Heroin Annie

by Peter Corris

  She glanced up from her drink and shrugged. Leather jacket stood up and walked over to me; he had acne scars and a gold front tooth and he looked tough. I tried to look tough back.

  ‘Name?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  He flashed the tooth and spoke to Shorty. ‘You know him, Doc?’

  Doc pushed back a strand of the stringy hair and looked at me with his pale eyes. The flesh around his face and neck was like soft, white dough.

  ‘No’, he said. ‘He's not a narc. Don't like the look of him, but.’

  I shrugged and took out the heroin. ‘I know Sammy and Annie and Paul and I'm pleased to meet Doc; who're you?’

  ‘Sylvester Stallone’, he said. ‘Let's have a look at the shit.’ He reached for it, but I moved it out of reach.

  ‘You look, I talk to Annie.’

  ‘How much have you got?’ Doc asked. His voice was deep and resonant, belying his appearance.

  ‘One kilo, pure.’

  ‘Dean, you'd better have a look at that shit’, Doc said. Annie, talk to the man.’

  I tossed the sachet to Dean and motioned to Annie to come out on to the front balcony with me. She got up and moved sluggishly through the French windows. The others gathered around Dean ignoring the television and their drinks—they were communing with their God. The balcony ran the width of the house; it was about eight feet deep and glassed in for half of its length. Where we stood was open—out in front of us there was just the dark night and the sea. Annie stood with her back to the rail, the cigarette in her hand glowed like an angry red eye. I moved up close to her, took her hand and moved it around to the small of my back so she could feel the gun.

  ‘Feel that? It's a .38, does nasty things. I'm going to use it on some of your friends if I have to.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘My name's Hardy. You wouldn't remember me, but I live near your Mum in Glebe. She's hired me to find you and help you if I can.’

  ‘What are you doing peddling shit, then?’ Her breath was heavy with tobacco and alcohol; there was a rank smell from her clothes as if they'd been slept in. She was also trembling violently.

  ‘That was a blind to get me here. You're in a bad way, Annie, you must know that.’

  ‘Sure. What do you reckon you can do about it?’

  ‘I can take you out of here. I know some people who've worked the cure. Your mother wants to talk to you, your parole officer's not too happy. The way you're going your life's rotting away in front of you.’

  She sagged against me into what I thought at first was a fit, then I realised she was laughing. The spasms shook and twisted her; she was leaf thin and impossibly light; I put my arm around her and could feel the sharp bones poking through the tight skin. I got hold of a morsel of flesh on her upper arm and pinched hard.

  ‘What's funny?’

  ‘Everything.’ She cut the laugh off with a deep breath which she expelled slowly. She looked over my shoulder into the room. ‘We've only got a minute. Look, Hardy, I'm working for the narcs. I don't want to, but they've got me by the tits. Understand?’

  I nodded.

  ‘There's a guy coming here tonight with some smack, a lot of it. It's a set-up. When Doc pays him, he's going to bust them all. It's arranged.’

  ‘What do you get out of it?’

  Her tired features worked their way up into a sort of smile. ‘Freedom’, she said. ‘That's what they've promised me. They say they'll wipe my slate.’

  ‘Any money?’

  ‘Some, enough to get out of this bloody place. It's my one chance, Hardy. If you butt in now you'll screw it for me, and they'll come down hard on me. You know what they're like.’

  I did. I knew what they could do to people who got caught in their dirty world, a world in which the narcotics agents themselves were not the least dirty part. I squinted at her in the soft light, trying to gauge her levels of truth and reality, but you can't assess junkies on the normal scale—their habit over-rides everything else, straightens out their curves and throws in new ones. Anything was possible, but there was a note in her voice that cold be taken for sincerity and she was Ma Parker's daughter.

  ‘I'll buy it’, I said. ‘When's he due?’

  ‘Soon, any minute. I'm trying to come off it, I'm badly strung out. It has to be soon, has to be. Shit, I really didn't need you in the scene.’

  ‘We'll see. Look on me as your insurance. Why did they agree to let me come along if they've got this big score lined up?’

  ‘Greed. Look, we can't stay out here, and I need a drink bad. I'm going back.’

