by Jamie Zakian
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Sasha said, waving her arms in the air like a natural-born city folk. “I’m gonna get fucking shot.”
“We don’t have to go,” Roxy said, stopping in front of a ratty apartment building on the fringe of Harlem. The same busted windows, crumbling brick apartment building they were supposed to meet Reid in.
Sasha stared at Roxy as if the woman were dense. “Not go” equated to “no drugs.” No drugs meant memories of dead eyes staring at her through the slit of a steel door and the unending shakes that accompanied no heroin. She’d never survive that, and neither would Roxy.
“Don’t go?” Sasha said in somewhat of a snarl. “Then what? We’re out of shit, fucking idiot.”
Roxy lowered her gaze, taking the abuse Sasha constantly seemed to dish out. It was too easy to treat Roxy like shit. One of the many reasons Sasha kept the woman close. Agony clung to every inch of Sasha’s body, and to let it out on a weaker person relieved a sliver of the ache. How she hated herself for that, even more for not caring enough to stop hurting a woman who’d already suffered a million torments.
“I’m sorry, doll.” Sasha slid her hands around Roxy’s waist, backed her against the apartment’s cracked brick wall. Roxy’s soft skin floated beneath Sasha’s fingertips, but she couldn’t feel it. There were red-hot prickles running through her veins, and they blocked out everything but their burn. It wouldn’t stop. The curvy ass she just gripped, the breasts pressing against her chest, wouldn’t stop the spikes grating the insides of her flesh. She needed a fresh bag of powder and five minutes alone with Roxy’s needle. Then she could enjoy the sexy body of the crazy woman in her grasp.
People slowed to watch Sasha grind against Roxy against the front of a building. Fucking people were goddamn perverts. The city was going to shit. Two girls couldn’t even get it on against the front of a building anymore without drawing a goddamn crowd.
“It’s okay, baby.” Roxy slipped her hands beneath Sasha’s tank top. “You have so much stress.”
A finger circled Sasha’s nipple, and warm breath flowed over her neck, but they were just distractions.
“I can help you relax,” Roxy whispered. “Let’s sneak into that alley.”
Sasha pushed Roxy’s hands from her body, taking a step back. Nothing that Roxy could do in an alley would relax her, not right now. “No. We need to get some shit. There’s still someone I can call.” She held her hand out, palm up. “Quarters.”
Sasha fidgeted, then started tapping her foot as Roxy dug through a large purse. That woman had everything in her bag a homeless person would need to clean themselves in a public restroom, and then some. It had to be the reason she was taking so fucking long to find some damn quarters.
Shiny coins jingled as they fell into Sasha’s palm. She picked out the pennies, tossing them over her shoulder, while staggering backward down the sidewalk. Her legs wouldn’t stop trembling, her head on a non-stop race to insanity. God, she needed a hit.
“Just…go in there,” Sasha said, pointing at the apartment building’s busted front door. “Stall Reid. I need like forty-five minutes.”
“Me?” Roxy’s wide eyes bounced between the door and Sasha. “You’re sending me in there? Alone.”
“You’ll be fine.” Sasha eyed a payphone on the corner, silently praying the fucker wasn’t busted. “Reid’s your buddy.”
“He’s not my buddy, Sasha!”
Sasha waved her hand, which seemed to tune out Roxy pretty damn well. “Do the blowjob thing. Forty-five minutes.”
***
Vinny
Vinny leaned against the wall in Dez’s bedroom, watching his brother stuff handfuls of clothes into a duffle bag.
“I’m done,” Dez said as he kicked the bottom drawer of his dresser shut. “I tried, really fucking tried, to be patient with her.” He pulled open the top drawer a bit too hard, and it crashed to the floor. Its wooden side fell apart when it striked plush carpet, spilling t-shirts on Dez’s boots. “Fuck,” he muttered, kneeling down to gather the last of his clothes.
Only twenty minutes had passed since Dez called Fat Tonys and screamed at Enzo about heading for the hills. Vinny ran five red lights to get home, but Tyler’s suitcase had already been packed. Now that the last of Dez’s shit was loaded into duffle bags, Vinny realized how serious the man was.
