He started to wander around the floor, wondering what Moorcock would think about filling this place with drugs. How much would a warehouse full of H be worth, anyway? Billions?
As he was walking, he suddenly slipped on something slick and almost fell. Cursing, he looked down at his shoe and found something red staining the bottom. He looked behind him and saw that he had stepped into a puddle of blood. As he watched, another drop fell, and then another and another. He could actually hear them. Suddenly, he became aware of similar sounds coming from other areas. He found two other puddles of blood, also leaking from the catwalk.
"What the hell—"
"Effective, don't you think?" a voice behind him asked.
He turned so quickly that he stepped into a blood puddle and fell on his behind. From the floor he stared up at the man looking down at him— a white man with dark hair.
"Who the hell are you? Where'd you come from?"
"I came from up there," Remo said, pointing up. "And I think you already know who I am."
"Y-you're the guy—"
"Right, I'm the guy."
"Where's the… the black guy? The dealer? Where's Danny the Man?"
"Speaking from past experience, he's probably home making some little lovely earn her candy."
"What— I was supposed to meet him here."
"Alone, right?"
"Of course."
"Then you don't know anything about the five dead men on the catwalk?"
"Five men on the catwalk?" Wagner said. "I told some of them— wait a minute. Five dead men up on the catwalk?"
"Either that, or they've got really bad bloody noses," Remo said, looking down at the widening puddle of blood.
"Uh," Wagner said, getting slowly to his feet, "uh, no, I don't know anything about—"
"All right, let's forget about the dead men," Remo said.
"Good. I'll just be going—"
"You came here to meet someone, my friend," Remo said, "and that someone is me."
"You?"
"Yeah, we've got some things to talk about."
"Like what?"
"Like drugs."
"I don't know nothing about drugs."
"And I don't know anything about putting out a newspaper," Remo said, "but I used to sell them when I was a kid."
"Look, pal," Wagner said. "I'm leaving, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Wanna bet?"
Wagner suddenly remembered that he had a .38 under his left arm and pulled it out. "Move out of my way," he said.
"Sorry."
"You're going to be even sorrier," Wagner said, and he pulled the trigger.
The gun went off with a deafening blast, but the man was still standing there.
He couldn't have missed.
"Try it again," the man suggested.
Wagner pulled the trigger again, and the only thing that happened was that the man was suddenly closer to him instead of falling down dead.
"That's impossible."
"I'd like to let you keep trying until you get it right, but we really don't have time for that," Remo said. He closed the distance between himself and the man, took the gun away, and twisted it like a pretzel.
"Here," he said, giving it back. "Let's talk."
"What do you want to know?"
"I want you to confirm a suspicion I have that Lorenzo Moorcock is the man behind this whole kiddie drug system. Am I right?"
"This could get me killed."
"Would you like to go up on the catwalk?"
"No!"
"I'm sure your friends would love to have you join them."
"That's okay," Wagner said, wishing that the damned nigger had shown up instead of this dude.
"Then tell me about Moorcock."
"He set up the whole operation. He used his political contacts to get it started."
"Where do the drugs come from?"