Chapter 621: [Extra] Boundary Marker - 1: The Drug Dealer

Interstate 79, on a stretch north of Pittsburgh.

The blizzard had been raging for three full hours.

Gale-force winds whipped sheets of snow, striking the asphalt like countless white knives.

Visibility had dropped to less than ten meters. Traffic on the interstate had long since thinned, leaving only the occasional semi-truck, its engine a dull roar in the storm.

2:00 AM.

A dark gray Ford F-150 pickup sped across the icy surface.

Its speed was well beyond the safe limit for such weather. A white tail of snowy mist billowed up from its tires.

The driver was a man in his forties, his face covered in stubble, his eyes bloodshot.

His hands gripped the steering wheel in a death lock, his foot planted on the gas pedal, even as the truck began to sway violently in the crosswinds.

He had to hurry.

Just past the next bend and another five kilometers, and he’d be out of Allegheny County.

Once he crossed the line, this truckload of goods would turn into greenbacks.

Suddenly, a huge patch of black ice appeared ahead.

The pickup’s rear wheels instantly lost traction.

The tail of the truck fishtailed violently to the right, and the driver instinctively jerked the wheel left.

It was a fatal mistake.

The two-ton pickup, like an out-of-control metal box, slid sideways across the road.

The tires let out a piercing shriek, which was immediately swallowed by the howl of the storm.

The truck tipped onto its side, inertia sending it tumbling off the roadbed.

BOOM!

A deafening crash.

The pickup smashed through the rusty metal guardrail and tumbled into a ditch on the side of the road.

The windshield shattered, sending shards flying.

The truck’s body finally came to a stop after hitting a dead old oak tree.

Black smoke billowed from under the hood, only to be quickly covered by the heavy snow.

The world fell back into a dead silence.

...

「Thirty minutes later.」

Flashing red and blue police lights pierced the darkness.

A Pennsylvania State Police cruiser pulled over on the shoulder.

State Trooper Eric Sanchez pushed open his car door, and a blast of cold wind shot down his collar.

He pulled his windbreaker tighter, switched on his flashlight, and trudged unevenly down the embankment.

He was used to scenes like this.

Snowy nights, speeding, car wrecks.

It was a regular occurrence during a Pennsylvania winter.

Sanchez walked over to the pile of scrap metal.

The driver’s cabin was severely crushed. The driver was pinned in his seat, his head lolled to one side, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

A large amount of blood had flowed from his forehead, freezing into dark-red ice crystals on his face in the low temperature.

’No hope for him.’

Sanchez sighed and used his radio to call for the coroner and a tow truck.

Then, he walked around to the back of the truck.

The pickup’s bed had been fitted with an enclosed metal cargo box. Due to the violent impact, the box’s door had popped open.

Its contents had spilled all over the ground.

There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of small white paper boxes.

Sanchez instinctively placed his hand on the holster at his hip.

As a veteran officer who had patrolled the interstate for ten years, he was all too familiar with this kind of scene.

Late night, an enclosed cargo box, and scattered white packages.

Fentanyl.

Or heroin.

It was a classic drug-smuggling crash site.

Ever since that young Mayor of Pittsburgh started his so-called revival plan, local public safety had improved, but drug trafficking in the surrounding areas was still rampant.

Sanchez scanned his surroundings warily. After confirming there were no accomplices nearby, he crouched down.

He picked up a box that had fallen in the snow.

The box was wet, soaked through with melted snow.

He tore open the packaging.

There was no white powder as he’d expected, nor were there any pre-portioned plastic baggies.

Inside was a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid.

Sanchez froze for a moment.

He focused the beam of his flashlight on the vial’s label.

NovoRapid

Insulin Aspart Injection

Specification: 3ml: 300 units

Sanchez frowned.

He stood up and swept his flashlight across the snow.

It wasn’t just this one box.

The entire cargo bed, plus those scattered in the snow, amounted to several hundred, maybe even a thousand boxes.

Many of the glass vials had shattered in the crash. The clear medicinal fluid had leaked out and mixed with black motor oil, creating strange stains on the pure white snow.

"This is... insulin?"

A sense of absurdity washed over Sanchez.

Who would frantically transport a truckload of insulin in a pickup truck during a blizzard, as if they were smuggling drugs?

Just as he was puzzling over this, he heard the sound of an engine from the road.

A black Chevrolet Suburban pulled up behind his patrol car.

The vehicle had no police lights and no government plates.

A door opened.

A man in a long, black trench coat stepped out.

He wore a wide-brimmed hat and had a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

The man crunched through the snow and walked down the embankment.

Sanchez raised his flashlight and pointed it at the newcomer.

