by John Oakes
Pablo and Tony threw some meat skewers on the grill and Will and Ian sat on the wet sand near the fire, passing the vodka back and forth. Will lit a cigarette and asked, “So what’s different about Galveston now, from what you remember as a kid?”
Winton nodded in thought. “It’s nicer. A little more built up, fixed up. Everyone seems about as happy. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.”
“I’m from Florida.” Will tossed his unruly hair aside so he could see. “So maybe I’ll always be biased, but it’s okay.”
“Galveston is nice if you come from Houston,” Ian said, taking the vodka bottle from Will. “That’s why I’ll always like it. Better than Houston in the summer.”
They ate meat skewers and drank as the sun set and the fire pit became the primary source of light.
As Pablo was shutting the grill down and suffocating the coals, he nodded up at Will. “You get the goodies?”
Will patted his pocket. “Last ones for now.”
“Let’s do that shit, homey.”
“Now?” Will asked. “The bars aren’t going to get going until ten.”
“Man, I don’t wanna party late tonight,” Ian said. “I got church in the morning.”
After a moment everyone laughed, even Ian. “What?” he said before taking a slug of vodka and coughing. “Jesus turned the water into wine, not the other way around.”
“Screw it then,” Will said. “We’ll just have our party right here, and Ian can be in bed in time for his mommy to tuck him in.”
“Fuck off.” Ian kicked sand at Will. Will threatened to punch him then gave up and pulled a baggie from his sweatshirt pocket. Inside were small, round pills, pink in color. Will passed them out and offered one to Julius.
“What is that? Ecstasy?”
Will laughed. “No man. This is some next level shit.”
“I’m good on the beer level,” Julius said. “Sorry if my ass sounds old.”
“I’m good,” Winton said. “Thanks for sharing your drugs, though.”
Will shrugged and popped the pill onto his out-stuck tongue before swallowing it dry and holding his vodka bottle up. “To Ryan.”
“To Ryan,” the others said.
Will took a drink, then sloshed some vodka into the flames for their fallen friend, sending a burst of hot fire up into the sky along with sparks and smoke.
“Ryan really liked those pills?” Winton asked, eyes narrowing.
Pablo tittered. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“He didn’t hit his own stash,” Ian said.
“So he sold it?” Winton asked.
Will leaned in. “He didn’t just sell it. He made it.”
“Who told you that?” Pablo said. “Bullshit. He was selling for some Mexicans.”
“I heard he was selling for bikers,” Tony said. “They get the shit from South America. Some crazy stuff from the jungle.”
When their arguments died down, Winton sensed the pills were having their effect. Placid smiles stretched across their faces and heads bobbed to the beat of the music coming out of Tony’s phone.
“Is this a party drug?” Winton asked.
“Yeah, but you don’t gotta be around other people, though,” Will said. “Hell, that’s kinda the point.”
“It’s not like E,” Ian said.
“E helps you feel everything, like more pleasurable,” Pablo said. “But this shit is more like… I don’t know.”
“It’s like this,” Will said. “You know how DMT or shrooms make you feel like you can surrender to the universe, like you’re part of this big beautiful thing?”
“Sorta. Yeah.” Winton nodded.
“Grip makes you feel like everything’s separate, makes you feel like you’re in control, separate from anything else.”
“Is it freeing?” Julius said. “Sounds intense?”
“Lemme ask you, brotha,” Pablo said. “You ever driven your car so fast your knuckles went white on the wheel? Were you free? Hell yeah. Was it intense? Hell yeah.”
Will pointed at Pablo in agreement and stood up. Tony turned the music up as Will began to dance. Winton didn’t know what style of dancing to call it, like hip hop but with slower more deliberate movements, aggressive and angry, but controlled and technical. Pablo joined in, then Ian and Tony too. Soon, Winton and Julius were lost to the four young men, as they danced around a fire, maybe for their friend, maybe because they were just high as hell.
