Blackfly Season

22

“I’M OUTTA HERE, DAVE. Really, man, I’m into poetry, not violence. Yes, I like dope. Yes, I like free dope even better. But killing people—hey, I’m against it. Totally and unequivocally against it.”

Letterman’s face broke into the famous gap-toothed grin. Just the guy next door, it said. I would never ask you anything dangerous.

“Come on, Kevin. If you really wanted to go, you could be out of there any time. Why are you still hanging around these two psychos?”

“I need time to think, Dave. These guys are not just gonna let me walk away. I know too much. I have to come up with a way to move on without upsetting them. Easy for you to sit there and ask questions—you haven’t been through what I’ve been through. You didn’t see your friend—okay, Toof wasn’t a friend exactly. Your associate—you didn’t see your associate shot in the head and then beaten to death with a baseball bat. Believe me, you’d need a hit, too, if you’d seen what I saw. Thanks for having me on the show, Dave, but there’s things I’ve got to do, here, so adios, amigo.”

Kevin suddenly wasn’t sure if he’d been imagining the chat with Letterman in silence, or if he’d been speaking aloud. He was standing outside, in the bushes behind Leon’s cabin, and the flies were eating him alive. He told himself to keep it together. You can’t be talking to yourself when you’re pulling a raid on Leon’s personal sales stash. Leon is no longer just a business associate; Leon is a fucking evil entity, man. And so is Red Bear.

So why am I doing this? Why take this insane risk? Well, he knew the answer to that: Because I’m a stone junkie, and I need to get high. Need with a capital N, thank you. As in, I’ll die if I don’t shoot up right now.

The cabin was dark; Kevin took a few steps closer. Leon was over in Red Bear’s cabin. Crazy bastards were spending more and more time together. Kevin’s plan was to liberate a pinch of Leon’s stash and transport it as efficiently as possible to his own pleasure receptors. It was the only way he was going to get through this moment, which was surely the darkest of his life. He wouldn’t touch the motherlode.

The motherlode, their main dope supply, was locked up in a tiny, windowless shed made out of cement blocks further along toward the beach. Leon was in charge of security, and he kept the keys with him at all times.

Kevin stood still, listening. No sound from the cabin. Mind you, there was no sound from Red Bear’s cabin either, so who knows what they were up to. He remembered the blood streaming down Toof’s back, and the grotesque way he had staggered, his body no longer getting coherent messages from his brain.

“Move,” Leon had said when he was finished with Toof. “I’m driving.”

He tossed the baseball bat into the trunk of the Trans Am and got behind the wheel. Kevin got in on the passenger side. The seat was still warm from Toof’s body heat.

Leon took it slow getting away from the construction site. The Trans Am was low-slung; no point taking out the oil pan in some backhoe rut. But excitement made his eyes shine and his cheeks glow, as if he had just won an important race.

“Man, did you see that fucker stagger around? Talk about not knowing when to give up. Two bullets I put in his head, man. Two bullets. And he’s still up walking around. Did you see that?”

“Uh, yeah. I saw that.”

“Hey, I didn’t get any blood on the car, did I? You see any on the dash?”

“Dash looks fine.”

“What about the seat? Lean forward a second.”

Kevin leaned forward.

“Naw, I think we’re good. No muss, no fuss. Fucking gun wasn’t much use, way it turned out. Clocked him a good one with the bat, though. Knocked that one into the bleachers, man. Knocked that one out of the park.”

As Toof had staggered near the car, the blood had poured from his bullet wounds in red strings, like hair.

“Fucker had it coming, man. He knew the score. You don’t talk to anyone about our business. No one. I was clear on that point, Kevin. What about you? Have you been talking to anyone? Telling people we ripped off the Viking fucking Riders?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t been talking to anyone.”

“Exactly, man. Me neither. That’s the problem with Toof. There’s no talking to that guy. He’s too fucking dumb. Toofus-Doofus.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Toofus-Doofus.”

