“Did you ever think about doing it again?”
“I dunno. I guess not. Not seriously, anyway.”
“That’s the thing with heroin. You don’t know who’s going to get hooked and who isn’t. But very few people can use it recreationally. You’re one of the lucky ones — it didn’t grab you right away. If you’d kept dabbling with it, believe me, it wouldn’t have taken long before you’d have been addicted, too.”
He pauses. Maybe he can hear in my silence that he hasn’t really answered my question.
“But as far as, why him, why not you? Nobody knows.”
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Nope.”
That surprises me. For some reason, I had the idea that a lot of drug counsellors are former addicts themselves. “You were never curious?” I ask.
He laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “Sure,” he says, “but there’s curious smart and curious dumb. I like to stay in the first group. If there was a bottle of a hundred pills sitting on the table in front of you, and I told you, half of these are safe and half are deadly poison — certain death, would you take one?”
“Of course not,” I say.
“Well, that’s the kind of risk people take every day with heroin,” he says. “Because they’re curious!”
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t go looking for Devlin. Turns out, I don’t have to.
It’s just a little over a week later and I’m at work, making a sub for one of our regular customers. I happen to glance up and there he is, standing on the sidewalk outside. He’s watching through the plate glass that forms a large part of the outside walls. When he sees me looking at him, he lifts a hand, gives a weak wave, and tries to smile.
I’m horrified as he starts to move toward the door. I picture him coming in and demanding money, making a scene.
“Uh, I have to step outside just for a minute,” I tell Paula, my co-worker. She starts to object, but I’m already past her and halfway to the door. “I’ll be right back,” I say over my shoulder.
Devlin looks bad, like he hasn’t slept in days. He reaches for my hand. I let him take it.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he says.
“I’m not giving you any money,” I tell him.
“I know I let you down,” he says, like he didn’t hear me, “but I’m going to get back on track, I swear.”
“You’re going back to New Valley?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course,” he says.
“When?”
“I just need to get smoothed out first,” he tells me.
I look straight at him. I want to believe him, but I know the way his hands are fidgeting means he needs a fix. And that means he’ll say anything.
“I swear, Lexie,” he says softly. “If you give me a few bucks, that’s all I need. I just need to get myself levelled out. Then I can handle the first night there. You know, get some rest to face coming off it tomorrow.”
“I don’t have any money on me,” I say.
“Yeah, but, where’s your purse?”
“I don’t bring my purse to work,” I lie.
“Well, just get me ten bucks from the cash register,” he says. The pleading has left his voice. It’s gone hard and determined.
“I’m not stealing money so you can get high,” I say. I’m angry with myself for listening to him. Everything he just told me is a lie and I know it. He has no intention of going back to New Valley tonight. All he wants is money for heroin.
“Ten bucks!” he yells, in an instant rage. “I’m asking for ten lousy bucks!”
“I’m not giving you money,” I say.
And then it happens. It’s so fast I hardly register what’s taking place at first. He grabs my arm and turns me around so that he’s behind me. I feel myself being pushed forward. I nearly stumble as my feet are propelled along the sidewalk.
“What are you doing? Let go of me!” I say. I’m angry, but I’m not scared. Not yet.
“You’re going to help me get some money,” he says.
“I am not!”
We’ve passed the front of the Subway shop. I wonder what Paula is thinking. Probably that I’m being a big, irresponsible jerk leaving her to handle all the work. Anyone watching most likely just sees a guy and girl hurrying along.
It’s beginning to dawn on me that he really means business. That this could be bad. I remember, in sessions at New Valley, how he described the craving.
“Nothing matters then except getting a fix. You don’t care about anyone or anything.”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “Let go of me. I’ll get you some money.”
He laughs. It’s a harsh, scornful sound. He wants me to know that he’s not fooled as easily as I was. The funny thing is, I’m telling the truth.
“I mean it,” I say. “You can even come in with me. I’ll get you some money. I’ll get you twenty.”
“You had your chance,” he says. “You think I’m stupid?”
“Well, how am I supposed to get you money if you won’t let me get my purse?”
“You just told me you don’t have your purse with you.”
“I’m sorry, Dev, honestly. I didn’t realize you were in such bad shape. But now I do, and I want to help.”
He wrenches my arm, twisting it up behind me. I yelp in pain. He relaxes it just enough for it to stop hurting.
“Shut up,” he says. “Now, you just do what I tell you and this will be over in no time.”
“What? What will be over?” I can hardly breathe for the panic in my chest.
Devlin doesn’t answer. Instead, he applies pressure to my arm again, forcing me up on tiptoe.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” I say. I don’t even know why the question made him angry. I decide I’d better stay quiet.
There’s a small convenience store on the corner. He steers me toward the door and that’s when I know. He’s going to rob the place. I wonder why he’s brought me along. Clearly, the craving is preventing him from thinking straight.
