Money Creek

by Anne Laughlin

  She reached for her cold cup of coffee. “It sounds like you pulled a pretty easy case. Does that mean your name is off the wheel for a period of time?”

  “Yeah. You go off for a month once you’ve handled a case. I’m clear for a while.”

  She worked the rest of the day wondering if she should call Henry or not. He and the others would like to know about Stingy being arrested, if they hadn’t heard already. She knew he hadn’t talked and that was valuable information. It might save a life, too. If they thought Stingy talked to the police, she guessed Stingy would be eliminated. That’s how things worked in the movies, anyway. They couldn’t afford to have a witness against them. When the office emptied out at five, she placed a call to Henry.

  “Clare! A phone call from Clare. I’m pinching myself.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” she said dryly.

  “What can I do for you? Wait, you’re probably calling about the speed shipment. I’m supposed to hear something today, so why don’t you plan to stop by here tomorrow. I’ll fix you up.”

  She was relieved. She’d taken her last two speed tablets that morning. Things were at the crisis point. “I’m glad to hear it, but I called about something else.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Do you know a guy named Stingy?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. “Henry?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I heard he’d been picked up on a DUI and was interrogated about drug activity in the area.”

  “That’s interesting. How do you know that?”

  She chose her words carefully. “I have sources. I’m in a position to know what happens in the legal community.”

  “That’s interesting, too. Do you know if this Stingy told the police anything?”

  “I can tell you that, but I want something in exchange. If I keep you informed on what I hear on my end, I want to be released from representing Ray.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. We consider you an important part of our operation. Your counsel will be valuable.” She didn’t respond.

  “Tell me what Stingy did or did not say,” Henry said.

  “If I’m a part of your organization, you can’t continue to blackmail me. Threats don’t make for loyal associates.” She hoped he could hear the steel in her voice.

  “I can’t unknow what I already know about you, but I don’t intend to use the information. I’ll chose to believe your participation is voluntary.”

  That left the landscape essentially as before. The cost of crossing them was too high. She didn’t want to lose everything she had in Money Creek. She loved her work. And there was Freya. She could imagine her reaction on learning Clare was a drug user. That relationship would be over before it even started.

  “He didn’t say anything,” she said. “You should let the others know right away so Stingy doesn’t get killed. I don’t doubt they would off him.”

  “We’ve heard from Stingy today, as it turns out. But your corroboration is very useful.”

  “Why didn’t you say that? And you wonder why I don’t warm up to you,” Clare said.

  “You will, I’m sure of it. Come by here tomorrow after work. You’ll like me much better then.”

  They hung up. An unseen hand pressed down on her shoulders, keeping her in place so she wouldn’t explode from too much pressure. But there were glimmers of good news. Her work, Freya, the resupply of her stash. She’d try to concentrate on those. Freya was coming over for dinner. She should have been nervous about it, but there was no room for it at the moment. She left the office to get groceries for the meal.

  * * *

  Clare put some chicken and vegetables in the oven to roast, trying to time it so it would be ready about half an hour after Freya arrived at seven. She changed out of her work clothes but had a hard time figuring out what to wear. Was this a date? How did you dress for a date with a woman? It seemed it should be different than with men, though she hadn’t gone on dates with men so much as ended up with them at parties or a bar. That was far less stressful than a formal date. Was the excitement in her chest anxiety or anticipation? She put on jeans and her asymmetrical knit top that dressed things up a bit. Her Dansko clogs made her an inch taller.

  Freya arrived on time carrying two bottles of Perrier. She could feel the message behind the choice of drink. She wanted to see if Clare was comfortable not drinking. Of course, she was. Two Valiums and she was fine with it. She took the bottles from Freya and invited her in.

  “What a great place,” Freya said. “It’s so comfortable looking.” She followed Clare into the kitchen. Smoke was starting to seep out of the oven, so Clare turned on the vent fan. It roared to life, making it harder to speak.

  “Don’t worry,” Clare said. “It’s roasting, not burning.”

  “I wasn’t worried at all.” Freya smiled at her and Clare thought it was the greatest smile she’d ever seen. She made their drinks and led her into the living room, sitting at her usual spot on one end of the couch while Freya sat on the other. It was a long couch.

