Chapter 46: The Cocaine Preparation
Ben acquired Narcan from three different sources.
First dose came from a needle exchange program downtown. He claimed he worked with at-risk populations, needed emergency medication for outreach. They gave him two doses and instructions.
Second came from a sympathetic nurse at County General who remembered him from Ian's near-shooting. "Prevention is smart," she'd said. "Wish more people thought ahead."
Third he bought from a medical supply distributor, no questions asked if you had cash.
Six doses total. Ben placed them strategically: master bedroom nightstand, kitchen drawer beneath dish towels, bathroom medicine cabinet, his car's glove box, the shop's first aid kit, jacket pocket of the coat he wore most often.
"What's this?" Debbie asked, finding the bathroom dose while looking for bandaids.
"Overdose medication. For emergencies." Ben showed her the auto-injector mechanism. "If anyone ever stops breathing and you suspect drugs, this could save their life."
"Why would anyone here need it?"
"Hopefully no one will. But South Side, better prepared than sorry."
Debbie accepted this, replaced the Narcan carefully. Ben watched her categorize the information, file it under "Ben's paranoid but practical safety measures."
If only she knew.
Child-proofing came next.
Ben installed locks on every cabinet below four feet. Latches on drawers. Safety gates on stairs. Outlet covers despite Liam being past the outlet-licking stage.
"This is excessive," Fiona said, watching him install the third cabinet lock in the kitchen.
"Liam's at that age where everything goes in his mouth."
"He's two. He's past that."
"Humor me." Ben tested the lock—required precise adult finger pressure to open. "I just want him safe."
"He's been safe for two years without Fort Knox security." But she didn't stop him, just shook her head and returned to folding laundry.
Ben moved through the house systematically. MacGyver Mind identified every potential hazard—cleaning supplies elevated, medications in locked containers, small objects removed from toddler-accessible surfaces. He created redundant systems: even if one barrier failed, three others remained.
Carl watched him baby-proof Carl's own room. "I'm not keeping anything dangerous in here."
"I know. Just being thorough."
"This is about Liam?"
"This is about general household safety."
Carl didn't look convinced but helped anyway, moving items to higher shelves. The kid had learned to trust Ben's instincts even when they seemed paranoid.
By the end of the week, the house was toddler-proof to military specifications. Nothing harmful could reach Liam's hands without defeating multiple security measures.
The drug recognition training happened piecemeal over two weeks.
Ben started with Debbie, showing her photos from "harm reduction" websites. White powder, various rocks and crystals, pills in different colors and shapes.
"This is cocaine." He pointed at powder on a mirror. "If you ever see this in our house, you don't touch it. You get me immediately."
"Why would cocaine be in our house?"
"It won't be. But South Side, things happen. I need you to recognize it."
Debbie studied the photos with scholarly intensity. "What would it look like in real life?"
"Like white powder, sometimes chunky. Could be on surfaces, in bags, on glass. If you see it, if you see anything that looks like this, you find me first. Before touching, before telling anyone else, you get me."
"Okay." She looked uncomfortable. "Ben, is something happening?"
"No. Just being prepared."
He repeated the exercise with Carl, who already knew more than Ben about street drugs. "Cocaine looks like this, costs this much, usually found in these contexts," Carl recited. "I know, man. I grew up here."
"If you find it in our house—"
"Get you immediately, don't touch it, protect Liam." Carl's expression was serious. "I got it."
Ian didn't need training—street life had educated him thoroughly. But Ben walked him through protocols anyway: "If you find drugs here, in our house, your first action is?"
"Secure Liam, get you, don't let Fiona or the kids touch anything."
"Exactly."
Ian studied Ben carefully. "Your instincts showing something specific?"
"Always showing something. Being prepared is cheaper than being surprised."
"That's paranoid even for you."
"Probably."
But Ian didn't argue, just nodded understanding. They'd been through enough together that Ian trusted Ben's danger sense even when it seemed irrational.
By early April, Ben's preparations were complete.
Narcan: six doses strategically placed, family educated on auto-injector use.
Child safety: house locked down to military specifications, Liam physically unable to access anything harmful.
Drug recognition: all older kids trained to identify cocaine, protocols established for discovery.
Documentation: cameras recording all entry points, inventory of household contents logged, legal contacts prepared.
Everything he could control, controlled. Everything he could prepare, prepared.
Ben stood in the Gallagher backyard on a warm April afternoon, reviewing his checklist. MacGyver Mind confirmed all systems operational. Danger Intuition still pulsed warnings but softer now—the threat existed but his preparations had reduced its potential impact.
"You've been weird for a month," Fiona said, appearing beside him with iced tea. "Weirder than usual."
"Just want the wedding perfect. And the house safe. And everything..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the specific dread his powers showed.
"Everything what?"
"Protected. I want everything protected."
Fiona handed him tea, looked at their backyard—cleaned, organized, ready for their August wedding. "You know you can't control everything, right? Sometimes disasters happen regardless of preparation."
But preparation can mitigate disaster. Can turn potential tragedy into manageable crisis. Can save lives when chaos strikes.
"I know," Ben said. "But I can try."
She leaned against him, warm and real and trusting him despite his paranoia. "I love you. Even when you're being obsessively paranoid about nonexistent threats."
"I love you too."
That night, alone in his shop reviewing his emergency protocols for the hundredth time, Ben allowed himself cautious optimism.
Narcan everywhere. House locked down. Family trained. Documentation complete. He'd done everything humanly possible to prevent the disaster his Danger Intuition showed approaching.
Sometimes preparation was all you had. Sometimes planning was the only weapon against fate.
Ben just hoped it would be enough when Robbie's chaos finally arrived.
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