sat on the floor, her legs folded under her, her skirt twisted. He stared down at her. He brushed his hand across his eyes, trying to forget that this was Jeannie, his Jeannie. He shook his head abstractly, wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “Jeannie—”
She pulled her skirt over her knees, then buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she began sobbing.
“Jeannie—”
“Take what you want and go,” she said. “Please. Just go. Just go— Just—”
He dropped to his knees and put his arm around her shoulders, remembering the way it used to be. His girl, Ray Stone’s girl. Standing by the piano with the smile in her eyes and on her lips, and that look on her face that said he was her man, good or bad. He blinked his eyes. There was a burning sensation in his throat. That was long ago. How long ago? He couldn’t remember. He felt so old, old at twenty-six, a lifetime lived at twenty-six. And Jeannie was crying again. He’d made her cry again, just like before. He was always hurting people now. That’s all he was good for.
He patted her shoulder awkwardly, then jumped to his feet. He needed money. She could cry with tears, but she didn’t know how he was crying inside. Every cell, every tissue, every nerve, every fiber, every muscle was crying inside him.
He walked hastily to the bedroom in the familiar apartment. He found her purse on the dresser, opened it and took out two fives and a single, his fingers shaking as he pocketed the bills. How many times had he stolen in the past year? How low can you get, how dirty rotten low…
Eleven dollars! More than enough. Enough for two decks, with some left over. Two great big decks. His lips shook and he clamped his teeth tightly together, but they still shook.
Quickly, he walked back into the foyer. She was still on the floor, bent over now, her head cradled in her arms, her hair spilling over onto the carpet.
“I’m sorry, Jeannie,” he said. “But—” He gulped hard. “You know—”
She looked up. Her eyes found his, silently pleading.
She stared at the money in his hand, begging him with her eyes to put it back. He looked down at the bills, suddenly remembered what they would buy and opened the door.
“You’re better off this way, Jeannie,” he said. “You’re better off without me.”
He watched her head nod and then shake, nod and shake. She kept sobbing, her shoulders trembling. He couldn’t watch anymore. He closed the door behind him and ran down the steps.
He had the money now. He would call Louie, call the man with the key. He would tell the little bastard he had the money, ram it down his throat, shove it all the way down. He had the money.
Louie had said the meet was on 135th and Lenox. He wondered what time it would be? He’d call Louie again and find out. But this time, he wouldn’t crawl.
He stopped by the candy store on the corner, reaching for some change in his pocket. His eye caught the newspaper on the stand. It was an extra edition, probably dumped on the stands a few moments before.
The headline was big and black. POLICE SEEK ADDICT .
He recognized the picture under the headline. He recognized it because it was the one he’d taken when he graduated from high school.
He felt sick again, and he ran into the candy store.
Chapter Four
The candy store owner had a thin, hatchet face. He wore glasses that reflected the rays of the sun, looking like two molten pools of gold on either side of his curving nose.
Ray looked into the glistening pools, and they shimmered and swam out of focus. He gripped the top of the marble counter, and his lips worked anxiously as he struggled for words.
“Bro—bromo. Gimm—”
He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted something. He had to have something to push against the churning waves that threatened to erupt in his stomach. Ray felt the nausea spring up inside him again. He knew what he needed now. It sure as hell wasn’t a bromo.
“Bathroom!” he blurted, his
She pulled her skirt over her knees, then buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she began sobbing.
“Jeannie—”
“Take what you want and go,” she said. “Please. Just go. Just go— Just—”
He dropped to his knees and put his arm around her shoulders, remembering the way it used to be. His girl, Ray Stone’s girl. Standing by the piano with the smile in her eyes and on her lips, and that look on her face that said he was her man, good or bad. He blinked his eyes. There was a burning sensation in his throat. That was long ago. How long ago? He couldn’t remember. He felt so old, old at twenty-six, a lifetime lived at twenty-six. And Jeannie was crying again. He’d made her cry again, just like before. He was always hurting people now. That’s all he was good for.
He patted her shoulder awkwardly, then jumped to his feet. He needed money. She could cry with tears, but she didn’t know how he was crying inside. Every cell, every tissue, every nerve, every fiber, every muscle was crying inside him.
He walked hastily to the bedroom in the familiar apartment. He found her purse on the dresser, opened it and took out two fives and a single, his fingers shaking as he pocketed the bills. How many times had he stolen in the past year? How low can you get, how dirty rotten low…
Eleven dollars! More than enough. Enough for two decks, with some left over. Two great big decks. His lips shook and he clamped his teeth tightly together, but they still shook.
Quickly, he walked back into the foyer. She was still on the floor, bent over now, her head cradled in her arms, her hair spilling over onto the carpet.
“I’m sorry, Jeannie,” he said. “But—” He gulped hard. “You know—”
She looked up. Her eyes found his, silently pleading.
She stared at the money in his hand, begging him with her eyes to put it back. He looked down at the bills, suddenly remembered what they would buy and opened the door.
“You’re better off this way, Jeannie,” he said. “You’re better off without me.”
He watched her head nod and then shake, nod and shake. She kept sobbing, her shoulders trembling. He couldn’t watch anymore. He closed the door behind him and ran down the steps.
He had the money now. He would call Louie, call the man with the key. He would tell the little bastard he had the money, ram it down his throat, shove it all the way down. He had the money.
Louie had said the meet was on 135th and Lenox. He wondered what time it would be? He’d call Louie again and find out. But this time, he wouldn’t crawl.
He stopped by the candy store on the corner, reaching for some change in his pocket. His eye caught the newspaper on the stand. It was an extra edition, probably dumped on the stands a few moments before.
The headline was big and black. POLICE SEEK ADDICT .
He recognized the picture under the headline. He recognized it because it was the one he’d taken when he graduated from high school.
He felt sick again, and he ran into the candy store.
Chapter Four
The candy store owner had a thin, hatchet face. He wore glasses that reflected the rays of the sun, looking like two molten pools of gold on either side of his curving nose.
Ray looked into the glistening pools, and they shimmered and swam out of focus. He gripped the top of the marble counter, and his lips worked anxiously as he struggled for words.
“Bro—bromo. Gimm—”
He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted something. He had to have something to push against the churning waves that threatened to erupt in his stomach. Ray felt the nausea spring up inside him again. He knew what he needed now. It sure as hell wasn’t a bromo.
“Bathroom!” he blurted, his
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