Night Court

by Ashley Fontainne

  Merry had on no makeup, a fake barbed wire tattoo on her arm, skintight leather pants, a brand new pair of black riding boots, and one of Harold’s old wife-beater t-shirts. When she looked at her handiwork in the mirror, she laughed out loud. Her newly acquired muscles rippled under the thin shirt.

  Hell yeah. Badass! Hmm, wonder if Harold would have liked this look?

  The last thing she needed was stashed away under the couch cushion. Extracting the drugs she took from Peppy, she snickered inside the quiet house. Her plan to offer a deal to Mookie was perfect. After his arrest, she knew his stash would be running on fumes from having his stuff confiscated.

  He’d be putty in her hands.

  There was only one thing dealers loved more than cash or drugs—the chance to snag more of both.

  ***

  She drove around the outskirts of town for an hour, enjoying the strange connection she felt with Joshua. Driving his treasured bike, the one he bought to celebrate the six-month mark of sobriety, made her heart pound with joy. He’d only had the chance to take it out twice, and this was Merry’s sixth ride.

  Harsh words had been exchanged between father and son, with Merry stuck as mediator, again, when Joshua rolled up on the beast. Harold lit into Joshua for such a stupid purchase, how high his insurance would be (Harold—always the accountant) and the danger of simply riding the thing. Merry ended up siding with Harold (which was a rarity) and tried to persuade Joshua the purchase was a mistake, and that if he ever had an accident, he would have zero protection. Joshua stood firm, saying he was no longer participating in behavior that would kill him. He promised to be a conscientious driver. He’d put his arm around both their necks, hugging them tight, saying he’d put them through enough and having to identify his mangled corpse full of road rash was not going to happen.

  The irony didn’t escape her.

  She decided to stop at Sonic while waiting for the final stragglers from rush hour traffic to dissipate. Removing her helmet, she pushed the button and ordered a limeade. In minutes, the car hop appeared and let out a low whistle.

  “Wow! What a ride! Yours?”

  No, idiot. I’m just watching it for someone else.

  “It was…is, my son’s. He lets me take her out for a spin now and again. I’m telling you, riding this baby makes me feel young. Better than Botox!”

  The kid handed Merry her drink, almost dropping it while he ogled the black and silver machine. “Yeah, I bet! Whoa…you have a son old enough to drive this baby? That’s cool. So, what is it?”

  Merry couldn’t stop herself from grinning at the kid. If his eyes got any wider, they’d fall out onto the hot pavement. She understood why Joshua had bought the expensive toy, and it wasn’t just from enjoying the rush when atop it. People were drawn to the bike. It was like sitting on a piece of art.

  “Honda VFR1200F.”

  “Sweet! Your son must be an amazing guy because if I owned this baby, ain’t no way I’d let anyone drive it. Especially my mom. She’d wreck it.”

  Setting the limeade in the cup-holder, Merry slid on Joshua’s helmet. The kid’s comment irked her for some reason, so she said, “Son, you have no idea what your mother is capable of doing. Given the right circumstances, she could do anything. She just might surprise you.”

  Merry revved the engine and backed out, leaving the bewildered-looking kid coated in the trail of dust from the bike’s tires.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Merry turned onto Mookie’s street, well aware the bike stood out like a sore thumb. She didn’t care. People who saw her would assume she was one of the following: some rich kid from Chenal or The Heights, trolling the hood looking for a score; or the police. If ever questioned, they would report a crazy, black-haired chick with a tattoo riding some fancy, loud bike.

  A bike with no tags, since she’d removed them at a gas station a few blocks up from her current location.

  The fading, orange rays from the sun cast an eerie glow over the area. The dimming light illuminated the crumbling neighborhood. The houses were old, one-story boxes built in the 40s. Cookie-cutter replicas of each other, like the builders back in the day had no vision, no sense of style. Aged sidewalks, cracked from years of neglect, with weeds jutting through the spaces, were empty. Most of the windows on the front of the houses were either boarded up or had bars on them. Chain link fences surrounded the majority of the dilapidated homes, each in various stages of decline. A few of the overgrown, uncared for yards boasted junkers, some so full of rust the original paint color of the cars was impossible to make out.

