Peaches (The Izzy Quinn Series Book 1)

by C. Penticoff

  Me: Bailey, you're never gonna guess what I found out today. Rent's not due on the tenth anymore! It's due tomorrow, and he says he's evicting us if we don't have the rest of rent.

  Bailey: you're kidding!!! That's a crock of shit. What are you gonna do now?

  Me: pack my bags. I don't fucking know, Bailey. I'm internally freaking out.

  Bailey: Go get a Payday loan.

  Me: You've got to have a paycheck coming for that.

  Bailey: Call around to churches and beg for money. They do shit like that. Help people in your situation.

  Me: Good idea!! I'll go check after I apply for whatever new jobs are listed.

  Scrolling through the list of job openings, I found myself wishing there were more unique and challenging jobs. Something that would excite me. But it was always the same soul sucking customer service jobs that I always did. Now's definitely not the time to be picky. I realized beggars couldn't be choosers, so I applied to every dreadful new job I found. There were really only a couple new ones since the last time I had looked.

  I took Bailey's advice and made a few calls to some local churches. I got the voicemail with all of them, but I left my info with them and hoped they'd respond by the end of the day.

  By the time I was done with that and putting Coyote down for a nap, Tyson had come strolling back in the house, holding a brown paper bag.

  "What's that?"

  He set the brown paper bag on the counter and told Prissy to go to her room. She pushed back a little, wanting to be in on the secrets, but she caved when I gave her the eye. You know, the eye your mom gives you when she means business.

  "Okay, so what's that?" I asked again once Priscilla left the room.

  He pulled out five heads of lettuce. "You don't want Prissy seeing lettuce?"

  "It's not lettuce."

  "Looks like lettuce to me."

  "No, I mean--that's not what's important in this bag." He pulled out a Ziplock bag filled with white powder and gently set it on the counter.

  "What the fuck is that, Tyson?" I snapped, knowing full well what it was.

  "Cocaine."

  I wanted to yell, but instead I lowered my voice. "Tyson, what the fuck are you doing with cocaine?"

  "We're gonna sell it."

  Chapter Eight

  "Have you lost your Goddamn mind?"

  "Izzy, we'll make six hundred bucks with this at least."

  "Tyson. We're not selling drugs."

  "Isabelle, we're going to get evicted tomorrow if we don't come up with rent. And if we're evicted, that's probably the end of us all staying together. Yeah that's right, I'm pulling a page out from your book."

  I began pacing when I realized this really was the only way we'd make rent in time. I pulled out a cigarette and placed it in my mouth, preparing for the moment I could escape and smoke from the stress of this conversation.

  "So, we're fucking selling drugs," I said with the cigarette rolling back and forth from one corner of my mouth to the other.

  "We're fucking selling drugs." Tyson half smiled.

  Tyson and I took a few minutes to gather ourselves before leaving. I told Prissy we'd be back in a few hours and to keep an eye on Coyote. I didn't like to make a habit of leaving Coyote alone with Prissy, but this coke wasn't gonna' sling itself and I surely wasn't bringing Coyote with me to find blow heads.

  We boarded the bus, filled with its usual healthy combination of meth heads, mentally ill people, mentally ill people on meth, and normal people. Tyson said he had some friends in Kelso with casual coke habits who would buy some. I can't believe I'm doing this. Selling drugs wasn't the worst thing I'd ever done, but mainly I liked avoiding jail. I'd actually somehow managed to avoid it my entire life. I pictured myself sitting in a cell alone with a crazy, libido driven prisoner licking her lips, making me her bitch. "Oh, for the love of God, should we be doing this, Ty Guy?"

  "We need rent. Quit overthinking it."

  If only he knew I was thinking about getting mauled by a sex crazed maniac in jail.

  "You're right." I found myself wishing the strip club was open. Just a couple days before I was dreading having to dance for money, but now I was wishing for it to happen. At least stripping is legal!

  We pulled up to Tyson's friend's house on Beech Street, which was as trashed as it was small and I wondered how the fuck these people could afford cocaine. I guess I shouldn't have judged, but come on. It wasn't a secret that cocaine was a rich man's drug.

