by Flite, Nora
I'd only put about two hundred in my wallet, so it wouldn't be the haul she'd be expecting. It would be enough to get her a few balloons... or whatever they were calling doses of heroin these days.
With that much money though, she'd probably get talked into an up-sell and buy a full gram. Properly separated that would last her a week, maybe two, but if she fucked up the dose amount she'd just nod off and never wake up.
I sighed and slid a hand over my face, reminding myself that she wasn't my problem. Hell, she'd robbed me. I didn't owe her shit. Still, I've always had a soft spot for junkies.
I forced out a smile, it was bitter like sour candy. “Just another day in paradise,” I chuckled, knowing full well that one of these days that soft spot was going to get me killed.
The cherry tip of the cigarette rolled its way to my palm, burning me enough to recoil from it. “Hey, buddy. Thought I lost you.” I reached over and grabbed it. I laughed again when I put it in my lips. “At least I know that you're trying to kill me.”
Closing my eyes, I breathed that soothing cancer in as deeply as possible. I held the smoke in until it turned my lungs to ash, hoping it would burn away my soul, or at the very least, my goddamn nagging conscience.
My pocket vibrated. I let the smoke escape, it streamed from my nostrils.
“Yeah?” I asked, not bothering to look at the number. I knew it was my club calling.
“Hey, Ronin. We need you in south Jersey to back Repo up ASAP,” Tee said. He was an old friend from our club's mother chapter. I hadn't talked to him in awhile.
“Hey, Tee, it's been— Did you say Jersey? That's Knights' territory.”
“Remy sent Repo to broker a deal with their regional Pres. This is some serious club negotiation shit.” Tee was always good for laying it out as it was.
“Our Red Bank chapter isn't running protection? They're a hell of a lot closer.”
“It's a small meet, neutral location. Only one enforcer on each side and Remy wants that someone to be you.”
“Sounds fun. I've been dying for a hoagie anyways. You ever been to Carmen's Cold Cuts?” I asked.
“Nah, but pick me up a doggie bag. And one last thing. Repo does the talking, you hear me? These guys are pretty ruthless, don't piss anyone off!”
“My reputation precedes me. I'll be on my bestest behavior, brother. Cross my heart, hope to die,” I mumbled. My head was sore, I could feel the swelling starting.
Tee laughed. “That's what I'm afraid of. Stay outta trouble, man. Good talking with you, Ronin.” He hung up, the line going stale.
Sporadic dots of something wet nipped at my face. I opened my eyes.
Snow. It was barely October.
Fucking New England weather...
I dragged myself to my feet and took another drag off the cigarette. I didn't have to worry about the cold for long. The Knights of the Only Order had a way of heating things up, but I guess that's why our pres wanted me there personally.
In a climate like that, I would thrive.
Chapter One
Flora
I kicked aside the trail of empty bottles. Like usual, they'd accumulated into a pile, circling the body on the floor the way people might surround a casket at a funeral.
Okay, too grim, I chided myself. Bending over my unconscious mother, I wrinkled my nose as the smell of booze assaulted me. Finding my parents like this wasn't new, but each time, I swear it got worse.
Gingerly, I set a bottle of water beside her temple. “Mom,” I hissed. She didn't react. I checked her breathing and, satisfied that she was alive, placed a paper bag near the water. “Hey, Mom, it's Flora. There's a sandwich and some aspirin in there. Okay?”
Not waiting for the response that would never come, I stood up, cracking my back. Taking care of my parents was just part of my reality. Though I'd moved out over four years ago, the day I'd turned eighteen, I'd accepted the responsibility of watching over them. Dopefiends to a fault, they were awful at caring for their own basic needs.
Well, beyond satisfying their addictions.
Call me crazy, but even through all this shit, I still loved them.
Abandoning them never occurred to me.
Until now.
This is different, I reminded myself. It was my mantra, at this point. Things had always been messy in my life, but they'd been predictable. Small towns went one of two ways; they were either Christmas-card-picturesque where everyone new each others' names, or they were like my personal hell, Lakeville. Pretty name. Not a pretty place.