  This area of town wasn’t as bad as Little Rock’s version of the hood, which was the southwest part of the city, but it wasn’t far behind.

  As she approached Mookie’s place, Merry stiffened. Mookie was outside, yelling, waving something in the air. Merry realized it was a big two-by-four just as he brought it down in front of him. An old, unkempt holly bush about three feet high blocked her view of what he hit, but it didn’t matter. She could tell from the howl of pain ringing down the street before she got close enough to see the dog.

  Merry’s anger roared to life at the sight. It took a few seconds for her to tamp it back down. She pulled over to the shoulder and shut the bike down. Before she had a chance to yank the helmet off, she heard a woman across the street yell, “Mookie! Ya hit that dawg one more time and I’m gonna call it in! I swear I am! Better yet, I’m gonna come over there and let it loose one night while you’se sleepin’! Let him get a few good bites on ya ass. Serve ya right for bein’ so mean to him.”

  “Fuck you, bitch! Don’t be tellin’ me my business! Mind ya own. This here’s my dog, and I’ll do what I damned well please!”

  Merry reached for her father’s old nightstick and the bag of drugs from the side pouch, her gaze never leaving the two quarreling neighbors. Though he continued to scream expletive-filled comments at the elderly neighbor—one who stood on the other side of the fence, hands on hips in a stance only a mother can perfect—Mookie hadn’t hit the dog again.

  Merry glanced up and down the street. No one else seemed to be outside. At least she didn’t see anyone. Hell, it was too freaking hot to venture out. In one swift motion, Merry slid the black, wooden baton out. Pressing it against her leg to conceal it, she held the grip tight. In her left hand, she palmed the baggie full of heroin. Deciding not to remove her helmet just yet, Merry squared her shoulders and walked across the street. In seconds, she stood at the corner of the fence.

  Mookie and the annoyed neighbor were in a full-out verbal war and never noticed Merry’s approach. He’d moved away from the injured dog, over to the edge of the fence. While he screamed at the woman, who did the same right back, Mookie couldn’t keep still. He paced like a caged animal, arms flailing about, going on and on about his business and his dog.

  Yeah, he’s jonesing for sure.

  Merry took her gaze away from the arguing duo and scanned the house. No bars or wood on the windows. No abandoned toys strewn about. No vehicle in the driveway. The front door was wide open, a TV blaring from the sparse living room. A scrawny, half-starved black pit bull lay on the ground near the base of the front porch steps, bleeding from a large gash to his snout. There were other, older scars from similar looking wounds on its head, back and legs. It made a strange noise Merry couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t a whimper or a growl—more like a hybrid between the two. She expected the dog to be cowering in terror, fearful of its brutal master, who obviously had a rough hand.

  It wasn’t.

  She could tell, even from the distance separating them, the dog was filled with raw, unabashed hatred. It never acknowledged Merry’s presence, for its sole focus was on its horrid master. There was nothing behind its eyes that could even be considered pet-like. Mookie’s vicious treatment of the animal had returned the dog to its primal state. Its dark brown eyes were trained on Mookie’s back. It inched forward in a slow crawl, away from the steps. From Merry’s perspective, it se
emed the dog was attempting to sneak up behind Mookie and attack. Hackles raised and lips curled back over its long, yellowish fangs, it only made it as far as the thick rope tied to its neck would allow.

  While staring at the poor creature, Merry decided to alter her original plans for Mookie. Under the helmet, a wicked grin lit up her face.

  “Yo, dude! What you want? Better be good, or you’ll be sorry yo ass came over to this side of the river.”

  Out of her peripheral vision, Merry could see Mookie to her right, moving with slow, calculated steps. He was less than fifteen feet away, holding the two-by-four like a baseball bat.

  Let’s get this party started.

  Baton still gripped firmly in her right hand, Merry turned. Facing Mookie, she watched his eyes widen when the realization she was female set in. Sliding the visor on the helmet up, Merry let the baggie full of white powder dangle.

