by Tracey Ward
He’s right. When we first got started moving drugs two years ago, we were nothing. We had nothing. Pops had just gone into the home, I was starting a new year at school with new books to buy and no money for supplies. I had nothing left over for basics, like food. I wasn’t hooked up with Ritchie just yet. I knew of him, I knew he was a drunk ‘cause I grew up here and he owns the only pharmacy for fifty miles, but I didn’t know him. Not yet. Back in the beginning I was selling left over scripts Pops had in the house. He was getting that shit taken care of in the home, he didn’t need the stuff he’d left with me. So I sold it. All of it. I made a decent profit off it and it got me thinking.
I met Harrison my freshman year when we were both working in the bookstore on campus. I knew he was cool. He smoked weed with me out back a few times. He shit-talked the management at the bookstore and the rich kids in our classes. He bitched about being broke, and I found myself confessing that I was too. We were in the same boat in life, outsiders looking in, looking for a foothold to get us through the door. The biggest problem we had was that we didn’t have money. The old saying ‘you’ve gotta spend money to make money’ is truer than I can stomach, only I’d say it goes back farther than that. The problem runs deeper.
You’ve gotta have money to make money.
So late one night a couple years ago, when Harrison and I were closing up alone, I told him what I’d done; that I’d sold prescription drugs to our classmates. I told him I wanted to do it again. He told me he was in. I didn’t even ask, dude just told me he was part of this. Like he knew I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t looking for a partner in crime. And he was right. He’s a smart guy.
We started combing the school, looking for hookups. Anyone with drugs to spare. They’re easier to find than you’d think. People are on sleep aids, antidepressants, diet pills, painkillers; the entire university was a fucking pharmaceutical convention. We couldn’t believe how easy the drugs were to find. But they were nearly impossible to get our hands on. No one wanted to hand them over for free, and when they heard how much we were going to be able to get for them, they suddenly realized what a gold mine they were sitting on. Either that or they realized we were drug dealers in the making and slammed their door in our faces.
That’s when we took a chance on Ritchie. It paid off, with dividends.
“Maybe we can get some stuff from Ritchie on consignment,” I say, not feeling real optimistic about the idea.
“You’ve asked about that before. He said no.”
“Maybe he’ll say yes this time.”
“Yeah, and maybe Bryan will grow a conscience and bring the drugs back,” he snarks.
I rub my hand over my eyes tiredly. “Okay, alright. I get it.”
“We don’t have a lot of options here, Josh.”
“We never do.”
“So what are we gonna do?”
I drop my hand, wincing against the growing daylight pouring in the front windows. Class will be starting soon. I don’t think I’m going to make it. I need to take a shower, patch up my face, and get some sleep to make sure I’m sharp tonight when I go back to the bar.
“The only thing we can do,” I grunt, nearly vomiting from the pain as I stand. “We’re going to sell our souls to The Devil’s Due.”
Chapter Seven
Harlow
“Table six needs three beers and two tequila shots!” I shout to Vanessa.
She nods her red head without a word, not bothering to shout back over the pound of the music around us. The place is practically full, almost every table taken. Every stool in front of the bar filled. It’s a mix of working class and college kids unwinding. The older generation is nursing bottom shelf hard-a while my generation is pounding beers and sweating on the dancefloor. They’re grinding on each other, making out in the darker corners. Lila found some people fucking in a woman’s room stall an hour ago. We thought it was a couple townies, but then Skeeze came out looking flushed and happy, a petite little blond stumbling on his heels, and it was easy to figure out what really happened.
I hope she made him wear a condom.
The side door leading to the office creaks open, slamming shut with a bang that cracks through the music in the room like a gunshot. Heads pop up to get a look at the action. They watch intently as Bear sidles up next to me behind the bar.
“How we doin’ tonight, sweetheart?” he asks, plucking a cherry from the tray.
“Good,” I guess optimistically. It’s hard to tell. Just because we’re packed doesn’t mean we’re making any money. People could be drinking domestic, taking it slow. “We’re almost a full house.”
“Is anyone ordering the drink special?” He glances behind us, frowning at the chalkboard. “What the fuck is it? The Dump Truck?”
“The Dumpster Fire. It’s a mix of all the shit we have too much of. It’s cheap, it’s disgusting, but it’ll get you lit.”
“And it’s selling?”
“Like a two for one on mirrors and cocaine.”
“That was your idea, right?”
“Cocaine? No. I think that was the Columbians.”
He grins at me affectionately. “That’s why I love you, Harley. You’re smart.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, no idea in hell what to do with the compliment.
“You closing tonight?”
“No. Lila is. I’m out in an hour.”
“Big plans?”
“The biggest. Laundry.”
He shakes his head of bushy gray hair. “Devo should be taking you out more. He’s getting lazy in his old age.”
I smile. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
“I’ll tell him to his face right now. The dumbass.” He snags another cherry, getting amped up. “Did you know Angela and I go on a date every week?”
