Cure For Pain

by NM Facile

  “I’m sorry if he made you feel uncomfortable. He’s a good guy, completely harmless. He just doesn’t always know how to act in new situations. I’m sure to him; you were an angel, with your shiny, blond hair and white jacket.” Jack smiled. His quiet friendly manner had her relaxed in no time.

  He was telling her about the different types of people who came in when Faith called to say she was on her way. Mary assured her that she’d be ready.

  Jack continued on about the clients. He said some were homeless like Art or had a home but not much of one. A number of the old-time users had tossed their lives away for the junk; eventually, they would all end up dead from it, either from an overdose or an infection. Nothing much could help those guys.

  Mary asked about teenagers. She thought of her own students, most of whom had a history of drug use and criminal behavior. She wondered if she would have to deal with the awkwardness of one of them coming in while she was there. Her hope was that her students knew that the alternative school was their last chance and that they were committed to getting their lives back on track. Mary was reassured when Jack told her that teens didn’t usually come in for more than condoms and testing. Most young people who used heroin smoked it. They often started out with prescription drugs like Oxycontin, but quickly upgraded to heroin because it was cheap and easy to get. The longer they used heroin, the more likely they were to start injecting it.

  Jack’s eyes seemed to look through the walls as he said, “No matter how many times they do it, they’ll never get a high like they did the first time.”

  He snapped back, glancing towards her pocket when her phone rang out again. Faith called to say she was close and would be out front in a couple a minutes. Mary stood up and pulled on her big jacket.

  “That was Faith. She’s almost here so I’m going to go out and wait for her. Thanks for all the help tonight.” She wrapped her emerald scarf around her neck and zipped up her coat.

  “I’ll walk out with you, Mary. You shouldn’t be by yourself out there at night. We never let anyone go out to their cars alone here. Even when we close, we leave together. It’s just safer that way.”

  Mary called out a goodnight to Nikki who glanced up from her magazine.

  “Yeah, nice to meet you, too.” It was the most she had said to Mary all evening.

  Jack walked her out, and asked if she planned to come back. Their frozen breath mingled in the air as she told him that she would like to start volunteering. She shifted from foot to foot trying to generate heat. Jack told her to come in whenever she wanted for the next couple of weeks, and then once she was accustomed to it he would work her into the schedule.

  She heard a car coming up the street and turned to see Faith’s happy little bug pull up to the curb.

  She stepped towards the car and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. It was an odd feeling; like being watched. She froze in place and looked across the street. She didn’t know what she was expecting to see, but there wasn’t anything more than a fairly empty parking lot bathed in shadows. She shifted her eyes slightly when she thought she saw movement near the door of the pool hall across the street. She squinted into the darkness but couldn’t make out anything. She shook her head and shrugged as she tried to shake off the odd feeling.

  “Is everything all right, Mary?” Jack asked, concerned.

  Mary glanced up to his worried eyes. “Yeah, I just thought I saw something, I guess I’m just a bit spooked by Art. Have a good night. Thanks for everything.” She slid into the seat as Jack wished them a good night and closed the door behind her.

  The warmth of the car surrounded her and she was thankful for being picked up in a warm vehicle by someone who loved her. She thought of Art and pitied anyone who was out in that cold. She glanced at Faith as she buckled up; Faith’s features were lit up by the green glow of the dash. She could see the curiosity all over her face. Faith pulled away from the curb and started in on a barrage of questions as Mary stared across the street.

  She was sure there was someone there. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Her stomach tightened and fluttered with apprehension. She continued to look through the rearview mirror. As they came to a stop at the red light at the end of the block, she swore she saw a flash of light coming from the doorway she had been watching. She tried to ignore the jitters in her stomach and focus on Faith’s questions.

  “So…Mary?”

  She must have been waiting for an answer. Mary had to think back to what she had asked.

  “It was fine, Faith. I think you should come with me next time. This could be something really good for us.”

  Chapter 2 - Reflection

  Ty sat smoking in his car in the parking lot across the street from his parole officer’s building. The cold air filtered in and the smoke filtered out. Even on the coldest days he smoked with the window open. It didn’t completely keep his baby from reeking of stale smoke, but it helped air out the smell of pizza. He knew he should have waited until he could get out before he bought his dream—a bright blue, 1966 Pontiac GTO. It may have been a clichéd muscle car, but his beauty was sweet. One of his friends once referred to it as: “One of the most beautiful cars in the world. If it was a woman, it would be the goddess of love herself. Just the look of her intoxicates you with lust and love.” Yeah, the guy was full of shit and could sweet talk any girl alive, age twelve to seventy, but it was a beautiful car.

  He’d lost all his savings when he was busted. The only thing they didn’t take was his mom’s house. She had wasted her youth working two jobs to pay it off, but she had died before Ty was out of jail and the little two-room dump became his. Ty couldn’t stand the sight of it, so he boxed up the little he wanted and sold the rest. He should have taken the money from the sale and left town instead of buying the GTO, but he was sure that he was still going to have his one big score. Then he’d have freedom and his blue baby.

