by Andrew Birch
But Tay wasn’t a regular person. Inside she was the grifter, the drifter with an eye for a con and a sadistic streak that would resort to violence at the drop of a hat. She felt for the small bag of blow in her purse, and remembered the drug deal, and having the handgun in her pocket. The adrenaline was indescribable.
They had more drinks, and, already feeling a little bleary eyed and hazy, the caught a cab to a popular club. It seemed to Tay that the club was situated in somewhere she found vaguely familiar. Maybe it was in the old quarter of the city where she’d hung out as a kid, but with a few beers inside her she couldn’t remember. The club was desperate for single sexy women, and a notice behind the bar said that drinks were free before eleven thirty for women, and Justine and Tay took full advantage, ordering bizarre combinations of boozy cocktails. They all tasted strange to Tay, she was mainly used to the smoother taste of Kentucky bourbon, but this would do. Her head span merrily as they joined the other patrons on the dance floor. The sound of the music echoed in Tay’s head. A thought entered her mind,
Law of the jungle
Somehow it reminded her of the fight with Diane, and the sudden chaos, and the blood pounding in her ears. A guy could hold this place up with a shotgun and none of these people would ever even know. But right at this moment, Tay could barely even spell the word shotgun, her head swam comfortingly and she let her body and senses go to music she didn’t recognise. They were hot and sweating by now, Justine’s heels had been ditched by eleven thirty and she danced barefoot, Tay was glad she’d worn her flats though. The whole barefoot thing reminded her too much of the home and that damned cupboard and Groucho. Groucho again.
At about one am, they were very drunk, and Tay needed a cigarette, and so they went to stand on the outside balcony so she could smoke.
“I swear”, slurred Justine, “I swear if I jumped off here, I could fucking fly. I mean, how hard can it be?”
“Just flap your wings baby”, chuckled Tay, barely able to register a sentence.
“I don’t have wings”, Justine said disappointedly, “isn’t there a drink that supposed to give you wings?”
“Tastes like dog piss”, slurred Tay, leaning onto the railings for support and drawing heavy on her cigarette.
“Give me one of those, wouldja?” Justine said,
“You don’t smoke”, objected Tay, “it’s a dirty habit, I’d stop but I been smoking since I was nine”
“Just gimme one”, she said again, “might make me high”
Tay remembered suddenly. The bag of blow. She fished about in her purse, excitedly. She realised that being drunk was quite annoying. Like now, she had to find this bag of blow and show her friend Justine. She just had to. And damn it, she couldn’t get her hands on it. Everyone would be so pleased with her for having blow, she thought in drunken high. Everyone would love her.
“What are ya lookin for”, said Justine watching Tay’s hands intently.
“I have blow”, she said loudly, “I’m a fucking drug dealer baby”
“Blow”, Justine repeated loudly, “Blow it up. They blow everything up, don’t they.”
“I got it baby”, Tay said grabbing the packet. Several people were looking, and so Tay, struggling to see, told Justine drunkenly to be quiet,
“Don’t tell them, she said laughing, “don’t tell them we have drugs.”
Justine winked, the liquor and the fresh air hitting her hard. She could hardly see now and focussed on Tay’s fingers. She had pretty fingers. No rings, or long nails, but she was nicely manicured. Wonder what her fingers taste like, she thought, and bent down to lick one.
“Take it easy baby”, admonished Tay, feeling just as drunk herself. She knew she had to be careful. She had no ides which the opening end of the bag was, and feared spilling the contents out.
“Shhhhh”, replied Tay, let’s go to the toilets.”
“yeah”, giggled Justine”, lets pee”
“No”, replied Tay, no peeing. Just this”
She held up the bag of blow. Justine nodded. Getting off the balcony and down to the stairs to the toilets was hard. Tay suddenly envied Justine her bare feet, the flats she had worn suddenly felt, with her drunkenness, that they were lead divers boots,
“fuck this”, she said suddenly halfway down the stairs and kicked them off suddenly, leaving them on top of a monitor. That was much better. She felt much lighter barefoot like her friend, and the two of them giggled like school girls and tripped and jostled their way to the toilets and a cubicle together.