“I didn’t know that. That’s sweet.”
“Well, I’m a sweet old son of a bitch. We’ve kept that date every week for forty years. Only time we ever missed it was when she was pregnant with Danny. She was on bedrest for a month before he was born. But I brought her flowers every day.”
“You’re setting the bar pretty high for me here, Bear,” I tease.
“It just seems like it ‘cause guys today are lazy as shit,” he grumbles. “They’re too busy fucking. They forget what it’s like to love somebody. Don’t let him forget to love you, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good girl.” He leans in to kiss my cheek dryly. The scruff of his big beard tickles my face, making me smile. “Keep up the good work, Harley.”
“Anything for you, Bear.”
He grabs one last cherry before wandering back to the office. I pour a Dumpster Fire as I listen to the door creak and bang behind him.
A cold breeze races through the room, rushing to me from the front door and sprinting down the back hallway. I glance up from the drink I’m pouring to shout hello to whoever has walked in, but my words up and die in my throat when I see Josh standing there.
He’s in a dark shirt, a dark hoodie, and ripped jeans. A black baseball hat with the Winslow logo is pulled down low over his eyes. He lifts it for just a second to scan the bar.
I gasp when I see his face.
“What the fuck,” I mutter, dropping the half-finished drink down onto the bar.
“Hey!” the guy waiting shouts.
“Drink it like it is or fuck off!” I shout at him, not taking my eyes off Josh.
The closer I get to him, the worse he looks. He tugs his hat down low again but I’m shorter than he is. I can see under it, even in the dim light of the club. His right eye is almost swollen shut. His left cheek is puffed and pink. His nose is broken for sure. Probably some ribs too; he’s walking with a limp, hugging his arm to his side to steady that collapsing part of his body.
And still he smiles when he sees me coming. His lip is split and bleeding. “Hey, Harlow. What’s up?”
“Jesus Christ, Josh.”
“I’m hearing that a lo
t today. I might change my name.”
“Who did this to you?”
“An asshole.”
“No shit.”
He looks around carefully, checking the crowd. There are a lot of students here tonight. Some are looking. Whispering. It makes him very uncomfortable.
“Can I talk to you alone?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, of course.” I signal Vanessa across the room where she’s delivering drinks to a table of mill workers. “Vanessa! Cover for me behind the bar! I’m taking off early!”
“You got it, Harley!”
I lead Josh toward the back, reminding myself to slow my usual quick step. From the look of him, he can’t hurry right now. I take him down the hallway, past Bear’s office and the boardroom where the boys are drinking tonight. They hide out a lot when the club is packed like this. Some people come to the bar just to see them. Guys get drunk and want to fight them so they can say they did, like a point of pride. Girls want to fuck them to feel wild. It can get out of control and it pisses Bear off. Us girls behind the bar too. When everyone is brawling, no one is tipping and if no one is tipping, what are we doing here?
I open the door to the storeroom. “Inside.”
Josh looks around the hallway, his one good eye darting uneasily. “Are you sure?”
“I won’t bite.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want the wrong people getting the wrong idea.”
I sigh in irritation. “Do you wanna talk or not?”
“I want to talk.”
“Privately or in the middle of the bar?”
“Privately,” he answers firmly. “Definitely privately.”
I silently gesture to the open door waiting for him.
Josh hesitates for a second longer before shuffling into the room.
I cringe in sympathy as I watch him move. Every step is agony for him. Every breath obviously painful. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at the hospital, and I promise myself I’ll get him there before the night is over.
I pull the string on the bulb hanging in the middle of the room. It bathes us in a weak yellow light that sways and shifts over the cramped space full of dusty boxes and old wood crates. I gesture for Josh to take a seat on a pallet of Coors Light cans while I lean against the opposite wall.
“What happened to you?” I ask heavily.
He sits slowly, keeping his head low. “I got jumped outside my house when I went home this morning.”
“Did they take anything?”
“They took everything,” he answers darkly.
I pinch my lips together, shaking my head angrily. “Fuckers. Do you know who it was?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an idea, but it doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t matter! Look at you. If you know who did this to you we have to go to the police.”
He surprises me when he laughs. He cuts it short because it probably hurts, but it’s warm while it lasts. “You are the last person I thought would be telling me to go to the cops.”
“You don’t have a reason to want them to stay away.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“What are you talking about?”
Josh shifts uncomfortably, but the change in the air inside the room tells me he’s not just physically uncomfortable. He’s got a secret. An ugly one.
“I’ve gotta tell you something, Harlow. I thought I’d never have to, but after tonight…” He sighs, shallow and slow. “I can’t get around it anymore.”
“Josh, what’s happening?” I push gently, my stomach turning nervously. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“What do you need? Money? Have you been gambling?”
“No, I don’t need money.” He shakes his head in frustration before lifting his eyes to mine. They’re pinched and apologetic. “I mean, I do, but I don’t want you to give it to me. I don’t want a hand out. I want to ask you a favor.”
