by Greg Barth
The pain in my side grew from a smoldering ember to a burning flame. I pressed against it with my hand. “Can you speed it up some?”
He looked over at me. “You in pain?”
“Pulled muscle or something. Hurts like a motherfucker.”
“Alright. Crowbar’s apartment is right ahead.”
He pulled the car into a complex and drove around to a long unit in back. “Shit,” he said.
“What?”
“I don’t see his car. Lights are off too.”
“Could be at the club.” I winced at the pain.
It was only five miles to the Red Light Lounge, but it seemed to take forever. Ragus parked in back. “I’m going to help you upstairs. Then I’ll look for Crowbar.”
“Enola will tell you not to.”
“Well, she’s right, you know?”
“I won’t fucking OD.”
“Oh yeah, I know. People do that shit on purpose. It never catches anyone off guard.”
“Fuck you. Go to your own intervention.”
“You wanna fuckin’ kill yourself?” he said. “Maybe people shouldn’t care so much.”
“Too many people mix care up with control, if you ask me.”
He sighed. “Well, how about I just control your ass up those stairs. What do you say?”
He came around, opened my door. I got out and he picked me up in his arms and carried me up the steps to the apartment. I didn’t have my key, but the door was unlocked.
“Where do you want to be?” he said.
“Hot tub.”
He carried me back. I sat on the edge of the bed while he ran the tub. “Nice joint you ladies got here.” He pointed to the vibrator on the bedside. “Yours?”
I shook my head.
He helped me undress and put me in the tub. The water was too warm, but it felt good.
“You don’t look so healthy,” he said.
“If you don’t find Crowbar, just see what’s in the bags they sent back with me. Something will help. Anything.”
“How’d you hurt yourself?”
“I told you already.”
“You said you’d been fucking.”
“Right.”
“Bullshit,” he said. He turned and walked out the door.
I sat in the tub, trying not to cry, as the pain grew more intense.
It was fifteen minutes before I heard the door open and the clip clop of steps on the hardwood floor.
“Fuck,” I mumbled. Either Ragus had lost a hundred and fifty pounds and started wearing high heels, or...
Enola came around the corner into the bedroom. She was dressed in a one-piece evening dress that plunged dangerously low in the back. The hem of the tight dress ended mid-thigh. She wore red platform pumps—she never minded being the tallest woman in the room. Her brown hair lay across her shoulders like silk. Her lips were bright red.
The smell of her Lolita perfume wafted into the room like an entourage.
“Hey,” I said.
“Welcome home. Ragus tells me you’re in a lot of pain.”
“You know. The usual kind of pain. Feels like hell was left in the refrigerator too long then warmed up in the microwave.”
She nodded. “I know you want something to help. I’m going to try something first. If it doesn’t work, then we do it your way. Sound fair?”
I winced from the pain. “I’m keeping an open mind about it,” I said.
She nodded. “Just give me a minute.”
She went over to the wet bar and grabbed a half pint of Maker’s Mark. She brought it over and handed it to me.
I opened the bottle and sipped at the bourbon. I wanted a cigarette, but I didn’t want to move.
She went back to her dresser and opened a middle drawer. She shuffled some clothes around and came out with a small wooden box. She grabbed it and her pipe from the bedside table.
“How’s Jackie?” I said.
“Still staying with her parents. She took Pete’s murder hard. She left you some books, by the way. Wanted me to make sure you got them. Mostly paranormal romance.”
“That’s very thoughtful of her.”
“She likes you,” Enola said.
She checked the pipe, knocked ash from the bowl into an ashtray.
“You ever smoke dabs?” she said.
I sipped at the bourbon and nodded. “Couple of times. Hash resin,” I said. “High potency THC.”
“Bet you’ve never done it my way before.” I watched as she opened the wooden box. She took out a few packets of wax resin. I could read some of the brands—Skywalker, Haze, some others. Like an assortment of high-grade marijuana concentrate. She took a metal dabbing tool that looked like a dental instrument, opened a packet, and scooped a chunk of wax off with the tool. She carefully smoothed off the wax and dabbed some from another packet of resin, then another. By the end of the process, she was dabbing resin that was powdery and in small chunks that clung to the wax. “This is my special mix,” she said.
She came over to the tub and handed me the pipe. She turned the metal bowl upside down on the glass sleeve. “You’ll need to hold the pipe, okay?”
I nodded.
“Be right back.” She went into the other room. I heard her heels clicking as she came back. In one hand she had the dabbing tool. In the other, she carried a small blowtorch. “Get a big drink of that whiskey, but don’t hold the bottle too close.”
I did as instructed. She lit the blowtorch and held the blue point of flame against the metal bowl. She moved the flame around the rim of the bowl from side to side until it was glowing red.
“You ready? This is really going to fuck you up.”
I nodded a bit too eagerly. I leaned forward from the back of the tub as much as I could. I put my lips to the mouth of the pipe.
Enola pressed the tip of the dental tool against the red-hot rim of the bowl. The wax resin vaporized immediately.
