by Jonas Saul
Reading Wallace Stern right now gave Blair the creeps. Something was bothering Wallace. Something menacing.
Blair blinked. Maybe he was seeing things. Wallace always wore a smile. He was the man with the one-liners. Everyone thought of him as the resident Jim Carrey. That’s why Wallace needed the drugs Blair sold him—because he was so depressed. But tonight, the depression that raged on the inside seemed to have surfaced on Wallace’s face.
Blair decided to go see him after another hand or two. See what was bothering him. Maybe he could fix him up with something special. Something to take all the pain away.
“Folding or betting, Blair?”
“Sorry, Jess. Daydreaming.”
Blair placed his bet and lost to a pair of nines. When Blair looked back at the cashier’s cage, Wallace was gone.
Chapter 7
Sarah eased down on the bed and moaned when her head hit the pillow.
“I need help, Aaron.”
A moment later he was at her side.
“I’m here.” He caressed her hand.
She placed her free arm across her forehead, blocking the light.
“Advil,” she whispered. “In the lobby. There was a gift shop. Can you?”
“On my way. Don’t move.”
Aaron let go of her hand. She listened to him walk to the door and slip out quietly.
When they had entered the room minutes before, Sarah headed straight to the bathroom where she cleaned her face and hands in the sink. The bathroom was elegant, gorgeous. Crown molding lined the ceiling. Granite counters that had to be an inch thick with his and her sinks. It even had a bidet. Behind glass doors, the shower was as wide and long as a two-person tub with a stone bench, presumably for a woman to sit and shave her legs.
The hotel room itself was stunning, the furniture something from a magazine. It was the perfect room for a young couple to vacation in. Unfortunately Sarah wouldn’t be in the room long enough to ever know.
Without wasting time, she rolled to the side of the bed, placed her feet on the floor, waited a moment then stood up. She experienced only a slight waver of dizziness, then she was fine. Movement in her stomach had decreased. She’d make it. Everything would be fine. There were more important things than dealing with an unwanted addiction, like saving a man’s life. She had work to do.
Vivian had given Sarah a name and an allotted amount of time, but that was it. No description, no location. Just a name. And fifteen minutes to find him in the casino. One of the dealers.
Outside the room, she debated using the stairs. If Aaron came back while she waited for the elevators, she’d be done for. He wouldn’t allow her to work for Vivian in this state. But the stairs would make her sick and since time was short the elevator would be faster.
She pushed the button and leaned against the wall. The sound of a TV came from one of the rooms. A simpler life. One filled with TV programs and a beer. Maybe an episode of House of Cards, Madmen or The Walking Dead. Anything would do.
As the elevator door opened and she stepped inside to push the lobby button—grateful Aaron hadn’t returned yet and grateful to get the elevator without her vomit in the corner—a thought occurred to her. Was she getting tired of doing this? Was she wearing out? Did she fantasize about quitting? Is that what she was doing? If so, why not just quit then?
Because she was duty bound. She’d made a pact with Vivian a long time ago and she meant to keep it. This had to be the withdrawal talking. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be having these thoughts. She’d be energized to be on the job again, ready to deal with whatever came her way.
The elevator slowed as it neared the lobby. Hiding to the side in case Aaron stepped on, she waited until the doors were fully open, then peeked into the lobby. Aaron was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t have much time, though. He’d get to the room, see she was gone and come back down here.
She had to find the dealer, get things done, all without Aaron seeing her.
The lobby had a large counter, a huge chandelier over the main check-in area, and plush couches and chairs in waiting areas on either side of the lobby. She stayed close to the wall to avoid being seen by Aaron as she walked toward the double doors that led into the casino.
Halfway to the doors, she saw him. Aaron sat on the end of a leather sofa, staring out the front windows. He was on the phone, talking to someone. Privately. If it wasn’t meant to be private he would have made the call in the room.
When she got back to the room, he’d tell her who he called and why he chose to do it in the lobby. At least she hoped he’d tell her everything. It was probably just Parkman. If he knew Sarah was in trouble, he’d come running and she didn’t want anyone else here right now.
She stopped at the double doors. Two casino security men stood on either side, watching the faces of people passing them, making sure minors didn’t wander into the casino. She took one last look at Aaron on the couch and considered the Advil. He had come to get her headache meds and yet he sat on the sofa in the lobby, talking to someone. Was he trying to arrange a rehab clinic for her? Or was he attempting to buy heroin to tide her over? Or something worse?
She leaned back and smacked her head against the wall. She should have never questioned Aaron’s integrity after what they just went through at the Enzo Cartel compound.
“You okay, ma’am?” one of the guards asked.
