Vida Nocturna Part 9

Old Orchard Mall is only a block away from the hospital. She'll stop there and clear her head. Then she can face him.

She parks in the back of the lot at the end by Marshall Field's. No one is looking. She scoops up some powder with the long nail on her right pinky finger, sniffing it up. Her face numbs as she enters the store. The powder is entering her bloodstream: just a little bulletproofing to help her face the crowd. She pa.s.ses through the store and out into the mall.

And there he is.

Josh. Sitting on a bench in the middle of the mall, smiling sweetly. Angie appears, leaning down to kiss him. She wraps her lithe little arms around him.

His hand goes up under her dress.

They're both undressed, lying there as shoppers pa.s.s by.

His face is between her legs as she plays with his hair and rolls her head toward Sara, laughing softly to herself.

People stop all around the couple, staring intently. At Sara.

She puts her hands over her face as the crowd sneers. Tears drop to the concrete walkway. She tangles her fingers into her hair, tightening her fists.

Sara woke with both fists tangled into her hair.

The keys to the Benz glinted from their place in the filtered sunlight on top of her purse, so she really had gone to pick up the car. Had she gone to the mall at all? Had she actually seen Angie? Or Josh? They'd probably be home for break now. But she didn't remember braving the sun as she got out of the car at the mall ...

She reached for a Quaalude.

"...I THOUGHT THAT for just once in your life you could focus on something besides yourself, but it's obvious this party means nothing to you..."

Mummy's voice sounded half-angry, half-sad. Daddy was arguing, too, but he always sounded the same. Calm, like a robot. Sara scrunched tighter into her closet as they argued in the hallway outside her room. Maybe they would leave her alone if she hid long enough.

"You cried and whined about not having enough booze for this party," Daddy said. "So I drove to the liquor store. Remember that?"

If Sara sang for the party guests, Mummy would be angry, somehow. But Daddy might like it. He would like it if she did a good job. But Mummy was right. Sara would have all those people watching her, looking for mistakes. And Daddy would be disappointed with mistakes.

"How dare you blame me for another of your trips to the liquor store, you G.o.dd.a.m.ned wino!" Mummy said. "I never said anything like that! I just wish I was one of your precious bottles so you'd pay me so much attention."

The angry words appeared, suspended in that dark place where the tiny Sara had disappeared when Mummy had hurt her arm earlier that afternoon.

G.o.dam wine oh.

"See this?" Daddy asked, very calmly.

"It's the shopping list," Daddy said. "For liquor. In your handwriting. Can you find that little tidbit through all the neuroses? Or did those pills you pop finally take it all away?"

Sara cupped her throbbing elbow as her mother's voice trailed off. Her parents took their argument downstairs.

The little Sara was safe. Nothing could hurt her down there in that s.p.a.ce inside her head. There was no pain. Even Mummy's shouting and Daddy's cold, mean words couldn't hurt her there. If all of Sara could be there, she could fall off the roof of the house and not even care.

But right now the rest of Sara remembered the crunch her elbow had made. The memory and the throbbing made her tummy all tight and crampy.

They had pa.s.sed by this time. But this was the party night. They would get her later. She hugged her knees tighter with her good arm.

CHAPTER 6.

Cloistered From the Living SARA INHALED ANOTHER line. Alexander emerged from his room, back in his black shirt and jeans. He came and sat next to her without so much as a drink in his hand. On the TV, some man with a coffee-can-shaped head was being interviewed.

Yes, public perception is that there are more serial killers today than there have been in the past. But there have always been serial killers. It might be that current investigative technologies are helping us identify patterns and recognize them. It might also be that there are a greater number of so-called copycat killers. The modern media reaches everywhere and has tremendous influence- Alexander switched it off. "Listen," he said, "I have to tell you this."

She straightened and turned toward him.

He took a deep breath and let it out. "You're going to have to start paying for your own c.o.ke," he said. "I just can't support two habits."

Her face slackened. "I don't have a habit," she said. "And besides, I gave you money for what I was doing already."

He shook his head. "You gave the group two paychecks' worth, which were about three hundred each. But that was weeks ago. And I covered what I could, all right? But I can't supply you with c.o.ke and pills all the time, especially the way you go through 'em."

Her eyes widened and stung. "The way I go through them? I think you'd better take a look at yourself, pal."

He sighed. "I didn't mind, okay? I still wouldn't mind if I could afford it. But you're doing half a gram a day ..."

"And anyway, that's not right. Weeks ago?"

"Well, yeah. It's November, right?"

"But that's ... oh. G.o.d, that's right." She laughed to herself. "I missed my own birthday." She shook her head.

"Sara, I can't cover half a gram a day."

