Fatal Dose Read Online Free PDF Page B

in the door in front of him, but it was obvious by the head nods and waves from many of the men that she was no stranger to the place.
    O’Sheas was, for all intents and purposes an FBI bar. Not that it was owned by an ex-agent or anything like that. Actually, it was owned by a retired Cleveland police captain. It was the bar’s proximity to the Bureau, just down the street a bit and the friendly atmosphere that for years made it a favorite haunt not only for agents, but for their support personnel as well.
    “Can I buy you both one?” The voice belonged to John Wellman, who walked in behind them.
    “Who could say no to an offer like that, especially after the day we’ve had?” Mark replied.
    As they headed for the back of the bar, John flashed an order to a waitress for three Burning River, Pale Ale’s. Burning River was brewed locally and was the best selling micro-beer on tap at O’Sheas. Mark grabbed a booth as they waited for the waitress to deliver their beers. John and Wendy sat on one side and Mark took the other. That gave him a chance to take a good look at Special Agent Wendy Farrell, this time in a more relaxed atmosphere.
    Wendy was five-eight and around one-twenty pounds. Mark guessed her age to be around twenty-seven. She had straight blonde hair, cut short, and soft blue eyes. She reminded him of Doris Day with an upturned nose and a wide mouth that showed perfect teeth. When she removed her suit jacket, she revealed the toned arms of a woman who was no stranger to a gym. Her body was well proportioned, leaning toward what most men would consider as “stacked.” Mark wondered for a moment how he missed all this during the hours they spent together. He figured that he must have really been concentrating on their mission .
    The waitress arrived with three frosty mugs of their favorite beer.
    “Run a tab for us, Belinda,” John said. “This is only the first round.”
    He turned to Mark and Wendy. “I know that you both had an unpleasant task this afternoon. I can’t believe that Brice is dead. He was such a nice kid.”
    They each grabbed a mug and raised it for a toast.
    “Here’s to Brice,” Mark said, not being one for clever toasts.
    They clinked their mugs together and took a long sip.
    “Boy, that sure hits the spot,” Mark said.
    “That’s for sure,” Wendy replied. “When it comes to beer, there is none better than the ‘burn.’ When I’m out of town, I really miss it.”
    The three got quiet. They just sat back and let the beer do its job. After several minutes, Wellman said, “Mark, I hear through the vine that you’re being assigned to the Pharmaceutical Drug Squad.”
    “There’s nothing official yet, John. There’s been a mention of it. I’m ready if Dennis needs me. From what I’ve heard so far, drug theft and counterfeiting is spiraling out of control. I’m surprised that there hasn’t been more media coverage about it.”
    “There’s a good reason for that,” Wendy said. “Much of the time the sickness or death from phony pills goes undetected. As it is, it’s taken us quite a few court ordered autopsies to get the few statistics we do have. Death doesn’t always result from counterfeit pills. Much of the time people’s health continues to deteriorate and they just accept it as normal. Even their doctors don’t zero in on the medicines as the cause, especially since they prescribed them. Doctors are too close to the big drug companies; they have blinders on too much of the time. Their response, when something doesn’t work out is usually to change the dosage or prescribe something new.
    “You know,” she continued, “I’ll bet that if we could cut off the source of these bad meds there would be an immediate improvement in the health of the citizenry. That’s how widespread this problem is. And another thing, I think the authorities are reluctant to discuss it because they fear that people who need to be on meds may become afraid and stop taking