“Your shoes are gone”, said Justine with surprise.
“yeah”, said Tay, they were kinda getting in the way. I’ll get em in a bit. I left them some place.”
She couldn’t remember where. At this moment, neither of them could remember going to the toilet, or how they’d got in this cubicle. Tay imagined they would have to stay in the cubicle to sleep, until the boozy haze wore off a bit. Fighting the urge to puke, Tay emptied the contents of the bag of blow out on the little side cupboard in the cubicle. Taking her credit card, she slowly chopped at the white powder, forming it into several lines.
“Coke is better than Pepsi”, muttered Justine giggling.
“Sure is baby”, agreed Tay, !Right now I could drown in this stuff. Fuck me, we are flying tonight baby”
Tay bent down and snorted a line. Fuck yeah. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Strangely, the room took a double dip, and Tay suddenly felt the urge to puke again.
“Your turn sweet thing”, slurred Tay, holding the wall for support, “take a line”
Justine, never having taken coke before, snorted a line up her nose. Her eyes seemed to glaze over for a while, and leaned back in the cubicle.
“You ok, baby” Tay asked nearly swooning, “first times always a bitch. “
Justine was silent. Tay tried to bend to take another line, but she found that if she bent, the room took another double dip and felt the puke coming up her throat again. Gingerly she bent her knees in a most unladylike pose, and managed to get down to the stuff. She snorted another line. Now she couldn’t see any more at all, and had to feel for Justine. Justine seemed smaller than before, and only came up to her waist now for some reason. Fuck her, she thought, and tried to snort some more. She was only partially successful. She forgot to bend her knees, and bent double to snort. In doing so, the room took the triple dip, and flew round and round. She fought to keep her consciousness, feeling everything in a sea of black and blood. Then she vomited heavily.
What the fuck was this. She felt she was paddling in the sea, she could feel stuff between her toes. Was she still in jail? It was a tiny box of some kind. How the fuck had she got here? She kicked past a body of some kind and out into a sea of noise that deafened her and made her puke again. Then voices. And arms. She felt herself passing out, but puked a third time. Then for a long time she was alone. Tay stumbled along what she thought was a sidewalk, still in a world of dizziness and darkness. Her feet hurt. Where the hell where her shoes?? Where the fuck was Groucho? She stood for a moment and tried to find her friend. Nothing. Tay felt the sudden urge to go to the toilet, but where the fuck where the toilets? Maybe she could go round an alley somewhere. But she still didn’t know where she was although this all looked vaguely familiar. Maybe it is familiar, she thought, its ok to go to the toilet somewhere familiar, if I’m at home and just outside then I’m ok. She leaned on what was a wall, sitting down hard and felt her bowels give way. A gush or diarrhoea came from her and covered her lower half, legs and feet. The act of it made her pee herself and vomit again. Fuck. Gonna be a mess tomorrow to clean up, she thought. Still, she thought, I’m in my bathroom, I’ll just sleep here.
Fucking bitches. He’d said for them to ring him when they wanted picking up, but their cells were dead. Wanting their night out to be over so he could return to bed, he’d got in the car and gone to find the club, to see if he could spot them stumbling along. He hadn’t gone too fat into town when he saw a pa
ssed out figure in the torn remnants of a black dress collapsed at the side of the street. Blonde hair. He got out of he car in a hurry. It was Taylor. Jesus, she was a mess, and covered in her own shit and puke. He realised straight away this wasn’t alcohol . The girl had overdosed.
Eyes open
Shut them shut them shut them shut them her brain screamed. Obediently, she closed them again against the pain of the headache and the general aching in her whole body. It might have been a hospital, it certainly wasn’t dinghy enough to be her own apartment. The sheets had seemed white, and comfortable. She opened her eyes again hesitantly. A man’s expensive Rolex watch was on a little side table at the edge of the bed. Not hospital then.
At that moment, Jack came in,
“You’re awake”, he said with some concern in his voice, “I was getting worried there, you’ve been pretty sick.”