  The big pile of metal on the side of the house told me that Tyson's friend must've been a metal scrapper.

  Someone with the size and chest hair of a damn gorilla stepped out the front door with a scowl on his face. "Come in," he said, keeping the same glare.

  We walked inside and I got smacked in the face with the aroma of cat urine. Oh my God. I resisted the urge to cover my nose, and instead I only breathed through my mouth. It wasn't doing as much to block the smell as I'd hoped.

  "What you got?" The gorilla man asked. This dude had to have been at least six foot five inches tall, and he was fat on top of that, so he seemed like a damn beast. His constant mean mug and gigantic structure was enough to make my stomach churn with nerves.

  Tyson pulled out his baggy and threw it on his table. "This."

  The gorilla man paused and stared at the bag for a second. "And it's good?"

  "Of course it is."

  "If it's good, then you guys take a line."

  "Oh, no thanks. I don't--" Tyson hit my ribs. I looked at gorilla man to see him towering over me, and I gulped. I don't know that he was actually trying to intimidate me, but just him existing was intimidating enough.

  "Okay, yeah, sure. Let's do this." What the fuck just happened? First, I was a drug dealer, and now I was a drug user. How the hell did my life turn into this?

  Tyson got a line out and snorted it like it was nothing. I really didn't like the way it seemed natural for him. I gave him the stink eye as he pulled up from doing his line. He must've known what I was thinking because he shrugged and looked away.

  "Your turn," said the gorilla man.

  I awkwardly laughed and knelt down to the table where the remainder of Tyson's line was. I knew it was going to burn like a mother fucker, so I mentally prepared myself for it. I hovered my nose over the powder, placed my finger over one nostril, and sniffed as hard as I could. It was like a Barbie sized fireball was lodged up my nose, but the burn really only lasted a couple seconds. I felt the powder shoot through my sinuses and drop down my throat. The numbing sensation followed quickly, which was a lot more unpleasant than I expected. Even though I knew my throat was just losing feeling temporarily, I didn't like how I had trouble swallowing.

  "I'll take a gram."

  A couple of the friends of gorilla man bought some coke too, leaving us only a little bit more to sell.

  We walked out the house and I couldn't have been more thrilled to get the hell out of there. I'm not going to lie, the feeling the coke gave me was pretty euphoric. I felt like I could accomplish anything in the damn world that I put my mind to. I could totally write the book I started when I tried meth that one time. I could feel my heart pumping faster, right along with my adrenaline. I found myself wishing I could go back inside his house to deep clean it. Thank God I'm too poor for this shit.

  "Tyson, you seemed a bit too comfortable snortin' that blow."

  "I've done coke before, Izzy."

  I smacked the back of his head as we walked.

  "What the fuck!" He grabbed the back of his head.

  "Don't be stupid, dumbass." I couldn't think of the right words, but those worked.

  "It's not like I actually use it. I've just tried it a handful of times."

  "No more….dumbass." Again, intelligent words were losing me. I just needed him to know he was a moron for even trying it.

  "I know. Jeez."

  "I know somewhere we can probably sell the rest of this."

  "Where?"

  "Reme
mber Kyle? The short, angry, pervy guy mom was friends with?"

  "Oh yeah. That dude."

  "He basically has a constant party at his house, so I'm sure we can sling the rest of this."

  Kyle was my mom's old weed dealer before it was legal, different from the Kyle who was a homeless man outside our building. Pretty sure nothing would put this guy out of business, so he was probably dealing something heavier than pot at that point. Either that or he'd be selling weed to minors. I wouldn't have put it past him.

  As we walked to Kyle's, I pulled my phone out to find two missed texts. One from Grayson and one from Kent.

  I opened Kent's first.

  Kent: Hey beautiful. Are you busy Friday? I was thinking I could take you out. You never "got back to me." ;)

  Me: That sounds fun! If I take awhile to respond, it's because I'm out job hunting.

  Okay, I lied. But I obviously couldn't tell him what I was really doing. He'd never understand. Some rich guy wouldn't grasp the reality of having to resort to drug dealing to make rent.

