“I say,” declared Dantes, “Do you have any more of that excellent opium from Malta?”
The smuggler grinned, his teeth gleaming in the wan Caspian sun, “We have both the Maltese varietal, as well as a new shipment from the Turks & Caicos, which is leeward of these fucking warm Atlantic currents.”
The smuggler laid out six plastic vials full of the richly scented dream paste.
“Dude,” asked the Count, “How much for all of them?”