  He’d been out for almost two years, and for at least the last sixteen months he’d been telling himself it would only be one more week. One more week and Karl would make good on his promise to turn over the majority of the trade to Ty, making him the one to receive the shipments and turn the payments over to the big bosses. Everything was set before he’d gone to prison. Then he was pinched and had to start back at the beginning, running deliveries for Karl and selling stamp bags out of pocket. He’d been clean since he got out; he had built Karl’s trust back up, and had done nothing but prove he could handle it.

  He’d kept up the charade of living a reformed life, got a job that he hated, but that kept him mobile and fulfilled one of his parole requirements. He played the double life the best he could. Hell, he deserved a fucking Oscar. As far as he knew, the only ones to know he was back to his old ways were the fuckers pulling his strings and the ones paying him the money. Other than that, he looked like any other loser that had fucked his life up young and couldn’t get himself out the situation he found himself in. He lived alone in an apartment that cost less than most people’s car payments. He made more in tips from delivering pizzas to drunks than he did in an hourly wage. He kept his money hidden and his eye on the goal.

  He flicked the cigarette out the window and eyed the building across the street. The red-brown brick reminded him of the cinnamon sticks his mom used to put around their house, all bundled up and tied with little ribbons. Cinnamon sticks and cedar chips tucked into the dresser drawers, tangled up in the pockets of his “dress clothes.”

  He tapped his thigh to the beat of a tune on the radio and fought the urge to just drive away. He hated meeting with Hinks. At least it was only monthly now, but the process was tedious. He pissed in a cup, talked about how things were going, and made the appointment for next month. It wouldn’t be much longer and he would be done. Done with Hinks, and done with heroin, and done with the fucking Minnesota cold. He cut the engine and rolled up the window, finishing off a lyric from a favorite song as he stepped out.

 
; “All right, Ty, thanks for checking in. Make sure you keep to your conditions. Same time next month, please.” Ty watched the dust particles float in the light filtering through the window. It was a familiar backdrop to the balding middle aged man in front of him who concluded their monthly meeting.

  Ty nodded and promised that he would do everything he was required to, when he glanced down at his phone to see he had a new text from a number he didn’t know. It was probably Karl. He used a different burner phone every time he needed Ty.

  rhcp @ 11

  Shit. That gave him less than forty minutes to finish up here and get through traffic to the Parkway Bridge. Karl had a code for every different meeting place. It often involved some nod to music since it was one of the few things they had in common.

  “You have somewhere to be, Jaden?”

  “Just work telling me my shift starts earlier than I’d expected.” Ty shrugged and slid his phone back into his pocket.

  Hinks eyed Ty a little longer before he turned back to his computer, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

  Ty pulled up his black hood and left the room. He zipped up and put on his sunglasses against the glare of the bright, frosty day. He stood near the door and lit a cigarette before stepping out. There was no smoking in the building, but it was damn easier to light one inside than out in the cold.

  Ty walked to the end of the block, following some hipster idiot in dark skinny jeans with rolled cuffs and an old man jacket. The guy even had on one of those freaking tweed golf caps with the snap on it. He was one of those pricks that walked around with one of those little Bluetooth sets that made him look like he was talking to himself. His nasal, aloof tone instantly grated on Ty’s nerves.

  “I spent weeks picking out the specific cut of granite I wanted for the house number block. Then I spent another week searching for the best water etcher. Once I found him, I told the guy I wanted a sans serif font. I specifically emailed him the exact thing I wanted in the exact font and he had the audacity to send it to me in Harrington!”

  The douche bag passed a homeless guy sitting up against the building. Without even a break in his conversation, he flicked his lit cigarette in the man’s direction. Ty watched in disgust as he reached into his own pocket and pulled out a few bucks which he handed to the man with a smile.

  Finally, there was a pause in his complaint as he stopped at the corner to impatiently press the button to change the light. Ty stepped up beside him as he continued with a disdainful glance in Ty’s direction.

  “Really, when you pay that much for something you expect them to get it right. I told the asshole that he was going to have to find me a new block that was an exact match and this time get it right…”

  Ty had had enough. He casually reached over to the giant cup of artisan coffee the hipster held, plucked the lid off, and dropped his cigarette butt in it.

  Ty smirked at his shocked expression and said, “Thanks,” before he crossed the street against the light. The man’s rant faded behind him as the sounds of passing traffic drowned it out. Ty smiled all the way to his car. It was these little things in life that gave him the most satisfaction.

  He was still pleased enough with his little caper that it didn’t even bother him when the dick flipped him off as he passed him on his way out of the parking lot.

  The drive across town was shorter than expected. Ty ended up sitting in his car waiting to meet up with Karl. He wondered how much was coming today. He was never sure how much he would have to deliver. Shipments were always broken up by the time he got it. Karl did all that when he got it from whoever ran it up from Mexico. Ty would meet with the runners directly when Karl got out.