Julius patted Winton on the shoulder, giving the signal, and Winton picked up the half empty case of beers they’d brought. Winton stopped lugging the heavy beers as they mounted a dune, and Julius took over for him. Instead of hurrying off, they both stared at the fire and the dancers.
“I wanna say something about these darn kids on my lawn,” Julius said. “But grilling on the beach, dancing around a fire in the moonlight, it feels like the right way to be living.”
“Yeah,” Winton said. “That’s all you really need in life. Fire, friends—” Winton tipped his head to the side. “—and sketchy drugs of unknown origin.”
As they drove back to the beach house, Winton noticed a red SUV parked beside a store that appeared long out of business.
“Hey is that Beatrice’s ride?” Winton asked.
Julius slowed. “Might be.”
“There’s another car there.”
After they passed by, Winton looked at Julius.
“You want me to turn around and get a better look?”
The island of Galveston narrowed from about twenty blocks wide at the widest point down to portions on the western length with only two main arterials. Winton couldn’t see a way to edge around and come from another direction.
“Will they notice us?”
“Do you care?”
“No,” Winton said. “Flip a u-turn.”
Julius got turned around in time for them to see a black sedan emerge from the darkness beside the empty business and pull onto the road. The red SUV remained parked.
“What do we do?”
“If the SUV was Bea’s then we know where she’d headed,” Julius said.
“I agree. Keep following this car.”
Julius had to turn around again and raced down the road.
The black sedan entered Galveston proper and took a left on eighty-first street before the big lagoon. The lagoon was a sort of man-made marine cul-de-sac in the center of the island, connected to the bay by a canal. It was surrounded by many luxury homes that seemed congruous with the luxury sedan in front of them.
“What kind of car is that?” Winton asked.
“That’s a Lincoln MKZ, if I’m correct.”
“Pretty fancy?”
“Yeah. Nicer than my car, that’s for sure.”
The MKZ turned for the lagoon, then down Domingue drive where the houses on the right all had waterfront access.
Julius took his time following after, staying just in sight of their target, but not close enough to get a plate number. Domingue bowed left back toward eighty-first. The driver had to stop soon if they lived on this street. Just before Julius eased left with the bend, a motor revved up ahead and the MKZ shot out of sight, turned on eighty-first and rocketed away.
“Shit,” Winton said.
“Sorry. I thought I kept it cool.”
“Whoever that was seemed to be worried he’d be followed.”
“Then if that was Bea’s SUV, they were doing something naughty.”
“If the lighting here was better I might have gotten a plate number.”
“Well?”
“That Beatrice has been a little off,” Winton said.
“Like more than just grief.” Julius hummed.
“Yeah.” Winton bit a knuckle. “You remember what those fellas inferred back there at the beach?”
“That your boy Ryan was selling some party pharmaceuticals? Party-ceuticals?”
“Makes a certain sense,” Winton said. “I mean, if you want to make a name for yourself as a DJ, you make s
ure people have a good time. Make a little extra money, too.”
“I bet you wish you coulda drugged some of your magic show audiences.”
“No joke. Would’a had better online reviews, for sure.”
“You know much about these party-ceuticals?” Julius asked.
“No, but I know a little something about running out of pills when you need them most.”
After a second, Julius raised his chin in the air. Understanding hit him. “Shit.” He huffed low. “She didn’t just lose her brother. She lost her supplier?”
“And at a time when she needs it most.”
“But people don’t get latched onto party drugs do they?” Julius asked. “Like, you don’t meet people addicted to ecstasy.”
“It’s not the go-to for addicts, not when you have oxycontin and shit like it so readily available these days.”
“But if you didn’t mess with that oxy-heroin stuff, and only took party drugs…”
“We’re hard-wired to get attached to things,” Winton said. “It goes back to days when we were surviving on grasshoppers and roots. If you find anything that seems good, your survival instincts like to latch onto it. We get addicted. I know people that will fall to pieces if they don’t get their triple shot soy latte. Think about when you’re messing with some higher caliber shit.”
