by Robin Lamont
“I don’t know, he never said anything.”
“Was it just the two of you?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you drove out into the field to shoot up?”
“Of course,” answered Heather blithely.
“No one else was there?”
“No, I just said.”
“Do you know a guy named Bobby G?”
Heather’s sneer was suddenly replaced with the practiced vacant expression she’d adopted at the farmers market, only this time Jude recognized it for what it was: show nothing while you figure out how to lie your way out of this. But the girl shook her head adamantly and resumed searching for her car keys. She found them. “I really got to go,” she said. “Are you going to say anything to my folks?”
“Not unless you give me reason to.”
Heather eyed Jude uncertainly, then unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
Jude blocked her from shutting the door. “Was Tim getting his heroin from Bobby?” she pressed.
“How should I know?” She slid the key into the ignition and the car rumbled to life. Before pulling out, she added, “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
Jude was left inhaling the car’s noxious exhaust, but a spark of discovery had been lit. Heather was caught off guard by Bobby’s name and had given herself away. She knew who Bobby was, all right. Same with Sylvia, who nearly had a fit when her friend mentioned him. Maybe they denied knowing who he was because he had a reputation for being dangerous. Or maybe it was just bad form to talk about your dealer. Either way Jude was sure that Heather had some grand secrets all her own and was lying through her perfect white teeth. That put finding Bobby G at the top of the list.
CHAPTER 12
“Tell me how it happened,” said Dr. Harbolt.
Jarrod Healy’s mother smoothed her son’s bangs away from his face. “We were at the farmers market a couple of days ago,” she replied. “He took a tumble. You fell down, right, honey?” she amended, wanting to empower her five-year-old by letting him speak for himself. But he clamped his mouth shut, eyeing the doctor suspiciously, so she continued. “He didn’t seem to have any other injuries, but his nose just wouldn’t stop bleeding for the longest time. And I thought we had it under control, but that night it started again for no reason. The same thing yesterday. I mean, he’s had bloody noses before, but this is ridiculous.” She turned her face away from her son and silently mouthed to the doctor, “And there’s so much blood!”
Harbolt gave the boy a pat on the shoulder and said, “How about we have a look.”
“Am I getting a shot?” asked Jarrod with a frown.
“No shots,” answered the doctor. “We’re just going to take a little peek.” He retrieved his otoscope to examine the boy’s ears. Then he gently lifted the tip of his nose and peered briefly into his nostrils. He moved on to check the boy’s eyes. Finally, he felt the glands along the side of his neck and listened to his lungs and heart.
Harbolt let his stethoscope dangle. “You must have hit the ground pretty hard, young man,” he said. “Okay, you can get down now. Why don’t you go out to the waiting room and find a lollipop while I talk to your mom?”
The boy slid off the examination table and bolted. Harbolt began to ask the questions foremost on his mind: had Jarrod lost consciousness when he fell? Had he complained of headaches afterwards? Had he seemed disoriented in any way? Any vomiting? Change in appetite? The answer to all of these was no.
“Alright, that’s good. I don’t think he sustained a concussion but keep an eye on him for a day or two, and if anything changes, let me know.”
Jarrod’s mother let out a tentative sigh of relief, then asked, “What about his nosebleeds? Why aren’t they stopping?”
“Could be allergies, could be a broken blood vessel and he’s picking at it and aggravating it. I wouldn’t worry. But call me with an update in a couple of days.”
When Harbolt passed his nurse in the hallway, she motioned that a patient was waiting in the second examination room. “One minute,” he said. He went straight to his office and closed the door. At his desk, he opened Jarrod’s chart and wrote, “playground fall, vitals good, no signs of concussion … mother states nosebleed resumes at slightest provocation. No evident reason for epistaxis. Continue to monitor.” After putting his pen back in its holder, he opened the desk drawer and pulled out two more charts, one of which belonged to Tori Lacey. He reread his notes on her unexplained bruising. Then he opened the chart belonging to a worker at a limestone and gravel quarry who had sliced himself with a box cutter. It wasn’t a particularly long or deep cut, but he’d come in for stitches with his entire sleeve blood-soaked.
The doctor stared again at the charts in front of him. Then he put them in his desk and locked the drawer.
* * *
That night the humidity hit seventy percent, making the warm air feel thick and oppressive. Jude had taken up her post on a bench in a small park down the street from Galvey’s. She found it curious that the local illicit drug exchange was directly across from the town courthouse, a white-columned Greek Revival building that looked sober and dignified, oblivious to the activities across the street.
After a few inquiries at Galvey’s, she’d been directed to this plaza which was dotted with unhealthy trees, a few benches, and an overflowing garbage can. The music venue/bar was the main hang-out, but apparently management there took a dim view of on-site drug deals. The patrons looking to get high came here. Should the cops roll by, they’d see a gaggle of young people congregating near the ice cream truck on the corner or just grabbing a smoke, and if they knew what was really going on, it seemed they’d decided to pick other battles.