  She moved away and I let her go. Inside new drinks were being poured and cigarettes lit. The television was still on; tennis players in coloured uniforms moved around on a red court under a blue Texas sky. Dean had slit open the sachet with a razor blade and his face was showing a little awe as he looked at me.

  ‘You say you've got a lot of this stuff?’

  ‘I may have exaggerated a little.’ I looked him up and down and let my eyes drift off over Doc and Paul. ‘I've got as much as you can handle anyway.’

  Doc spoke quickly. ‘We'd need to see more of it, Dean. Anyone can get hold of this amount of good shit. There's something about this that worries me … this packet.’

  Paul and Sam were working on a big joint, rolling it with a number of papers and giggling. Paul was singing a song about Rio. Dean sneered at them and went over to where Annie was standing; she had a cigarette burning and her face was drawn tight and stiff.

  ‘What do you know about this guy, Annie?’ Dean said.

  ‘I had a girlfriend in Silverwater’, I improvised. ‘She…’

  ‘I was asking her!’ The scars on Dean's skin showed out white and malignant-looking as anger pumped colour into his face. Doc was staring at the square of plastic in his hand and it was an altogether nasty situation when a soft knock sounded on the back door.

  ‘That'll be him’, Annie whispered. ‘This is it.’

  ‘Two big scores in one night,’ Sam said putting a match to the cigar-sized joint. ‘Let's celebrate.’

  ‘Shut up’, Dean hissed. ‘Paul, open the door; Doc, stand back so you can get a good look at him.’ Dean reached inside his jacket and took out a .45 Colt automatic; he slid the hammer back to full cock and stood where he could get a clear shot at the door. He obviously knew what he was doing, and I felt even more under-equipped and unready with the .38 tucked down behind.

  Paul opened the door, and the man who came through it conjured up pictures of the veldt and sjamboks: he was about six feet tall with wide, beefy shoulders; his face was reddish and broad, topped with thin, sandy hair. He had that blue-eyed, mass-produced in Holland look, which repels most people not of the same stamp.

  Doc wasn't repelled; a smile spread over his pasty face; stretched tight, his lips were like a pair of peeled almonds.

  ‘Hendrick, dear friend,’ he cooed. ‘Hendrick, is it really you?’

  The newcomer didn't smile back; his pale eyes flicked around the room, rested on me for an uncomfortable time, and then settled into a neutral, business-like glare.

  ‘I thought it'd be you, Doc’, he said. ‘It had the smell, you know.’ His accent was three shades thicker than Sam's but it was formed under the same African skies. He moved forward like a man about to take control. His grey suit would have been conservative except for the over-bold red check in it. There was a gun bulge under the left lapel and a bulge of another kind in a side pocket.

  ‘Don't be like that, Henk’, Doc said soothingly. ‘We're all friends here. Let's get down to business.’

  I took a side long look at Annie; her cigarette was burning away unheeded and extra strain seemed to have stripped the flesh from the bones of her face. I didn't know what sort of act she'd expected from her contact, but it clearly didn't include pleasant greetings from Doc. A double-cross was in the air and she could sense it. Dean acted as if comprehension was no concern of his; he held the .45 at the ready an
d waited.

  Hendrick ignored Doc's patter and looked again at me. ‘Who's he?’

  ‘Dealer’, Doc said, ‘small time, nothing to interest you Henk.’

  I took a chance. ‘Not so small’, I said. ‘Fair sized consignment, first grade stuff.’ The heroin was lying on a chair arm and I pointed to it. ‘Sample.’

  The pale eyes seared me like acid. ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Interesting.’ He walked over to Annie, took the cigarette from between her fingers and dropped it into her glass.

  ‘Dirty habit, Annie’, he said. His big white hand came up and he took a grip on her left breast. Annie looked down.

  ‘I'm glad it's you we're dealing with Henk’, Doc said rubbing his hands briskly. ‘Annie had some story about a Vietnamese. You don't look like a Viet.’

  Hendrick laughed. ‘Well, Annie wasn't completely in the picture.’ He squeezed her breast harder. ‘It's my job to get in touch with all these desperados. But Doc here is a gentleman compared to some. I do the community a service by keeping him in business.’

  Sam was looking at him with her mouth slightly open—another one not repelled. Paul was well away with the grass; he'd smoked most of the joint and he was lying out on a sofa as if he was ready to levitate. Dean was still at his post.