“Control.”
“Pardon?” Winton looked over.
“Them kids, they said it was like the world ordered itself for you.” Julius motioned with his hands. “Not like Ex which makes everyone all lovey and tactile.”
Winton chuckled in realization. “That’s how addiction starts, often. You think it gives you a measure of control. You think it’s a safe place where the storms can’t reach you.”
“So this party-ceutical might be nasty-addictive for some personalities.”
Winton nodded. “Let’s go home. Time to find out what the hell is going on with Beatrice and this whole damn town.”
SEVEN
Sure enough, when they pulled up to the beach house, the red SUV was parked underneath next to Heather’s Jeep. It was Beatrice’s.
“About to be trouble in paradise,” Julius said.
“You can let me handle it.”
“Fucking fine by me.”
Winton walked up to the deck and into the house.
Heather had been walking right past the dining table and froze mid-step. “Hey.”
“Hey, cuz.”
“What’s up?”
“Can we talk?” Winton asked low.
Heather looked around, then said, “Sure.” Winton placed a hand on her strong back and led her to a dining room chair.
“Something is up, and I think you should know about it.”
“Julius is a nice enough guy, but—”
“No. No.” Winton waved a hand and made a face. “Eww. No. It’s about your friends.”
“Beatrice?”
Winton thought for a second where to begin. “Weird question, but did you ever see Ryan deejay?”
“Yeah. Bea was pretty supportive.”
“Is it pretty common for people to try different, you know, party pills?”
Heather huffed and waggled her head. “Well, yeah.”
“Like a lot?”
“I mean…” she smiled, “…depends on what comes through.”
“It changes?”
“Well, it isn’t a steady tap. We’re a tiny bit out of the way.”
“Like what?”
“Ex, things like it. Lately, there’s been a lot of love for pinks, some people call it grip.”
“Have you tried it?”
“Well, yeah. Winton. What’s with the third degree?”
He held his hands up apologetically. “I’m not doing that I swear. I’ve gobbled up more than my share of pills and then some.”
“What do you really wanna know? Ryan took them, too. Sure. I don’t think it killed him.”
“Cards on the table, I’m going to throw out the following bold accusations. Could be wrong, but I’m not.”
“Shoot.”
“Beatrice has taken a lot of the pink pills. She’s formed a dependence.”
Heather eyed Winton, making a groan of disagreement.
“Second,” Winton carried on, “Ryan was supplying the pinks.”
“Ryan?”
“Think about it. You ever see a dearth of pinks at one of his shows?”
Heather blinked.
“Third. Ryan’s suicide had something to do with that. He dumped his entire stash into the bathtub with him when he cut his wrists.”
“How do you know—”
Winton cut a hand through the air between them. “I know. I just do.”
“Winton…”
“Lastly,” he said. “I think the supplier was the one who attacked Bea. Came into her house not to harm her but looking for the remainder of Ryan’s stash.”
“What?”
“They came to prevent the drugs being linked to Ryan’s death in any way. But Ryan had already assured that would happen.”
“But Bea didn’t recognize the guy.”
“We don’t know that,” Winton said. “What we do know is she lied about the break in to us. She knew exactly why that man came. Who’s to say she didn’t know him? Heather, she’s an addict and trying to hide it.”
Heather put a hand over her mouth and stood from the table. “Jesus.”
“It gets worse.”
Heather looked down at him, eyes stricken with fear.
“Bea knows someone with a hook up. She went to see them tonight, just now. She’s in the back, getting loaded up.”
Heather took a tentative step, then stalked to the hallway. Winton heard murmurs from the back. Then the door gently closed. Heather returned, unable to look at Winton. She walked into the kitchen with one hand pressed to her face.
She passed through a series of emotions, then glared at Winton. “So?” She unfurled a hand. “What’s the point?” She was pained, struggling to find words. “Why even—why drop this all on me… I…”
“Cuz. I’m sorry. One last question.”
