John Henry made for the exit. Most of the audience was on its feet, clapping and stamping for an encore, but John Henry knew from experience that there would be no encore. The band would already have left the theatre.
    He took a cab directly to the band's hotel. It was only a couple of blocks, but by the time he got there a small crowd of teenies was beginning to form, and cops guarded the entrance. He paid the driver, and elbowed his way through the crowd of excited boppers. A purposeful walk got him past the line of cops and into the foyer. None of the hotel staff attempted to stop him as he made his way to the lift. Everyone assumed he was part of the band's entourage.
    He had already discovered which suite the band occupied and he hurried out of the lift and down the corridor.

He knocked and waited for a while, then someone who looked like a roadie stuck his head around the door.
    'Yeah?'
    'I'd like to talk to somebody with the band.'
    'Who are you?'
    'John Henry.'
    'So?'
    'I take care of a lot of business in this town.'
    'Yeah?'
    'Yeah.'
    'You got dope?'
    'You name it.'
    The door opened wider.
    'You'd better come in.'
    The roadie led him into the lounge. The Guitar Player and the Drummer were sprawled in armchairs and three women sat on the floor. A portable eight track machine blared B B King while a colour TV ran an unwatched vintage Western with the sound turned off. As the roadie led him in, the Drummer looked up.
    'Who's this?'
    The roadie glanced at John Henry.
    'Claims he's the local McDope.'
    'Oh, really! He'd better sit down then.'
    The roadie indicated a sofa.
    'You'd better sit down.'
    John Henry felt a slight annoyance at the way the band seemed unwilling to talk directly to him. They might be big, but
shit ...
    The roadie sat down next to him.
    'What did you bring?'
    John Henry hesitated, he disliked being hustled like he was the milkman or something.
    'I brought a bit of dope. Maybe I should roll a joint.'
    'Give me the dope. I'll do it.'
    Again John Henry thought that their rudeness was unnecessary, but he pulled the large lump of hash from his boot and handed it to the roadie, who sniffed it.
    'What is this?'
    'Nepalese.'
    'Yeah? How much is there?'
    'Half a weight.'
    'Okay.'
    He put the dope on a coffee table and picked up a packet of skins and began pulling some out.
    'What else can you show us?'
    John Henry felt in his inside pocket.
    'I've got some coke.'
    'What?'
    'Pharmaceutical.'
    'How much?'
    'An ounce.'
    'Sealed?'
    'Of course.'
    'Okay.'
    The roadie finished building the joint and then, without lighting it, stood up and walked into another room. For a while John Henry sat on the sofa, apparently forgotten. Then the Singer came into the room. He was still wearing the black satin trousers and white boots he had worn on stage. He had taken off his shirt, but the silver collar was still fastened round his neck. Close up he looked smaller than he had at the concert. A girl in the full tit-mag drag of stockings, suspenders and boots followed him into the room. In one hand he held a cigar, and in the other a joint. He handed the joint to the Guitar Player and then came over to where John Henry was sitting.
    'So you're the friendly neighbourhood dealer?'
    He took a long drag on the cigar and puffed the smoke above John Henry's head.
    'You could say that.'
    The Singer sat down next to him. the girl sat on the floor so her breast was against the Singer's knee. Casually he raised his other leg, placed his boot between her breasts and pushed. She toppled over and lay giggling. Grinning, the Singer looked at John Henry.
    'I understand you got some coke.'
    'Yeah.'
    'How much do you want for the hash and the bottle of coke?'
    John Henry wondered if they were going to haggle. He picked a high figure. 
    'Seven hundred for the lot.'
    The Singer didn't answer. He was watching the girl, who now lay, legs spread, looking up at John Henry and the Singer. The Singer placed his boot on her patch of pubic hair so the high heel was between her thighs. Solwly he began to move his foot around. The girl moaned and began to squirm on the floor. Without stopping, he glanced at John Henry.
    'I guess that's okay. Charlie'll pay you.'
    He looked round towards the door, and yelled.
    'Hey, Charlie, bring a mirror and a razor blade. Oh, and seven hundred in cash.'
    A moment later the roadie appeared carrying a mirror and a bundle of large bills. He handed the bills to John Henry and took the bottle of coke. He broke the seal and began to divide it into lines.