“Dez. Fuck! She spent three months in a dark cell. We went to that house, saw that shit.” Vinny cringed. He could live to be one-hundred and never glimpse anything as horrible as what he saw in that place. The rotted bodies that greeted him when stepping inside that farmhouse, Ellen’s childhood home, wasn’t shit compared to the basement. Damp stone walls, tiny cells with steel doors. One of which had Sasha’s blood painted on the walls, along with bits of her flesh dangling from a rusty metal cot.
“You can’t leave her,” Vinny said, trying to sound like the Capo of Manhattan and not a whiny little brother. “Sasha needs you.”
“She don’t need me. Sasha got herself some Mexi-cunt to play with.” Dez zipped his bag, slung it over his shoulder. “That bitch hasn’t been home in three days, except for the five minutes she breezed through here and broke Tyler’s heart. Again.”
“What about me?” Vinny called out, slowing Dez’s sprint from the bedroom. “You just gonna ditch me?”
“Do you even live here anymore?” Dez stopped in the doorway. “You never come home. She never comes home. This place doesn’t feel like a home anymore. It feels like a fancy jail cell.”
Dez looked over his shoulder, his sad, tired eyes settling on Vinny. “If I stay here, I’ll wring Sasha’s fucking neck.”
And with that, Dez walked from the room. Vinny should be relieved. With Dez out of the way, he could finally get some alone time with Sasha. It was Dez and his pussy attitude that had warded Sasha away these last few weeks. It had to be.
“No, Daddy,” Tyler yelled. The boy’s cry echoed through the penthouse, grating Vinny’s ears. “I don’t wanna go. Uncle Vinny, help!”
Vinny ran out of Dez’s bedroom. His feet locked up as he stared over the banister at Dez pulling Tyler across the living room below.
“Don’t let him take me,” Tyler screamed, tears flowing down his red cheeks. “Please, I don’t want to go.”
Fire seared through Vinny’s chest. He was gripping the solid banister so hard he was shocked it didn’t break to pieces.
“It’s all right,” Vinny said, hurrying down the stairs. There was no way he’d let that kid leave without at least getting a hug and kiss from one of his real parents.
Tyler broke free from Dez’s clutch, ran into Vinny’s arms. Little hands clung to Vinny so tight they brought the sting of tears.
“I can’t go. Everybody’s here,” Tyler sobbed, burying his face into Vinny’s chest.
“You have to listen to your pa.” A tremble cracked Vinny’s voice, and his fingers quaked against Tyler’s back. No matter how hard he hugged the boy, he couldn’t quell the ache in his chest. “Your pa wouldn’t steer you wrong. He knows what’s best for you.”
“But—”
Dez ripped Tyler away, and the kicking and screaming started up again.
“Stop!” The boom of Vinny’s shout flinched his own body and put a halt to Tyler’s struggle. “It’s not forever.” Vinny reached for Tyler then drew back. He couldn’t. If another one of Tyler’s tears grazed his skin, he’d beat Dez’s ass for doing this.
“We’ll all come visit,” Vinny said, forcing a smile. “Soon, but Kentucky needs you now.”
Tyler nodded, sniffling.
“Good luck,” Dez said, hurling Vinny a regretful leer. With a suitcase in one hand and Tyler in the other, Dez walked out of the penthouse.
The door closed away Tyler’s pout, leaving Vinny alone to stew in his own agony. There was no sound but the pound of his aching heart, and the echo of its wild throb hammered inside his head. Rage circled his body, clashing with the anguish that already dwelled within. Any
second, he’d fall to the floor and weep like a fucking baby. That would be unacceptable. He ran Manhattan now, sat at the side of Othello Lazzari, had the biggest boss of the largest crime syndicate in his pocket. Crying like a little bitch wasn’t an option.
A roar burst from Vinny’s mouth, and he slammed his fist into the wall beside him. Skin peeled from his knuckles, plaster crumbled as his hand drove through the wall. It helped. The pain ricocheting from his fist, the hole now blemishing this once pristine and somewhat clinical foyer, actually helped soothe Vinny’s jagged soul.
Mobsters waited a borough away, serious men who wouldn’t appreciate being stalled, but Vinny didn’t give a shit. He walked into the living room and plopped his ass down on the sofa. Sasha would be back, eventually. That girl was like bad luck; she struck in threes. There were still two more rounds of pain she had to dish out, and the word patience wasn’t in Sasha’s vocabulary. It wouldn’t be long now until she stumbled through that door. Then he could lay into her for fucking shit up with Dez and Tyler.
