On The Run

by J. M. Parker

  *

  They spent the afternoon on the balcony, lounging in cushioned deck chairs as the sun shone brightly above them. Bannon drank another glass of wine and regretted it immediately. He felt the booze take hold and the glass slipped a little in his hand.

  The Frenchman looked to the sky. “It is almost the equinox.”

  “The what?” said Bannon.

  “The day the sun crosses the celestial equator. When day and night are equal length.”

  “So?” said Alina.

  “The day we are in perfect sync. Absolute harmony.”

  Alina leaned back into her chair. “Alright then. I have a question for you, night or day?”

  “Night or day?”

  “Twenty-four hours of night or twenty-four hours of day?”

  “I suppose it would be normal to say day,” said the Frenchman, swirling the ice in his glass before he took a drink.

  “Maybe?”

  “But I do have a certain affinity for the night.”

  “Choose.”

  “Night,” said the Frenchman, refilling his glass. “Twenty-four hours reveling in the darkness. You?”

  “What do you think?”

  The Frenchman laughed. “A protean creature like yourself, I imagine either would suffice.”

  “Charmed,” said Alina, turning to Bannon. “What about you?”

  “What?” said Bannon, his eyes falling shut as the last of his energy disappeared.

  The Frenchman laughed again. “What have they done to you, mon ami.”

  “You must rest,” said Alina.

  Bannon glanced at the Frenchman and saw him staring at the girl. “I’ll be alright.”

  “Please. Just for an hour or so.”

  Bannon sighed, trying to find the energy to argue as Alina pressed her hand against his arm. “You’ll wake me if you go anywhere?” said Bannon.

  “Of course.”

  *

  The loud crack of the hotel door slamming shut jolted him awake and he rolled over. The little alarm clock read 4:51a.m. and he grimaced at the sight.

  Light fell in a thin slant through the crack in his door and he heard voices behind it. He rose, creeping over to the door and pressing an eye to the gap.

  In the living room Alina swayed to an invisible beat, a dress strap had slipped from her shoulder, a tangle of hair was strewn in front of her face. Something slipped from her hand and it flashed in the light of the lamp before it disappeared from sight. Bannon turned softly on the spot, watching the Frenchman toss ice cubes into a pair of glasses.

  The light in Bannon’s room disappeared as the Frenchman passed in front of the door and Bannon stepped away, waiting for the Frenchman to sit before he peered back into the room.

  The Frenchman raised his glass to his lips and took a hearty gulp. “So,” he said. “It is true? You really want what you ask for?”

  “Yes,” said Alina, “I do.”

  The Frenchman took another drink, extending an arm across the top of the sofa before he leaned a little closer to the girl. “I am told it is a serious trip.”

  “Good,” said Alina, “I am looking for a serious trip.”

  The Frenchman grabbed her arm. “Tell me,” he said. “How long did your depression last?”

  “A year.”

  “And in that time did you ever try anything stronger?”

  Bannon watched as the Frenchman ran his thumbs over her forearms and up to the insides of her elbows. He reached for the handle of the door, pausing as Alina spoke again. “Are you asking if I’ve shot up?”

  “Did you know heroin was initially designed to be a painkiller?”

  “I did.”

  “It is still, despite its addictive nature, a success in that regard. It seems natural that someone like yourself may have been drawn to a drug like that.”

  “I was. Why the sudden curiosity?”

  “Because where we are going—where we are searching for your plants—is some of the purest heroin in the world. If you would like, I could find it for you too.”

  Alina slipped her arm from his and Bannon eased his grip on the door. “Maybe,” she said. “But that stuff isn’t really for me anymore, I’m onto a different kind of trip.”

  The Frenchman leaned back into the sofa. “Of course,” he said. “Enhancing the experience, not numbing the experience.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Perhaps we could find an appropriate setting for both.”

  Alina reached out and grabbed her glass, her eyes fixed on the Frenchman as she took a final sip. “I think I’m done,” she said, rising off of the couch and heading back to her room. “Thank you for the night.”

