East.
Abbot brightened. That sounds interesting. He drummed his fingers on the counter. Is there a real story in it?
Theres a story. It might be a very big one indeed,
And I get an exclusive?
Itll be yours, said Warren. Full right.
How long will it take?
That is something I dont know. Warren looked him in the eye. I dont even know if its going to start. Theres a lot of uncertainty. Say, three months.
A hell of a long time, commented Abbot, and brooded for a while. Eventually he said, Ive got a holiday coming up. Supposing I talk to my editor and tell him that Im doing a bit of private enterprise in my own time. If I think its good enough Ill stay on the job when my holiday is up. He might accept that.
Keep my name out of it, warned Warren.
Sure. Abbot drained his glass. Yes, I think hell fall for it. The shock of my wanting to work on my holiday ought to be enough. He put down the glass on the counter. But Ill need convincing first.
Warren ordered two more drinks. Lets sit at a table, and Ill tell you enough to whet your appetite.
VI
The shop was in Dean Street and the neatly gold-lettered sign read: SOHO THERAPY CENTRE. Apart from that there was nothing to say what was done on the premises; it looked like any Dean Street shop with the difference that the windows were painted over in a pleasant shade of green so that it was impossible to see inside.
Warren opened the door, found no one in sight, and walked through into a back room which had been turned into an office. He found a dishevelled young man sitting at a desk and going through the drawers, pulling everything out and piling the papers into an untidy heap on top of the desk. As Warren walked in, he said, Where have you been, Nick? Ive been trying to get hold of you.
Warren surveyed the desk. Whats the trouble, Ben?
Youd never believe it if I told you, said Ben Bryan. He scrabbled about in the papers, Ill have to show you. Where the devil is it?
Warren dumped a pile of books off a chair and sat down. Take it easy, he advised. More haste, less speed.
Take it easy? Just wait until you see this. You wont be taking it as easy as you are now. Bryan rummaged some more and papers scattered.
Perhaps youd better just tell me, suggested Warren.
All right no, here it is. Just read that.
Warren unfolded the single sheet of paper. What was written on it was short and brutally to the point. Hes throwing you out? Warren felt a rage growing within him. Hes throwing us out! He looked up. Can he break the lease like that?
He can and he will, said Bryan. Theres a line of fine print our solicitor didnt catch, damn him.
Warren was angrier than he had ever been in his life. In a choked voice he said, Theres a telephone under all that junk dig it out.
Warren was angrier than he had ever been in his life. In a choked voice he said, Theres a telephone under all that junk dig it out.
Its no good, said Bryan. Ive talked to him. He said he didnt realize the place would be used by drug addicts; he says his other tenants are complaining they say it lowers the tone of the neighbourhood.
God Almighty! yelled Warren. Ones a strip joint and the other sells pornography. What the hell have they to complain of? What stinking hypocrisy!
Were going to lose our boys, Nick. If they dont have a place to come to, well lose the lot.
Ben Bryan was a psychologist working in the field of drug addiction. Together with Warren and a couple of medical students he had set up the Soho Therapy Centre as a means of getting at the addicts. Here the addicts could talk to people who understood the problem and many had been referred to Warrens clinic. It was a place off the streets where they could relax, a hygienic place where they could take their shots using sterile water and aseptic syringes.
Theyll be out on the streets again, said Bryan. Theyll be taking their shots in the Piccadilly lavatories, and the cops will chase them all over the West End.
Warren nodded. And the next thing will be another outbreak of hepatitis. Good God, thats the last thing we want.
Ive been trying to find another place, said Bryan. I was on the telephone all day yesterday. Nobody wants to know our troubles. The words got around, and I think were blacklisted. It must be in this area you know that.
Something exploded within Warren. It will be, he said with decision. Ben, how would you like a really good place here in Soho? Completely equipped, regardless of expense, down to hot and cold running footmen?
Id settle for what we have now, said Bryan.
Warren found an excitement rising within him. And, Ben that idea you had the one about a group therapy unit as a self-governing community on the line of that Californian outfit. What about that?
Have you gone off your little rocker? asked Bryan. Wed need a country house for that. Where would we get the funds?
