Hustle Page 10

  The fat man walked away to a bedroom down the hall, so the three followed the source of the most noise and found the kitchen. They crowded into the tiny space that was already occupied by five others. Three of those five sat around a red Formica table looking over-heated in their interchangeable white T-shirts that were spotted and speckled with what looked like dried blood. The other two nodded solemnly while they stood and smoked near the door-less pantry that was stocked with not food but well-used appliances. They let their cigarette ashes drop to the floor and seemed to communicate only with quiet grunts.

  The first thing Bear noticed was the sink. There was no other place to stand, so he was forced to be closest to the pile of abandoned dishes that filled the sink. They were piled above the level of the counter, balancing high and leaning on one another like a filthy house of cards that may come crashing down at any moment. The basin was bone dry, but the dishes still managed to grow a spectrum of molds. The stink was sour and he couldn’t understand why no one else was wincing because of it.

  He fought back a gag and turned to see the table. On it were two scales—one electric, one weighted—empty baggies of every size imaginable, glass pipes, burned spoons coated inside with brown goo, overflowing ashtrays, needles—some new, some filled with dried blood—an empty bag of cat food, which immediately made Bear notice the ammonia smell of cat piss mixing in with the decomposing food. He reached into his coat for a Camel to combat the stink.

  The moment Bear shook out a smoke, one of the fiends at the table turned to him and said, “Hey Buddy, mind if I get one of those?”

  Bear said, “Sorry, last one,” and slipped the pack back into his pocket. The guy at the table turned his attention back to his drugs, shaking some white powder into a dirty spoon.

  Donny didn’t bother lighting up. He wasn’t sure how many smokes he had left and he didn’t want to give any up. The action at the table made him jones a little. He wanted to ask if he could get in on some, whatever they were doing. He knew Rich would be feeling the same way. He watched them work, drawing up the shit in their rigs, arguing about who got more, who was going to pound the cottons. He looked over at Rich and saw him staring wide-eyed, mouth open, lost in his own desires.

  One of the guys at the table said, “Don’t put coke in mine, I gotta muscle it.”

  The one on the end said, “I already did, I thought you wanted it. Have Kathy hit you in the armpit. She’s good at it.”

  The one in the middle said, “At least she’s good for something.”

  Then the first one, “I can’t hit my armpits, they’re blown out.”

  “You can’t blow out your armpits, you’re just missing. I been getting a spot in there for months. You just have to know how to do it.”

  The wise-ass in the middle said, “Try your neck, that’s easy. I hit mine almost every day.”

  Sure enough, Bear noticed, there was a dark blue bruise crowned with tiny scabs running up the man’s jugular.

  Big Rich interrupted, “I can hit you in the neck, or in the armpit. Just give me the wash and I’ll do it.”

  The guy on the end turned to Rich, seemed to be considering it, but then the first guy said. “You can’t give him the wash; it’s not yours to give. I promised Sarah the rinse. She’s sitting back there in the room sick.”

  The guy with the needle decided he was going to muscle it anyway.

  The one in the middle, who seemed to know everything, told him, “You can’t muscle coke, you’ll get an abscess.”

  “Sure you can, I do it all the time. Just no rush, that’s all.” He stuck the needle into his shoulder and pressed the plunger. Bear watched a lump form under his skin. Bear was disgusted. He flicked his ashes in the debris behind him and wondered how much longer it would be until he could question this Gilly character.

  “Rich?” a voice sounded from down hallway, “Big Rich? C’mere.”

  Bear was relieved. He couldn’t take another minute in the kitchen. He followed the two boys out into a dark hallway. The three followed the voice.

  At the end of the hall, standing in a doorway, was a young, spindly man. He had dirty blond hair and wisps of a beard, more peach fuzz than whiskers. He was grinning and showing a gap where one of his front teeth had rotted out—or been knocked out. He wore camouflage pants that bore the same burn holes as the fat man who’d answered the door. He wore no shirt to cover his skinny frame and his skin was covered in a film of greasy sweat.