  Doc spread and waved his hands like the Pope bestowing a benediction. ‘There's no better smack than copper smack, let's see it, Hendrick.’

  He moved away from Annie and unbuttoned his jacket; the black butt of the gun curved out near his shirt pocket. He nodded at Dean, ‘You, put the popgun over there near the telly and then go back near the door.’ Dean did as he was told after a nod from Doc. Hendrick pulled out a package from his pocket and tossed it to Doc. It was wrapped in plastic, and when Doc had unwound it a couple of dozen small, linked plastic pockets rippled out like a snake.

  ‘Hip belt’, Doc said. ‘Good one. Annie said thirty grand, that right?’

  Hendrick nodded and Doc went out of the room. When he came back he was carrying a manila envelope which he handed to Hendrick. Annie watched fascinated; maybe she was still hoping that her deal would go through, but it must have been a faint hope. Hendrick wasn't acting; he counted the money carefully and put it away in an inside pocket. He had no particular expression for thirty grand just as he had no particular expression for tit-grabbing; I wondered what he did for fun.

  ‘This is a nice place, Doc. Had it long?’

  Doc shrugged; he was looking uneasy and Dean was shifting his feet like a boxer about to start punching.

  ‘What about a drink?’ Hendrick moved towards the bottles and then suddenly darted right and picked up Dean's gun. He had the safety off and the thing on full cock in one smooth movement, the way they train them to do where he came from. Our host looked worried for a minute, but his expression changed when Hendrick pointed the gun at me.

  ‘You know, Doc’, he said, ‘you shouldn't deal with fly-by-nighters like this. Could get you into trouble. Is his stuff good?’

  ‘The best’, Doc said.

  ‘Is it now? Well, I just might take him and it into custody and do myself some good.’ He lifted the .45 a fraction. ‘You wouldn't object, Doc?’

  Doc licked his lips; there was reluctance in his face, greed as well, but they both had fear to contend with. He let the plastic belt slide in his hands. ‘No, Henk’, he said. ‘Be my guest. Nothing rough here though.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He moved up to me and put the muzzle of the .45 under the point of my chin.

  ‘Where is it?’ This was what he did for kicks; he pronounced the ‘where’ like ‘vair’ and there was a big, blue vein standing out under the pink skin of his temple.

  ‘No rough stuff here, Henk’, I said.

  He brought his knee up accurately and I went down with that feeling of pain and violation rolling through my body. As I hit the floor I felt the gun bite into my back and I had the consoling thought that I might get a chance to shoot him where he'd placed his knee. I lay there blinking as the spasms shot through me. My wallet was in the top pocket of the denim jacket I was wearing and he bent down and lifted it out. He looked through the contents letting them drop to the floor one by one. There was only money, driver's licence and stray papers. I contemplated an attack from below but the gun in his hand was nicely directed and rock steady.

  ‘Clifford somebody; nobody.’ He dropped the last paper disdainfully like an ice cream wrapper.

  I sat up, controlling the pain and gathered the things from the wallet. I was about to put them back when Hendrick stood on my left hand. He bore down on it with all sixteen stone, and I screamed.

  ‘Where?’

  I shook my head. He swung his other foot at my head; I rolled away from it a bit but he connected near my ear. I felt skin tear and bones click, and there was a roaring sound getting closer. The warmth on the side of my face and neck was my blood.

  ‘Now, Henk’, Doc said.

  ‘Shut up! How'd he get here?’

  ‘Sam brought him’, Dean said. ‘He said he knew Annie.’

  Hendrick looked at Sam with interest, she returned the look.

  ‘He showed me the sample’, she purred.

  ‘Did he say he had it with him? Hendrick was still looking at her, but as if he'd like to hurt her.

  ‘He didn't say.’

  ‘Did he stop anywhere?’

  ‘No, oh yeah, he did stop. He bought chewing gum.’ She giggled. ‘And bananas.’

  ‘What else did he do? It's important.’

  Sam was pretty stoned but she gave it a good try. ‘Well, he gave me some gum and he had some good grass in the car. He didn't smoke and he's got this sort of springy step.’ She giggled again.

  ‘What?’ Hendrick snapped.

