Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  “Jessica, talk. Or you’re walking back to Bakersfield.” Tank’s no bullshit voice was intimidating. So maybe that wasn’t the best tactic.

  Buck sat next to her, reaching in his jeans pocket and pulling out a small baggie. Inside were two orange pills. She saw them and sat up straight, eyes obsessively focused on what was in his hand. Jesus, that was scary.

  Knuckles crouched down next to her, arm across the back of her folding chair. She didn’t even look at him until he ran his finger up her arm. “Honey,” he said softly, and she finally blinked and turned his way. He gave her his best grin. “Whoever’s making this shit is making life hard on the club, so it’s been a rough patch for Jayce, too. Now, you know if it wasn’t for his wife Jayce would be here too. But he’d really appreciate your help with this, and he wants you to know how much he’d appreciate any information you could give us.”

  Jessica’s dishwater-colored eyes came back to the baggie, and she licked her lips. The shit in this little slip of plastic had more hold over her than her want of Jayce, Buck could see it in the hunger on her face.

  “Come on Jessica,” Knuckles’ tone was seductively coercing, and he was speaking right into her ear. “This would go a long way to getting you back in the clubhouse. I’d be grateful, baby. Jayce would be, too.”

  She looked ready to nod off, but like little pinpoints her eyes were on the pills. Buck leaned in, and that’s the first time she looked at him. “Who’s making this stuff, Jessica? You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ve heard things.”

  That was her problem, always had been. She heard things, was smart enough to know how to use that information, but always fucked it up for herself. People didn’t take her seriously enough to keep their mouths shut but because she was always on the hunt for an easy high she lost her focus and fumbled the advantage.

  “Just tell us. No one will know you said a word.” Buck put his hand to his chest. “I swear it, Jessica. You’re safe with us, you know that. Who’s making this shit?”

  Her lower lip trembled. She blinked a couple times and huffed her breath out, obviously scared. But she was a junkie, and the lack of a fix was so much scarier than other people were. “G-Town has someone on contract in British Columbia. Some lab at a college, they make it after hours. Use a pill press at a pharmacy college. Then they just find ways to get it back here.”

  “They’re sending the supplies right to this place in BC?”

  She nodded, licking her lips again. “Gypsys deliver it, and they use different methods to get it back. Sometimes it doesn’t work, so the supply is sketchy.”

  “Is the market going through a dry spell right now?”

  She nodded eagerly. “I haven’t seen any in days.”

  Buck looked over his shoulder at Tank, who nodded. It was what they expected as far as who was doing what, but knowing where it was coming from was at least a win.

  “So is G-Town the only crew running this shit?” Buck asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah. It’s really strong, you only need half as much. It’s a lot cheaper.”

  Well, if they’re making it themselves that made sense. No one to pay off when a shipment goes missing from a pharmaceutical company. If someone was providing them with their own supply of Thebaine it must be a real economical enterprise. If they were lifting it, even more so.

  “Do you know where the Thebaine comes from?” Tank asked.

  Jessica didn’t have the capacity for that question. She frowned and looked up at him. “The what?”

  Knuckles squeezed her arm. “Nothing, honey. You did good.” He got to his feet as Buck set the bag on the table and pushed it towards her.

  “We didn’t talk to you, understand?” Buck asked, hand covering the pills so she couldn’t get them. “We never picked you up, never brought you here. Right?”

  She was nodding, her hand halfway to prying his off those two fucking pills. He raised his hand and she scooped them up so fast he was surprised her nails didn’t take some of his skin with them. Then, her eyes already glazing with relief, she said hopefully, “Tell Jayce I said hi?”

  Buck knew his Prez would be happy to learn he was now number-two when it came to Jessica’s heart. “Come on Jessica,” Knuckles said gently, tugging upward on her elbow. “Let’s get you back to Bakersfield.”