Prepared to wait, Jude sipped on an iced-decaf from Starbucks, wishing she’d worn more than a tank top so she’d have a sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead. So far, she hadn’t found anyone willing to talk about Bobby G. Twice, she was approached and asked if she was looking for something. “Yeah,” she replied, “but I’m waiting on Bobby.”
“He don’t have nothin’ I don’t have,” said one with a leer.
“He may not come by tonight,” warned the other. “He doesn’t always.”
Jude shook her head. Both potential sellers looked her up and down. It might have been the small tattoo of a dog on her bare shoulder that reassured them she wasn’t a cop, but then again, no one seemed too worried about the police. Her biggest problem was that she didn’t know what Bobby G looked like. She had to count on what she did know: if he wasn’t admired, he was respected, and from the awestruck way Sylvia’s friend had breathed his name, he was probably a turn-on for some of the ladies.
Buyers came and went, but there were a few who appeared to be waiting for something special. Jude mimicked them, scrolling through texts and making short calls. She used the time to touch base with Madelyn, who often took Finn when Jude had to leave town. “Hey, Madelyn, how’s my big boy?” she asked.
“He’s great,” replied the shelter director. “He misses you, though.”
“I miss him, too. Not causing too much trouble?”
“This big brute? Never. Any word on Tim?”
Lucas must have cruised by the shelter to ask if they knew anything.
“Not yet. But I’m hoping to be home in a day or two. How about Rocky?”
“Who?”
“Rocky! The hard-case tied to the fire hydrant.”
“Oh, him. He’s coming around, I guess. One of the volunteers seems to be making some headway – as long as she brings food.”
“Food works.”
As she rang off, Bobby G strolled onto the scene. She knew it was him immediately, and not just because female heads turned, but because the very air became charged. Simmering below the aloof crushing of a cigarette under a heel or the casual readjustmen
t of a ponytail, muscles twitched and heartbeats quickened. Bobby G was the man. He worked the group like a politician, bumping fists and occasionally throwing his arm around a pretty girl. His black leather vest gleamed in the streetlights. He was smooth, she had to give him that – the exchange of bills for glassine envelopes was barely noticeable.
At one point, he looked around and their eyes met. Instantly, Jude understood the hesitancy when she brought up his name – this was someone you did not want to cross. There was an arrogance in the way he carried himself, and Carly Simon’s song played in the back of her mind … You walked into the party … But he was more than vain, he was cold-blooded. There was also something in their brief visual contact that made her think he knew who she was, and it sent a shiver up the back of her neck.
A few minutes later, she rallied herself and approached him.
“Are you Bobby?” she asked.
One corner of his mouth quivered in an almost smile. “Depends,” he said.
“Depends on what?”
“On who wants to know.”
“I’m looking for someone.” His eyes flicked over her, and Jude felt that in some odd way he’d been expecting her. “A friend of mine named Tim – he was going by Tyler Jeffries.”
Bobby took her arm and said, “How about we take a walk?”
His touch was light, but coercive, as he led her down a side street away from the park. Brick apartment buildings loomed on either side and only one streetlamp in the middle of the block was working. Increasingly apprehensive, Jude stopped and extricated her arm. “Is there something you want to tell me that you don’t want anyone to hear?” she asked.
“I want to know who you are.”
“My name is Jude Brannock, and I work with Tyler Jeffries. We’re with an animal protection organization. He was working at the Amaethon laboratory until a few days ago when he disappeared. I need to find him.”
Bobby examined a thumbnail before asking, “Why would you think I know your friend?”
“I was told that he was involved in some drug use.”
“Not my thing.”
“I was led to believe differently.”
“Oh? Who told you that?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“You’d rather not say, hunh?” He reached out and traced the outline of her tattoo with his finger. “If you want my help, you’re gonna have to be a little more cooperative.”
Shrugging off his hand roughly, she demanded, “Did you sell Tyler heroin?”
He began to walk away, dismissing her.
Jude’s frustration was building; it felt like hot lava about to spill over. Why did this have to be so hard? All she wanted was a little information. First Sylvia, then Heather, and now this smarmy drug dealer. Nobody would give her squat. “Hey,” she yelled. “What are you hiding?”
She ran after him and as she did, everything around her seemed to grow hazy in the mist. It swirled in front of her face, softening the edges of the parked cars and muddying the light from the lone streetlamp. With each step, the darkness congealed and seemed to clog her throat, making the heavy air even harder to breathe.
Jude caught up with Bobby near the corner. She reached out to grab his sleeve, but he wrenched it away and stepped off the curb into the street, his body a diffuse shadow. Determined to get answers, she went after him.
Suddenly, there was a shrieking flash of light and the frantic squeal of brakes, metal hitting asphalt. A hand grabbed her and pulled her backward. She landed hard on her backside and her elbow skidded along the pavement. Jude fought the hands that held her until they finally let go. She scrambled to her knees as voices pummeled her.
“Jesus, fuckin’ Christ! Are you okay?”
“She just ran out!”
“Are you okay?”
She didn’t recognize any of them. She opened her eyes to see who they were, but they seemed out of range somehow.