  ‘Well, I was thinking how he was Mr Clean, you know, not smoking and that. And outside the shop he shoved his hand into this rubbish bin, like a derro. It looked funny but I guess he was throwing something away.’

  He glanced down at me with the look he probably used when he was kicking the kaffirs about ‘Amateur!’ he sneered. I groaned and let him have his fun.

  ‘Well, I think that winds it up here’, Hendrick said. ‘Get on your feet you.’ He helped me with a kick on the leg and I promised him something for that too. ‘Annie, you're coming with us, and you too.’ He waved the gun at Samantha. ‘You can show us the spot.’

  ‘I don't know …’ Sam mumbled.

  ‘Yes, you do. Let's go.’

  ‘Hey’, Dean rasped, ‘what about my gun?’

  Hendrick looked at the .45 and slowly swung it around to point at the bridge of Dean's nose. ‘It's a good piece’, he said. ‘I like it.’

  I got up slowly trying to look more wonky than I felt. I was glad he liked the gun, a man with two guns isn't looking around for a third; stands to reason. He herded us out of the house and up the steps to his car, a yellow Cortina. Annie moved listlessly and Sam tried to regain some of her oomph, but it was a losing battle, she was stoned and scared. Hendrick gave the keys to Annie.

  ‘You drive and the blonde can keep you company. I'll cuddle up in the back here with Clifford.’

  Annie drove slowly and steadily and Sam sat rigidly beside her. I slumped back in the seat away from Hendrick and groaned from time to time. The blood had stopped flowing and the pain in my head wasn't worse than an impacted wisdom tooth. I concentrated on blaming the man beside me for the pain and the ills of the world generally.

  After a while Hendrick asked Sam a few questions, and encouraged her replies with a few prods of the .45. He'd uncocked it, but I remembered the speed he'd displayed before—not yet. We slowed down and after a few false alarms Sam found the right shop. It was closed; there was forest on one side of the road and the houses on the other side were set well back from the road and behind high hedges and shrubberies. There was light from a street lamp a little way off but not much of it. There were two rubbish bins outside the shop.

  He got Annie to U-turn and we pulled up twenty fe
et or so back from the first bin. Hendrick stuck the gun in my ribs.

  ‘How're you feeling, man?’

  ‘Lousy.’

  ‘Good. Now I want you to get out, go up to the right bin and retrieve something. Then bring it back here to me. If you do anything silly I'll shoot you and there'll be all the evidence I need to make it okay. Understand?’

  I nodded wearily and got out of the car. There was a light breeze and it hurt the torn flesh by my ear. I limped up to the first bin, paused a minute and then went to the second. I put my hand on its rim and then collapsed, rolling on to my side where I could see back to the car. Nothing happened for several long seconds, and then Hendrick got out. He still held the .45 and he was very wary. I played dead and let him put his boot toe into my ribs. He seemed satisfied and burrowed down into the bin, still keeping the gun on target. He pulled his hand up with the package and proved he was human—for a split second he forgot me and looked at his prize. Adrenalin was flooding me—I grabbed the gun hand and pulled it down while I swung one foot at the back of his knee. He grunted and came down and I ground the fingers into the cement; I felt his little finger break and his grip relax, and I slammed the hand down again. He let the gun go and whimpered a bit. I got up fast and reached back for the .38. His eyes were wide with pain and surprise as I put the muzzle between his eyebrows.

  ‘Henk’, I croaked, ‘you should pick your enemies better.’ I kicked the .45 away into the shadows and put the .38 into the rubbish bin. ‘Get up.’

  He was good; he came up fast and threw the package at me but I was ready for that, and he missed anyway. I put a straight left on his nose and felt it give. He roared and swung wildly; I let him miss twice and then I stepped up and hooked a hard right into his mouth. The flesh split and a couple of his big, beautiful white teeth collapsed and I hit him there again. His hands went up to his face and he stepped back, then he lowered his head and charged; I stepped away and he went hard into the post which held the bin. I ripped him twice under the heart and he went down and lay still.

  I was breathing hard and both hands were hurting, but it was my turn to gather guns and money. I collected the lot and picked up the plastic packet of corn flour from the roadway. Annie got out of the car and walked over to Hendrick couchant.