"Stay back! This is a police-secured area!" Sanchez warned loudly.

The man didn’t stop.

He pulled a badge holder from his trench coat pocket and casually tossed it to Sanchez.

Sanchez caught it and flipped it open.

Inside was a deep red metal badge, imprinted with the seal of Pittsburgh and a line of stamped text:

Rust Belt Health Mutual Aid Alliance · Compliance Investigation Division

Senior Investigator: Joe Miller

Sanchez was stunned.

He had heard of that Mutual Aid Alliance; it was something the Mayor of Pittsburgh had created.

But he didn’t know the Alliance actually had law enforcement authority.

"This is a traffic accident. It’s under the jurisdiction of the State Police."

Sanchez closed the badge holder, his tone curt.

Joe Miller walked up to Sanchez’s side.

He was a man of about fifty, with deep creases running from his nose to the corners of his mouth. His eyes were weary and cold.

He glanced at the body in the truck, then at the vials on the ground.

"This isn’t your jurisdiction, Officer."

Miller’s voice was hoarse.

"This is a smuggling case."

"Smuggling?" Sanchez pointed at the boxes on the ground. "Smuggling insulin? Are you kidding me? You can find this stuff in any pharmacy."

"In Pittsburgh pharmacies, yes."

Miller crouched down, picked up an intact vial, and weighed it in his hand.

"In this city, as long as you have that Red Card, this vial costs just thirty-five US dollars."

Miller turned his head and looked north, in the direction of the city limit marker.

"But as soon as you cross this highway, as soon as you leave Allegheny County..."

"...in any CVS or Walgreens pharmacy, the price of this vial is three hundred US dollars."

Miller tossed the vial back into a box.

"Three hundred US dollars versus thirty-five."

"A price difference of nearly ten times."

"Officer, this is a lot safer than drugs."

Sanchez’s jaw dropped.

He’d never done the math.

He knew medicine was cheap in Pittsburgh, but he hadn’t realized what that cheapness implied.

"This truckload."

Miller kicked the deformed cargo box.

"At Pittsburgh’s mutual aid price, it’s worth about ten thousand US dollars."

"But if he hadn’t hit that tree tonight, if he’d successfully driven this truck to the black market in Cleveland or Buffalo..."

"...this load could have sold for fifty thousand, maybe even a hundred thousand US dollars."

"That’s a massive profit."

Miller took a drag from his cigarette, the glowing tip illuminating his somber face.

"’With a 300 percent profit, capital is bold enough to commit any crime, even risk the gallows.’"

"The profit margin here is one thousand percent."

"So, they’ve gone crazy."

Sanchez looked at the corpse.

The dead driver was probably just an ordinary worker, or maybe a father trying to save up for his kid’s tuition.

But tonight, he had become a "drug dealer."

Except he wasn’t trafficking heroin, but life-saving medicine.

"This is the third one this week."

Miller exhaled a smoke ring, the white vapor dissipating quickly in the cold wind.

"The last one hid the medicine in a spare tire, but he had a blowout and flipped his car. The one before that tried to go by water, and his boat capsized."

"These medicine mules are getting more and more desperate."

Miller took his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

"This is Miller."

"Interstate 79, another one flipped."

"Bring a team to clean up the scene. This shipment can’t get out, not even the broken ones. Don’t let anyone pick them up."

"Also, check this driver’s supplier. Which community pharmacy did this batch come from? Which pharmacist wrote him the script? Or did he steal someone else’s Red Card?"

He hung up.

Miller looked at Sanchez.

"Officer, when you write your report, just put it down as a traffic accident."

"Speeding, slippery road conditions due to snow."

"As for all this medicine..."

Miller crushed a glass vial under his boot, the liquid seeping into the snow.

"This is an internal Pittsburgh matter."

"We’ll take care of it."

Sanchez looked at the forceful man, then at the red ID.

"Understood."

Sanchez put away his flashlight.

"I’ll call the tow truck."

Miller nodded.

He stood in the wind and snow, looking at the mess on the ground.

’This is just the beginning. Leo Wallace used administrative power to forcibly distort market prices, creating a privileged island that, while beautiful, was incredibly fragile. The immense pressure differential between the inside and outside of this island was giving birth to all sorts of monstrosities—smuggling, resale, black markets, and even violent crimes committed to steal Red Cards. Human nature, in the face of enormous profit, never holds up to scrutiny.’

’Mr. Mayor,’ Miller thought to himself. ’You gave them a ticket to paradise, but you also opened the back door to hell.’

He dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it out with his foot.

In the distance, the Mutual Aid Alliance’s black cleanup convoy, amber lights flashing, cut through the blizzard as it approached.

The cleanup had begun.