Em Cal hopped off of the V-Rod and walked up the steps on a rather shabby looking two story house. If he was going to take on this hydra-headed task, he would need someone who was good with drug contacts.

A year ago, three robbers attempted to jack Em Cal in an alleyway after seeing him come out of a casino with a suitcase. After brutally killing two of them, Em Cal stuck the .460 S&W to the third one's head, a nanosecond away from pulling the trigger. The guy pathetically pleaded for his life, saying he would do anything to stay alive, telling Em Cal that he was good with rumors, that he could require any kind of information.

Seeing that he could be useful to him, Em Cal let him live, only on the condition that he gave info to him and nobody else. The boy, not happy with the decision, but thankful for being alive, agreed.

Em Cal rung the doorbell once. A minute later, a pretty woman answered the door. She was tall and willowy, with a pretty pale face and dark brown almond shaped eyes. Her hair shortly cut and dyed white blonde.

"Hey, Angela," said Em Cal. "Is your brother in?"

"Unfortunately," said Angela. She had a slight touch of New Jersey in her voice. "Then again, when isn't he here?"

Em Cal, successfully managing not to laugh said, "I need to talk to him."

Angela nodded and let him in. Having been there before. Em Cal made a right turn and entered, heading to the second door on the left. Without knocking, Em Cal went in.

The room was small and reeked of greasy burgers, marijuana, and dirty underwear. There were posters of naked women and cannabis leaves on the wall. Sleeping on a piece of filthy mattress in the middle of the floor was S.D.

S.D. was the opposite of his sister. He was short and stringy with dusky skin, a lunular chin, dark brown eyes and curly black hair that he often cut close to his head. The most prominent thing about him was his ears. They were large and stuck way out, like a chihuahua's.

Walking over the litter of White Castle boxes and dirty clothes, Em Cal kneeled down and shook S.D.

"Hey, boy, wake your sorry ass up," said Em Cal. "I got some work for you."

S.D. groaned and opened one eye.

"Em Cal," he mumbled. "Long time no see. What're ya doin' here?"

For someone with ears as big as yours, you sure do have a hearing problem," snapped Em Cal. "Didn't I just tell you that I've got some work for you?"

"Man, give me a chance to wake up properly at least," said S.D., sitting up. "I haven't even washed my ass yet."

Em Cal took a pitcher of water from off a nearby dresser and threw it on S.D., dousing him head to toe. S.D. sputtered and swore.

"There's your goddamn shower," said Em Cal. "Get dressed! Don't make me say it again, boy."

Mumbling to himself, S.D. got up and gathered clothes from off of the floor. Em Cal watched in disgust as he put on a dingy wrinkled white T-shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers so dirty, it was impossible to tell which color they were.

"Alright, Em Cal," he said, slipping a black ski cap on his head. "What work you talkin' about?"

"What do you know about a drug called Triple Effect?" Em Cal asked

"It depends," said S.D. with a flouting smile. "What's in it for me?"

Before S.D. knew it, he was being slammed against the wall, Em Cal's large hand squeezing his trachea.

"Now you listen to me, you filthy ratty piece of shit!" Em Cal snarled, his eyes lighting up with a luminescent rage that anteceded death, "I'll tell you what's in it for you. You get to live! You ask what's in it for you again and I'll finish the job I started in that fucking alleyway, do I make myself clear, boy?"

S.D. didn't answer. He was gasping for breath, his face turning purple, and his pupils the size of microdots. Em Cal took out a .44 magnum Desert Eagle and pressed it against S.D.'s temple.

"I said do I make myself clear?"

"Like water," S.D. croaked

Em Cal released S.D. who slid to the floor, massaging his throat.

"Now tell me what you know about Triple Effect," Em Cal said

"Well, it's a new drug," said S.D., his face still a little red. "They come in either forms of pill or powder. I don't know what its effects are, because I don't take them, but I've been told it puts you in a nice psychadelic trance. It's a designer drug, so it's real popular at rave parties."

" Do you know who's been distributing them?" Em Cal asked.

S.D. shook his head.

"Not yet, at least," he said. But I do know this. There's this drug dealer, named Amarico Villapando, he owns a club that he uses as a front, called The Violet Swan."

"Violet Swan," Em Cal repeated. "That club on Alig Boulevard."

"Yes, that's the one, " S.D. said. "Anyways, Amarico's been purchasing a shit load of Triple Effect. Thing is, I don't know who he's buying them from."

"Well, we're going to pay this Amarico Villapando a little visit," said Em Cal. "Shake some answers out of him.

S.D. didn't seemed too thrilled about the idea, but not wanting to have his brains plastered on the already stained walls, he said, "Alright."

"You got some heat, boy?" Em Cal asked

S.D. shook his head

"All I have are trench knifes and hunting knives." he said. "I steal, I don't kill."

Em Cal snorted

"Well, I guess that'll have to do," he said finally. "But I want you to start strapping yourself up from now on after this. Gather up some knives and let's go."

"Wait, Cal, " S.D. said. "Before we do anything, I need a change of underwear."