"And the peyotl buttons?" Malone asked.
Sand shrugged. "So we had to confiscate the cargo, didn't we?" he said. "To teach them a lesson. Nonunion drivers, that's what we're against."
"And you're for peyotl," Malone said, "so you can make it into peyote and get enough money to refurbish Brotherhood Headquarters."
"Now, look," Sand said. "You think you're tough and you can get away with a lot of wisecracks. That's a wrong idea, brother." He didn't move, but he suddenly seemed set to spring. Malone wondered if, just maybe, his precognition had blown a fuse.
"O.K., let's forget it," he said. "But I've got some inside lines, Sand. You didn't get the real shipment."
"Didn't get it?" Sand said with raised eyebrows. "I got it. It's right where I can put my finger on it now."
"That was the fake," Malone said easily. "They knew you were after a shipment, Sand, so they suckered you in. They fed your spies with false information and sent you out after the fake shipment."
"Fake shipment?" Sand said. "It's the real stuff, brother. The real stuff."
"But not enough of it," Malone said. "Their big shipments are almost three times what you got. They made one while you were suckered off with the fake—and they're making another one next week. Interested?"
Sand snorted. "The hell," he said. "Didn't you hear me say I got the first shipment right where I can put my finger on it?"