"They're not fake." Tully said.
"I knew you'd be interested."
"I didn't say I was interested." Tully bent down to get a closer look at the signature. "You know how I know they're not fake? Because no one would bother to fake something so common. There must be thousands of these floating around."
"I have a local buyer but I'd rather sell them to you. I need as much PAC as I can get."
Tully stood up, knowing the moment he'd been dreading had arrived. "Yeah, about that," he said. "I know I promised you PAC, but it's impossible. You just can't get them through customs."
"What are you saying, you don't have any treason? What the mother-fuck Tully? We had a deal."
"Yeah, in France it's easy, but I did some research after we talked, and I found a list of people who disappeared trying to bring PAC bills into the U.S..."
"That's not my fucking problem man." He slammed the drawer with the Warhols shut and threw his hands up. "No fucking treason, no Twombly. The deal's off."
"You haven't heard my proposal yet."
"If you think I'm taking limited transferable credits you're crazy."
"Have you ever heard of emps?" Tully asked.
Smitts shrugged. "Yeah, so?"
"Have you ever tried one?"
"What do I look like, an international renegade? Nobody has emps, I'm not even convinced they're real."
Tully pulled a datcom from his front pocket and unscrewed the two pieces, revealing a container that held six orange capsules. "A sample." Tully said. "My employer is a pharmaceutical company, and I'm supposed to be overseeing a delivery of antivirals going to the prison. There will also be a hundred thousand of these coming in with the delivery. That many emps far exceeds the value of the PAC we talked about."
Smitts rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I thought I'd be getting cash, instead you give me a fuck-ton of work to do. I'm not a drug dealer Tully. That's the kind of shit that will bring the buttons around with their hands out. You don't know how things work in Boise. This place is full of vicious, murderous animals masquerading as human beings. Drug dealers don't last long here."
Tully held one of the pills up. "I understand it's not ideal, and of course you're free to say no, in which case I'll try to unload the emps myself and get you the PAC you want. But before you make your decision, I think you should try it." He handed the pill to Smitts, who looked at it carefully. "Go ahead, that's just from one friend to another, no commitment implied. It's a gift."
"Does it really do all the stuff they say?" He asked.
"Only one way to find out." Tully said.
"You go first."
Tully took one of the pills from the container and popped it into his mouth. Smitts watched him carefully and then did the same with his. "How long does it last? I have to be at work in a few hours."
"These last about twenty hours or so, but you can function on the shit. In fact work is one of the best things to do while you're on it. It'll help you work." Tully knew that Smitts would agree to give up the painting for the emps after he'd experienced the drug. The first time was always the best, and he would be elated from the sheer newness of the effect, so unlike any other substance.
'Emp' always seemed like a misnomer to Tully. Under the drug's influence you did feel a sort of empathy and understanding of people that was deeper than usual, but you could also apply the same understanding to yourself, and how you saw yourself while on the drug was the most interesting part. Tully was way past the honeymoon phase, and he wouldn't have taken the drug if he didn't have to. The first time he took it was five years before, when the drug had just made it's first forays out of the lab into the wider world. He'd taken it regularly for two years before he realized that the returns had greatly diminished.
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