  Producing her best smile as the bait swayed back and forth, Merry responded, “Mr. Majors, I need someone to help me with a shipment. Peppy mentioned you in a recent conversation. Said you were the best, though I do have my misgivings about his recommendation.”

  Though still on alert, Merry saw the hunger for the contents of the baggie behind Mookie’s eyes. He licked his lips, glanced up and down the street and then back toward the house of his elderly neighbor, who had given up on the argument and retreated inside. Seeing nothing, he tried to keep his tough act up, but Merry heard a twinge of excitement in his voice

  “Yeah, I am…which means I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, bitch. I don’t know anyone by that name. Leave, or I’ll feed you to Hercules. I ain’t fed him in two days, so you’d be gone in a few bites.”

  Merry traced Mookie’s every move. With slow steps, Mookie made his way to the front porch, careful to keep the distance even between them…and his body out of reach from the dog.

  “What, your roommates too afraid to feed him while you were sitting in County, waiting for your turn in front of the judge? You know, from getting pinched after selling to a minor? Perhaps Peppy gave me false information about your skills and I’ve wasted not only your time, but my own.”

  Mookie’s eyes widened for a second and then narrowed into angry slits. “Ain’t got none, and even if I did, Hercules wouldn’t eat from…wait, how the hell did you know…?”

  “I’m also good at what I do, Mr. Majors. I study the lives of potential business partners with a keen eye. Make sure to pick wisely those I allow into my inner circle. Unfortunately, after Mr. Ramirez’s change of plans, I have an opening in my organization and quite a lot of brown sugar in need of distribution.”

  She watched Mookie clench his jaw, his gaze never leaving the bag in her hand.

  “Hmmm, it seems I was given false information from Peppy, so I’ll be on my way.” Merry turned and only made it three steps before Mookie called out from the porch.

  “Wait…how much?”

  Pausing in mid-stride, Merry answered. “Enough, Mr. Majors, that just one transaction with me will score us both enough cash to quit the life for good. That is, of course, if you desire to retire at such a young age, as I do. One and done and then a chance to ride off into the sunset. Heat around here is getting too intense for me.”

  For ten seconds, the only sounds she heard on 8th Street was the humming of traffic from the interstate, the weird grumbles from the dog, and the TV inside Mookie’s living room.

  “Bring the bike. Park it here, and then come inside. Gotta make sure you ain’t wired. Then, we can talk.”

  With a nod of her head, Merry continued forward until she reached the Honda. Mookie watched her from the front porch while she maneuvered the machine into his driveway. Taking off the helmet, Merry placed it on the seat and then walked up the steps.

  “Hold still,” Mookie instructed.

  He leaned the two-by-four against the doorframe. Merry blocked out the sickening sensation of his hands moving all over her body while he searched for a wire. She had to force the bile back down when he lingered way too long on her breasts and in between her legs. Mookie didn’t wait for Merry to offer him a taste of the baggie’s contents. Instead, he yanked it from her hand and motioned to the living room. Merry stepped inside and gave the room a quick scan. They were alone, at least in this part of the house.

  “Leave that,” Mookie said, pointing to the club.

  “As I already mentioned, Mr. Majors, I’m very good at what I do. It has kept me from never setting foot inside a police cruiser or jail and free from bullet holes or other injuries. If the club goes, so do I. In this business, one can’t be too careful. Don’t want to end up like Peppy. Agree?”

  The stare-down between the two lasted a full minute. Every muscle in Merry’s body was tensed, ready to unleash holy hell if things soured. In the end, she had read Mookie right. The craving for a hit and the chance to score a ton of cash was too much for Mookie to pass up.

  “Some attitude ya got, bitch. Fine. Sit. Let’s talk while I try a sample. Whatta ya mean ‘end up like Peppy’? You sayin’ dude’s on the slab?”

  Yes, let’s. Enjoy the interaction because it will be one of the last you ever have in Mommy’s house.

  Bastard.

  “I am. Guess you missed that tidbit of local gossip while in lockup, huh? I’m surprised your handler didn’t mention it. If you were my C.I., I’d a already questioned you because of your affiliation with Peppy. Ask you if you decided to take out some competition.”