***
Sasha
Sasha crouched down in a narrow alley between two buildings. Not only had standing become iffy with the shake of her legs, but the bright shade of her skin in this neighborhood could only bring trouble. Normally, she’d welcome trouble. But fuck, all she could think about was getting another hit. Her every muscle scraped like hot glass, and exhaustion weighed her eyelids down, but she couldn’t focus on that. She was so close to getting enough smack to last her a month, two weeks at the least.
A black sedan parked down the road, and Sasha poked her head out of the alleyway. The passenger door opened, Kev climbed out of the car, and a grin crept across Sasha’s lips. The guy bumbled his cracker-white ass down the sidewalk of Harlem, briefcase in hand, which warped her grin into a glower.
“Kev,” Sasha called out in a whisper, keeping to the shadows of the alley.
Kev’s free hand flew to his holster as he inched closer to the alleyway. The second he saw Sasha, peeking out between two buildings, he rushed to her side.
“Sasha! Jesus fucking—”
Sasha wacked Kev in the gut with the back of her hand. “What the fuck, asshole? I told you to come alone. Who’s in that car?”
“Fuck.” Kev rubbed his stomach, glancing back at the car down the street. “Mickey drove me. I don’t know where 127th and Malcolm X is.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know who the fuck Mickey is.”
“Neither do I.” Kev pushed Sasha deeper into the alley, backed her against a dumpster. “Where the fuck have you been? You look like shit.”
“You look like a douchebag.”
Kev chuckled, wrapping Sasha in a tight hug. “God, I miss you. I’m stuck with all these stuffy Italian bastards. They’re so fucking boring.”
“Get off!” Sasha shrugged away from Kev’s embrace. Her skin felt like a combination of broken razorblades and bits of barbed-wire rolled beneath it. “Did you bring the money?”
“Yeah, but…” Kev handed Sasha the briefcase, stepped back, and cringed as if awaiting a slap. “There’s only two g’s in there.”
“Shit, man. I need five.”
“I know, sorry. It was all I had, and you said I couldn’t tell Otis and Vinny.” Kev peered back out onto the sidewalk. A group of young men strolled by, oblivious to them, and Kev placed his palm on the butt of his holstered gun.
“You ain’t never seen black folk before, have you?” Sasha said, snickering as Kev slid against the slimy wall and back to her side.
“No. I mean, one or two here and there, but…what the fuck are you doing in this neighborhood?”
“My friend’s in the building over there.” Sasha gestured to the apartment complex across the street, the one her eye had been on this entire time. Some very unpleasant things could be happening to Roxy inside that place. Everyone would eat bullets if one drop of blood had been shed from her beautiful girl’s body.
“I gotta go,” Sasha said, pushing Kev toward the sidewalk. “Get Otis’s little narc motherfucker out of here so I can split.”
“Sasha.” Kev grabbed onto Sasha’s hand, squeezing tight. “Will you come back to Fat Tonys tomorrow, please? Vinny’s never around, and Otis is…different now. It’s weird there. I’m all by myself.”
“What about Cory?”
“He went back home. His mama wasn’t taking Cash’s death well.” A strange look crossed Kev’s face, like he might run away, then he pulled Sasha’s hand to his chest. “I know what it’s like to put flowers on your grave. I don’t want to do that ever again.”
Sasha yanked her hand from Kev’s grasp. That didn’t sate her anger, so she shoved him. She hadn’t asked for no one to put any flowers on some grave. Hell, she hadn’t even asked for anybody to dig her a fucking grave.
“Stop being a freak,” Sasha said, shoving Kev again. “Now get, and don’t tell nobody you saw me.”
“Yeah, all right.” A long sigh flowed from Kev’s mouth as he turned toward the sidewalk, walking away.
Sasha crept to the edge of the alleyway, watched Kev climb into the passenger seat of the awaiting sedan. She should be at his side, in that car, on her way to Fat Tonys. She would be, if she were Sasha Lazzari. Sasha Lazzari had died.
“Poor girl got herself shot in the face,” she muttered.