  “Gilly,” said Rich, “long time, no see.”

  “How’re you doin’? Come in, come in.” He ushered them into a cramped space that was lit with colored bulbs. The room was sealed off to outside light; it would be impossible to tell from inside if it was day or night. Bear let his eyes adjust and looked around. The walls were stacked with computer equipment, most of which looked like it had been pulled from a dumpster. The floor was knotted with wires and cords tethering some of the pieces together. A large, old TV was playing without any sound, but music came from somewhere, a fast heavy-metal song that playing so low it sounded like violent static.

  “Move that shit,” said Gilly, pointing to a couch that was covered with cardboard boxes and papers. Donny scooped up enough of the debris to make room for the three of them and they sat down, in the same arrangement as when they’d sat on the couch at Thaxton’s

  When they had settled, Gilly introduced himself. He was friendly, polite, and laying on that thick Texas accent.

  “So,” said Gilly to Rich, a serious tone creeping into his voice. “What brings you around? You haven’t been seen since all that bullshit went down.”

  “I been broke, haven’t had anything together lately. You know how it is.”

  Gilly nodded thoughtfully. His mind was already far away from the conversation. Then he said, “You guys want a hit, see what’s new in pharmaceutical science?”

  Rich grinned and said sure and Donny quickly nodded. Bear sat still. He was still assessing, thinking about when to break in with his line of questioning. Gilly took a loaded glass pipe from the top of a monitor and held a lighter under it. He inhaled deeply and passed it to Rich while he kept the smoke in his lungs. He watched Rich re-light the pipe and suck in the smoke before he asked, “So, who are your friends?”

  “This is Donny, I think you know Donny. He’s been over here before. And that there is Bear.”

  “You lookin’ to buy something?” Gilly said to Bear, “I got this shit, and some cheaper stuff, all you need. The glass you can fuckin’ see through and the raw, it’s cheap, but it’s got a real … ka-bang.”

  Big Rich passed the pipe to Donny and it went right under Bear’s nose. It stank just like any other speed he’d smelled and he pulled back his head a bit so as to not breathe any more of the fumes than he had to. “No, not me. I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s a friend of yours too. His name is Dustin.”

  Gilly made a face, a thoughtful frown, and said, “Dustin? Nope, I don’t know any Dustin.”

  “Think harder,” was all Bear said. He knew this punk was lying and he wanted to give him a chance to answer without losing face.

  Gilly looked over at Rich with a look of concern, thinking maybe Rich had brought an undercover cop into his home. Rich said, “It’s pretty important.”

  Gilly was still shaking his head. “Sorry, don’t know him.”

  “Yeah, you do,” said Bear. “Your name is all over his phonebook, and I know, for a fact, that you two have done business together. So cut the shit. I need to talk to this motherfucker right away.” Bear stood up from the couch, his size now very apparent to the scrawny Gilly.

  “What the fuck, Rich? Who you bringing in here to my home? I don’t know this guy.” Then, to Bear, “Rich brings you here to buy,” he stuttered, “used computer stuff, and you got no manners. Now, I don’t know who you think you are, but …”

  Bear pushed his face a little closer, “You think I’m a cop? Is that it? You fuckin’ wish I was a cop, you dumbfuck, ‘cause I’m go
nna fuck you up in a minute. I’m gonna give you the kinda pain a cop never could. Now, where is Dustin?”

  Gilly stepped back, bumping into a monitor. A few empty beer bottles filled with cigarette butts fell to the floor. “Dustin? Dustin? Oh, shit, I thought you said Justin.” Talking fast now, selling it, “Yeah, yeah, I know a Dustin. But I ain’t seen him, I swear. Not for a long time. I think that dude’s in prison or something. I used to know him. I don’t anymore, he and I don’t see straight. If I see him I’ll tell him you’re trying to find him, but I won’t see him. I barely even know him.”