I feel myself shoved through the door, Devlin still right on my back and holding my arm. We’re barely inside when he leans forward and murmurs, “Just go along with this and everything will be okay.”
“Come on, Devlin, don’t do this,” I say.
“Oh, we’re doing it,” he tells me. He smiles but it’s grim and ghastly and completely without mirth. He leans down and kisses my cheek.
I realize that he’s let go of my arm. Rubbing my shoulder, I turn toward him. I have to try to talk him out of this.
That’s when I see the knife in his hand.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s funny how your brain works. Even though I have plenty of proof that what’s happening is real, my first thought is: “He’s just messing with me.”
Shock, I guess. Refusal to believe something terrible is true. Whatever it is, it doesn’t last long.
“Turn around,” he says. His voice is low and menacing.
“Devlin, please,” I stammer.
“Turn around,” he repeats. Fury is rising in his face. I obey.
“Walk to the cash,” he says.
I move forward as slowly as I can. Trying to think. Trying to buy time. There’s a chubby woman at the cash — probably in her fifties. She looks up, sees me. It registers on her face. She knows at once that something is wrong.
“Yes?” she says. She’s trying to sound normal.
Devlin moves suddenly. He presses up against me and circles my waist with his left arm. His right hand moves up, bringing the blade of the knife to my throat.
“Give me the money in the cash,” he tells her, “unless you want to see a lot of blood.”
Her hand goes to her mouth and her eyes widen, but she
doesn’t make a sound.
“Now!” Devlin yells.
The blade is cold and sharp against my skin.
“Hurry up!” he yells, jerking with the effort.
A sliver of pain registers, like the sting of a paper cut.
“Devlin,” I say, fighting to stay calm, “please be careful. You’re cutting me.”
He leans around to check and relaxes the knife. As he does this, the woman at the cash reaches under the counter. I’m stunned when she produces a gun. She holds it up, wild-eyed, and points it at me. Or, I suppose, at us, really, since Devlin is squarely behind me.
“Get out,” she says. “Get out or I’ll shoot.”
“You gonna shoot a hostage?” Devlin sneers.
“Hostage nothing,” she answers. The gun in her hand has made her brave. “You two are in on this together.”
“No!” I say. I can’t take my eyes off the gun in her hand. “It’s not that way — I swear.”
“Sure it’s not,” she says. Her voice doesn’t waver.
And then I feel myself moving again — closer now. I’m right up against the counter. The knife has moved away from my throat and is pointing at the woman. The gun trembles in her hand.
“Back up,” she yells. “I’ll shoot.”
“No! Please,” I beg.
Then there’s a flash of movement and the knife appears like magic, sticking into her shoulder. She screams and drops the gun. As she grabs the knife handle and pulls it out, Devlin is up and over the counter. He bends and when he straightens up, the gun is in his hand.
“Give me the knife,” he says, holding his free hand out. “Nice and easy.”
She drops it into his open palm. Her whole body is vibrating. “Please,” she whimpers, “please don’t shoot me.”
“Then give me the money. RIGHT NOW!” Devlin orders.
Blood is oozing from the wound in her shoulder. A dark red trail makes its way down the pale green sweater she’s wearing. She’s shaking so hard that she can barely control her hand to punch keys on the cash register. She stabs jerkily at a few buttons, but nothing happens.
I wonder — if I turn and run, will he let me go? I tell myself that it’s Devlin, that there’s no way he’d shoot me. But my feet won’t move.
Devlin shoves the gun into the woman’s side. “Stop jerking me around!” he shouts at her.
“I’m trying,” she says. She’s crying and shaking and bleeding. There’s blood running down her sleeve now, making three or four trails across her hand. The cash register is smudged with red from her attempts to open it.
I try to think. Can I get the gun away from him? His finger is on the trigger and he seems to be holding it good and tight. And it’s pointed at the woman. I can’t take a chance.
She’s totally falling apart now, sobbing and blubbering out words that make no sense. I think I hear her say something about having children.
“Shut up!” Devlin yells.
She can’t seem to stop herself. The jumble of words keeps on coming while she pushes at buttons on the register. And then, suddenly, it dings and slides open.
Devlin shoves her aside. She bangs into a display case behind her and sinks down, sliding to the floor. He reaches into the cash register and begins to pull out bills. He shoves them into his pockets with one hand while the other continues to clutch the gun.
I see the woman eyeing the gun and hope she won’t try anything. It’s clear that she’s still very frightened, but she’s beginning to calm down. Very slowly, she begins to get back to her feet. Her eyes never leave Devlin. He, on the other hand, seems unaware of anything except the money.
I clear my throat, willing her to look at me. If only she’d glance my way, maybe I could get a message across. I don’t like the way she keeps staring at the gun.
I wish I could tell her that there’s no need for her to try anything at this point in the game. Surely she doesn’t think he might shoot her now. After all, he has what he wants.
