No Inner Limit

by David Kersey

CHAPTER FOUR – Adele Meadors

  “I’ll stay right here at the door, thank you.”

  “I keep telling you it’s the uniform, Autry. Ben has had a couple of run-ins with the rangers. He won’t hurt you anyway, just put a scare into you. He’s all bluff and bravado. Here she comes, Van, let’s go give her a proper greeting.”

  “Well, aren’t you two the southern gentlemen to give me an escort. Now get your rear in gear and get my suitcase and briefcase. My butt is as sore as a boil. I’ll carry the booze. But first give me a hug, the both of you galoots.”

  Adele Meadors was not a likely candidate for a calendar girl issue. Tall, lanky, skinny as a rail, with reddish gnarled hair that would break dime store combs at first swipe, thick glasses that hid only a small portion of her freckled face, and no noticeable protrusions in her upper torso. Yet Joshua embraced her as if she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. She kissed him on the cheek, then turned to Van and said, “No kissy face for you, numbskull, you old sot. But a token hug will do. Good to see you again Dr. Vance. Enough small talk, let’s get down to some serious drinking.”

  “Now Adele, you know alcohol runs counter to the product.”

  “I asked Mr. Beam here what he thought,” she was looking at the fifth of bourbon in her hand, “and he said he was hankering to romance me tonight. You know me, I can’t turn down an offer like that. Hell, I’m on vacation. I’ll do what I damn well please. And it’ll take a few pulls before I decide if you guys are handsome or just wastes of testosterone.”

  The three walked toward the barn when Adele spotted Autry. “Well, I’ll be damned, there’s that scaredy-cat thing behind a badge. Now Van, I don’t want you going back to your god forsaken palm tree country saying the menfolk in Kentucky are all wussies like this one here. There’s some real men around here somewhere.” Then she gave Autry a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You know I love you, lawman.”

  “No more than I love you, wench.”

  Joshua confided in a whisper to Van that when she gets the booze in her the gruff behavior gets even worse. Then he laughed.

  It was obvious he loved the woman like she was his mother. “We’ll eventually get down to some serious talk once these niceties are over, but with Adele, it might take a while.”

  “I heard that, Joshua. Now before we sit down and bring this meeting to order go fetch me a tall glass with some ice in it. You other two fight it out about who gets to pull my chair out for me. Never mind, I gotta go take a leak first.” She disappeared. Obviously she knew her way around, or perhaps she was using one of the gardens. With Adele you never knew.

  “How about you, Van? Care for a glass? I won’t ask Autry. He’s the law, you know.”

  “No thanks, Joshua.” Actually Van wanted more NIL but stayed moot on that desire.

  Joshua reappeared with the glass and also the box of Ball jars which he placed in front of Autry. “It’s the 57 so go sparingly with it.”

  Van asked, “What does 57 mean?”

  “Wait for Adele; where is she?”

  “Relieving herself.”

  “Won’t be the last time. She is a trip, isn’t she?”

  “Ok, boys, let’s get this party started.”

  Van rose and pulled out the remaining chair.

  “You are getting better looking by the minute, but I gotta tell you, mister, you got a long way to go.”

  “57 means there is 5.7 percent phytochemical concentration, the rest is mineral water, which by the way, is therapeutic all on its own.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much.”

  “Van, that’s a whole lot. You see, other products that contain many of these same ingredients are less than three percent of the good stuff, the rest is filler. And yet they have the audacity to charge as much as eighty dollars for a month’s supply. It borders on being placebo. Why? Because it’s so expensive to produce with severe limitations on raw materials. But the profit margin is excessive. It’s almost criminal. Yet people continue to pad their pockets because of slick promotions that promise the world. The FDA knows this and consequently rarely gives their seal of approval. Also, if I were to spike the concoction to as much as ten percent there is the risk of copper contamination and possibly becoming a hallucinogen. Keeping it under six percent is optimal.”

  “You guys are absolutely no fun, making me drink alone.”

  Van grabbed her glass and took a sip. “There, I don’t think I spat in it, but not real sure. You happy now?”

  “I’d better chase this Beamer with the NIL. I don’t want no California cooties. And you ain’t better looking yet.”

  “Adele, please, tell me what you’ve found out.”

  “Geez, Louise.” She reached down and unsnapped her briefcase, then laid a manila folder on the table. “You want the good news first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well you ain’t gonna get it. Here’s the bad news. The ocean water in the area of the limpet habitat has ‘approaching’ unacceptable contamination levels. The World Health Organization has stated that the radionuclides found in blue fin tuna have steadily increased as a result of the plume approaching North America. The contamination level in tuna near shore to California has doubled in the last twelve months, and the plume hasn’t arrived there yet. It is expected, according to the WHO calculations, to arrive along west coast shorelines by mid-2014. That’s why they say ‘approaching’ levels that could exceed maximum contaminant levels. The bottom line is that, in the future, we might not be able to use the limpet unless there’s a way to detox it and no one knows how to go about that. It could be that we shouldn’t be using it now.”