  Bear reached forward and wrapped his fingers around Gilly’s throat and squeezed. Gilly’s face turned red. “Bullshit,” said Bear.

  The bedroom door opened. No knock, no warning. Bear let go. There was Kathy, the girl that had let them into the house.

  “What’s going on,” she said. “What was all that noise?”

  Gilly couldn’t answer; his throat was still closed up. Bear glared at her, his face still red with anger.

  So Donny said, “We’re looking for Dustin.”

  “Oh, you just missed him,” Kathy said, smiling, thinking she was being helpful. She was. “He was here with some creepy old guy, like, an hour ago. He slinked outta here without sayin’ nothin’, as usual. If you see him, tell him from me …”

  Bear cut her off, “Excuse us.” He kicked the door shut. She pulled back her face in time to avoid getting it caught in the slamming door. With one quick motion, Bear grabbed Gilly’s elbow and smacked him, mid-biceps, with the palm of his hand. There was a loud crack and Gilly’s face turned white with the shock, the pain.

  Gilly dropped to his knees, crying, “You broke my arm, you broke my arm.”

  There was knocking. Kathy’s voice. “Hey, what’s going on in there? Hello? What was that? Gilly?”

  Bear turned to Rich. “The door.”

  Rich moved fast and pushed up against it with one hand holding the knob. Donny began to move through the room, digging, stuffing things into his pockets.

  “What did I tell you?” Bear said to Gilly who only cried out, “My arm, my arm.”

  Bear hadn’t let go of the elbow, he held Gilly down by squeezing it with one hand and reached into his boot with the other hand and pulled out the big hunting knife. He pushed it against Gilly’s throat. “Where the fuck did they go?”

  There were more voices at the door now, more knocking and pounding. The whole diseased herd of junkies were trying to push their way in. Bear twisted Gilly’s arm some more; he could see the broken bone pushing against the skin. “Where are they?” He was growling now, trying not to push the knife too hard against his throat.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Gilly was whimpering. “Maybe Terrence’s, or Gavin’s. He said something about seeing his lawyer.”

  “What did he come here for?”

  “To get some speed and use the computer. That’s it, that’s all I swear.”

  Bear let go of his elbow and smacked him in the face with the butt of his knife. Gilly curled up in a ball on the dirty carpet.

  “Okay,” Bear said to the boys, “I’m ready to go.”

  Donny said, “What about the computer? We can check the history, see what he was doing.”

  Big Rich said, “I can’t hold these fuckers. They’re gonna break down the door.”

  Bear moved behind Big Rich who was barely holding the door closed and said, “Open it.”

  Rich stepped back and let the door swing open. When the junkies saw the big biker with a buck knife in his hand, they stood still. They weren’t sure if they wanted to fight this battle for Gilly.

  “Get the fuck out!” one of them shouted.

  “Gladly,” said Bear and, knife still in his hand, punched one of them hard in the nose. The blood flowed and the junkie went down. The rest of them stepped aside, still trying to look menacing.

  Bear, Rich, and Donny moved as fast as they could through the hallway and down the stairs to the front door.

  They heard more shouts behind them: “I’ll remember you”

  “Get the fuck out”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  And Kathy’s voice screaming, “I’m calling the cops.”

  But no one there was calling the cops.

  They hit the street and moved as quick as they could to the parked car. Rich was practically skipping.

  “Did you see that shit? Holy fuck, that was some wicked-ass U.S. marine-type shit you pulled on that dude. Man, Donny, did you see that shit?”

  Donny was speed-walking with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “I saw, I saw. I was there, remember?” He checked over his shoulder to see if anyone had come out of the house to follow—or shoot at—them.

  They reached the car and piled in, all three out of breath. Rich, still excited, hit Bear in the arm, saying, “Dude, you are a fucking bad-ass.”

  Bear was still wheezing. He started the car and looked over at Big Rich, “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  ***

  They drove through the Mission for several blocks, waiting for the adrenalin to subside, before Big Rich said the obvious thing. “Where’re we going?”