I drew in air through the pipe. The thick white smoke poured through the pipe into my mouth, throat, and lungs. I pulled away and leaned back.
Enola looked me in the eye. She was so beautiful. “You know, I really like you a lot.” I could hear the emotion in her voice. I could tell it took a lot for her to say that. It sounded like a confession. I’d never seen her this vulnerable.
“I do,” she said again. “I really like you so much. I mean...” She shrugged and looked away.
I tried hard not to laugh. I bit down hard to suppress it. I didn’t want to release the smoke just yet.
TWENTY
Selena
“YOU CAN’T DO it this way,” Benny said. He flicked ash from his cigar into a jar lid he was using for an ashtray. “It’s too risky.”
We sat at a table in the club. It was the middle of the day, and the bar was closed.
“Where’s the risk?” Ragus said.
“You make the exchange at the municipal airport, you’ll get busted. Might work once. Maybe twice. But you’re taking a big chance.”
“What do you recommend?” I said.
“Get the shit off the plane. Get it away. Make the exchange somewhere private. Indoors. No trading cash for product in public places.”
“I got a spot you could use,” Crowbar said.
“Too far, Bob,” Benny said. “I got a nephew runs a welding shop between the airport and here. We use that. Anything goes down, the cash and product aren’t in the same place long.”
“Fine. We do it your way, Benny,” Ragus said. “The main thing is, we get some quality product flowing to the street.”
“I got to hand it to you, Pop Tart,” Benny said. “That shit you got locally was okay. But this thing here, it’s a good arrangement.”
“Thanks, Benny,” I said. I didn’t call him on the Pop Tart bullshit. I was nursing a bottle of Maker’s Mark. I had a wooden cane propped against the table in front of me. The top of it bent around in a shepherd’s crook for a grip. Enola thoughtfully picked it up for me, and it made getting around easier.
“You still gotta go loaded for war,” Benny said.
“Won’t that just draw attention?” Crowbar said. “I mean, nobody’s going to know about the setup.”
“My crew can tool up,” Morgan said. “Be good to get ‘em out of the projects for a bit. Like a Sunday drive.”
“So we’re going to haul an army out to the airport?” Crowbar said. “How the fuck is that a smart move?”
“We take a few. Just a few,” Ragus said. “And we move fast.”
“I’d take all I could rustle up,” Benny said. “But you youngsters can figure it out.”
“A few should work,” I said. “I mean, if anybody catches wind of this, we have a betrayer sitting at the table with us right now. And if that’s the case, we’re already fucked.”
Benny crushed out his cigar. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his powder-blue leisure suit. He looked across the table at me. “Pass me some of that whiskey, Pop Tart,” he said.
I handed the bottle to him. He took a long drink and winced. He passed the bottle back. “Take an army. You won’t regret it.”
I took a drink from the bottle. “So now you want to fight?”
“I’m no coward, kid. But I don’t relish the fighting. Nothing good comes of it. You need to pick out a nice dress, young lady. Something in black. The way this thing’s going, you’re gonna have a lot of funerals coming up.”
Ragus looked around the table. “Okay, so we’re good? We get this shipment, and we’re back in business. We can’t control the territory like before, but we can compete with quality. Let’s get the cash flowing, then we can find a solution to these fuckers encroaching on us.”
“I’ll have a couple guys armed and ready to go tomorrow,” Morgan said.
“My nephew’s shop will be at your disposal. We’ll need to kick a little something the kid’s way,” Benny said.
“We’ll take good care of him,” I said. I passed the bottle back to Benny.
“Sounds like we got a plan,” Crowbar said.
I looked around the table. No objections.
“Meeting adjourned,” Ragus said.
Everyone got up except me. Robert Crowe came over. He knelt on one knee by my side. He pointed to the cane.
“You okay, girl?”
“I’m not. I’ve got a pulled abdominal or something.”
“Where?”
I pointed to my side.
“You want me to check it out?”
I looked around the room. Everyone was making small talk on the way to the door. Everyone, that is, except Enola. She was making a pretense of counting cash out for the register drawer. She glared at me from behind the bar.
Nosy bitch.
“Let’s go someplace private.”
“VIP room?” he said.
I nodded.
He helped me up, and I hobbled over to the VIP room, using the cane with each step.
I could feel Enola’s gaze burning my back.
When the door closed behind us, I relished the privacy.
“I’m sensing some tension,” Crowbar said.
I sighed. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person that really understands me.”
He chuckled. “That’s because I’m the guy that takes the pain away.” He sat on the vinyl couch next to me.
I put my arm around his shoulder. “Really. I mean, some people just want to control me. That’s how it feels anyway. I don’t like being controlled. Not by anyone.”
“She cares about you,” Crowbar said.
“She’s not my mother.”
He chuckled. “We all know you’re looking for a father figure. Not your mother.”
“I know, right? Daddy issues. Mommy issues. We never grow up, do we?”
“Ain’t no fun in growing up, Amanda.”
“I just wish more people were like you. You let me be who I am.”
“Show me where it hurts.”
I pulled my shirt up. There was a wide bruise across my abdomen. He gently touched the skin around my floating rib. “Here?” he said.