  Tank had his wallet out and handed over fifty bucks to her. The waif took it wordlessly, but she was smiling as Knuckles led her out of the warehouse.

  Tank and Buck made eye contact and Buck shrugged. “Nothing really surprising.”

  “Other than it’s being made in Canada and coming from there,” Tank pointed out. “So how are they getting it over the border?”

  Buck shrugged. “Next step. It has to come back this way. We watch for Gypsys. Tell Guido what we know now.” He stood up too, shaking his head. “I’m more nervous that G-Town hasn’t retaliated for that kid.”

  Tank nodded, following Buck out the warehouse and down the hallway through the kitchen. “Yeah. They’re likely waiting until they know we’re out of town all at once.”

  “You mean, like this run we’ve got right now?” Buck drawled sarcastically. It wasn’t taking the whole club out of town, but he knew Mickey and Jayce were worried about their women. The kids, Trinny and Jolene were all going to be overnighting at the compound. Buck had considered suggesting Gertie stay here too, but she wasn’t quite that far into the club yet. Plus, she was safely in the city with lots of people around.

  “Call Jayce, tell him it’s safe to come around now,” Tank teased, heading for the doors to the parking lot. “I’m going to pack my bags.”

  Buck nodded, pulling out his burner phone. With a smile he punched in Gertie’s number first, her cell immediately going to voice mail because she was travelling home from Vancouver today. “Hey honey. We’re getting ready to hit the road. Just wanted to call and say I’ll miss you. Call you tonight.”

  Then he hung up and did as he was told, letting his Prez know it was time to go.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The cab ride from the airport to her apartment was a blur. Gertie’s head was still spinning, her nerves back in full force. Not from the trip to Vancouver for work purposes; those always went well and she liked going. No, there was another bubble pack heading for her office, stuffed with illegal narcotics with her name literally written on it.

  Again the same two men had met her in the lounge of her hotel. Same seating arrangement, same type of envelope placed on the table for her, the same two pills slid her way as a tip. Or gratuity. Then they left.

  Gertie took another half pill that night, then fought not to do the same her second night before coming home. But her body was aching with stress and the other half of that Oxy was screaming at her to swallow it down and numb out the world for a while. She had the one-and-a-half pills inside her small travel size bottle of ibuprofen in her luggage. It worked last time, and there were no sniffing dogs this time either.

  To keep her stomach from tossing the lunch she’d had before leaving Canada she pulled out her phone and turned it on, noting immediately that she had a message. She half-smiled because she knew it would be from Buck, and then her guilt started duking it out with her fear over which one was going to make her throw up.

  She wanted to go back to the first time these dealers asked her to do this and tell them no. Then immediately take this to Buck and beg him to help her protect her father, assuming what those G-Town thugs told her was true when it came to her father’s business dealings.

  The longer she left it the harder it would be to tell him. The further she let the betrayal progress, the less likely it was he could forgive her. If she just wasn’t such a coward in the first place …

  Gertie brought up her voice mail and held her phone to her ear. As expected, his message was perfect and wonderful and made her heart ache worse. She disconnected when it was done, still smiling.

  Things were going so well with him. Almost two months in and it felt like they’d
known each other longer, while the whole relationship still felt new and exciting. He was opening up to her in all ways; emotionally and personally, what his club was all about, and Gertie knew she was holding back on him a bit.

  Sure, she’d let her family history spew out but that wasn’t exactly personal about her. She had a hard time really letting people in, and she was nowhere near the open book Buck was. It was a serious relationship now which meant she had to trust him enough to tell him everything. But this would make him hate her. She would lose him over this. She was smart in some ways, but she had no clue how to break ties with these G-Town guys without causing major destruction.

  Buck might know. But he might let her swing if he found out what she’d done and kept from him.