  “I heard about what happened to you.” Thomas had told Clare about the meth lab bust and Freya’s shooting of the two men there. “Is that the first time you’ve killed someone in the line of duty?”

  “How did you hear about that?” Freya asked.

  “You know how it is here. Someone in my office told me. I don’t know how he heard. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it the other night.”

  Freya looked at her hands in her lap. “It’s not the sort of thing I’d bring up. I’m not proud of myself.”

  “How are you feeling about it?” Clare imagined it felt horrible to have killed someone, but she was a bit dazzled by the thought of Freya in a gun battle. It was beyond her comprehension. She’d always wondered how brave she’d be if put to the test. Not very brave was her guess.

  “I’m mostly fine. We’re trained for these situations. Two men pulled guns on me and I shot them. They were clean hits. Considering I would have been shot dead if I hadn’t fired makes me okay with what happened.”

  Clare quit staring at Freya long enough to pick up her drink. Her eyes fell on a spot on the floor in the middle of the couch where her pillbox was poking out. She resisted the urge to shove it back under, which would only draw Freya’s attention. Instead, she reached for her drink and moved a little closer to the middle of the couch.

  “I’m glad you like the place,” she said, meeting Freya’s eyes and slowly pushing the box under the couch with her foot. “I’ve grown to love it.”

  There was a definite static in the air as they talked about banal things like the weather and the party at Elizabeth’s house that Sunday and how much work they both had. Clare put dinner on, the smell of the herbs and lemon filled the kitchen.

  “Would you like some wine?” Clare asked.

  “No, I’m good with the water. School night and all that.”

  “Right. I won’t bother opening a bottle. I’ve got a big day tomorrow too. They’re all big days.” Not that that had ever stopped her from opening a bottle.

  After dinner they moved back to the couch, both of them sitting slightly closer to the middle than before. Clare ate her slice of cherry pie, suddenly much more nervous than before. She couldn’t imagine what would happen next. Or she could imagine it, but it made her stomach clench.

  Freya drank her coffee and then put the mug down. They were silent, conversation gone, air heavy. “I have to ask you something.”

  Clare’s head snapped up from her pie plate. “You do?”

  “This sort of thing isn’t easy. I’m nervous as hell.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t ask.”

  Freya hesitated a moment. “I have to. I know you’ve told me you’re straight, but I’m wondering if that’s really how you identify. I feel a connection between the two of us. Am I imagining things?”

  Her body suffused with some chemical—the one that made her elated and terrified at the sa
me time. She could dodge the question, but she found she wanted to be honest. “No, I feel it too. I don’t know what that makes me. All I know is what I feel now.”

  Freya smiled and reached for Clare’s hand. “Tell me more.”

  She stared at the hand holding hers, the long slender fingers wrapped around her own. “I have slept with a woman before.” She didn’t remember a thing about that night a few weeks earlier, but there must have been some part of her that thought sleeping with a woman would be a good thing to do, even in a blackout.

  “You have? That changes everything.” Freya looked relieved. “Now I don’t have to feel so responsible.”

  “Responsible for what? I’m a big girl, you know.”

  “You’re right. Maybe it’s arrogance on my part to feel responsible for your first experience.”

  They were silent for a minute. “Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Clare said.

  Freya flushed. “Good point.” She let go of her hand and Clare felt the absence of it. They both reached for their coffee and stared at each other over their mugs.

  Clare started to relax, the Valium working its magic. She put her coffee down. “Now what happens?”

  “This is the part where I come close and kiss you, if you’ll allow me.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide open. She watched as Freya scootched toward her and stopped when they were half an arm’s length away. “Oh, God,” Clare said. Freya leaned toward her and kissed her gently on the lips, pulling away to see how she reacted. Clare put her arm around Freya’s back and pulled her into a more serious kiss, one that lasted a long time. They leaned against the back of the couch and made out for a while. Clare could feel arousal, unmistakable and strong. When Freya moved her mouth to her throat she gasped. Would it be slutty to ask Freya into her bedroom? Were women generally slower to jump into bed?