“Lower.”
He pushed against my side with his fingertips. “No rigidity,” he said.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be good if you had internal bleeding or organ damage. How were you injured?”
“Fat guy sat on me.”
“Serious?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I can help you with this.” He pulled out his kit and rustled through it.
“You got any heroin?” I said.
His fingers stopped moving in the bag. “I’ve got better for this thing you’ve got going on,” he said.
“No. I don’t mean now. I mean...you know, for some time?”
“Uh, yeah. I can get it easy. I wouldn’t trust it, though, if you get it from just anyone. You never know what you’re getting. Could be too strong, or could have been stepped on so much it’s weak as shit. But I can get cleaner than that. Maybe some morphine?”
“We’ll see. I was just thinking.”
“How are you planning on using it?”
“I don’t know. Smoke it, maybe?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Sure. I can hook you up.”
“None of that shit from Jack, right?”
“Nah. I got better.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Who’s your supply?”
He smiled. “You have to let the pharmacist keep some secrets,” he said.
“Pharmacist my ass,” I said. “You’re a fucking doctor in my book.”
He brought out a vial and a syringe. He opened both and drew a dose for me.
“Not too much,” I said.
“Let’s get your britches down, honey.”
I unsnapped my pants, unzipped, and pushed them down. I lay on the couch on my side.
Crowbar leaned in against me. I felt the bite of the needle in my hip. I waited for him to tell me he was done. He didn’t say anything. His hand slipped in between my thighs. His fingers cupped the crotch of my underwear.
“No, baby,” I said. “I’m too sore. Can I just use my hand on you?”
“Shhh,” he said. “Just let it sink in.” He rubbed me with his fingers. I felt the sensation of warm cotton in my mouth. Crowbar squeezed my ass cheek with his hand. The room was spinning.
I closed my eyes tight. I counted to three then forced them open. I pushed his hand away and sat up. “I’m going to take a rain check, Crowbar. Put this on my tab. I’ll cash you out later.”
“No worries, kid. I’ll get the H for you too.”
I stood and pulled my pants up. “Please,” I said.
I opened the door and stepped back into the club. Everything was a fog. I looked up at Enola and tried my best to act sober.
“It’s a miracle,” she said.
“What?” It sounded like my voice came from far away.
“You’re getting around without your cane.”
I turned and went back into the VIP room to get the cane. I’d need it later once the medicine wore off.
TWENTY-ONE
Deke
DEKE WALKED UP to the porch of Mozingo’s lakefront rental home. Mozingo paid in advance for three months’ usage of it. The grass was wet with morning dew. Damp cobwebs in the line of shrubs along the concrete walkway up to the covered porch. Bird songs broke the early morning silence.
Heather sat on the metal glider with her legs crossed. Her red hair was a tangled mess that fell over her shoulders. She wore a white, half t-shirt with no bra underneath and a pair of bikini panties. She was drinking a cup of coffee and had a magazine open on the chair beside her.
“How’s our man doing?” Deke said.
“No better,” Heather said.
“He’ll pull out of it soon.”
“He needs medicine.”
“Well, they never gave him no pills when we was in the can together, and he always came through. Sometimes it helps to talk him through the darkness.”
“Like I don’t talk to him?”
“Not saying that. Just—”
“I ever need your advice, I’ll give you a call. How’s that?”
“Can I see him?”
“He’s in the bed.” Heather sipped at her coffee and looked out at the mist rising from the surface of the lake.
Deke pulled open the wood-framed screen door and stepped into the sitting room. The hardwood floor squeaked under his heavy boots.
He found Mozingo in the bedroom, lying in bed. He had a sheet up to his waist. He was shirtless, open eyes staring at the ceiling.
Deke took a seat in the chair by the bed. “Hey Boss,” he said.
“D.”
“How you feeling, man?”
“Doesn’t fucking matter how I feel.”
“It does to me.”
“Nothing matters. There’s no meaning to any of it. No purpose. It’s like we’re all fucking dead already.”
“Yeah? How so? Those germs you’ve been worrying about.”
“No, man. It’s worse than the germs. I was watching this show on TV. It talked about solar flares. Cosmic radiation. Super novas. Shit like that. Could fry everything alive on earth any second. Just any single second. And for no reason at all.”
“Could be,” Deke said. “Life’s a fragile thing.”
“It don’t matter that it’s fragile. It matters that it’s not a precious thing. Germs. Asteroids. Doesn’t matter what it is. We all fry and nobody cares. There’s nobody there to care.”
“God you mean?”
“God, Santa Claus. Whoever.”
“That’s bleak. You know that girl of mine? She was reading in some novel or something about how even if humankind lasts a long, long time, it still don’t matter. ’Cause the universe is going to just keep expanding until it gets dark and cold. And then there’s nothing.”
“Exactly. It’s like we’re already there.”
“It’s why I don’t look for meaning or purpose. I’m just out to have the best time I can.”
“You don’t think enough, D. That’s why it doesn’t get to you like it does me. I go days and days and it’s all I can think about.”