Well get the funds, said Warren with confidence. Excavate that telephone.
His decision was made and all qualms gone. He was tired of fighting the stupidity of the public, of which the queasiness of this narrow-gutted landlord was only a single example. If the only way to run his job was to turn into a synthetic James Bond, then a James Bond hed be.
But it was going to cost Hellier an awful lot of money.
THREE
Warren was ushered into Helliers office in Wardour Street after passing successfully a hierarchy of secretaries, each more svelte than the last. When he finally penetrated into the inner sanctum, Hellier said, I really didnt expect to see you, Doctor. I expected Id have to chase you. Sit down.
Warren came to the point abruptly. You mentioned unlimited funds, but I take that to be a figure of speech. How unlimited?
Im pretty well breeched, said Hellier with a smile. How much do you want?
Well come to that. Id better outline the problem so that you can get an idea of its magnitude. When youve absorbed that you might decide you cant afford it.
Well see, said Hellier. His smile broadened.
Warren laid down a folder. You were right when you said I had particular knowledge, but I warn you I dont have much two names and a place and all the rest is rumour. He smiled sourly. It isnt ethics that has kept me from going to the police its the sheer lack of hard facts.
Leaving aside your three facts, what about the rumour? Ive made some damned important decisions on nothing but rumour, and Ive told you I get paid for making the right decisions.
Warren shrugged. Its all a bit misty just stuff Ive picked up in Soho. I spend a lot of time in Soho in the West End generally its where most of my patients hang out. Its convenient for the all-night chemist in Piccadilly, he said sardonically.
Ive seen them lining up, said Hellier.
In 1968 a drug ring was smashed in France a big one. You must realize that the heroin coming into Britain is just a small leakage from the more profitable American trade. This particular gang was smuggling to the States in large quantities, but when the ring was smashed we felt the effects here. The boys were running around like chickens with their heads chopped off the illegal supply had stopped dead.
Wait a minute, said Hellier. Are you implying that to stop the trade into Britain it would be necessary to do the same for the States?
Thats virtually the position if you attack it at the source, which would be the best way. One automatically implies the other. I told you the problem was big.
The ramifications are more extensive than I thought, admitted Hellier. He shrugged. Not that Im chauvinistic about it; as you say, its an international problem.
Hellier still did not seem to be disturbed about the probable cost to his pocket, so Warren went on: I think the best way of outlining the current rumours is to look at the problem backwards, so to speak beginning at the American end. A typical addict in New York will buy his shot from a pusher as a sixteenth meaning a sixteenth of an ounce. He must buy it from a pusher because he cant get it legally, as in England. That jerks up the price, and his sixteenth will cost him somewhere between six and seven dollars. His average need will be two shots a day.
Helliers mind jerked into gear almost visibly. After a moment he said, There must be a devil of a lot of heroin going into the States.
Not much, said Warren. Not in absolute bulk. I daresay the illegal intake is somewhere between two and three tons a year. You see, the heroin as sold to the addict is diluted with an inert soluble filler, usually lactose milk sugar. Depending on whether hes being cheated and he usually is the percentage of heroin will range from one-half to two per cent. I think you could take a general average of one per cent.
Hellier was figuring again. He drew forward a sheet of paper and began to calculate. If theres a sixteen-hundredth of an ounce of pure heroin in a shot, and the addict pays, say, $6.50 He stopped short. Hell, thats over $10,000 an ounce!
Very profitable, agreed Warren. Its big business over there. A pound of heroin at the point of consumption is worth about $170,000. Of course, thats not all profit the problem is to get it to the consumer. Heroin is ultimately derived from the opium poppy, papaver somniferum, which is not grown in the States for obvious reasons. Theres a chain of production from the growing of the poppy to raw opium; from the opium to morphine; from morphine to heroin.
Whats the actual cost of production? asked Hellier.
Not much, said Warren. But thats not the issue. At the point of consumption in the States a pound of heroin is worth $170,000; at the point of the wholesaler inside the States its worth $50,000; at any point outside the States its worth $20,000. And if you go right back along the chain you can buy illicit raw opium in the Middle East for $50 a pound.