“Got fag written all over you,” Felix said. “No offense, man.”
“Oh, none taken,” Kenny said, rolling his eyes.
An uncomfortable silence followed, all three men not knowing how to continue the conversation. Ginger finally spoke up, trying to draw attention away from Kenny and put an end to the idiocy.
“Maria, what about you? Care to share?”
Maria said nothing. She was looking out at the water, making herself an island by staying away from the rest. Ginger didn’t press her for an answer. It was clear the woman wanted to keep to herself.
“Cat got her tongue?” Felix asked.
“Leave her be,” Ginger replied. “I’ve heard enough already anyway.”
“You got a theory?”
“Hardly, but from what you guys have told me it sounds to me like we all had the same people tailing us. Match that with the fact that we’re all dope fiends, and I’d say we were picked out, targeted. Don’t know why or how, but we were in someone’s crosshairs for sure.”
“Or maybe we’re the dumb luck of the draw?” said Nash. “Six short straws?”
“Five now,” said Ginger.
Nash nodded. “Yeah . . .”
He scraped at his scarred forearms, wondering how life might have panned out if he’d never tried that first hit backstage three dates into his one and only East Coast tour. Ginger watched, knowing he had the worse habit between them, but only by a small margin. She glanced at her own skin, thinking how soft and unblemished it could have been if she’d never got into the habit of sticking herself.
“I will tell you this, though,” said Nash. “What that mystery girl cooked up for me was the best junk I ever had.”
“Come again?” Ginger said, snapping into focus.
“If my last hit was my last meal, it would have been some serious gourmet shit. The high was unbelievable. Felt like the first time again. Felt like I had this wonderful worm inside my head, just wriggling, dancing.”
Eyes widening, Ginger pointed a finger at herself. “Me too.”
“Me too,” said Kenny.
Felix raised a hand. “Same here.”
“No shit, who supplies you?” Nash asked.
“Recently, I been grabbing from this guy named Al Catraz,” Felix replied.
“Al Catraz?”
“Yeah, his street name. You know him?”
“No. Why they call him that?”
“They say the guy is an island,” Felix said. “Nobody can get to him. He’s careful, smart, been dealing for years and never done a day inside. He’s never had as much as a parking ticket either, so I hear.”
Nash turned to Kenny. “What about you?”
“I get my shit from Matty and Merle mostly,” Kenny said. “Once in a while I’ll grab off a corner.”
“And you?” Nash asked Ginger.
“My boyfriend, Curtis, hooks me up. And recently he’s been bringing home exactly what you said, that wonderful, wiggly worm stuff.”
A subtle smile curled the corners of her mouth. She looked at them all and discovered they wore similar expressions.
Nash shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus, I think we were all scoring the same dope somehow.”
“I wonder . . .” Felix began, looking out to the island across the channel.
“What?”
“I wonder if that’s the same heroin they got waiting for us over there. Wonder if our last high was just a taste.”
Nash nodded. “That thought crossed my mind too.”
The idea was appetizing. Even Maria looked back at the mention of it. The five shared a look of increased interest.
“God, I’d love me just one little hit of that bomb shit right now,” Felix said.
“Tell me about it—”
A sharp pain cut across the inside of Nash’s gut, doubling him over with a hiss. The others grew worried. Their conversation had been uncharacteristically calm, but they knew it wouldn’t last. It was plain to see, on each of their faces, the lines of stress, shifty eyes, twitching lips. They could only stave off the inevitable for so long. This crazy train they were riding, the same unstable locomotion that drove Tal out to sea some ten hours earlier, could only go off the tracks. The real cracks would appear soon in their psyche. Cold turkey was, in fact, not really an option. Enduring the torture of withdrawal was the last thing any of them wanted. Nash looked to the next island, his words reminiscent of Tal’s from the day before.
“It’s not that far. We could swim it. I reckon we’d make it in twenty minutes, half hour maybe.”
“It doesn’t look like Tal made it,” Ginger replied.
“Tal was too far gone,” Nash pressed. “He was in a way worse state than the rest of us. He’d gone longer without a fix; his body and brain were wrecked. Not to mention his stupid idea of trying to swim that channel at night. Probably lost his direction in the dark, got tired, and drowned. That’s how I see it.”
Felix shot Nash a look of surprise. There was another likely reason why Tal hadn’t made it, but neither of them had voiced that possibility yet. Nash’s eyes did not meet Felix’s. His next words were steeped in hunger.
“Besides, with Tal gone, there will be more junk for the rest of us.”
The incentive piqued their interest. Everyone stared at the next island, judging the distance, weighing the options. Kenny didn’t look so sure, but the others were becoming convinced. Withdrawal was interfering with their logic, crushing common sense more and more with every passing minute.
“If we stay we might get rescued,” Kenny offered. “How ’bout we wait it out?”
“Time ain’t on our side,” replied Nash. “We’ve been here a day now, and we haven’t seen shit. No boats, no planes, nothing except those fuckers on that yacht, and they’re obviously not here to help.”
Felix cracked his knuckles. “I ain’t down with resigning ourselves to a fate when we can make our own.”