She shrugged. "So what's a half gram a day? That's not a habit. And that was six hundred dollars I gave. n.o.body else gave s.h.i.t."

"When we got a bunch to share, we all chipped in before we bought it. And anyway, we don't really do that anymore. We're pretty much all buying our own these days. It was too hard to keep track of who was using how much." He paused to clear his throat, then continued. "A half gram a day is fifty dollars a day. I can't pay for that. You have your own money, anyway. You're going to have to start paying your own way."

She stood up. "Oh, f.u.c.k off. What're you trying to pull? You're short on money and you want some from me." She paced away, peering into the jars of bugs. "Why can't you be man enough to just ask me for the money instead of coming up with some stupid story? There's no way I'm using fifty dollars a day. You do ten times what I do. Are you saying you do five hundred dollars worth of c.o.ke every day?"

"Maybe if you bought your own, you'd understand."

She exhaled through her teeth, letting the air puff out her lips in a show of exasperation. "Fine. I can't believe you're making such a big deal out of a few lines. But I'll buy some from you, if that's what you want. I cashed another paycheck the other day. How much can I buy, mister c.o.ke salesman?" She forced herself to take her hands from her hips and stop leaning toward him.

His utterly calm face looked like Mister Spock. "It depends on how much you want to spend," he said. "The more you buy, the cheaper it gets."

He stared at her.

She nodded her head quickly. Get on with it. Go ahead- it's the next step in the pattern. First you use me like I'm your toy, now you make me buy c.o.ke from you ...

"Most people just buy grams," he said. "I sell those for an even hundred. I'll give them to you for eighty apiece because, you know, we're together."

She stared silently.

"The next size up is an eight-ball."

"What's that, eight grams?"

He shook his head. "It's an eighth of an ounce; that's three and a half grams. I'll sell those to you for two-fifty." He looked at her again.

"What else do you have for sale?"

"Well, then there's a quarter-ounce and an ounce," he replied. "Quarter-ounces I'll give you for four-fifty, and ounces for eleven hundred." He paused. "I'd keep paying for it if I could, but it's just too much for me. I'm selling these cheaper to you than to anybody. I hope you understand."

"Oh, I understand." She sighed. "Um, give me one of those eight..."

"Eight-b.a.l.l.s?"

"Yeah. I have enough for that."

He went into his room, retrieving a substantial lump of white powder in a baggie. Sara fished in her purse for the bank envelope. She took the bag with one hand, giving him two fifties, six twenties, and three tens with her other. He went back to his room.

"Is there free gift wrap with this purchase?" She called.

He didn't respond. When he came back out, she took the straw from the mirror on the coffee table, making sure he saw her tap it several times to ensure that every last grain of "his" c.o.ke had been knocked off. Then she stuck the straw into her bag and sniffed.

She got too much powder. It almost made her sneeze and lose it all. She dropped the straw back onto the table, blinking away a few tears that her eyes had squeezed out in irritation. It was too difficult to control the dose without making lines so she took out her own mirror - the compact with her white makeup in it.

In the bathroom she dumped out the makeup and the puff that came with it, then washed the case to make sure it was all clean. There was no towel in the bathroom so she dried it with toilet paper.

Someone pounded on the outside door of the apartment. Alexander barked "Who is it?" and was answered by Neil's loudmouthed insults and curses.

Sara cautiously opened the bathroom door and went quickly toward the kitchen as they settled into their seats. She grabbed a razor blade from the counter and slowly eased into a chair off to the side of the room, balancing the compact on her knee as she rolled a dollar bill. From this angle, she could see Alexander's face and the backs of the others' heads; Neil and Cameron were sitting on the couch, and Alexander had the other chair next to the coffee table.

Neil and Alexander stared at each other with narrowed eyes. Sara's chest and stomach muscles were tight. Her breathing was shallow. There was too much tension in the room.

Sara held the rolled bill between her fingers like a cigarette as she dumped a little bit of her c.o.ke onto her mirror. She shifted a little, returning the baggie into her purse, and the c.o.ke spread evenly across the surface of the mirror, completely blocking her image. She snickered at that, making lines and then licking the razor blade. Cameron was watching her. "Mmm," she said. "The food of the G.o.ds." Cameron turned back to the coffee table.

Neil had carried in a gym bag. As Alexander disappeared into his room again, Neil opened the bag and brought out a huge white brick wrapped in plastic. It was the largest amount of cocaine Sara had ever seen. Alexander returned with a large mirror, some spoons, a box of new razor blades, a calculator, and a scale.