  “How…?” Mookie’s question trailed off. He bit his lip instead of saying anything else.

  Merry graced the lowlife with a sly grin. “My sources, Mr. Majors. Didn’t you hear me earlier when I said I make sure to unearth all the information I can on a potential partner?”

  Mookie nodded.

  “Don’t worry about it, though. I guarantee you won’t be questioned because my sources informed me the Urchins took him out, which is why I’m shopping for a partner on this side of the town.”

  “Urchins, huh? Peppy shoulda known better than to piss in their territory. They’s meaner than ol’ Hercules.”

  So am I.

  Mookie’s focus was back on the baggie. Eagerness danced behind his dark brown eyes. A faint hint of what Merry could only guess was his version of a smile tugged at his lips. “Guess Peppy’s loss is my gain, huh? Gotta say, I’m surprised he was steppin’ out on Tee…I mean, our supplier. Guarantee you that’s who took him out. Competition is fierce in this town, and Peppy knew way too much. Thug life. Gotta love it.”

  Bonus intel to extract later!

  “Mr. Ramirez’s death does not concern me, and I don’t think it should you either. After all, we’re both still here, right? Means we’re smart. Streetwise. Business savvy. I believe we both have a lot to gain by forming a partnership between just the two of us, Mr. Majors. So, go ahead. Indulge. Trust me. I know you’ll love what I have to offer. Its killer shit.”

  6

  7:45 p.m. Saturday night

  Merry stood by the open door, unwilling to sit anywhere in the cesspool Mookie called home. Plus, she needed to remain on guard, and if necessary, be close to an escape route. Fresh air was also a factor. The place reeked almost as bad as the alleyway dumpster. Mookie seemed to forget another person—no, a complete and total stranger—was in his living room. The fool was too busy fiddling with the baggie. He examined it like he was testing out fine wine. Held it up to the bare light bulb on the lamp beside him, turning the sack round and round. He stuck his nose inside the opening and sniffed, as though it were a fresh flower. The gesture was followed by poking his index finger inside, letting a sliver of white coat it. Mookie rubbed the powder between his thumb and finger and then across his gums.

  The scumbag’s fascination with the smack gave Merry a brief moment to study her surroundings. No decorations on the dirty, bare walls. A couch crammed in one corner, sporting more holes than material. Empty fast-food containers were scattered on the small coffee table and the floor
around it. Ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts and drug paraphernalia. The living area opened directly into the kitchen, which was a disaster zone. Garbage littered almost the entire linoleum floor. A roach skittered over the toe of her boot.

  In stark contrast to the squalor, a large flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. Expensive looking jeans, t-shirts, and a leather jacket were draped on the one chair pushed up against a card table. A hookah at least four feet tall rested in the other corner.

  Lovely priorities.

  Merry turned her attention back to Mookie right as he loaded his nose up with a full snort. The sounds coming from him made her stomach roll. Within seconds, Mookie was no longer shaking. She could see his pupils dilate into enormous, black saucers. His shoulders drooped, and he moved almost in slow motion over to the couch. His body melded into the folds the second he flopped down.

  “So, what do you think, Mr. Majors? Top grade, right?”

  Mookie wiped his nose twice. His eyes closed as he rode the rush. “Straight! Damn straight. Stuff’s better than Memphis Yellow we get from…” Mookie clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head. “Where’s it from, and why ain’t you hitting any?”

  Ah, thank you for that little nugget of knowledge. Tee somebody-or-other brings it from Memphis. Good to know.

  “Let’s just say, the shipment I’m waiting on is actually being shipped. You’ll be the one picking it up and driving back. That’s all you need to know for now, Mr. Majors. Recall I mentioned I’m good at what I do? That’s because I don’t’ get fucked up when making business deals. I fly high when in the safety of my home.”

  Mookie blinked so slow, it looked like his eyelids weighed thirty pounds. It took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts and form words. “What’s your name, and tell me again how you know so much about me? I ain’t never seen you before. You ain’t wired and ain’t sampling. I swear I smell cop.”