Here, no one cared what anyone else did. The lack of jobs and healthy distractions meant most teens—and adults—spent their time wasting away on whatever they could stick into their bodies. Alcohol was tame, people drove around with open cans of beer and bottles of straight whiskey.
The rest... the rest of them found solace in the warm kiss of a needle.
My parents were no exception.
But like I'd said, I was used to that. I didn't touch the shit, and I could thank my mom and dad for that. You'd think most kids wouldn't emulate their parents after seeing them sleeping in their own vomit for days at a time.
Most probably do. Just... not all of them.
My older sister, for example, fell in with the wrong crowd. It was easy for her, especially when she knew the dealers our own parents used by name.
So, yeah, there's a reason I hate the stuff. I also know it's just stuff, it's not who these people are. Not deep down. My parents are messed up, but they really love me.
Even if it isn't obvious.
But my sister? Claudine? She showed me that she cared. And that was new. She was all I had for a very, very long time. That's why, even if no one else gives a fuck...
I'm going to find her.
Inching around the rotting wood of the doorway, I leaned into the backyard. It was the last place my dad would be, but I had to check. The air was cool, the right kind of chill for Nebraska. Especially with Fall creeping around the corner. In no time at all, October would be on us. “Dad?” My voice was stale in the late hour. “Dad, you out here?”
Tugging my jacket high around my throat, I pushed my thick, reddish hair away from my ears. My skin was already turning pink; I hated the cold.
In the low light of the fading day, the backyard was some weird combination of junkyard and museum. Old, gutted vehicles sat in the same spot they always would. Next to a rusted lawnmower, a dusty, turquoise plastic tricycle appeared out of place.
Crunching on the gravel, I watched my breath flow into existence. I never liked coming back home, no matter how many times I did it. Will they be okay without me? The thought alone was twisting my guts. Of course they'll be fine. Worry about Claudine.
No one else would, after all.
It had been over a week, time had flown by. One night, she just didn't come back to the tiny studio apartment we shared together. According to her text, she was hanging out with her new boyfriend, but when neither of them answered their phones the next day... or the day after... I knew something was off.
I did the obvious thing first, the thing they tell you to do; I went to the cops. You know what they said? They said, 'It's just Claudine. She's always been a little messed up. Bet she ran off with some guy, and you're a smart girl, Flora. You can guess what she's so busy with.'
Yeah. That's right. Apparently, doing a bit of heroin means nothing bad can happen to you unless you do it to yourself! They told me she was an adult, so they wouldn't search for her like she was some runaway kid. It was a 'waste of resources.'
It didn't matter that I said her boyfriend had seen her last! They wouldn't even talk to him!
Small town politics can rot in hell.
My next step was my parents, but mom and dad didn't want to discuss Claudine. She'd run out on them pretty early, they'd never repaired their relationship. I could grasp their hurt feelings, sure, but you'd think—even with bad blood—you'd worry about your missing daughter?
My father kept
ranting that he was too busy getting ready to go out again for another two weeks of working at the oil drill. Mom would just walk room to room, never meeting my eyes as she got drunker and drunker.
The message was clear: Give up on your sister.
But fuck that.
Giving up on Claudine was the last thing I'd ever do. She'd done so much for me over the years. I couldn't walk away from this.
“Dad! Hey!” Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shivered. The sun was a bleeding speck on the horizon. Where was he?
Turning, I spotted his dented up truck on the edge of the property. The tingling in my scalp acted as intuition; it told me what I'd find, even before I jogged up to the driver's side window. “Dad,” I breathed out, tapping on the glass.
He was curled up inside, a beer between his knees. If he was out here, it meant my parents had been fighting. I didn't have time—or much of a desire—to ask what about. “Here,” I said, cracking the door a few inches.
Grunting at me, his red-rimmed lids fluttered. “Flora?”
“Take this.” Setting the paper bag on his lap, I smiled as much as I could. It didn't reach my eyes. “Food, pain meds, water. You'll need them.”