They cut open the plastic with one of the razor blades and carefully shook about a third of the powder out onto the mirror. Alexander started to scoop powder onto the scale's little tray, but Neil stopped him. "Whoa. Whoa, there, slick. Zero it, huh? You think we're that f.u.c.kin' stupid?"

The rush from the first hit spread through Sara. She jittered and shook a little. s.h.i.t! Forgot to get pills from him. Not so nice without the pills.

Alexander looked up at Neil, annoyed. He removed the little tray from the scale and dumped its contents back onto the mirror, then produced a straw from somewhere. "Sure. We gotta zero it. But before we do, let's see how much you've stepped on it. Maybe I don't want to buy this s.h.i.t to begin with."

Neil shrugged. "I came here straight from Iggy's, man. Ask Cameron. You don't want it, I don't give a s.h.i.t. I'll move it all myself."

Cameron started to say something, but Alexander ignored him and took a sniff. He sat still for a moment, waiting for it to kick in. While he waited, Neil tapped the scale's tray upside-down on the mirror, then replaced the empty tray in its wire holder. He set the dial on the top of the scale to zero and fiddled with some k.n.o.bs. Apparently satisfied that the scale was now "zeroed," Neil sat back to wait.

After a little while, Alexander grimaced and sighed as the drug took effect. "Hardly worth it ... but f.u.c.k it. Let's get this done."

They set the counterbalance to twenty-eight grams and scooped powder onto the tray until it balanced. Then they dumped the tray into a baggie and began to fill it up again.

"One ounce down," Cameron said. The others ignored him.

Sara did another line. Now that she had her own supply of c.o.ke, she could do as much as she wanted without anybody acting like she was stealing from them. That luxury alone was worth the price.

After a while, they had produced thirty-five bags holding an ounce each.

"I'm taking eighteen ounces," Alexander said. That leaves you with seventeen ounces and the twenty grams left over."

Neil shook his head. "The f.u.c.k you're takin' eighteen. I'll give you ten ounces, and you can have the twenty left over, at sixty a gram."

Alexander made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "f.u.c.k you. How long have we been doing this? You don't come in here and change the rules now. It's forty-five a gram on the key, and that's it. Always has been."

"Iggy's raising his prices. I had to front the cash for this whole thing. You can take ten and twenty. And the -"

"I'll take ten and twenty if you want to be a f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k about it," Alexander said. "But I'm not paying more than forty-five. You paid more? f.u.c.k you. Did I agree to pay more? Ten and twenty at forty-five, and I don't want to hear any more about it."

They stared into each other's faces as Alexander reached for the scale. Neil sneered as if he was going to argue, but he sat down instead.

Alexander reset the scale to balance at twenty grams and began to spoon the remaining powder onto the tray. When every last grain had been sc.r.a.ped up, the scale still did not balance. They all watched as Alexander adjusted the scale, and finally the bar and tray both bobbed up and down.

"Just shy of eighteen," Alexander said.

They stared at each other again.

Finally Alexander s.n.a.t.c.hed up the calculator. "So I get ten ounces times twenty-eight grams per ounce, times forty-five a gram. That's twelve thousand, six hundred. Plus, I'll take seventeen grams of this s.h.i.t, also at forty-five a gram. That's another seven hundred, sixty-five. Add that to the twelve thousand six hundred to get... Thirteen, three sixty-five.

Neil was shaking his head. "No. No. I'm not takin' the f.u.c.kin' hit on this. Iggy shorted the key, and that means Iggy shorted us both. I'm not paying for going to pick it up."

Alexander's face was smoother than ever. His beautiful eyes looked gla.s.sy and hard. "I can't even step on this s.h.i.t myself because you stepped on it so hard before you got here. And then you can't even do that right, so you bring a key that's two grams light. How hard is it to mix in two extra grams of bulls.h.i.t? Then you come in and try and hustle me with some story of Iggy raising prices? f.u.c.k you. Take all this s.h.i.t and get out of my place." He dumped the tray onto the mirror and rea.s.sembled the scale.

Neil laughed as Alexander vanished into the darkness of the bedroom. "I can do it without you," Neil called to him. "I'm responsible with my money, see? But you can't do it without me. You don't have the cash." He and Cameron exchanged knowing looks full of self-importance.

Sara's supersensitive eyes focused on Alexander's ghostly outline in the darkness of the doorway. Alexander's voice was unnaturally calm.

"Watch me."

He emerged from the dark room, seeming to float as he approached them. His luminous eyes were wide open as he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. Neil's head disappeared into red fog. Alexander turned on Cameron, firing two shots into his chest. Cameron collapsed from the couch, first to his knees and then to the floor.

Alexander's wide searchlight eyes scanned from one corpse to the other, then turned toward Sara as he leveled the gun at her face and fired over and over.