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Prohibition changed America from a nation of wine and beer drinkers into a nation of whiskey drinkers, because the bootleggers could make more profit bringing in the harder stuff — a trend which started to reverse itself as soon as that Prohibition was repealed, in 1933.”
    Matthew seemed to remember the patriarch of the Annesley clan, Worthy’s granddad, had known more than a little about rum-running on the Bay, 90 years ago. But again, he saw no point in interrupting.
    “Drugs can kill you? OK. But we all own our own lives and bodies, we have every right to decide how we want to die, the same way they’re free to die of tobacco and booze and too many donuts and a heart attack while they rape some chicana in the back of their van who’s afraid if she complains she’ll get deported.” Worthy was on a roll. “But how on earth can they pretend to police drug use if they can’t tell the entheogens from crack or heroin? Nobody gets addicted to LSD or peyote or any other mind-enhancing drug; they’ve never documented a single overdose death in a human subject.
    “If drugs are bad, the number one culprit is alcohol, which they all drink like fish. Where do cops go, after hours? Not juice bars. Meantime, God forbid we let people get a fresh look at their proper, joyful place in the world, in the bosom of their families, which happens when they’re given the opportunity of a life-changing experiencewith peyote or LSD in church, in a responsible, religious setting. Peyote has cured lots of cases of alcoholism, as I’m sure our friend Emilio could testify.”
    “Could have testified,” Matthew smiled.
    “Exactly. But you know what? I don’t give a damn whether they think our use of our sacraments is wise, or good, or anything else. I just want them to answer one question: Are you willing to forswear the initiation of force, to allow us each to seek God and revelation in his own way, yes or no? My brother gave them a deadline. He gave them a full year to repeal all their drug laws, to release every drug prisoner from their jails and prisons, for the cops and prosecutors and judges to swear in public they’d no longer enforce those laws.”
    “Any takers?” asked Les.
    “One pro tem judge out in Arizona, a former U.S. Marine, asked them not to send him any drug cases, since he couldn’t enforce those laws in good conscience. They immediately kicked him off the bench. Otherwise, not a one.”
    “So what happens, now?” Les asked.
    “Simple. If they don’t go on the record, in public, foreswearing the use of force to take away our freedom in regard to manufacturing and selling and possessing these sacraments, then we’re going to officially adopt their method: the use of force.”
    “You’re going to kill them?”
    “No, no. It wouldn’t be wise to talk about that, obviously.” Worthy suddenly glanced around, as though realizing for the first time that a microphone could be hidden anywhere, even here. “One loose cannon does something stupid, and suddenly because of some loose talk they claim we’re involved in a conspiracy. I’ve seen the way that works. No, no, we’re against that. The preferred course of action is to win a majority at the polls, change the laws, and then legally lock them up in little cells the way they’ve locked us up, take away their freedom where LSD and the other psychedelics are concerned.”
    “But they don’t want to use psychedelics.”
    “Exactly. They lock us up in cages to prevent our using our sacraments, so we lock them up in little cages and put LSD in their drinking water, also against their will. An eye for an eye. We’ll see how they like having someone use force to decide whether and how their consciousness is altered.”
    “Doesn’t sound very peaceable,” Matthew smiled.
    “We offered them peace. My brother tried to win the argument by logic and reason and medical evidence. You see where that got him.”
    “But Worthy,” Les the vampire novelist has