Then came a voice she did recognize, right next to her. “Yeah, yeah, we’re cool.” It was Bobby. He lifted her to her feet and she stumbled, feeling bruised and clumsy. She smelled cigarette smoke embedded in his leather vest. But she could barely make him out.
“Okay, man. As long as she’s alright.”
“You sure you don’t want us to call someone?”
Then Bobby, “No, it’s fine. I got it from here.”
The sound of doors slamming, a car driving away. Jude stood shakily, opening and closing her eyes, trying to make sense of the charcoal shapes that swam before her. The husky country music from Galvey’s a few blocks away sounded loud in her ears.
“You better sit down,” said Bobby, not unkindly.
“What … what happened?” she stammered, allowing herself to be led up the curb and a few steps further.
“Here, sit.”
Sit where?
“What’s the matter with your eyes?”
“Nothing, I–”
“Can you see?”
Not really. Weak pulses of light flashed behind her eyes, but they didn’t illuminate anything. “I just need a minute,” she said.
“Well, sit,” he said impatiently, turning her around and pushing on her shoulders.
She felt a stone step behind her and collapsed on the stoop. Putting her head between her knees, she drew in deep breaths. It had helped before when the vision thing happened that other time. Other times. She thought she was going to throw up.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing? Trying to kill yourself?” Bobby was asking.
“What happened?” came her muffled voice.
“You jumped in front of a car is what happened. Didn’t you see it?”
Jude lifted her head. She detected the outline of Bobby’s boots and his tight jeans. There was some vague light to her left. She blinked a few times and the light sharpened. Her vision seemed to be returning and it gave her courage. “I was following you. Why’d you cross right in front of it?” she demanded.
“Hey, you’re the one who ran out. If I hadn’t grabbed you, you’d be road kill now. I’m lucky you didn’t get me killed, too. Shit, girl! There is somethin’ seriously fucked up with your eyes.”
The mist was clearing; Bobby’s face came into view. “No, it was just like … for a second,” protested Jude. “I’m okay now. Thanks, I guess.”
“I guess.” Bobby sat down on the stoop next to her and offered up a pack of Marlboros. “You smoke?”
“Not since I was fifteen.”
He shook out a cigarette, stretched out his legs, and smoked in silence. Jude listened to the distant music, feeling the sting of scraped skin on her arm and the throbbing spot on her hip she knew would be black and blue by tomorrow.
After a while, Bobby asked unexpectedly, “Animal protection? Is that a euphemism for animal rights? You actually believe that animals should have the same rights as people?”
She’d been asked this question a hundred times and found that there were no easy answers. “I generally leave the theorizing to the academics,” she replied truthfully.
“Yeah, but you must have a mind-set that drives you.”
“I believe that animals who cannot speak for themselves should not be tortured, abused, or otherwise mistreated by us.”
“So do I.”
“Then the only difference between you and me is that I’m willing to do something about it.”
“Ooh, aren’t we righteous?”
“Given your line of work, you’re in no position to get morally snarky.” When he didn’t respond, she let another few beats pass before saying, “Thank you. I mean it.”
“Okay,” he blew out in an exhale of smoke.
“So, tell me about Tyler.”
At this, Bobby let out a guttural laugh.
“Just tell me if–”
“Get one thing stra
ight, you suicidal maniac, I don’t talk about nobody and nobody talks about me.” He got to his feet and retrieved his car keys from a vest pocket.
This time he stepped into the street and continued. He got into a car, pulled out of the space and drove away. Jude remained on the stoop, pressing her hands between her knees to keep them from shaking. Bobby was right: there was something seriously wrong with her eyes – and tonight it could have gotten her killed.
The truth tightened around her chest like a straitjacket. This is not dehydration. It’s not anything I ate. I think I’m going blind. For a moment, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut and not driven Bobby away. He was a smug, maybe dangerous, drug dealer but right then he would have stood between her and the crushing feeling of being totally alone. Tim was gone. And she couldn’t tell anyone at The Kinship about her eyes or she’d be out of a job. Sure, they’d be genuinely concerned, but their fight for animals depended on being able to see what most of the world couldn’t or wouldn’t. There was no place for her if she couldn’t see what was right in front of her face.
As she fought the sickening dread of what a lifetime of blindness would mean, she found she was able to identify more details. There in the light of an upper window, a woman walked back and forth to calm her baby. Here was a laughing couple, weaving a little and stopping halfway down the block to kiss. The edges that defined them were sharpening, the colors becoming clearer. Hell, she’d even been able to make out Bobby’s car when he drove off. She hadn’t thought to look at his license plate, but she’d caught a couple of details, the flash of a Red Sox sticker in the back window and a nasty gash along the fender. Her sight had come back – for now.
When she felt ready, Jude pushed herself up from the stoop and headed back to her empty hotel room.
CHAPTER 13
Late morning light spilled into the kitchen as Katherine filled the sink with warm, soapy water to clean the breakfast dishes that she’d let sit for too long. Her husband wandered in for the third time in the last twenty minutes.
“Anything I can help you with?” Katherine asked him.