Leon looked over at him. Eyes bright.

“Scared ya, I bet.”

“You definitely caught me by surprise there, Leon.”

“Yeah, you were scared shitless, man. Admit it.”

“I was scared shitless. You’re right.” I still am, I still am, I still am.

“Don’t worry, Kev. You get used to it. Just listen to Red Bear, man. That guy knows what he’s talking about. You get used to things. And it’s okay. You do what you have to do. Toof knew the score, Kev. He made his bet and he lost.”

“Lost big.”

“Only justice,” Leon said. “Mouth like that could get us all killed.” He turned onto Highway 11, and then it was blast-off, dual exhausts roaring and the Trans Am hurtling south.

“Justice,” Leon said again. “Way it should be.”

Addicts learn early on to keep all their options open. That was why Kevin knew that Leon kept his private inventory under a floorboard in his cabin. It was also why, one time when Leon had stepped out for something, Kevin had unlatched his window from the inside. It was still too cool at night, out here by the lake, to sleep with the windows open. And they didn’t have screens. An open window was an invitation to the flies that were buzzing around Kevin’s head and neck.

The unlatched window was at the back; he wouldn’t be seen from Red Bear’s cabin. Kevin forced the window up eight or ten inches. He pulled himself through and lowered himself, hands first, to the floor.

He went straight to the floorboard under Leon’s bed and pried it up. There were enough glassine envelopes full of dope to knock out an army of elephants, but Kevin took only one. He replaced it with another he had prepared that contained nothing more lethal than icing sugar. Some junkie would be in for a disappointment.

Toof’s face. The rolling, bewildered eyes. The sound of his skull yielding to wood. Kevin would never forget that sound. The memory made his legs quake so bad he had trouble climbing out the window. He dropped to the ground outside and nearly broke his ankle.

He moved quickly through the bush, back toward his own cabin. He did not want to run into Leon—the new Leon. He knew there was violence in Leon’s past. Leon had hinted at it a couple of times. And Kevin had seen him beat the hell out of that guy in the pub. But now it was as if Red Bear had roused some black-hearted creature previously dormant within Leon. The entity.

Kevin outran the flies back to his own cabin and shut the door. Got to get out of here. Definitely. But first, let’s get myself a little calm, a little clarity.

He pulled out the spoon he had hidden in the wall and cooked up the smack with his Ronson. He drew the milky stuff into his syringe, and this time there was no question where it was going. He cinched his belt around his bicep, pumped up a fat vein and plunged the needle in. When he loosened the belt, the dope hit his brain like a fifty-megaton orgasm.

After a few minutes, he hid his paraphernalia and climbed into bed. He curled up, clasping his hands between his knees. Bliss rode every nerve in his body. His belly felt awash in opium and molten chocolate.

“Kevin, will you come back with me?” Terri’s voice sang in his ear, and Kevin wished for the hundredth time that his sister would get married and leave him alone.

“Kevin, will you come back with me?” Her green, green eyes imploring him. He could feel himself bathed in her love and concern.

“Oh, Terri,” he moaned. “Leave me alone, will ya?” But the dope was making him giggle.

Waves of pleasure rolled through his body in languid swells. His mind was the translucent blue of a Bahamian sea. Guilt and fear could not survive in this heaven.

Almost lost against that blue ocean was a tiny, dark figure, like an insect crawling across a TV screen. But it was a man, a tiny man, waving to Kevin as if from the wrong end of a telescope.

Kevin smiled. Good news, the guy was giving him. Even though he couldn’t quite make out the words, he knew it was good news.

The tiny man was calling. Waving and calling in the blue. It was as if the tiny man was a castaway, and Kevin was a passing jet. He couldn’t make out the face, but he knew it was Toof.

Toof was calling to him from that blue immensity. Toof was telling him not to worry. It wasn’t so bad being dead. In fact, it was okay. No need to be afraid, Kevin. No need to be upset. Old Toof was fine, man. Everything was fine.