She nodded weakly.
“Found you in the street close to her”, he confirmed, “you were ODing. Good job I got to you when I did.”
She rubbed her body and gingerly sat up in her bed,
“you’ll ache for a while”, he said, sitting down on the bed, “gave you an adrenalin shot. Cleaned you all off in the shower. How d’ya feel”
She thought for a moment,
“Like I was run over by the line 40 bus” she said hoarsely.
He sat down on the bed, something troubling him,
“Something I gotta ask you”, he said with a furrow appearing on his forehead, “I was gonna wait, but…it seems like the time.”
“What”, she asked.
“The stuff you took”, he confirmed, “that was pretty fucked up stuff. Real rough. Where’d you get it?”
“I dunno”, she lied.
“It’s just cos…Justine nearly died last night. She’s in the hospital.”
Taylor panicked. Justine. In the middle of her OD she’d forgotten all about Justine.
“The hospital found traces of Tetramisole and Cyanide in the blow. I need to know where you’re getting that shit from.”
“Why”, she asked coldly, “you turned into a cop?”
His face was hard now,
“My buddies interests depend on knowing where that shit is. I tried to get it off the streets, but there was a complication. If the stuff ended up for sale, then I’m pretty much fucked.”
Taylor shook her head, thinking hard,
“I dunno”, she lied again, “how is Justine?”
“She’ll live”, confirmed Jack, “so you go to a club with a giant bag of blow, OD on it and yet you’ve no idea where you got it?”
“I don’t remember”, she said, “look. I don’t have to fucking account for every inch of my life”
“How about if I told your parole officer you’d been doing coke in a club?” he suggested.
“Then I guess I go back to jail”, she said resignedly, “but I still wouldn’t remember where I got the blow.”
Jack gave it up. She was lying about the blow, he knew that. But she wasn’t saying, for some reason. For the first time, he began to see Taylors other side, the hard ass, the criminal mind, the trouble maker. He liked the sweet girl who talked about her past and played drinking games with him, he didn’t like her lying cheating side. No matter, he thought, he would find out who was selling the blow sooner or later.
She laid listening in Jack’s bed. He’d gone out. She’d thought he was cross with her, but he couldn’t prove a fucking thing. Fuck him. Taylor didn’t answer to anyone. The blow had been poison, that was sure, next time she’d fucking sample it before selling it. That was a valuable lesson, make sure you know what the fuck you’re dealing with before you sell it. She got out of bed and tried to find some clothes.
Elsewhere, jack was trying to find answers. At this moment, Jack and two of his employees were in a disused fish warehouse off the east side of the city. Jack was stood with a baseball bat, one of his workers had a knuckle duster. Tied to a supporting beam of the warehouse was a badly beaten black man. At one time, his t-shirt had been purple, but now in hung in bloodied rags about his face.
Jack stood in front of the man,
“So”, he began, “I’ve been hearing about how two people died of an OD on your patch two nights ago.”
“What of it man” spluttered the man, “you the quality drug police”?
Jack hit him, and the man coughed in pain,
“Quiet”, he ordered, “now. All I need to know is where you got the stuff from”
“I don’t know man. Fuck you.”
Jack sighed. That was the second time he’d heard that phrase today. ‘I don’t know’. Well somebody fucking knew. At that moment, Carl came in, his black framed glasses making his face sweat in the morning sun.
“Any luck”, he asked in a matter of fact tone.
“Creep says he doesn’t know” replied Jack.
“Hmm” said Carl thinking, “I’m guessing he’s lying. Pull one of his teeth, see if that jogs his memory”
Jack nodded to his aide a the side of him. Jack shut his ears to the screaming as the makeshift dentistry began.
“That should do it”, said Carl, “course it would be easier if we could do this to the girl.”
“Touch her and you know what’ll happen” warned Jack.
“I know I know”, replied Carl, “You’re sweet on her. God only knows why. She’s ruin you, you realise that. I’ve seen her type before. Either way, your funeral. We get nothing out of this black, then Maranzano is gonna put your little sweetheart in the dentist chair himself.”