The car busted a U-turn, sped toward the glimmer of tall buildings, and Sasha hurried across the street.
Chapter Three
As far as drug deals go, to walk away from a buy instead of being carried out from one in a body bag constituted success. It didn’t matter that Sasha had to watch her girl suck some guy off while she tossed out excuses to her dealer for coming up short. The fact she handed over all the money and only got a tiny, near non-existent fraction of her promised amount wasn’t much of a factor either. She’d just walked away from a place where every wall had holes between the smears of shit, where people convulsed in the hallways from overdosing on hot-shots, with her girl and a quarter of china. All and all, a good score.
“We need to find someplace,” Sasha said as they hurried along the sidewalk, back toward Upper Manhattan. Sasha eyed every alley they passed, every dark corner, but they were all occupied by junkies, hookers, and homeless people.
“That place.” Roxy pointed at the building lit in a red glow across the boulevard. “Sharkies, they have hourly rates for rooms.”
“I don’t have any cash. Fucking Reid ripped me off big time. After we load up, I wanna go back there and drag my knife across his throat.”
“No,” Roxy said through a snicker. “We still need him.” She took Sasha by the hand and strolled into the street without bothering to look. Tires screeched as cars swerved around them. A pinto nearly sideswiped a van beside them, yet Roxy didn’t spare a glance as she pulled Sasha across the road. Not even when a car’s front bumper squealed to a stop inches from her knee did she flinch.
“Fuck, woman!” Sasha hurried out of the street and away from the people shouting cusses. “You wanna fucking die?”
“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.”
“What?” Sasha pulled Roxy to a stop in front of Sharkies Motel. The woman may be delirious, having never gone this long without booting up before. “You’re talking gibberish.”
“It’s Shakespeare.” Roxy tugged Sasha’s arm. “Come on, I wanna get inside.”
“I still don’t have any money,” Sasha said, keeping one hand in her pocket to clutch the bag of powder within.
“I have money.” Roxy stopped in front of the motel’s glass door and pulled a wad of twenties from the waistband of her skirt. “I made those guys pay for their blowies.” A smile spread across her lips, her jaw smacking the gum that rolled around inside her mouth.
“Nice.” Sasha glided her hand along Roxy’s side, and she latched onto the woman’s curvy hip. She drew Roxy close, dropped a kiss on her soft neck. “Let’s go, doll,” she whispered, licking Roxy’s
ear.
***
A steady thump echoed around the narrow motel room as Sasha drummed her fingers against her leg. The two big lines she’d snorted had barely taken the edge off. It seemed like she’d spent an eternity sitting on a thin mattress in this dumpy little room, staring at a brown stain on the wall while Roxy drifted in and out of a heroin haze. Finally, a light snore flowed from the woman’s mouth.
Roxy was too deep into her nod to notice Sasha swipe the small leather pouch from her lap. Sasha’s heart raced as she staggered toward the bathroom. She stopped in its doorway to glance back at Roxy. Her girl was still conked out atop the ripped bedspread, so she crept into the bathroom and closed the door. This had to be quick, quiet. Every day, Roxy forbid Sasha from booting up while slamming a needle into her own arm. It was an unreasonable demand. Sasha could snort a twenty bag in one sitting and only walk away with a nose bleed. All her time, for what felt like weeks straight, had been devoted to finding that high—the one she’d experienced the first time she snorted a nail-full of powder in the backroom of a strip club. The sensation of an endless orgasm existed. She had grazed it, once, when the horrors of the world had faded from her mind for a few blissful hours.
Sasha slid down the bathroom wall, sitting on the floor. Her fingers shook as she unzipped the small leather pouch. She could find that high again. A little more juice this time, not as much as Roxy’s shots, but more than halfway up the syringe. Then, maybe, she could grasp the fringe of release.
After the smack had been cooked and the needle loaded, Sasha kicked off her boot. A red stain blotted the tip of her sock, turned cold once hitting the air. She pulled off her sock, wincing as the fabric tore off a scab between her toes. Her right foot couldn’t take many more pinpricks. She’d have to start shooting in the other soon.
It took a few minutes for Sasha to find a spot between her toes that didn’t ooze puss or blood. The outside of the little toe was all she came up with. It was going to hurt, later. Right now, she was finding it a little hard to give a fuck about later.
