“That’s too bad ‘cause I might have somethin’ for ya, Slate.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.” I drop my eyes to her thin cracked lips with an inward shudder. “I ain’t sayin’ I don’t want ya,” I lie, needing whatever drug she has in her place. “Really, Gath, at this point, I don’t care what you got. Some roxys, uppers…shit. Right now, I’d settle for a little Mary Jane.”
She glares at me for a long moment. “Okay, Slate. I got a little pot. I’ll light up a bowl.” She opens the door. “And maybe you can persuade me into givin’ ya something else, huh?”
“Yeah.” I step in and smile. “Maybe,” I say, getting a whiff of stale cigarettes. I glance around and see a beer can on every flat surface. I tug on my hood, pulling it forward. It’s part of me. Even on the hottest days, you won’t find me without one because it covers my ugly. I walk over to the sofa. Moving a can from the armrest, I set it on the shitty, nicked-up coffee table. I sit down, and that familiar sound reaches my ears. Like a fan running, a constant background noise, one that I hear every time I come here—a baby crying. Although, I’ve never seen it, I know Gathie has a kid.
And it’s always crying.
Gathie plops down on the sofa next to me. Oblivious to the sound, she grabs the bowl from the table and starts to pack it. I watch, sweating. My hands shake for just one hit, and it’s going to have to do till I can find some hydros ‘cause there’s no way I’m persuading Gathie by fucking her for any. I know Digs limits her supply and she don’t like giving up any of her shit. I hope that I can talk her into selling me something, anything. She knows that I’m good for the cash. Although, Jax, my older brother, would like to, I know that he can’t take away my share of the bar. It drives him crazy. He knows the income I get from JZS is what supports my addiction.
My cell dings. I pull it from my jeans, swipe the screen, and click on the message from Zeke, my little bro.
Hey, Tommy Bigs canceled tonight. Can you fight? You good?
Am I good? He means am I high. Jax checks me before he’ll let me go in the ring. If he thinks that I’m all lit up, I can’t fight. Long as I don’t hit the bowl Gathie just sparked, I’ll be good. Fuck. It smells so good. I don’t mind going into the ring feenin’. In fact, I prefer it. My body’s ready to tear some shit up. I fight better when I haven’t had any drugs in my system for a few hours. The withdrawals kick in and get me all pumped. Plus, I know the minute I’m out of the ring and my body’s beat to shit, I can pop a few hydros. I welcome the pain. It’s what got me hooked in the first place.
After nearly a year in the hospital, followed by months of rehab, hydros were all that would kill the pain. So now, pain equals hydros; therefore, I need both.
Gathie hands me the bowl. I stare at it for a second, palms sweating, nose running, and heart palpitating.
“What?” She pulls it back. “Don’t want any?”
“Gotta fight tonight,” I say, dragging my eyes from the sweet Mary Jane burning just inches away.
“Oh-ho, you’re gonna be hurtin’.” She laughs, lifting the bowl back to her mouth for another toke.
“Yeah, just found out.” I wave my cell then shove it back into my pocket. “So, come on, Gathie. Help me out here; sell me something for later.”
She deliberately blows the smoke right in my face. “All I got is a little blow. I’ll sell you a few bumps, but that’s it.”
“No hydros?”
She taps the bowl on the ashtray, shaking her head. “Digs don’t give ‘em to me no more. Says they bring me down. He just wants me alert so I can take care of the brat.”
That’s about when my ears open up enough to let in that crying fan coming from one of the closed doors in the apartment. I’m not sure what Gathie’s definition of taking care of a baby is, but fuck, I need to get high. And again, that crying sound falls upon deaf ears.
CHAPTER THREE
Lurlene parks the golf cart, and when we get out, the parking lot is full.
“Wow,” she says, looking around. “It’s always jam-packed here.”
“Yeah, they’re doing well.” I nod as we make our way to the door. “After hearing about Gram’s death, and then about the fire at her store, I wasn’t surprised to hear that the Declan brothers opened a bar. They’re all in their late twenties, except Jax. I think he turns thirty this year. Their father was a boxer. Jax taught the younger brothers what he learned from their father before he died, before they moved here to live with their grams. That’s probably why they opened this bar instead of another corner store.”