  The door shut behind her and the Frenchman stared toward it. “Pas problem,” he said, a sinister smile forming on his face as he finished the rest of his drink and tossed the glass aside.

  12

  It was after lunch when Bannon woke, still tired after another uncomfortable night. He’d spent much of the last two days recuperating in his room, listening jealously as the Frenchman and Alina carried on without him.

  He thought he heard Alina laugh and he dragged himself from his bed. He showered and dressed, his old clothes hanging loosely around his wasted body as he stepped out into the living room.

  On the balcony he saw the Frenchman and Alina lying on a pair of lounge chairs, their barely clothed bodies sparkling in the sunlight. He moved that way and Alina smiled as she saw him coming. “Bannon,” she said. “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You look stronger,” said the Frenchman, passing Bannon a glass of wine. “Perhaps you are ready for a drink.”

  Bannon took the glass and drank.

  “Is it good?” said the Frenchman.

  “It’s alright.”

  “I’ve had it driven here from Bangkok for our last big hoorah.”

  Bannon lowered himself onto a deck chair, “We’re heading out?”

  “Tomorrow. You will be ready?”

  “Guess I’ll have to be,” said Bannon, taking another drink and trying not to think about the run. “What were you talking about?”

  “Ecstasy.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “It’s everywhere in Germany,” said Alina, sitting a little straighter before she pointed at the Frenchman. “He thinks Thailand soon.”

  “It will be here,” said the Frenchman. “The place will be flushed with it, the parties, the clubs, the bars, the beaches. It is a matter of time. What happens out there, happens here. It is an intercontinental web.”

  “Well, I remember it being a hell of a thing.”

  “Yes,” said Alina. “A marvelous drug. To feel that way all the time.”

  “Have you ever had sex on it?” said the Frenchman, turning Alina’s head back in his direction.

  “Have you?”

  The Frenchman took another drink and smiled. “Hyper-sensory sex—magnifique.”

  Bannon looked at Alina as she eased back onto her elbows, sun bouncing from her tanned body as the Frenchman continued. “I met a man that said he gave up having sex any other way. He would take a cocktail of Viagra and ecstasy. Said the Viagra was essential, the problem with the ecstasy you see, not always easy to keep it hard.”

  Alina giggled. “Romantic type?”

  “He was a convict, served eight years,” said the Frenchman, turning to face Bannon. “Eight years, can you imagine? I cannot. A forced abstinence. He said that was the worst of it, all that time running over every sordid fantasy, said there was nothing he didn’t imagine, no depths of depravity unconsidered. I met him here, right in the middle of his great sexual adventure. He had—how do you say?—a fanny pack full of them, viagra and ecstasy. A backpack of other things too, everything and anything you can imagine. The Viagra he had stolen, in a ski mask, at gunpoint from a pharmacist. The ecstasy, I do not know. Not an easy product to find, not then at least.”

  “And what does he do now?” said Bannon.

  “I have heard
many things. I heard he was running a convent, a karmic one, a sexual retreat on a remote island, or a jungle hideaway. I have heard both.”

  Alina let out another laugh. “What else?”

  “I have heard rumors that he died, an overdose, caught in the throes of passion, but this I do not like to believe. A corpse full of the drugs that he was taking, not a pretty thought.”

  Bannon scoffed. “You’re full of stories, ain’t you?”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  Bannon shook his head before he drank again, the booze biting a little harder. He set the glass back down, about to answer when Alina interrupted. “Well, I think it is a fascinating story,” she said. “Please, tell me more about these crazy creatures you know.”

  *

  They continued this way for a while, the Frenchman full of wild questions and wild answers. Bannon finished another glass of wine and he felt himself sway. “That time?” said the Frenchman.

  Bannon looked at Alina and he saw her eyes focused on the Frenchman. “I’ll be alright.”

  “Are you sure?” said the Frenchman.

  Bannon stood. “Give me two minutes,” he said, heading for the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He ran the taps, turning them until they wouldn’t turn anymore and sending water hissing into the sink. He jammed his fingers into his throat, retching twice before he puked, his head clearing as a rush of wine-colored vomit splatted out into the bowl.