The way his forehead crinkled said volumes. I knew my father; he was showing as much thanks as he ever would.
Shutting the door, I stepped back. I realized that this was it. I was going to try and find Claudine, even if it meant leaving this tiny town entirely. My instinct blared that she wasn't here, not any longer. I could be gone for who knew how long—I had no clue, for sure—but I didn't have the heart to tell my parents.
Maybe I'm a coward.
I think part of me was worried that my parents wouldn't even try to stop me.
I feared their indifference, so I never said a word about my plan. Turning, I hurried off towards the road, consoling myself with one simple phrase. One that Claudine had said to me again and again.
It's for the best.
I had to believe that. I wasn't turning back, regardless. Too much time had gone by, I knew something bad had happened to Claudine. I'd told the police who they should investigate. If they wouldn't, then I'd make the effort.
On the barely lit streets, I made a fast path towards Fiddle's house. Yes, Fiddle. The kind of name you hear and go, 'Oh. Sounds like a suspicious person to me!'
Seriously. I hate the fucking cops here.
The street narrowed, guiding me down the cracked pavement towards the skinny building Claudine's boyfriend called home. As I jumped up the steps, I had a terrible second of panic. What if he isn't here anymore? Her motorcycle was gone, it was why the cops leaned heavily on the idea that she'd ridden off somewhere of her own accord. Maybe she and her boyfriend had left together.
But... without telling me? That wasn't like her.
Walking away will tell me nothing. If there was a sliver of information to be gained—even if it was that Fiddle and Claudine were both gone—I needed it.
I was hoping for answers tonight.
What if I got none?
Glancing up, I caught the flicker of light in a high window. Thank god. Some of the tension in my ribs eased away. Steeling my nerves, I banged my knuckles on the door—first softly, then louder.
Hovering on the front steps, I tucked my hands in my coat and waited. Around me, the night was giving me goosebumps. Yes, I knew this town, but that also meant I knew this area wasn't the most... friendly. Standing here made me feel like a target, though for who, I couldn't say.
The crunch of the door tipping inwards made me jump. Through the crack, I saw Fiddle's angular face. In the shadows, his eyes were more sunken in than usual. “Who the fuck are—Flora?” Blinking, he darted a nervous look over my shoulder. “Shit, what the hell are you doing here?”
Peering behind me, wondering what he was looking for, I said, “Don't act stupid. You know why I'm here. I need to talk about my sister.”
He licked his lips, his stare never settling. “Claudine, right. She's still missing?”
Crossing my arms, I nodded. “A week now. Last I knew, she was with you.”
Finally, Fiddle shot his frazzled eyes back to me. They studied my face, scanned for things I didn't understand—but that raised the hairs on my neck. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I—you were dating.” My eyebrows crawled high, why was he acting so weird? Paranoid, I corrected myself. He's being paranoid. He must think he's in trouble. How do I calm him down? Under Fiddle's narrowed glare, I said as gently as I could, “It's okay. I just want a lead so I can have somewhere to search. I didn't finger you as a suspect to the cops or anything, alright?”
That last part was a lie, but a pointless one. The cops didn't care that Fiddle had been with her, they'd said as much.
For a long minute, the lanky guy considered me. His fingertips on the edge of the door were white as bone. Waves of unease came off of him in thick droves. Then, like I'd imagined it all, he flashed a smile and beckoned me inside. “Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so tense. I just—shit, she's really been gone a whole week?”
Sweat slid down my spine. I ignored my instincts, following him inside. This was as close as I'd ever gotten to some answers. I wasn't going to back down after so many dead ends. “Yeah. Like I said, I'm just trying to get a lead. She texted me around ten at night last Thursday, saying she'd be sleeping here, and not to wait up.”
Inside the stairwell, I could hardly see Fiddle's expression. I thought he stiffened, his hands pausing on the door to his home. Why was it so quiet? It was like no one else lived in this building. “Huh. What'd you do when she didn't show up the next day?”
“I tried calling her, then you,” I said. “But neither of you responded.”