“Anything. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m a drug dealer.”
My jaw drops. I stare at him in stunned amazement, not sure what just happened. I’m looking at his messed up face and I still can’t understand it. This is Josh, the college kid. The smart guy. The boy next door who barely even drinks. The Boy Scout who opens doors for women and helps old-ass ladies across the street with their groceries.
Josh is not a drug dealer.
I blink rapidly, snapping out of my stupor. “No, you’re not.”
“Yeah. I am,” he corrects me clearly. Unapologetically. “I’ve been dealing for the last couple years to pay for school and Pops’ room at the home. I sell a lot to kids at the college. That’s what I was doing last night when I saw you at the gas station. I’d just finished a deal. It didn’t go great. He pissed me off, I pissed him off, and he was waiting for me when I got home. He and a buddy of his jumped me. They took everything I had on me. I had just been to my supplier, so it was a lot. They wiped me out.”
“This is a joke, right?” I ask numbly. “You’re joking. This isn’t for real.”
He pulls off his ball cap, gesturing to his face. It’s worse than I thought and the sight of him bruised and bloodied like that makes me sick to my stomach. Aching in my heart.
“I’m personally not finding this very funny,” he says, referring to his face.
I frown as I reach for an open roll of brown paper towels. I rip a section of the rough paper clear, moving to kneel in front of him. He watches me closely, his body tensing the nearer I get. He’s practically a statue of stone when I reach up to dab the towel on his lip.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I ask quietly. “I could have helped you with money for Pops.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“You and Pops are my family. Of course it’s my problem.”
He shakes his head hard, avoiding my eyes. “It wasn’t gonna happen, Harlow. Not after everything else.”
Not after what I did, I think sadly.
I want to tell him why I did it. I want to explain what I felt when we were together and why I had to go more than ever when the sun came up, but I don’t totally understand it myself. Josh always helped me sort myself out growing up and without him I’m at a loss. We’re both in the dark and that’s probably where the subject should stay; buried.
“What’s his name?” I ask briskly, switching gears. “The guy who did this, who is he?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s not why I’m here.”
“I’ll tell the boys who he is.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m not telling you his name.”
I wad the paper towel up tight in my hand, standing abruptly. I prowl the small room like a caged animal. “You can’t let them get away with this shit!”
“Harlow.”
I point at him angrily. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”
He smiles crookedly. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
“I will, but not like that. I told you, the guy’s not why I’m here. I came because I need a favor from you. From the club.”
I slow down, my pace winding out in the middle of the room. “What do you need?”
He rolls the bill of his hat in his hand tightly. Nervously. He doesn’t like what he’s going to ask. He doesn’t like that he had to come here at all, but his back is obviously against the wall. He wouldn’t be here if he had any other choice, and I try to ignore the fact that his reluctance to come to me stings like needles in my chest.
“I need a meeting with Bear,” he tells me slowly. “I want to ask the club to go into business with me.”
I breathe deep and even, my mind racing. “That’s a dangerous idea.”
“I know.”
“The club doesn’t really do business with people. People do business for the club.”
“I figured.”
“And you still want that meeting?”
He releases the bill of hi
s hat, releasing a breath along with it. “I’m at ground zero here, Harlow. I don’t have any other choice.”
I close my eyes, tilting my head toward the ceiling. “Fuck,” I whisper irritably.
“I wouldn’t ask you for this if there was any other way. I’m sorry.”
I drop my head to look at him. “I’m not mad because you asked me a favor. I’m frustrated because I don’t think this is a good idea. At all.”
“No. It’s definitely not.”
“What if you got a job at the mill? They pay good money.”
“Not as good as drugs do. Trust me, I checked. Pops and I are barely getting by on what I’m making now. I can’t take a pay cut.”
“What if you sold the house?”
“I wouldn’t make any money off the sale. Pops had to mortgage it to pay his hospital bills after the stroke. I’d have to pay money to sell the house, money I don’t have.”
“Fuck,” I repeat.
He grimaces in agreement. “Yeah. Fuck.”
I glance out the door into the empty hall. The noise of the club is filtering down to us, loud and happy. People are having a good night. A good time. Especially the boys. Under the door across from us the sound of pool balls bashing together creeps out. Their laughter echoes in the big, private room. Someone is playing guitar. Probably Raw. He’s stupid talented. Good at everything he does.
Especially fucking people up.
“What if you asked one of them to get you your product back?” I ask Josh, almost pleading with him. “You could give them a cut of the sale when you move it. A onetime thing. Not a deal with the club, just a side job for one of the boys.”
“Would they go for that?”
“You could ask.”
Josh looks unsure. I feel unsure, but I still hope he goes for it.
I’m relieved when he asks, “Who should I ask? Devo?”
“No,” I answer immediately. “Raw. Do you remember him?”
“Dirty South.”
I grin. “That’s him. He’s a good guy and he has restraint. He won’t accidentally kill anyone.”