She’s inching toward him. I open my mouth to say something — anything — to stop her. But it’s too late.
She lunges at the gun.
Devlin spins and jerks his arm.
And there’s another sound. A bell tinkling.
The door opens.
A little Chinese girl — maybe twelve years old, walks in.
And then, the roaring CRACK that I will hear for the rest of my life.
The sound of a gun firing.
Chapter Seventeen
I’m bent over her when the emergency services start to arrive. Her eyes are closed and her face shows no sign of pain, only surprise. There’s not too much blood. I tell myself that’s a good sign, but she’s so small, maybe she doesn’t have a lot in her to begin with. I can hear a slight rattle as she breathes.
The police get there first. They’re gentle and kind when they tell me I have to move. One of them takes my place, bent over the little girl. Unlike me, the officer knows what to do and I watch as she checks for vital signs.
The ambulance arrives next, followed by a second squad car, and then a third and fourth. The officer who moved into my spot over the girl yields to a paramedic. I study his grim face for a moment and then move to a corner to wait.
Devlin is gone. The shot was still echoing when he bolted for the door, jumping over the Chinese girl on the way. I wonder if he’s scored yet, if he’s leaning back against a wall somewhere with a needle plunged into a vein.
An officer comes to my corner. He tells me I’m a witness and I need to give a statement. He leads me to a car and has me sit in the back seat.
There are so many questions. He starts with my name and date of birth. He writes his questions and my answers on pages on a clipboard.
“Were you already in the store when the shooter came in?”
“I went in just before him,” I tell him.
“And where were you when he approached the cash?”
“I was ahead of him. I mean, he was walking right behind me the whole time.”
“Did you see him pull out the gun?”
“Devlin didn’t have the gun at first — the cashier got that from under the counter,” I explain. “He pulled out a knife, and held it to my throat and told the cashier to give him money or there was going to be blood all over the place. Something like that.”
“Devlin,” repeats the cop. His voice is different — less gentle. “Did you know this person?”
“Yeah. Devlin Mather. He, uh, he used to be my boyfriend.”
“I see.” He doesn’t sound like he sees. “And when did you and, Devlin, break up?”
“We broke up a long time ago,” I say. “And then we started to go out again just a little while ago. I guess we didn’t ‘officially’ break up this time. It’s a bit complicated.”
“Okay,” he says. There’s a pause. I feel like I need to explain, but I’m trying to see what’s going on inside the store at the same time and it’s hard to sort out what I should say.
The ambulance workers are finally lifting the stretcher. She’s so tiny that it almost looks like there’s no one on it. My stomach clenches, watching them carry this limp little girl who a few short moments ago was innocently on her way to the store.
I try to tell the officer that I feel like I’m going to throw up, but my mouth is so dry that I can’t speak. Then he gets out of the car. He says he’ll be back in a moment.
Someone starts to moan, “noooo,” over and over again, like that might change what’s just happened. I realize the sounds are coming from me.
It startles me when the officer comes back. He clears his throat.
“I’m going to take you downtown, to the station,” he says. “We’ll finish up the interview there.”
The drive there is a
blank, like it never happened. I wonder if I talked with the officer on the way there. When we get to the station, they take me to a room with a table and leave me alone for a while.
It’s a different officer who comes in later. He’s followed by a female cop. They sit down at the table. He sits across from me and she takes a chair at the end.
“I’m Officer Campbell and this is Officer Neally,” the male cop says. “Before we get started, would you like something to drink?”
“Water, please,” I say.
Officer Campbell leaves and comes back with a Styrofoam cup of water. I want to gulp it all at once, but I force myself to take tiny sips.
“The first thing we need to know — and we need you to be truthful with us,” Officer Neally says, “is where we can find Devlin.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for weeks.”
That earns me some raised eyebrows.
“Until today, that is,” I add hastily.
“Do you think we’re stupid?” Officer Campbell asks.
“No, of course not.”
He leans forward, like we’re sharing secrets. “Look, Lexie, the best thing you can do for yourself is level with us right here and now. We know you were in on this. So far, you’re just an accomplice. Things don’t have to be as hard on you. But the sooner you start being honest with us, the better. Otherwise, it’s going to get a lot worse.”
“You think Devlin won’t give you up if he can make a deal for himself?” asks Neally before I have time to absorb what Officer Campbell has just said.
“We can’t help you if you lie to us,” Campbell throws in.
“I am telling you the truth,” I say. “I was working — I have a job at Subway, and he went there and forced me to go with him.”
“So, there will be people — co-workers, customers — at Subway who can back this up? Devlin coming in there and forcing you to leave with him? It must have caused quite a ruckus.”
I feel confused. “He, well, he didn’t come inside, exactly. He was going to — he was walking toward the door. So, I went out — to keep him from coming in and causing trouble.”
Accomplice Page 6