  At her condo she left her luggage packed, headed for her bedroom and slipped into her painting clothes. Her canvas for Buck’s living room was almost done, and every time he saw it and thought it was done, remarking how incredible it was, she had to point out it wasn’t done. She loved that he thought she was that good, but she was still tweaking and reworking the lines. It wasn’t Cubism, but it was close. It almost looked like a painting with fractured glass laid overtop, water leaking in around the cracks to muddy the image just a bit.

  Gertie liked how it was turning out, too. For not having painted in years it was amazing how much memory the muscles retained. It was taking her longer than it would have in college, but she also had life distractions impeding the process. Not that she’d ever complain about having Buck come over unannounced.

  She turned on the stereo and selected a mellow mood playlist, then pulled the end table closer to her easel and put the plastic drop cloth on the floor in front of her project as well as over the end table. Humming along with the music she set her paints on the table, squeezing out the white and black she was using for this canvas.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realized Buck was what she wanted. As far as his life went she accepted that she was naïve and had no idea what she was getting herself into. But she knew Buck and she trusted him. She had to show that she was worth the same faith she had in him. So she’d have to tell him about helping G-Town bring the orange Oxy to Bakersfield. Maybe he’d understand she was terrified. Worried about her father. Maybe he’d appreciate that she did tell him, even if it wasn’t immediate.

  She headed to the fridge to grab a beer for herself. Wine had kind of migrated from her repertoire lately, and now she had a constant supply of Budweiser for the man in her life. And if that wasn’t strong enough, which she realized as she downed one before the Cowboy Junkies even made it through one song on the stereo, she switched to the bottle of Jack Daniels in the cupboard. It was three-quarters full, and she hadn’t eaten in five hours. One beer and two shots and she felt fine.

  “Yep,” she said out loud to the canvas she was working on. “We need to tell Buck what’s going on.”

  Then she flubbed a line and decided she shouldn’t be working on this while drinking. So she washed the paint off her hands, turned on the TV and found a romantic comedy to watch. In the first commercial break she felt a nagging twinge at the back of her neck.

  The alcohol had mellowed out her fear over what was in the office mail, but not the guilt. She had two days on her own without Buck, two days to agonize over what he was going to do to her when she told him. How furious he might get.

  Gertie tore her luggage open, found the Advil bottle and shook out a handful of pills before she saw the orange one. She tossed it back and swallowed before she realized it wasn’t the half, it was a whole one.

  She froze with a handful of ibuprofen, staring at it like she must have missed that they were all halved which would explain the bright orange half in her palm. But no, she’d just swallowed a whole one. On a nearly-empty-except-for-beer-and-whiskey stomach.

  Should she make herself throw up? She wasn’t sure how badly her body would accept the Oxy. She’d been popping Percocet for years here and there. She wasn’t entirely unused to the effects of Oxycodone.

  She set her handful of pills on the table and made her way back to the sofa, tucking her legs to the side and hugging her pillow. Well, she’d find out what happened with this shit anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

  Gertie got comfortable, watching Kate Hudson try to convince the world she wasn’t perfect enough for a perfect man, and let her eyes slide shut.

  -oOo-

  There was fire in her guts. That was the only explanation. Gertie woke writhing, the world outside her living room windows now completely pitch. Christ, it hurt so much she could barely see straight. Her stomach was clenching and unclenching more violently than she’d ever experienced in her life. Rolling to her side nearly made her pass out. Yet she still tried to stand, which was stupid. Her body clenched again and she toppled forward, nearly cracking her head on the coffee table.

  She landed on her hands and knees, and as another spasm hit she tightened up in a ball, her butt resting on her heels, dropping to her elbows, head to the side against the area rug, eyes still squeezed tight as her body tried to get rid of something. Or tried to kill her. One or the other.

  It took her a full minute to realize this was the Oxy. Her body wanted to get rid of it; it was convinced she had been poisoned.

  As another convulsion racked her body she rose back up onto her elbows, and to her horror she threw up right there on her own rug. There wasn’t much in her stomach, but the heaving continued for what felt like about eight hours. By the time it was done she was weeping, the tears running down her face the only clue because she wasn’t making any sounds.