  He brushed his teeth and headed back for the balcony, the Frenchman throwing a knowing look in his direction, and Bannon found himself relieved to see Alina looking off into the distance.

  They finished another bottle of wine and the doorbell rang again. A waiter appeared with two more bottles in hand. The Frenchman waved him onto the balcony and the man scurried over and poured him a glass.

  The Frenchman drank. “C’est bien,” he said, gesturing for the waiter to pour the drink.

  Alina laughed, a high, bouncing laugh that lit the faces around her. “This is why you like us. Who else could stand this?”

  “Yes,” said the Frenchman. “You have me. It is all I crave, a pair of comrades to stand drunkenly by, still going when others have faltered, still standing in the face of the encroaching abyss.” he smiled as he drank again before he looked at Bannon. “You are sure you will not miss this?”

  Bannon moved to answer when Alina slipped into his lap and handed him a drink. “Sure you will.”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  “Exactly,” said Alina, planting a kiss on his cheek, and for a second Bannon felt his worry recede.

  Across from them the Frenchman dipped into his front pocket, removing three neatly rolled joints. “Here,” he said, raising the joints into the air. “Our last supper. Tomorrow we move.”

  *

  Bannon dragged his fingers from his mouth and puked immediately, sending vomit splashing down the side of the toilet and onto the floor. He slumped against the side of the stall, stoned and drunk, the room rising and falling around him. He puked again, a weaker trickle, this one full of bile, and he felt his chest sting. “Stay the course,” he said. “Don’t you leave her alone with him.”

  The room steadied a little and he straightened up, wiping the puke from his lips before he spit a final chunk into the bowl.

  Outside the stall an elderly lady sat on a little stool, a mop and bucket in hand. Bannon looked back at the toilet. “Sorry,” he said.

  The lady rose, reaching into the front pocket of her overalls and drawing out a handful of small mints. She pushed them in his direction and Bannon took them gratefully, reaching into his own pockets and passing back a fistful of bills. The lady tried to hand them back but Bannon shook his head, turning quickly for the door and stepping back into the bar.

  He spotted the Frenchman first, standing beside the bar, rows of shots lining the countertop and a crowd gathered around him. The Frenchman dragged a pair of girls into his arms and they all stood drinking together before he placed something on his tongue and kissed the nearest girl.

  Bannon looked away, trying to find Alina and spotting her at a nearby table, staring at the Frenchman. Bannon stepped over and placed a hand against her shoulder. Alina spun in her chair, turning away from the group as the Frenchman dragged the second girl up to his face, his hands running seductively up her sides. “Bannon,” said Alina, throwing her arms around him, her skin soaked in a perfume of booze and weed. “I have so much to tell you.”

  “Yeah?” said Bannon, tasting the puke through the mint and hoping she couldn’t catch the smell. “Makes sense, you know everything about me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “If only I could tell you. If only. If only.”

  “Tell me what?” said Bannon, feeling dizzy.

  “You first,” she said, her vivid blue eyes gazing straight at him. “What is the plan?”

  “Plan?”

  “For the run.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bannon, “we ain’t talked about it too much. Figure you know as much as me.”

  Alina’s face fell. “Shame. And I was so excited to know.”

  “Sorry.”

  She smiled before she stood up and pulled him over to the bar. “Let’s get a drink,” she said, her arm brushing past the Frenchman, who turned in their direction as they squeezed through the crowd. “Here,” said Alina, grabbing a pair of shots and passing one to Bannon.

  “Let’s do it,” said Bannon, a precursory nausea creeping on, wishing he felt a little stronger. He gagged as he drank his shot and he stood for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He saw the Frenchman staring toward them and he watched Alina turn that way.

  “Come,” she said, her eyes fixed on the Frenchman. “Let’s find another place.”

  Outside they crossed into another bar. Alina ordered a round of drinks, Bannon wobbling as he saw the beer hit the glass. He bit into his tongue and he felt the sharp pain focus him slightly. A little shot of energy coursed through him as Alina leaned in his direction, her breath running up to his ear. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “Thanks,” said Bannon, working down a mouthful of beer. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Oh nothing,” said Alina, pulling him onto the dance floor as another song rang out from the speakers.