  Next, I opened up Grayson's text next.

  Grayson: Hey Frizzy. I'm a few days sober now. I plan to be out of detox in a few days, then I'll be in inpatient for at least two weeks. Just wanted to update you.

  Me: Awesome, bro. Keep it up.

  I kept it short. I didn't want my guard to be down because the second you allow that to happen is the moment your hopes are destroyed by reality. I suppose the fact I wasn't feeling the urge to slam his face into a car door was a good first step.

  Also, the irony of me texting my brother in detox while I was out high on the coke I was selling didn't escape me.

  My high was gone by the time we got to Kyle's front yard. I practically tripped over a dude passed out in a lawn chair surrounded by beer cans. When I accidentally smacked into the chair, he flinched and mumbled something weird, but he didn't wake.

  "Jesus, man. Pretty early to be passed out drunk," my brother said.

  "There's no real concept of night and day here."

  Knock knock.

  "What the fuck do you want?" Kyle answered looking higher than a kite. He opened the door enough for us to squeeze in. I know his response made it sound like he wasn't happy to see me but that's just how he was. He was the biggest asshole on the planet, but that didn't mean he didn't like you. Basically, he treated everyone like shit, so people who knew him didn't take it personally.

  "I've got something for you to look at," I told him after we entered the living room. There was a fascinating combination of people at different stages of drunkenness.

  You had one couple who were passed out on the floor, drooling and looking much like the freak on the lawn chair outside.

  Then you had a few people who were smoking in the kitchen, laughing and telling each other how much they loved one another. Then you had some skanky girls making out with each other while they danced for the dudes at the beginning stages of their alcohol binge.

  My bladder felt like it was about to burst out of my body if I didn't pee soon.

  "Whatcha got?" Kyle stroked his goatee.

  "Mind if I pee first?" I clenched my legs as the sensation grew stronger. It seemed to always get worse very suddenly.

  "It's right there." He pointed down the hallway and sat down to light a smoke.

  I shut the bathroom door and took a seat on the toilet while I stared at the nasty ass bathroom. First of all, I could smell the piss the moment I walked in. Disgusting. I knew it was the result of drunk ass dudes with bad aim. The thing about Kyle's house is that it was always organized and picked up, but it's like the guy had never heard of Lysol, sponges, or mops.

  I finished my business on the toilet, and as I was bending over to grab a hold of my pants, I heard a noise coming from the toilet. When I looked into the blood filled bowl, I saw the bag of cocaine sitting right in it. Not did I just pee in the toilet...but I was still on my period. Enough said!

  "No," I whispered to myself.

  Why? Why! This was the second time this period caused me trouble. I knew what I had to do, but I didn't want to. You have to do it. Just reach your hand in there and grab it. You can wash your hands and the bag when you're all done. I rolled up my sleeve and put my hand in the toilet right above the bag. "One. Two." I scrunched up my face. "Three." I snatched the bag and brought it to the sink as quickly as possible. A few droplets landed on the floor, but I'd clean that after I washed my hands and the bag. I turned the knob on the faucet and nothing came out. "No. Please." I turned the faucet on and off several times and nothing happened.

  Oh my God. What do I do? Think. Think, Izzy. The only thing I could do was bring it to the kitchen sink as quickly as possible. First, I cleaned the droplets off the floor with some toilet paper, then it was a swift walk to the kitchen sink...where of course Kyle was.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Oh, I'm just cleaning the bag because the flu is going around."

  "Jesus. You one of those germ nuts?"

  "Yep. Izzy, the germaphobe. That's what they call me." I wiped the wet bag on my shirt to dry it a little. "This is what I brought for you."

  "That coke?"

  "Yep."

  He stuck his hand out because he wanted me to hand it to him. "You know what? Why don't we change bags. That flu virus has been spreading everywhere."

  He gave me a sideways look then handed me a Ziplock baggy he pulled from the messy drawer.

  After dumping the drug into the new bag, I handed it to him.

  "You tryna' sell it?"

  "Yes, all of it."

  "Let me try a little before deciding."