In the dentist chair, the dealer’s face was full of blood. He’d had enough.
“Zimo’s girl, man”, he said through broken teeth, the blonde”
“Carry on taking the teeth” ordered jack, Zimo doesn’t have a blonde. Besides, Zimo is dead.”
The dealer shook his head, and then said a phrase that sent jack’s blood cold,
“She had a beige jeep”, he said spitting blood, “blonde, Dixie accent, mean as a junkyard cat. Sold us a whole bag full of the shit.”
Carl looked at jack, and the man with the glasses shook his head.
“Like I told you”, Carl said quietly, “She’s fucking with you. First you find this LA TV producers card in her jacket pocket. Then, she shoots two of your guys, steals our stuff and goes and sell sit to the competition.”
“She doesn’t know she’s doing it”
“What?” Carl replied, “Are you going soft in the fucking head? This woman shot two of your guys in cold blood, stole a case full of blow and then lied to your face about it, not to mention planning her escape route to LA. Normally, you’d fuck someone over for doing that to you.”
Chapter 18. Bang bang I shot you down
Jack thought long and hard about what Carl had said. First of all there was Maranzano. If any of the Maranzano family knew Jack had allowed the tainted blow to hit the streets and risk some fallout coming back to them, then Jack was in deep shit. Second of all, Taylor had indeed lied to him. Of course, the extent of her treachery was still to be determined. He knew she’d obtained the blow, probably by force. But that could still be a kind of accident, though Jack couldn’t see how. The LA guys business card could also be explained. Maybe Taylor lying to him in bed that morning, lying to his face, had been nothing but her fear. But Jack put that out of his mind as idiocy on his part, that woman had never felt fear in her life, of that he was certain.
He called her.
She sounded busy when she answered,
“Where are you?” he said curtly,
“Buying a bouquet for Justine”, she said, “why, what’s happened?”
“You remember where you bought the bag of blow yet?” he asked again.
“What the fuck is this? She asked exasperated, “the cop routine again?”
“Just fucking tell me” he said, exasperated.
“I dunno”, she said, “I was out of town somewhere, one of the gas stations along the freeway. I’d had a driv
e one night”
“Huh”, he said unconvinced, “I guess that explains it. Oh, by the way, a guy phoned the bar asking for ya. Name of Larry Burke. From LA, he said. Mean anything to you?”
“He was just a friend who came in the bar, sweet heart, that’s all. Dunno what he could want though”.
Jack was still unconvinced. He felt sure she was lying now. He called another number, a female friend of his brothers. Gave her specific instructions.
Larry Burke was buying a newspaper in the hotel lobby when the phone rang. A young girl’s voice came through on the other end. Said her name was Taylor.
“Is the offer still open”, said the voice.
“Sure honey”, said Larry, a little distracted. The seller had given him a dollar short in his change.
“That’s a dollar short”, he said holding out his hand,
“What”, said the girl on the phone, “what’s a dollar short?”
“Oh”, replied Larry nodding to the paper seller, “not you, the paper seller.”
“Oh”, said the girl, “I don’t know any paper seller. But just tell me again what you said to me the other night, so I know I’ve made the right decision.”
Larry did so. Taylor seemed really pleased, at least that was how she sounded on the phone. He was going to put her up in his apartment, and try to get her TV work. Leave Jack Mason high and dry. It was all signed and sealed. Pleased at the thought of finally finding a pretty girl full of sass to work on the Lepowitz show and show his ex-wife that he wasn’t a failure, he forgot to tell her the day she was leaving. Unable to find her number, he cursed his luck until he decided to try the bar. As fortune would have it, as his car pulled up on the kerb, there she was, just unlocking the bar.
“Hey babe”, he shouted, “forgot to tell ya. Friday at three, JFK. I’ll meet you at the main entrance.”
“What you talkin bout, baby”, said Taylor with an amused look on her face, “I told ya the other day, I’m not goin nowhere. I have this town right where I want it.”