Panic seeped into Kenny’s voice. “Look, I really think we should stay—”
“If we stay we’ll all lose our damn minds,” Nash said. “And then what? We die of thirst or hunger, and rot on this island.”
His opinion carried real weight now, swaying the group. Staying behind suddenly seemed like a death sentence. When Ginger spoke she seemed to speak for everyone, even Kenny.
“We should eat the rest of the food, drink all the water. We’re going to need the energy for the trip.”
Nash nodded. “Let’s make our move in an hour.”
Sixteen
“If they don’t move soon,” the tallest man said, “we’ll have to do something about it.”
Four men stood on the deck of the motor yacht, the obvious leader among them giving orders. He was older than the others, early forties, and he’d been in more battles than all of them put together. Even at a distance there was something not right about his face, discolorations marring the inhuman textures that passed for skin. His blue irises were so pale that at a glance it seemed only black pupils were centered in the whites. When he grinned it looked like a hideous wound. The cruelty that festered in his mouth was the product of years immersed in savagery. The others were unaffected by it. They were hard men, trained killers and skilled survivors. Buchanan, Reposo, and Turk, the remnants of a special forces detachment, now led by one man, and one man only: the one they called Greer. When Greer spoke, all ears listened.
“I want the radio and radar monitored at all times, and all of you keep an eye on the horizons. Just in case. When these folks decide to haul ass, I want no interruptions.”
Each man nodded once. Buchanan ran his fingers through his cropped blond hair and cleared his throat.
“Something on your mind, Buchanan?” Greer asked.
“Just wondering if you would like me to give our guests over there a little incenti
ve to get the ball rolling.”
Greer gave another of his unnerving grins. “Let’s see if they participate of their own free will first. Then we’ll see what we can do about encouraging them.”
He turned his attention to the five stranded on the beach and watched their movements with disdain. Junkies, each and every one of them, the kind of parasitic lost causes Greer wouldn’t think twice about shooting in the back of the head and kicking into a shallow grave. Miami was full of these wasters now, the disease of addiction and AIDS spreading through city blocks faster than an epidemic of bedbugs. The rampant crime that followed in order to fuel the fixes of these bottom-feeders angered Greer even more. His hometown had never seen such pestilence. Greer had regularly dispatched far better men in third world countries. Seeing his homeland infested with such sorry excuses for human beings made his blood boil.
They’re nothing but paving stones on the road to ruin, Greer thought.
Damn scabs. He encountered them almost everywhere he went, hanging on corners with teeth knocked out of their heads and a stench about them, glassy eyed and willing to do just about anything for the promise of another hit. Dope fiends desperate for a dollar had offered Greer every stolen good and sex act known to man. Courage, strength, honor, discipline—these addicts knew no such things. They were weak, good for nothing more than to be fed upon. The weak would be the sustenance of the strong. Greer feasted on the inferiority.
“One down, five to go.”
“I can’t believe we lost one already,” Turk said. “What a waste.”
“Shit happens,” replied Reposo, his native New York accent unmistakable. “We can’t control the chaos all the time.”
“And what would be the fun in that?” Greer chuckled. “Chaos is a wonderful thing. Chaos . . .”
“. . . is the score on which reality is written,” the others said in unison.
They knew that score well. Innumerable situations had seen them surrounded by chaos, and on each occasion they had made the chaos their own, fighting fire with fire, burning everything to the ground. As Greer had taught them, the trick was to become the phoenix before striking the match.
“Beer, anyone?” Greer asked.
All heads nodded. Greer stepped into the cabin and grabbed four bottles from a cooler inside the doorway. He cast a glance at the loose pile of hundred-dollar bills on a card table nearby and wondered who would be the lucky winner this time out.
“We got movement on the beach, boss,” Turk said.
Greer came back out, handing a beer to each of his men. He put a Cuban cigar between his lips and Buchanan leaned over with his lighter. Protruding from his mouth, it looked the opposite of every iconic image, a length of smoldering shit clasped between the teeth of some foul, vicious anomaly. Greer took a heavy drag and held it in, smiling as he watched the stranded pick at their food.
“Well, that’s a good sign,” he said, exhaling thick smoke. “It looks like they’ve finally started eating.”
Seventeen
Eating was harder than anticipated. Grinding food with aching jaws and teeth was a painful prologue to swallowing mush down sore, ragged throats. Guts wanted to reject everything that entered. The stranded cupped hands over mouths as they chewed, gulping hard and fast to keep their intake from racing back up. Kenny proved least successful. Nash watched fresh vomit seep through the boy’s gate of fingers again and again. Ordinarily such a sight would be nauseating, but Nash felt strangely detached as he watched the kid puke. Felix seemed to be doing the best out of them, never retching or heaving. Every time the vomit tried to come he growled it into submission.
When they had eaten all they were capable of, they washed their sickly meal down with bottled water. Nash sat back and stretched out his stomach to aid digestion. Ginger stood and gave him an impatient look.
“Getting comfy?”
“If we try swimming too soon, we’ll get cramps.”