“Yeah?”
“Who were the two men in nice suits at Ryan’s funeral?”
Heather’s gaze flitted about, then, “I don’t know, Winton…”
“Come with me.”
“Winton…” Heather called after him, as he entered the hall toward the bedrooms. Winton knocked twice then entered Heather’s room. Beatrice sat on the bed, wearing a baggy grey sweatshirt, hair hanging down past her ashen face and hollow eyes.
“Jesus,” Heather said, witnessing her friend’s condition again.
“Is it usually like this?” Winton asked.
“No,” Heather said.
“I came in here to ask her questions about who she met with,” Winton said. “But I don’t think she can answer.”
Heather knelt next to her friend. “Bea, sweetie.” She snapped her fingers. “Hey. Beatrice!”
Beatrice looked over at Heather and grunted.
“It’s not like this,” Heather said in a frantic tone. “It’s not like this!”
Winton pulled clothes off the floor, then searched around Beatrice, finding a foil pack behind her on the bed.
“Look,” he said. “Only one pill’s been popped out.”
Winton flipped the pack over to the clear side. The pills were white and diamond-shaped.
“She only took one. She didn’t overdose on pinks. But these aren’t pinks.” Sudden clarity smacked him across the face. Winton dropped the pack and threw an arm around Beatrice’s head, clenching it in place while he stuck tow fingers down her gullet as far as they’d reach. No matter where Beatrice’s mind was in the fog, her gag reflexes responded as they ought to. She heaved forward and tossed a frothy brown puddle onto the floor.
“What can I do?” Heather said. “I’ll get a towel.”
“Fuck the towel,” Winton said. “They poisoned her.” He held up the foil pack and
shook it. “Whatever this is, it’s an overdose quantity.”
“What?” Heather peered closer. “But they’re individual.”
“She’s fucking overdosing. You wanna split hairs?”
Heather stuck her hands in her hair. “I’ll call 9-11.”
“Screw that. Pick her up. You know the fireman’s carry.”
Winton pocketed the foil pack and ran for the deck. “Julius.”
“Yo.”
“Get your car running! Now!”
Winton checked on Heather, saw that he had Beatrice slung over a shoulder and helped clear her path to the stairs and the car. Winton hopped in and helped guide Beatrice into the backseat, standing over her. Then they were off with Heather shouting directions to Julius to the hospital.
Winton tried to make her throw up again, but was unsuccessful. Heather tried, then gasped in pain as Beatrice tensed up, her jaw included.
“Keep your fingers in.”
“Gah.” Heather fought the pain, using her other hand to keep Beatrice’s airway open. As they pulled under the awning of the ER, Beatrice was bucking and foaming at the mouth. They got her out of the car, and all three helped drag her to the doors which opened as an attentive nurse rolled a wheelchair out toward them. They threw her in it and had to hold her down to prevent her from flopping out onto the floor. Soon another nurse was there to take over for Winton, then another and another.
Heather dropped to her knees and sobbed in the middle of the hallway. Winton gave Julius a look then ran after the nurses, anticipating their questions.
“She took some sort of drug. She’s overdosing.”
“What did she take?” One nurse took interest in Winton and walked beside him, clutching a stethoscope around her neck.
“I don’t know. We found her after she’d taken it.”
“Did she inject it? Snort it?”
“Swallowed. I think.”
Then Beatrice was through a door and Winton was left standing alone in the hallway. He realized he wasn’t breathing and heaved a ragged breath. His hands began to tremble, and he turned in a circle, unsure where to go or what to do with himself. He took a step, then stopped himself. He felt for the foil pack in his pocket. There were no markings on it he could decipher. No label advertising to the user what sort of drug it was. For all Winton knew it could have been straight poison. It certainly had been used that way. Either way, it dawned on him that held a murder weapon in his hand. He looked both ways then knelt and stuffed the foil pack into his sock, snug to his ankle.