  Gertie pushed herself to her feet, wincing, and made her hunched way to the kitchen, turning on the cold water and cupping her hands to rinse her mouth while also washing her face. She still couldn’t straighten up, and another round of heaves hit her hard, only a mouthful of bile produced this time.

  No more of that shit, she was telling herself. No more fucking Sunshine.

  She rinsed her mouth again and tried to swallow some water but she was terrified it would just make her throw up again. She had puke on her shirt, so she peeled that off and loped down her hallway to the laundry room to toss it in the washing machine. She made for her bedroom, seeing a large light gray T-shirt on the end of the bed and knowing it was one of Buck’s. Her eyes swam again as she pulled it on, but the relief she felt immediately was something to hold onto. She slid into her bed, curled in a ball, waiting for sleep to come. That’s all she needed. Sleep.

  -oOo-

  Again she woke with a violent need to throw up. This time she made it to the bathroom, hitting the tile floor around the porcelain just as more stomach bile filled her mouth. She could feel it burn her nose as well, so she was choking and sputtering as she spit, hocked and tried to be rid of this torture. Once she was sure it was done with her she again rinsed her mouth and washed her face. She pulled her hair back, too. So far she’d been lucky on that avenue but she couldn’t count on luck.

  Back in her bedroom she noticed that the sky was just starting to lighten. She picked up the cordless she had on her landline, hitting her boss’s number on speed dial. There was no way she was going to work. With a shaky voice she told him she must have eaten something that was off or caught a bug on the plane, that she’d need a day at home.

  Her sheets felt blissfully cool as she climbed back into bed, hugging her pillow to her chest. She just needed to let this shit run its course, then she’d be fine. And so totally over having to take that orange garbage.

  Gertie also decided she had to tell Buck what she’d done. She had to end this. This shit was going to kill someone.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Another successful run, another pay day, and now the Rebels were headed home again. The overnight stay had taken place in a Banshees clubhouse, so there were plenty of distractions and places to flop. Buck had found a quiet bunk and tried to call Gertie but there was no answer. Maybe she’d gone out, or maybe her phone was still
off. She hadn’t replied to his message; that had him a little worried.

  Buck went to bed alone, woke up the same way, and the crew loaded their bikes for the return trip without a lot of chatter. Most of the guys seemed to be under the weather from the cheap ass tequila the Banshees were famous for. Buck was glad he’d avoided it.

  Jayce was calling Trinny, letting her know they were leaving. Told her to stay at the clubhouse until he got there.

  Buck had to smile. Five years ago Jayce would have been waking up under a pile of women without even blinking, getting on his bike and heading back to the Rebels’ clubhouse to another waiting pile of women. But like Buck, he’d spent the night alone and now he was checking with his old lady before hitting the highway. It just takes the right one to change your mind, apparently.

  In Bakersfield Jayce gave him the nod and he peeled away from the group, heading to Gertie’s condo. Jayce had cleared him to go right in and see her. They were all wearing hoodies over their kuttes as it was, so Buck parked his bike in her spot without fear of repercussions.

  He was anxious as hell to see her. Even before she’d left for Vancouver it had been four days since they’d been together because she was, in her words, off limits for a bit. That made him smile. He’d told her he wasn’t scared of a little blood, but she wasn’t comfortable with it so he left it at that. But dirty phone calls while she was in Vancouver were a very poor substitute for the real thing.

  She likely wouldn’t be home yet but he was just going to let himself in and surprise her. Buck used his key and when he opened the door he immediately went on alert.

  The TV was on in the living room. That was weird. She never turned on the TV before going to work, much less forgetting to turn it off. Around the corner in the kitchen he found her suitcase, open on its side and spilling clothes all over. On the kitchen table was an open bottle of Advil, a few brown pills scattered next to it.