Meds

by Ray Garton

  Why did I come here? he thought again. Probably because it was so dark and tucked away, a place where no one he knew would see him. It was a proper place to shatter his closely-guarded sobriety, to toss out all his diligence and determination for a drink. Or two. Or more.

  But he wasn’t just drinking for the sake of drinking. He wanted to calm the storm that seemed to be building inside him and ease the constant need to move, to shift, to fidget.

  He sipped the drink, resisting the urge to guzzle it down in two big gulps. It felt hot going down, burned in his belly, and its warmth slowly spread throughout his body. He wanted the relaxation that would follow, the calm that came with that first drink of the day—or, in this case, that first drink in well over a year.

  Another sip. More warmth inside, spreading through him.

  He heard and felt someone slide onto the stool to his left, but he didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to appear interested in conversation.

  “How ‘bout all this smoke in the air, huh?” the woman seated beside him said.

  It seemed appearing interested in conversation was not a prerequisite.

  “I remember when it was smoky inside the bar. Now you gotta come in here to get away from the smoke. Heh. Things change, huh? This smoke gets any thicker’n we’re all gonna die,” she said. “If the fires don’t get us first.”

  Eli kept his eyes front as he took another sip of his drink.

  “I heard that fire northa town’s gotten pretty close to the Liquor Barn over there,” she said. “They kicked everybody out and closed the place up to be safe.” She chuckled. “I wonder if anybody’s evacuating the booze.”

  Charlie Rich was replaced by Buddy Holly. The bartender, a hefty grey-haired man in his fifties, moved back and forth behind the bar cleaning glasses, pouring drinks. Eli continued to face front.

  “You’re a quiet one,” she said. There was the sound of a smile in her voice.

  Finally, Eli turned his head just enough to the left to see her.

  Mid-forties, blonde, slender. In the dark bar, the color of her simple blouse and pants were indeterminate. There was a damaged beauty in her face, the lingering traces of an allure marred by time, drink, cigarettes, and probably life in general. There was just enough of that beauty left for the damage to be easily smoothed over by a few drinks in a dark bar. The glass in front of her held pieces of melting ice cubes and a little amber liquid in the bottom. The faint slur of her words when she spoke made it clear that it wasn’t her first drink of the day, but she wasn’t quite drunk. Just nicely relaxed. She smiled at Eli. It was a pretty smile that broke through the casualties of life and time.

  “You got a day off, or something?” she said.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Or something.” He shifted on the stool, folded his arms on the lip of the bar for a moment, then dropped them at his sides.

  “You live in the city?”

  He nodded, trying to will himself to hold still with his arms on the bar again. It worked for awhile.

  “Me, too. For about eight years now. Before that, I moved around a lot.” She waved a hand vaguely. “I been all over the place.”

  Eli nodded again. He didn’t know what to say and was busy concentrating on remaining still, relaxing. He took another swallow of his drink and realized it was almost gone.

  “I never seen you here before,” she said.

  “I was here before. Once. But it’s been awhile.”

  “My name’s Carrie. What’s yours?”

  “Eli.”

  “Nice to meetcha, Eli.” She waved a hand at the bartender. “Hey, Mickey, set me up with another of these puppies, willya?”

  Without giving it a thought, Eli nodded at the bartender and said, “Me, too. Another vodka tonic.” He tipped his glass back against his lips and emptied it. Ice jangled in the glass as he set it down, then took his wallet from his pocket.

  Carrie gently brushed his arm with the back of her hand as she said, “Nah, let me get this one for you. You can get the next.”

  Eli thought he said, “Thanks,” but he wasn’t sure. He was distracted by the need to move. He had an urge to get off the stool and pace, but he fought it.

  A moment later, Mickey brought their drinks and Carrie paid. She lifted her glass to toast and said, “To dark bars on smoky afternoons.”

  As Eli touched his glass to hers, his hand trembled noticeably.

  Carrie raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “Looks like that first vodka tonic hasn’t kicked in yet.”

  He smiled, then took a swallow of his drink, trying to stop the trembling. He took quick stock of his body to see what was fidgeting and jittering. His left arm, both of his legs. He made them stop, then took another drink. In a few seconds, the fidgeting and jittering continued although he was unaware of it.

  “What kinda work you do, Eli?”

  “I drive—” He stopped, thought about it a moment. “Advertising. I’m in advertising. Between firms right now.”

  “Yeah, it sucks all over. The economy goes on its back and everybody goes broke. It’s always been my experience that going on your back is profitable, but not in this case.” She chuckled.

  A hooker, Eli thought, looking at her again. It was an observational thought, not judgmental.

  Carrie took a drink, then turned to him and leaned a little closer. “You live around here? In this neighborhood?”

  “No.”

  “I got a little apartment nearby. And I got better music than this place. I don’t think that damned jukebox has ever played anything recorded past 1974.”

  Buddy Holly stopped wailing and after a moment of silence, Tammy Wynette started in.

  “My booze ain’t watered down, neither,” Carrie said with a laugh. “Besides, I could really use a smoke, and I have to go outside for that.”