Sarah shot a look at Aaron. He was getting up from the couch. She turned away from him to face the guard.
“Yeah, just not feeling well.” She walked past him and into the casino. “I’ll be okay.”
A bell sounded off in the corner somewhere. A jackpot. Within two steps, another bell went off, then quieted. Someone gasped. The place was full of tourists trying their luck.
She had to find a dealer? No distinction of what kind of dealer. Just a dealer. A man named Blair Turner.
She slowed near the blackjack table, close enough to read the dealer’s name tag, then moved on. After five minutes, with Vivian on the edge of her consciousness egging her to go faster, she had cleared the blackjack, the pai gow, and the baccarat tables. Only two rows of poker tables were left with half of them female dealers.
Vivian, I need help here.
Along a new aisle, she got to the Caribbean stud poker tables and stopped at a man named Blair Thompson.
Got the name wrong, Sis?
The feeling of wrong guy came over her as if it was an original thought. She kept moving. Near the last table in the aisle, her stomach twisted up. A cool sheen of sweat covered her forehead.
I feel like shit, Vivian. Isn’t there something else I could be doing?
A loud, echoing, resounding NO reverberated through her mind. She stumbled and reached out to hold onto a table, bumping into a young man in a seat. Four people were playing a version of poker that only used three cards.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s no bother,” the man said.
He folded his hand, grabbed the chips piled in front of his spot at the table, and got up.
“Looks like you need a drink.” He touched her arm above the elbow lightly and guided her away from the table. “Are you okay? In need of something,” he paused, “special?”
“I need—” she cut the word short. He wouldn’t understand and she didn’t trust many people. This mission seemed to have failed. She was too sick to carry anything on with a reasonable semblance of control. Aaron had been out in the lobby talking privately on the phone and by now was probably entering their empty room. Nothing was what it seemed and everything was fucked.
“I need sleep is all,” she said. She pulled her arm out of his grasp and licked her dry lips. The roof of her mouth felt like it was lined with sand. “Been traveling too much. Need a break. I’m heading upstairs to my room.” She backed away and started for the double doors that led back into the lobby.
“Fair enough,” he said, then stepped closer as if he meant to follow her. “But if you need something, someth
ing special,” he held out a card—a fucking business card—with a marijuana plant on the front, “text me. I service this area with the finest products and pardon my rudeness, but you do look like you could use a hit of something.”
Sarah stopped moving away. She took the card and read the name.
Blair Turner. A dealer. A drug dealer.
Oh my shit, Vivian. You could’ve offered a fucking heads up. I’m a little under the weather here. Where’s the sisterly love?
She met Blair’s eyes. “You’re right. I am in need of something.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Where? What?” He stumbled over his words. “This place. You’ve come to the right place. Like, right here.”
“No. I mean where. As in, where do we do the transaction?”
“Oh, right, that. Never in the casino. Too many cameras. Meet me out back. Employee entrance. Side of the parking lot. My car.”
“Sounds a little dangerous for a girl on her own.”
“That’s why I meet my clients at the car. In that parking lot, you’re a scream away from casino security. Also, cameras cover most of the lot, just not where I park. Behind my car, a two-foot jump places you near the front lobby of a neighboring hotel. Not far to run if you sense danger.” He raised his hands to his sides. “We good?”
The urge for a fix ratcheted up. It was like her body rebelled against her desire to be rid of the drugs because it knew the man standing in front of her could fix her up.
“If you have what I need, we’re good.”
“Five minutes. Back door. It’s marked with a capital E for employee.” He pointed at the lobby. “Out the front doors, turn left and follow the wall of the building around until you get to door E.”
“Five minutes,” Sarah said and turned to walk away. When she looked back, Blair was heading toward the restrooms. The dealer at the table caught her eye. The expression on her face told Sarah everything. The dealer knew who Blair was and what they had just arranged. Anyone seen talking to Blair probably got no benefit of the doubt. She was a user. She looked like a user tonight. She needed a fix and woman to woman, the dealer was disappointed. It was enough to bolster Sarah away from drugs. In that one look, she determined to do what Vivian wanted her to do, but she wouldn’t use the heroin. She wouldn’t shoot up. She would flush it down the toilet and beat this thing. She had to because that’s who she was. A fighter. A winner. Not the perceived woman in the eyes of the poker dealer.
On the flip side, what the hell was Vivian getting her to buy heroin for as she endured withdrawal? A test? If so, it was a cruel fucking test.
She exited the casino, slowed for a moment to check the lobby for Aaron, didn’t see him, and started toward the front doors.
A man by the check-in counter turned toward her. Sarah faltered, leaned down and stopped, resting against the back of a couch. Her legs got weak. She continued down until she was sitting, her mouth agape, her mind racing.
