A memory of the past

A year ago Frank had nailed a research chemist with a gambling problem. The mope wound up in a private poker game run by Frank and lost his shirt, pants and underwear, winding up eighty grand in debt. Frank told him that the vig was 20 per cent a week, and he expected three grand every Friday. The guy, panicked and shaking, asked if there was another way out.

Frank told him that he could develop a designer , something that made people happy and excited and addicted. Six months later the guy delivered an odorless, colourless liquid that he said suppressed inhibition, increased the libido, stimulated the pleasure centres, enhanced excitement and submissive tendencies, and was moderately addictive. The problem was that it only worked on women.

Frank had him make up a large batch of the stuff, told him that his nut was down to a grand a week, and thought about how to use it. He thought about selling it as a date , but it seemed like a limited market with only moderate upside. He'd almost forgotten about it when he made his decision to pull the plug and change his life.

He looked across at Heidi sprawled on the lawn, her bikini top unsnapped so she could tan her back, and smiled to himself.

The perfect opportunity to test drive the juice, he thought.