  A cigarette sounded good. Drinking had always made Eli want to smoke, and that hadn’t changed. He was feeling the effects of the vodka, and it felt good. But it wasn’t enough. A current of electricity was humming through him. He felt as if all his muscles were twitching. And inside his head, nothing seemed to work. Thoughts appeared, crumbled, then the pieces shot away in a blur.

  Still thinking about a cigarette but giving no thought to Carrie’s offer to come home with her, he nodded and said, “Yeah, a cigarette sounds good.” He tipped his glass back and gulped down the vodka tonic, then slapped the glass back down on the bar and slid off the stool. The floor tilted ever so slightly beneath his feet and he smiled a little at the once familiar feeling, thinking, It’s been awhile.

  Carrie gulped her drink down, too, and walked out of the bar with Eli.

  Outside, Manzanita Boulevard was busy beneath the dirty brown smear of the sky. Tendrils of smoke licked the tops of the tall streetlights and the air stung Eli’s nostrils. He realized he’d left his cigarettes in the car and was about to go get them when Carrie said, “Here.” She held out her pack of Pall Malls for him. When Eli took one, she handed him a Bic lighter. In a moment, they were both smoking in the shade of the awning outside The Hen House.

  “I live just a couple of blocks that way,” Carrie said, pointing.

  Eli only vaguely heard her. His head was filled with the sounds of traffic, which seemed louder than usual, and the chaos of his own thoughts, which seemed to be colliding with each other on their way in and out. He wasn’t aware of it, but he stayed in motion, stepping forward, then back, turning in a circle, pacing back and forth a few steps. He finally realized that Carrie was looking at him strangely.

  “You okay?” she said with a slight smile, although frowning a little at the same time.

  “Huh? Oh. Um... “ Eli forced a chuckle and a smile. “Just a little antsy, I guess.”

  “You on somethin’, honey?”

  “No. No, really. In fact, not at all.” He thought of that empty orange pill bottle and muttered, “Not now.”

  “Where are you parked?”

  He pointed at his car parked at the curb.<
br />
  “You wanna drive up to my place or leave the car here?” Carrie said.

  Eli frowned, confused. “Your place?”

  “Yeah. My apartment’s just up the road a little.”

  “Uh... “ He wasn’t sure what to say. Had he agreed to go to her place? Why would she want him to come home with her? Oh, that’s right, he thought, she’s a hooker. Did she say that, or did I just guess it? Or did I imagine it? He became lost inside his own head as one thought tumbled over another.

  Carrie stepped closer to him. “You sure you’re okay, honey?”

  “Uh... “ He looked at her a moment, then started toward his car. “I think I’m gonna go.”

  “Go? Aren’t you comin’ with me?”

  “Uh... “ He walked around the rear of the car to the driver’s side door, opened it. He paused a moment, knowing he was about to say something but unable to remember what. He got in the car and pulled the door closed.

  Keys, he thought. Where’d I put the—oh. He reached into his pocket, pulled his keys out, and started the ignition. He was startled when the passenger door opened. For a moment, he was confused. Was there someone with him or had he driven here—wherever this was—alone?

  Carrie leaned into the car. “What’re you doing?” she said.

  Eli forgot her name. She looked familiar—wasn’t he just standing next to her on the street?—but he didn’t know her.

  “Get out, please,” he said, shifting and fidgeting in the car seat.

  She gave a little laugh as she got into the car. “Oh, c’mon, honey, let’s go to my place and have a real drink or three and put on some music, huh?”

  The moment she pulled the door closed, Eli felt a surge of panic. He was in the car with a total stranger who was forcing herself on him. He felt threatened and suddenly angry.

  “Get out!” he shouted.

  She turned to him with a jerk and looked surprised, but said nothing. She just sat there, looking at him. Finally, she smiled, reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, honey? You look kinda—”

  He moved before he thought—his right fist shot out with great force and punched her in the face. She slammed back against the door and slumped there, limp and still. He’d struck her so hard, his hand began to ache. He shook his hand and grunted at the pain as he frowned at the unconscious woman in the passenger seat. Blood dribbled out of her left nostril.

  I hit her, he thought. Why? Why did I do that?

  He saw movement through the window beyond her. People were walking by the car in both directions. What if they saw her? They might call the police.

  The police. They’d come for him before... right here in this place. Maybe they knew he was here again and were looking for him. It had been years—hadn’t it?—but maybe they somehow knew he was here again, and now they’d find him with this unconscious woman in his car, a woman he’d hit because... because... he couldn’t remember why he’d hit her.

  Eli grabbed the steering wheel, pressed his foot to the gas pedal, and pulled away from the curb suddenly. Brakes squealed behind him and a car horn wailed angrily. He stepped on the pedal harder and sped down Manzanita Boulevard with no idea where he was going.

  3.

  When Gall heard Jason Sauceda’s voice on the other end of the line, he assumed he was calling with more information about Rubinek’s targets in California.

  “What have you got for me,” he said, picking up a pen. He poised it over a notepad, ready to write.

  “I’m done.” He spoke just above a whisper.