What the hell was going on? Was she hallucinating? Seeing this man, right here, right now, couldn’t be possible. There was no way. Absolutely no way.
She gasped when she started breathing again, confident her face had turned as white as snow. The thudding of her heart reminded her she wasn’t dead. The man wasn’t a ghost. But as far as she knew, this man had died many years ago.
Something Vivian said came back to her.
A man was dead. He was coming back.
Did she mean he was coming back from the dead? Her drug-addled mind threw a crazy mix of nonsense into her consciousness.
Then the man touched her. His hand rested on hers on the edge of the couch. It really was him. In the flesh.
“Good evening, Sarah,” he said, his voice deep, dark. “It’s been a long time.”
She thought she would lose consciousness and faint, but then Vivian roared in from nowhere and woke her back up with a start.
Door E! echoed through her mind, her eyes widening.
“It’s been a long time,” he repeated. “About four years. Thought I’d drop by. See if you needed a hand.”
He took her hand and helped her to her feet and all was right in the world again. He was here. Back from the dead. Her guilt over his loss could dissipate. She had done well. He was alive. It was all okay. They had so much to talk about, so much to catch up on. First thing he needed to tell her was how it was all possible.
Not now! Vivian shouted.
She brought him close and whispered in his ear that she had to do something before they could talk and walked out of the lobby. When she looked back, he remained where he was, his hand suspended in the air where it had last touched her.
One foot in front of the other, he began to follow her.
Chapter 8
Parkman found a room in a hotel one block from the Rosarito Beach and Casino Hotel where Sarah and Aaron were staying. He settled in, went to the little kiosk in the lobby to obtain a travel-size toothpaste, toothbrush and other sundries—they were sold out of toothpicks—and went to his room to await Aaron’s call.
To watch Sarah suffer tore him in two. They all witnessed her squirming in her restless sleep in the RV, her body shuddering in a full body sweat, hands shaking. Casper and Darwin had left the RV to clear the way at customs, but Parkman knew it was to avoid seeing Sarah in such a state.
When she demanded to be let off the RV, who would try to stop her? Who dared challenge Sarah? There were always two options and everyone connected to Sarah knew that. Sarah’s way willingly or Sarah’s way forced. In the end, it was always Sarah’s way. Understanding that as her friend didn’t make it easier to endure. It was just the way things were. It was about accepting who she was without judgment or making it about himself. Engaging one’s ego around Sarah often got that person hurt.
They’d let her go. Do her thing. Get a fix or beat the urge. Whatever Sarah needed. But they would never leave her alone. That was why Aaron was with her and Parkman was close. What came of her decisions today could have a ripple effect that took years to fix and they needed to be there to support her regardless of what she wanted. The drugs were making most of the decisions at this point.
After half an hour, he couldn’t sit and wait any longer without toothpicks. He couldn’t call Aaron either. If Sarah got wind he was here, she’d be pissed. This was supposed to be her holiday. She had especially asked to not be followed.
Not all of Sarah’s decisions were right. She wasn’t a god. If at any time in her life she was capable of making a mistake, it was right now. After what Enzo did to her, he was surprised she was still walking upright.
Cell phone in his back pocket, Parkman left the room and headed down to the restaurant. As he approached the open doors, one of the waitresses picked up a menu and addressed him.
“Seating for one?” she asked.
“No, I’m not eating tonight. Just need toothpicks.”
She frowned for a brief moment, then her smile returned.
“Of course. Please give me a moment.”
Parkman turned and studied the lobby. People came and went, even at this late hour. A well-dressed couple out for dinner. A family of four getting back to the hotel late. Three men in their early twenties talking about college back home and how this beat studying.
The familiar chime of his cell phone interrupted his people watching. He grabbed it by the second ring.
“Yeah.”
“It’s Sarah.” Aaron cleared his throat. “She’s in a bad way.”
Parkman moved away from the front of the restaurant. “How so?”
“We got to the hotel, checked in and made it to the elevator where she threw up. Back in the room, she got on the bed, covered her eyes and asked for Advil.”
“Did you get her any?”
“Not yet. Parkman, I’m worried for her.”
“Me too, Aaron, me too.” He looked back at the waitress who had returned to the front of the restaurant. She held
out a handful of toothpicks. He motioned that he’d only be a second. “Where are you now?”
“In the lobby. On one of the couches.”
“Okay, get her Advil, head back up and stay with her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Why? Is there something I should be worried about?”
“Just a hunch.”
“What kind of hunch?”
“That she’s working something.”
“Working something?” Aaron gasped. “Now? How the hell? Vivian wouldn’t. Not in Sarah’s state.”