Nodding, he motioned for me to go through the doorway. “I lost my phone for a few days.” The yellow light from a single lamp—what I'd seen from the street—made it obvious the apartment needed a good cleaning. “You were worried, but you really didn't talk to the police?”
Spinning slowly in place, I tried to imagine my sister staying in this dump. “No.” Again with the same lie. I needed him to be at ease to get more information.
“And your family? They aren't helping you search?”
Blinking, my attention shifted back to Fiddle. “Didn't she ever talk about our parents?”
“She mentioned they were... not so involved.”
I bit back a laugh. “That's a nice way to put it. Yeah. They've been weird about this whole mess. It's like, no one seems to care that she's missing!” Ruffling my hair, I pleaded at him with my eyes. “Can you tell me anything?”
Tugging at the front of his thick sweater, he gave me a sideways smile. “I'll do what I can. Sit, relax. I'll get us something to drink.”
Crumbling onto the couch, I returned his smile, though mine was weaker. “Thanks. And thanks for talking to me.” I hadn't noticed how many knots were in my stomach, but now that I was sitting, they began to relax. “When was the last time you actually saw her?”
His voice called out, saying, “Hmn, let me think.” He was hidden in the small kitchen; glasses clinked, liquid sloshing. When he came back, he sat across from me, handing me a cold cup of something red. “I'd say that night, like you mentioned.”
Sipping my drink, I wrinkled my nose. Ugh, strong. “Okay, what time did she leave? And did she seem okay?”
Reclining until he looked downright comfortable, Fiddle drummed his free hand on his knee. “Shit. I don't know. Pretty late, she looked... distressed.”
My heart swelled up, clogging my throat; I washed it free with more of the drink. “So she didn't sleep here, like she said she was going to?”
Fiddle tensed, perching his lips on his glass. “Guess she changed her mind.”
None of this was making sense. Sitting forward, I noticed an odd tightness in my skull. I was getting upset over this news, news I should have gotten days ago. “Why didn't you tell the police?”
“What, and incriminate mysel
f?” His lips pulled high at the edges until they revealed his pale gums. “I'm not that stupid, girl.”
“Flora,” I mumbled. My tongue wasn't behaving, it was too thick... too slow. “It's Flora, don't call me 'girl' I... what's wrong with me?” Shaking myself, I went to set the drink down on the floor. I couldn't have said how, but suddenly I was stretched out, the rug kissing my cheek. I didn't remember falling.
What was happening?
A foot appeared by my head. “Shh,” Fiddle whispered, bending to retrieve my glass. “You almost spilled this. What a mess that would have been.”
Talking had become the hardest thing in existence. Moving was a mere dream. Struggling, I turned my head so I could stare up through my blurring vision.
“Sorry about this,” he said. The white-glow of a cellphone highlighted his hard features. Was he calling someone? “Lucky's list was complete, but you came sniffing around. I'm sure he won't mind an extra girl. Loose ends are dangerous.”
Lucky? Who the hell was that? The synapses in my brain tried to fire, connecting the strings of this whole scenario. It really had been Fiddle who'd done this. He was responsible for Claudine vanishing! I'd been right, but what good did that do me?
I'd walked right into his grasp, made it clear no one knew I was even here. I'd set up the easiest path for this bastard to drug me without consequence. I wanted to be angry, but I was too exhausted. Too hollow.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, talking to someone on the line. “I've got another, last minute addition. I'll need a pickup quick. An hour? Sounds perfect. See you soon.” Hiding his phone in his jeans, he sighed. Settling on the couch, his position made it so I could see only the soles of his shoes. There was no regret in his tone. “You were too easy. At least Claudine fought more.”
Claudine.
You can call me insane, but as I slumped there, lifeless and numb, I had a burst of hope. A part of me that flickered to life, realizing with the utmost clarity that—even if I'd fucked up—I was still on the right track.
My goal had been to find my sister. If I'd understood that phone call, I was about to endure the same fate as Claudine. The chance of us meeting, somewhere down the line...