The coke went around, and John Henry was comforted by the fact that, at least, he hadn't been left out.
    The Singer continued to play with the girl on the floor. The three other girls sat watching, while the two musicians stayed slumped in their chairs, silently ignoring the game. The Singer sent Charlie into the bedroom to fetch a thin riding crop, with which he occasionally flicked the girl who continued to wriggle and moan on the floor.
    Without warning the Guitar Player produced a Polaroid camera and began taking photographs, which he each time pulled out of the camera and discarded almost without looking at them.
    John Henry tried hard to look uninterested.
    Suddenly the Singer looked at him again.
    'You don't have any other fun goodies?'
    'It was John Henry's big moment. He took it slowly.
    'I do have a bottle of this weird stuff.'
    He pulled a small bottle from his pocket.
    'I made a run to Peru a couple of months ago, and I brought this from a cat at the Bolivar. He said he bought it from an Indian who had scored it from some people way out in the jungle.'
    The Singer raised his eyebrows.
    'You're kidding.'
    'No, really. I know it's a weird tale, but you just need to try it, it's an amazin' high.'
    'What's it like?'
    'It's really hard to describe.'
    John Henry passed over the bottle. The singer opened it, peered at the contents and sniffed.
    'It looks like coke.'
    'It's a totally different buzz. I suppose the nearest thing is DMT but it goes a lot further.'
    The Singer held up the bottle and stared at it.
    'Is this all you've got?'
    'Yeah, it's all the cat brought out of the jungle.'
    'Okay, how much?'
    John Henry thought for a moment.
    'If it was coke I'd want about two hundred but, the again, there's the rarity value.'
    The Singer scowled.
    'Don't hustle me. You'll settle for four hundred.'
    'For sure.'
    The Singer stood up and motioned to Charlie.
    'Get him another two hundred.'
    'I thought you said four?'
    'You'll get the bread for rarity value when we find out it's not a con. Okay?'
    The Singer pulled the girl to her feet and began casually sqeezing one of her nipples between his fingertips.
    'I think the party's going to start, and I think you'd better split. I'll call you tomorrow.'
    John Henry stood up.
    'Okay, I'll see you later.'
    The singer picked the two bundles of notes off the table and handed them to John Henry.'
    'Yeah, later.'
    John Henry made for the door. As he opened it,he looked back across the room. The Singer had twisted the girl's arm up behind her back so she was bent double, and was whipping the riding crop across her bottom while the Guitar Player watched blankly.

The phone woke John Henry the next afternoon. It was Charlie.   
    'Listen, man, the band want to see you. How soon can you get over to the hotel?'
    'I dunno, I just woke up.'
    'Could you make it in an hour?'
    'Yeah, I suppose so.'
    'Okay.'
    There was a click as he hung up.
    John Henry dressed quickly, drank a Pepsi from the fridge, and went out to look for a cab.

This time, when Charlie led him into the lounge of the hotel suite, the whole band was there. Charlie indicated an armchair. Although the band lounged around smoking dope, the way they had arranged themselves in a rough semi-circle, all facing him, gave the room the air of some kind of tribunal. A faint twinge of fear crossed John Henry's mind. Maybe something had gone wrong with the drug from the jungle.
    There was a long silence. Finally, the Other Guitar Player spoke.
    'That was good shit you brought us last night.'
    'Yeah? You liked it?'
    'It was really beautiful. Saying it was like DMT didn't describe it at all.'
    'Did you all have some?'
    'Yeah, we did it up together. We ain't slept yet.'
    There was another silence, then the Singer spoke.
    'That stuff's left us with a couple of problems.'
    John Henry shifted nervously in his seat.
    'Problems?'
    'Nothing you need worry about. I think we can take care of
them. We just want some information.'
    'Sure, anything. What do you want to know?'
    'Well ... first question is, do you have any more?'
    John Henry shook his head.
    'No, I sold you all of it.'
    'Okay. Have you had any?'
    'Sure. I did some when I first got it and a couple of times since.'
    'Ahh.'
    There was a pause while the Singer stared at John Henry.
    'Did you give any to other people?'
    'No.'
    John Henry began to feel uncomfortable.
    'What is all this, didn't you like the stuff?'
    The Singer smiled.
    'It was beautiful. I was just checking a couple of things.'
    'What things?'
    The Singer laughed.
    'Don't worry, have a drink.'
    He yelled for the roadie.
    'Hey, Charlie, mix some drinks.'
    A few moments later, Charlie emerged with a bottle of Jack Daniels and some glasses on a tray. He handed one to John Henry. He swirled the ice in his glass and looked at the Singer.

'So what are these problems?'
    There was a long pause. The Singer stood up.
    'You have to understand that a band in our position is subject to pressures that ordinary people are not even aware of. Every time we do a concert there are thousands of kids draining off our energy, using us to get where they want to be. This fact alone sets us apart.'
    John Henry thought he detected a hint of insanity in the Singer's sunken eyes, but he said nothing and let him go on.
    'It makes us a very exclusive group of people. Our situation is unique, and when you came here with that drug we felt that it was maybe a unique experience that we would share with no-one except a few cats way out in the bush. It seems unlikely that any more of the stuff would show up, and our exclusive high is complete. We have it to ourselves, except for one detail. You also took some.'
    John Henry looked around. They really did have an air of insanity.
    'I ... I don't understand.'
    'It's very simple. This drug you brought gave us a unique opportunity to do a thing that, excluding a bunch of Indians, nobody would share with us, nobody would rip us off for our energy. You dig?'
    John Henry nodded. The Singer carried on.
    'In a space where people are forever vamping on us, this ... ah, exclusiveness, is very important. The only thing that spoils it is you.'
    'Me?'
    'You also took the stuff. It spoils our exclusive situation, and there is always the chance that you might come up with some more and start spreading it around.'
    'It's unlikely that I'll find any more.'
    'But it's always possible.'
    'I could guarantee that no more shows up.'
    The Singer shrugged.
    'Maybe. There's still the problem that you have also taken the stuff.'
    'I don't see what I can do about that.'
    A childlike smile spread over the Singer's pale face.
    'There's nothing you can do. In fact, we already solved the problem for you.'
    A twinge of fear grew in John Henry's stomach.
    'What're you talking about? What do you mean?'
    The Singer's smile broadened.
    'We poisoned you. It was the drink.'
    John Henry tried to stand up, but his legs collapsed under him.