Ginger folded her arms, her look changing to one of contempt. “You do know all that stuff about waiting an hour before swimming is a load of horseshit, right?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” she pressed.
Kenny took his place beside Ginger. “I think she’s right, Nash.”
“Fuck, like it matters,” Felix grumbled. “We barely got anything in us anyway.”
Nash shrugged. “Well, maybe it would be wise to take some time and talk about what we’re about to do.”
“We’re going swimming,” said Felix with a sneer. “What’s there to discuss?”
“For starters, I wanna know if we’re all in this together, or is it every poor fucker for themselves out there?”
Felix gave him a look that suggested the answer was obviously the latter. It made Ginger and Maria uncomfortable. Kenny seemed terrified by it.
“Together, of course,” Ginger said. “That’s the only way I can see us making it.”
Maria nodded. “Yes, together is good.”
Felix laughed. “Speak for yourselves.”
Ginger rubbed her temples, trying to hold back the venom that was seeping into her mouth, but to no avail. Poison coated her next words.
“You’re fucking full of it, Felix, you know that? What if it’s your dumb ass that runs into trouble out there? What if it’s you that needs our help? What then, huh?”
Felix laughed louder. “Trust me, girl, I can take care of myself. I’ve been handling my shit since I was old enough to walk. It’s you who should be worried, being a skinny bitch and all.”
Ginger glared, teeth grinding hard enough to flex a vein in her neck that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. She pointed at Felix, finger trembling with anger.
“Listen, asshole, whatever you think you got in upper body strength, you lack double in smarts. Don’t be so fucking ignorant. Take that testicle-sized brain of yours and try thinking something through just once before you—”
“Enough!”
Nash’s outburst silenced them. They turned their faces away, eyes cast down like the scolded schoolkids Nash wanted them to feel like. Felix went to say something, but Nash wasn’t finished.
“For fuck’s sake, drop the bickering already. We’re wasting time and energy here. Think we can act like the adults we are and keep our shit together?”
“You mean like you?” Ginger snarled, breathing hard. “Throwing a temper tantrum like a fucking four-year-old?”
“Please don’t fight,” Maria whispered. “It will do us no good.”
Ginger locked eyes with Nash. “She’s right.”
The looks Nash and Ginger traded with Felix were hateful, though they argued no more. A fragile truce formed without another word. They knew more infighting would tear off the masks everyone was trying to hold in place, revealing them for the volatile messes they were fast becoming. Nash felt new pain punching behind his eyes, hammering on his optic nerve. His ear canals felt hot and sore. The heroin wasn’t calling to him as much as screaming for him now.
“Do you really want that smack over there, Felix?” Nash asked, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re dead set on it?”
“What you think?”
“Well, we increase our chance of getting to it if we work together. Teamwork, shit, it’s grade school logic, Felix. Even you went to grade school.”
“Did some community college too, motherfucker,” Felix replied and made a show of cracking his knuckles.
“Then c’mon, use your damn head. You know I’m right.”
“I don’t know that. Y’all might just slow me down.”
Nash tried to soften his voice. “Dude, we all do this together and we’re five times more likely to make that score. Safety in numbers, know what I’m saying?”
Felix tilted his head and considered. The quiet desperation in Nash’s strained tone was becoming more believable. Lies seemed l
ess likely.
“How can I trust you?”
“I give you my word.”
“Your fucking word? Oh, you gotta do better than that, son.”
“All I have is my word—”
“And it ain’t nearly enough.”
Nash extended his hand. “I swear on my life. If you happen to need help, however unlikely, I’m there for you. Even at my own peril. Understand where I’m coming from? I got your back if you got mine. You dig?”
Felix’s head tilted the other way, eyes boring into Nash’s, trying to figure out if the man was trustworthy or absolutely full of it. Felix saw nothing that concerned him. He grabbed the hand before him and shook once.
“Yeah, I can dig that.”
“Fine, good,” Nash said, casting a glance at the others. “We’re all agreed, then?”
Ginger and Maria didn’t reply. Their position was already clear. The one person who needed to speak up wasn’t saying anything.
“Kenny?” Nash asked. “You cool?”
Kenny didn’t reply. He only stared at his toes in the sand.
“You good to go?” Nash pressed. “This is do-or-die time, dude.”
Kenny sighed. “It might very well be do-and-die time if I go out there.”
“Hey, I thought you said you were down for this.”
“I never said anything.”
Kenny looked at Ginger then, the one who had spoken for them all before. There was accusation in his eyes. Nash could see the tension in the young man’s hunched shoulders and stringy muscles, the acne on his body looking like it might pop with the pressure. Everyone waited. Everyone except for Maria. She searched the sand and picked up the sharpest stone she could find. When Kenny finally spoke his voice was barely a whisper.
“I won’t do it.”
They all would have stared him down for it, trying to bend the boy’s will with muted suggestion, but Kenny refused to make eye contact with anyone.
“Then we’re leaving you the fuck behind, kid,” Nash said at length.
The words caught Kenny in the gut, forcing out a breath of shocked air. He looked again at Ginger, this time with pleading eyes, hoping she might offer to hang back. Her eyes told him she would not.
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