  "Go for it." Not that I needed to say this, because he was already helping himself. Kyle was a very rude person. Stoic. Sarcastic. And sometimes downright offensive. But somehow you just knew it wasn't personal. I still didn't like him very much. He just wasn't my kind of person. But he was about to pay my rent, so that didn't matter.

  He sniffed obsessively almost, after taking his line, and once the high kicked in, he asked how much he owed me.

  "You want it all?" I asked.

  "Oh yeah. Whatever I don't need will sell quickly around here."

  We worked out the details, and after dragging my brother away from a horny drunk chick, we were on our way back to the apartment complex.

  My brother pulled out the money in one hand and slapped it into his other hand. "We've got everything we need--"

  I snatched the money from him. "Are you stupid?" I stuffed the money into my purse dangling over my shoulder and zipped it shut. "You don't just wave money around here. You may as well wave a sign that says, 'come rob me, bitches'."

  "Like I was saying, we've got what we need to cover the rest of rent and then some."

  "I'm gonna have to give the extra money to Bailey and she should be able to get her van out Friday. Speaking of--I need to text her."

  I pulled my cell phone out of my purse carefully, as to not pull any of the cash out of my purse. Guess what? I've got part of what you need to get your car out, so you should be good on Friday!

  I noticed Kent's text to me, and I responded.

  Kent: Awesome. Be ready at six. I'll be there to get you. Plan to be out until midnight.

  Me: Okay. I'm excited :)

  I didn't want to seem too eager, but I also didn't want to seem disinterested, so I felt my reply was fine. Honestly, I really wasn't too eager anyway. Sure, he was sexy as hell and I was definitely going to fuck him at some point, but it's not like anything would move past that. Let's be real. I'm poor and he's rich. Again, the only reason he wanted me was because I was the only chick who wasn't begging for his cock in my mouth.

  I knew this story.

  Girl plays hard to get.

  Boy is fascinated.

  Boy finally wins girl over after multiple aggressive attempts, and maybe a few muscle flexes and expensive dinners, only to fall uninterested because it's no longer fun when she actually wants it.

  I wasn't stupid. B
ut it was fine. I'll ride the fancy dinners and hot rod car rides as long as I can. And maybe that won't be the only hot rod I'll ride. I chuckled at that thought and Tyson gave me a funny look.

  I thought back to Kent getting me the paycheck from my former boss. How weird is that? I didn't know how to explain him getting my paycheck for me. I almost wondered if he gave my ex boss the money to write a check for me. It just made no sense any other way--unless he threatened him, which I found highly unlikely. Maybe he knows him. I bet that's it! I was going to find out on Friday. I had to.

  I stuck my phone back in my purse. I'd check for Bailey and Kent's replies later. Right now, we've got to get this rent in.

  We finally made it to the apartment and knocked on the landlord's door.

  Like before, he opened the door looking less than pleased and ripped the money out of my palm. He quickly wrote a receipt for our entire amount and slapped it back in my palm before slamming the door on us. As we walked down the sidewalk of our apartment complex, I couldn't help but to think about rent being due again in just a month.

  I had a week-- two at the most-- to get a job.

  I didn't want to think about that now, though. I needed to just go relax after all that drug slingin'.

  I looked over and saw a parked yet running S.U.V. that caught my attention. The car looked like it was brand new and belonged in Kent’s driveaway, not my busted up, poverty ridden apartment complex. When the driver noticed me looking, he looked down at his phone. That was weird. I’m sure it was nothing.

  Tyson and I stayed quiet as we walked towards our apartment.

  I had plans to hop into my bed and catch up on my shallow reality TV show I'd been binging at the time. There was only one problem…

  I wasn't going to be hopping into my bed a minute from then…

  Because someone grabbed me from behind and shoved me into the suspicious S.U.V.

  Chapter Nine

  My spine vibrated after it was slammed against the door handle of the S.U.V. and it didn’t help when my brother was shoved against me. The man who shoved us in there grabbed both of our cell phones from our pockets before I heard the click of the doors locking. I could smell the rubber burning from the tires as we skidded out of the parking lot.