  “You’re—I’m sorry?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Look, Jason, I really don’t have time for a case of nerves from you right now. I thought all of this was settled this morning.”

  “You know damned well it wasn’t settled. I just went along with it to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

  “Well, uh... that sounds settled to me.”

  “You didn’t understand the risk I’m taking then and I don’t expect you to understand now. And even better, I don’t care anymore. My supervisor is breathing down my neck like a dragon, and I’m about this close to having my ass in a meat grinder. It almost happened. Just now. And it still might if I’m asked to explain what I’ve been up to today. So I’ve decided, Vic. Go ahead and tell Melonie whatever you want to. I don’t care, because I’m gonna tell her the truth. Tonight. Whatever she does, it won’t be as bad as the trouble I could get into for this. And it’ll be worth it not to have this hanging over my head for someone to use the way you have. I thought we were friends, Vic. I really did. I was wrong. Whatever it is you’re up to, it sounds bad to me and you’re probably gonna get burned for it. But I won’t burn with you, Vic. You can go fuck yourself.”

  Jason hung up and left Gall sitting at his desk, the phone at his ear. He slowly put the phone down, then placed the edge of his left thumb between his lips and chewed on the flesh next to the nail. He sat that way for awhile, frowning, thinking, trying to fight back the wave of anger that moved through him, until he tasted blood. He looked down at his thumb and saw that he’d been chewing on that spot a little too much lately. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took a tissue from its box, and dabbed at the blood.

  The office felt just a little smaller, as if the walls had moved closer together while he wasn’t looking. He dismissed that and refused to worry, refused to let himself think that things might be crumbling just a little. He thought about his escape plan, and that made him feel a little better.

  Years ago, he’d arranged an out for himself should anything go wrong. If he found himself in any trouble, he had a little place in Morocco ready and waiting for him. He’d visited the African country on a whim, because he liked the sound of it and he remembered enjoying the Bogart movie Casablanca when he was a kid. He liked it there, as it turned out. The fact that it had no extradition treaty with the United States made it even more appealing. His place there was nothing fancy, a modest little arrangement where he could wait out any storm that might come up.

  There’s no storm, he thought. The weather’s fine. Don’t let Jason shake you. He’s weak, cowardly. He’s not like you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.

  A moment later, unaware that he was doing it, he began to chew on his thumb again.

  4.

  Normally, Rubinek paid very little attention to the news. It seemed pointless—there was nothing he could do about it, so why listen and fret over it? But as he drove to Roger Dreyfuss’s house, he listened to a local news-talk station hoping to hear more about Senator Veltman.

  Before leaving his motel room, he’d learned from the TV newscaster that the clip shown had been from a speech Veltman had given at a fundraiser. He’d announced his intention to form a committee to investigate possible malfeasance between pharmaceutical companies and the FDA. The senator had given the speech a couple of months ago, and then had gone about the work of assembling the committee.

  And then Rubinek was hired by Victor Gall to go to Montecito and kill Veltman’s press secretary. Not just kill him, but behead him—

  If necessary, heads will roll.

  —which Rubinek knew from experience was just a way of sending Veltman a message, although he hadn’t known at the time what that message might be. But now—

  And the first to go will be the seven heads of this rampaging hydra that the drug industry has become.

  —he was beginning to see the message with more clarity. Arnold Shipp’s severed head was a reference to Senator Veltman’s “heads will roll” threat to the pharmaceutical companies.

  What’s Victor Gall doing in bed with the pharmaceutical companies? Rubinek thought. Why would Gall hire me to do something that would benefit them?

  The very idea made his insides tense up. He didn’t like to be manipulated under any circumstances, but for Gall to use him in some scheme that benefited pharmaceutical companies... that was unacceptable. But it just didn’t make sense. Not yet, anyway.

  Mer
ely thinking about the drug industry stirred old pain that he stored deep inside himself. An image of Olivia—the one in the photograph he carried around of her smiling face surrounded by a shimmering halo of red hair—rose up in his mind. It was followed by a vivid memory of that courtroom in which the man with the silver hair and eye patch, Ronald Shelldrake, had dismissed Olivia’s death as merely “unfortunate,” as “one of those things.”

  An ache began to grow in Rubinek’s hands and he realized he was gripping the steering wheel too hard. He made himself relax, tried to divert his thoughts. But they kept returning to Senator Veltman’s speech and Victor Gall and Ronald Shelldrake and ultimately to one question: What the hell is going on?

  Chapter 17

  On the Air

  1.

  Chloe’s cell phone sounded in her purse. Normally, she didn’t talk on the phone while driving, but the chance that it was Eli calling made her reach over to the passenger seat. She groped in her purse and found the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Roger said. “What are you doing? I’m already worried about Eli, I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”

  “I’m on my way to work.”

  “You’re... what?”

  “If Eli’s in his car, he’ll be listening to the station. I can talk to him over the radio.”

  “Will they let you do that?”

  “I’m not going to ask permission, Roger.”

  “I’ll turn the radio on. We can listen here.”

  “Okay. Gotta go. I’m almost there.”