  Street level dealers often fail in foresight. To them, it’s all about the cash on hand and feeding their own habit. Most think they need to cut the heroin with some shit to double their supply or make up for what they use themselves. It doesn’t matter to them what they use as long as it mixes in and it’s cheap. Junkies know this, but it doesn’t stop them from buying it. The problem comes when they don’t know how pure it is or what’s in it and take too big of a hit. Then the dealer winds up with one less customer.

  A smart dealer doesn’t use the dope he sells. When someone knows what they’re doing they don’t cut it as much or, better yet, leave it as they get it. They know they can charge more for it, but not only that; once word gets around that they have good dope, they get more buyers. Consistency is key to a big client base; and a living one.

  Ty rarely sold out of pocket these days, just to the few regulars he had from the early days, ones that wouldn’t turn him in. You could never truly trust a junkie; addicts were some of the most manipulative motherfuckers around. It didn’t matter what their vice was: alcohol, gambling, cocaine, heroin, it was all the same. They needed that fix, and it didn’t matter who they hurt or sold out to get it. One thing dealers had as insurance was the fact that the addict needed them to get their shit; although that wasn’t always enough.

  The little crescent lot where Ty waited was vacant except for one other car. It had been there a few days, as evidenced by the frost-covered windows. Normally Ty met up with Karl at a busier place. Store parking lots were his favorite. The more people around, the less likely they were to get noticed. They were hiding in plain sight.

  Ty stared blankly out the windshield, not really thinking about anything, just looking at the mosaic of gray-brown and white of the barren trees ahead of him. He didn’t even notice that Karl had pulled into the lot. He looked over at the sleek silver Lexus hybrid next to him and nodded at Karl. Ty didn’t even bother turning his own engine off. This wouldn’t take long.

  Ty slid into the warm leather passenger seat next to Karl. Ty looked at him and waited for Karl to give him his instructions.

  One would never place Karl as a heroin supplier. He looked more like a youth pastor or a high school guidance counselor. He generally wore sweaters with collars peeking out of the neck. He was in his late fifties and had thinning brown hair which Ty was fairly certain he dyed. He had deep creases in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Karl found humor in everything and often smiled, causing his bristly brown mustache to brush the corners of his upturned lips. Every time he opened his mouth, Ty expected him to say something like, “okily dokily” or “howdily-doodily-do.”

  “So T. J., my boy, how was your meeting with Hinks?” It never failed; Karl seemed to know his every move. Ty thought he just liked to ask things like that to remind him that he was always being watched. It didn’t bother him anymore; he was used to it and came to expect it.

  Ty nonchalantly answered with, “Same shit, different shoe.”

  Karl chuckled loudly. “That it is, boy. That it is. So, I received a package yesterday.”

  “No shit. Here I just thought you missed me.”

  “No need to be rude, boy.”

  Ty didn’t apologize; he just nodded at the reusable cloth shopping bag at his feet. Ty had to give it to Karl, if anything, he was eco-friendly.

  “Four point five in there; eighty to the Krasnoffs, forty to the Fish Boys, sixteen to R., twelve each to the other two, plus your usual.”

  Ty nodded as he calculated the day’s take for him. It was nothing for him to convert the kilos into pounds, then into ounces and then into cash. “Of course your cut of the Krasnoffs’ is in there.” Ty always got his cut of the Krasnoffs’ without having to do more than drop it off to them. They paid before they even got the drugs. No one had ever explained the politics behind it to him. He had suspicions why that was, and someday planned to have those suspicions confirmed.

  “I’ll see you Sunday at 6:30 at the airport.”

  Ty groaned. He hated when they met at the airport. Not only were there cameras everywhere, he had to track down a friend’s car because his blue baby was too recognizable. Ty would have to pay for parking and then drive the bastard to wherever he’d left his car parked for the weekend.

  “Time to visit your mom again
?”

  Karl’s mom was in a nursing home back east somewhere, and about once a month he went to visit her. It often coincided with the days Ty delivered the payment for the shipment. Ty was expected to take whatever Karl portioned out and deliver it to the various gangs they dealt with and return the cash to Karl. Ty still had no idea who the money went to above Karl.

  Karl’s face turned serious. “My sister says she’s getting worse.” He stared out the windshield for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Dementia is a bitch, T. J. Sometimes I really envy you. I know it’s been hard for you, but at least you’ll never have to walk into a room and have your mother wonder who you are.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m just lucky,” Ty scoffed bitterly and grabbed the door handle with one hand and the bag with what looked to be groceries in the other.

  “Sunday. 6:30. Don’t forget.” Karl reminded him as he stepped out.

  “Never do.” With the shopping bag in hand, Ty slammed the door and got back into his car.

  Now the real work began.

  Technology made life so much easier and there are few places it was more embraced than in the gang world. The computer geeks in this world are covered in tats and wearing saggy pants and sparkly bling. They weren’t the ones who created the technology, but they definitely used it to their advantage.

  Before he had gone to jail, Ty would text his contacts, but it left a trail. Cell phone records are easily traced, and they’re the first thing any law enforcement agent would look for. Sent email needs to be opened with a subpoena to be traced. If that email is never sent and the draft is changed within a short time then the chances are slim that it’s ever going to be read. At least that’s what Ty had been banking on for the past two years.