  Bannon danced clumsily, trying to lean closer to Alina as a crowd of men mobbed around them. She laughed as a young man danced behind her, their legs tangling and sending them tripping across the floor. “Help me,” she said.

  Bannon tried to shove his away across to them, a drunken rush of anger coming on as he saw Alina and the man tumble onto the dance floor. He pushed at the crowd again, his side stinging with the effort, and he doubled over as another group of men rushed to help Alina. He took a deep breath and he felt the pain in his side worsen. He tried to take another step when a pair of arms wrapped around him, and a bouncer dragged him on to the door.

  The bouncer pushed him outside and he fell hard into the street, pain coursing through him. He twisted a hand into the ground and pushed himself back to his feet. He saw a group of girls snicker in his direction and he felt his mood worsen. He crossed the street and dropped onto a bus stop bench, watching as people stumbled aimlessly about the road. A streetlight burst overhead and the picture seemed to darken. Alina joined him shortly, reaching for his arm and trying to pull him up. “Come,” she said. “Fuck them. On to the next place?”

  “No,” said Bannon. “I’m done.”

  The excitement disappeared from Alina’s voice. “Are you alright?”

  Bannon didn’t answer, his frustration building as another wound prickled in his side. His legs felt heavy beneath him and he yearned for the night to end, for everything to end.

  “Bannon,” said Alina.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” he said, pressing a hand onto the bench and trying to stand.

  “Let me help,” said Alina, moving a little closer, but Bannon pushed her back.

  “What’s the matter?�
�

  “I don’t need your help. I just need you to go. Go fucking far away.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Just go.”

  Alina tried to press a hand to his arm but Bannon pushed it off.

  “Why are you saying this?” said Alina.

  “Look at me,” said Bannon, raising his shirt, his pink wounds showing on his sallow skin. “Look what this has done to me. Is this what you want too?”

  “I was there as well.”

  “Yeah,” said Bannon, “but you can go. Me, I have to stay. I don’t get it, it’s fucking crazy. What are you staying for? You want to end up like this for a bunch of plants? He doesn’t give a shit about what you want, you’re just insurance, a backup in case I fuck up and you’re a goddamned fool if you think otherwise.”

  Alina gripped him by the arm, her voice shaking as she spoke. “You ever think it was about more than just the drugs? That maybe I’m staying to make sure that you’re alright?”

  Bannon paused for a moment, the words washing over him before he shook his head. “No. I don’t want that, too many people are worse off because of me. I don’t want you to be another one.”

  “I won’t just leave you.”

  “No,” said Bannon, desperate for her to go. “I don’t believe you. Goddamn you and your internal exploration. You’re just a fucked-up junkie trying to play me for a fix…”

  Bannon’s voice cut as Alina slapped him across the face. “Screw you,” she said, people scurrying past as her voice echoed out into the street.

  Bannon sunk further into the bench, watching as Alina backed out into the road. “Please, just go. Don’t wind up like this.”

  “No. You think it’s all about the fix, then I’ll stop worrying about you and that’s what I’ll stay for. God knows I’ve come far enough to get it.”

  Bannon tried to answer but Alina cut him off. “Just stop,” she said. “There’s nothing left to say.”

  *

  In the morning he lay in the dark of the room as he remembered Alina disappearing along the road. He swallowed, the bitter aftertaste of vomit scratching against his throat. He left the room and stepped out onto the balcony, looking down onto the pool in front and spotting Alina immediately. She sat beside the pool, her ear pressed to a portable telephone, an attendant standing patiently by. She set the receiver down and moved over to the pool, her gaze seeming to meet with his as she looked up at the room. Neither of them waved and Alina turned away, moving to the edge of the pool and diving in. Bannon watched as she cut smoothly through the water, her arms extending out in long strokes, a beige swimsuit almost imperceptible against the tanned tone of her skin. He wondered what he’d say when he saw her and he couldn’t think of much.