  Joshua hung his head in obvious chagrin. “From either location?”

  “Yep.”

  Van stated, “The report you mention I’m familiar with, but there are other indications from independent monitoring systems that don’t paint such a bleak future. What is a limpet?”

  Joshua responded. “It’s a sea snail, but it has to be the Keyhole limpet as opposed to other types of limpets. The Keyhole shell has a hole in the crown which resembles the old fashioned door keyholes, hence the name. It contains a hugely potent immunogenic protein that naturally induces elevations in immune response through the introduction of powerful antigens. Unfortunately for us, it’s only found in two places in the entire world, and both of those appear to be in harm’s way.”

  “Just hold your britches, Joshua, all is not lost. In fact, it gets better since there are only so many K-limps and once you use them up, there’s no more. The lab broke down the molecular structure; and, lo and behold, there is a similar configuration that is abundantly more accessible. You do have some maple trees around here, right?”

  “Plenty down by the river.”

  “Listen to this. Guess what grows on the trunks of the maples? On the north side, if that gives you a clue?”

  “Oh, my. You’re talking mold, aren’t you?”

  “Strictly maple mold, but more accurately the molasses made from the mold, and the farther north the tree the better. New England? Perfect. Kentucky? Not so sure but worth a try. And here.” Adele reached down into her briefcase and produced a baggie filled with dark looking gunk. “Straight from Vermont. I need more ice, and while you fetch it, I’ll talk loud so you can hear me. There’s a tad more bad news, maybe. Your friend from Arizona is sending you, among other things, pulverized cactus flower. You know what that means?”

  “You’re talking the peyote aren’t you? I’m using such a miniscule amount I didn’t think it would be traceable.”

  “Yeah, it registered, so no FDA approval for you, sonny boy, not that we really need it.”

  Autry piped up. “Wait, I’ve tested it. It doesn’t show at all in either urine or blood.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Truth in labeling rules the roost. No narcotic is going to be approved even if it’s a trace element. You think we’d get off scot free if school children drank our stuff? We’d be cuffed and snuffed.”

  �
��Well I’ve got to hit the road. Don’t get up, I can handle this, and I’ll see you tomorrow when I escort the guests up here.” Autry grabbed the box of Ball jars and opened the barn door a smidge, looked both ways, then took off running.

  The three sat idly for a few moments.

  “Why did you say “maybe” bad news about the peyote? It’s mescaline, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Well, there’s a legal form of it, just not as potent, about one-fifth potency. There is a type of cactus, the Dona Ana, which gives out a much lesser quantity of the hallucinogen; and it’s legal to use Coryphantha macromeris in labeling. So it’s a matter of if it’s effective. And you’d have to give a warning about hypersensitivity, psychosis, and precautions about usage in individuals with abnormally low or high blood pressures, or so the lab rats tell me. They’re probably crack heads and know their stuff so I take their word on it. I didn’t check with the legal department. Didn’t want to stick my neck out too far.”

  “I wish you had better news, but you know me. We will overcome this. It just sets us back somewhat. I’ll check with Arizona on the other type of cactus, we might be able to use it if it has the same calming and pain relieving effects. It’s a shame that the reservation can use peyote legally, yet outside the reservation it would be deemed illegal. What about the third ingredient….the hemp?”

  “Good news there. The lab only showed .3 percent THC, the psychoactive chemical in marijuana; but had a very high concentration of CBD, which is cannabidiol, and that’s excellent. In other words, it is not marijuana with mind-altering properties. So it is classified by the FDA as hemp, and perfectly legal, with tremendous medicinal benefits, as you and I both know. I think you should consider growing it here. You should be able to obtain a permit if you grew it inside the barn.”

  Van needed an answer to a simple question. “I’m a little confused. What does the Arizona connection mean? It seems unnecessarily complicated to me.”

  Joshua looked at Adele. “Go for it,” she said, “but I gotta use the facilities again.”

  + + + + +

  The Houston Chronicle headline was, to say the least, disturbing. BIRD FLU CLAIMS THIRD VICTIM. The story that followed told of three local residents that succumbed to the H7N9 virus. Curry Nicholson, a lift operator at the Bush International Airport, left work early complaining of nausea and headache. He would never come back to his job…..found dead at home on the third day after leaving work. Dianne Smith Tomer, an agent for Avis Car Rentals at the airport, also deceased after three days of absence. Rosa Lee Casey, a cafeteria worker at the same airport, collapsed while on the job, and later died in the St. Joseph’s Medical Center. All three airport related and all three victims of the same viral infection. Is it time to panic? Dr. Melinda Hefflefinger of St. Josephs thinks panic is premature, but concern is operative. She purports the infections may have been carried airborne, a very scary thought. The doctor said that there is a rush to prepare a suitable vaccine; but this is a mutated strain, it will take time. Do we have the time? Or is it time to say, “Houston, we have a problem?”