  “Looks like we’re back to square one. That’s a lot of excitement that didn’t yield much information. I don’t know either of those fuckers he mentioned, do you?”

  “I didn’t even hear what he said; it was too crazy in there.”

  Then, in a quiet voice, from the back seat, Donny said, “I got his gun.”

  “What?” said Bear. “You got that son of a bitch’s gun?” He laughed. “I wish you hadda said somethin’, we could have used it to get outta there.”

  “What kind is it?” said Big Rich, excited.

  “I dunno, but it’s heavy.” Donny pulled the piece out of the inside pocket of his jacket and held it pointed toward the floorboards.

  “Whoa,” said Bear. “Put that thing away. That’s the last thing I need is for one of you dumbfucks to shoot himself in the foot.”

  “We’re just taking a look,” said Rich.

  “I’ve had bad luck with other people’s guns, that’s all. Just put it away, we don’t need it now, not yet,” Bear said, adding, “Smart move, kid. Volatile situation like that, better us have it than him. Although, I doubt he was gonna be using it.”

  “Way to go Donny. Good lookin’ out,” Rich chimed in, proud of his friend.

  “I got his phone, too.”

  Bear looked at Donny in the rearview mirror. “Nice,” he said. “You’re smarter than you look, kid. We just may be able to do something with that thing.”

  Donny smiled. It was half an insult, but it still made him feel good.

  Chapter 12

  Gabriel woke with his head bouncing off of the Bentley window. The sunlight pierced his eyes and he felt nauseated and in pain. He had no idea where they were, winding on a country road with Dustin taking the sharp curves way too fast. He lifted his head up and could smell tobacco and the ocean.

  “Well, look who decided to join us,” Dustin said.

  “Us?” said Gabriel, almost to himself. He looked in the back seat and saw no one. The car veered left around a hairpin turn and Gabriel began to get his bearings. He knew this country. They were in Marin, driving near the coast. He could tell by the hue of the light that it was still barely morning and he could feel, by intuition, that they were driving north, away from San Francisco. Where to, he had no idea.

  Dustin turned on the radio and began immediately punching buttons when he heard Thaxton’s classical station. He settled on a pop station that promised, More Hits, Less Commercials, and he tapped his hands on the steering wheel cheerfully. Gabriel wasn’t used to seeing Dustin out in natural sunlight and noticed how awful his skin looked. The red blotches on his hands had been freshly picked over and looked irritated and infected. Except for the blemishes, his pale skin was nearly translucent. He had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and the ashes fell from the cherry
onto his lap.

  “Where are we going?” asked Gabriel.

  “To see a friend of mine, to finish our business. We’ll get you some lunch, you’ll feel better.”

  “Where?” Gabriel noticed his own voice sounding weak, raspy. He fought the urge to ask to see a doctor. He knew that would be pointless. There would be no doctors where they were going.

  “Just up the street here. You’ll see,” said Dustin, then he added in a strange sing-song voice high in pitch, “You’ll see when you get there!”

  Gabriel put his head back against the window and let it bounce lifelessly against the glass. He tried to shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether it was the tobacco smoke or the winding road that was making him more nauseated. He settled in and kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.

  Even at the high speed Dustin drove, the road unfolded slowly. Twisting back and forth, first toward the water, then toward the hills, they slowly wound down to sea level. Gabriel recognized the town as Stinson Beach. He hoped they’d be stopping, but Dustin drove straight through and the small town disappeared behind them. Dustin paid little attention to traffic laws or posted speeds. Where were the police, thought Gabriel, where were the CHP when you needed them?

  Soon they were driving away from the coastline again, up into the hills. The road grew narrower and eventually turned to gravel. Dustin pulled into a long driveway that was lined with trees and turned off the radio.

  “Be polite when you meet my friend, okay? He’s gonna help us out with our problem.”