  Freya pulled back from her. “We either have to stop or move to a bed. My body is getting out of control.”

  So, not slutty. Clare rose from the couch and took Freya by the hand. “Let me show you the bedroom.”

  She closed the door behind her, locking out everything she’d known before, anxious for what was to come. Her own drug use and her involvement with drug dealers were not insignificant things when falling in love with a cop. But caution had no chance against desire.

  Chapter Twenty

  “It’s like the speed you’re used to, but more so.” Henry pointed at the crystalline powder that sat on the coffee table.

  “How can it be like speed?” Clare was terrified.

  “What you usually take is Adderall, which is pharmaceutical amphetamine. Crystal meth is also amphetamine, but not pharmaceutical grade. Meth heads are addicts because they do too much of it. If you do the right amount, it will be business as usual.”

  It was crisis time. After Freya left Friday morning to go to work, Clare had pulled out her pillbox and looked at the empty compartment where the speed normally was. The afterglow of her night with Freya, so filled with sensations and feelings she’d never had before, couldn’t dispel the panic that dropped on her like a sack. She had a day’s worth of work ahead of her and her body cried out for her drug. She’d gotten very little sleep the night before—they’d made love until they passed out from exhaustion. How was she going to work on a brief, as well as learn a new area of law? She was sludgy, as if mud were sucking at her sides.

  Henry sat down and started chopping the lines. “Personally, I like to make the powder as smooth as possible, but other people like the rocky feel. This is already pretty smooth, which means it’s high quality. We’re not giving you crap.”

  “When do you think you’ll get the Adderall in? Maybe I can wait it out.”

  Henry patted the space next to him. “The word is a week or so from now. And that’s iffy.”

  She knew she couldn’t get the work done she needed to in that week. She sat down.

  “Did you know that Hitler had his whole army running on methamphetamine? They fought a war on the stuff,” he said.

  She looked at him. “That’s the finest endorsement of a product I’ve ever heard.”

  He laughed and handed a straw to Clare. “Don’t worry, this is a beginner’s dose. I wouldn’t let you do anything that would harm you.”

  She doubted that was true, but had no choice. She snorted the two lines and almost immediately the rush cascaded down her body. It was like she’d been punched by it, different from the much slower payoff with tablets. She leaned against the back of the couch. A sense of clarity and energy began to take hold. She smiled.

  “How are you?” Henry asked.

  “I think I’m good. How long does it last?”

  “Longer than regular speed. You probably don’t want to take any more today if you want to sleep at all tonight.”

  At the moment she wanted to do everything. Work, make love with Freya, build a cathedral. She sat for a few more minutes enjoying the rush and then stood. “I’m going back to the office.”

  Henry nodded and handed her the remaining powder in the packet. “This is on the house.”

  She took it and shoved it into her pants pocket. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

  “You’ll see me tomorrow. Don’t forget the party we’re going to. I’ll meet you out there.”

  Clare frowned. Some form of magical thinking had allowed her to forget the party. “I’m not going to be able to make it.”

  “What do you mean?” Henry matched her frown.

  “I’m too busy. I have to work all weekend. You’ll probably have a better time without me.”

  “Your attendance is expected. I’ve got to drive on my own. Do you remember where it is?”

  “Barely. It was like a labyrinth getting there.”

  “Here’s the address. Your GPS will get you close.”

  She took down the address in her phone and left. As she walked to her car she looked around the quiet street. It was a warmer day and she left her coat unbuttoned. Everything around her, even her thoughts, seemed crystal clear, almost too sharp to be comfortable. Sparrows chirped loudly in the trees above her. The houses on the street nearly shimmered in the sun. She got in her car, anxious to get to her desk to concentrate on one thing. Her brain was whirring and needed settling down. This was like speed multiplied by ten. She loved it.

  At work she burrowed in her office and started writing the draft of the summary judgement motion. She didn’t look up until she heard people saying good night outside her door. The past four hours had seemed like a minute and she’d written like the wind. Her cell phone rang and she saw it was Freya. She struggled to pull her head out of the cave of legalese it’d been in and answered the call.

  “Did that really happen last night?” Clare said.

  Freya chuckled. “It was very real. Why don’t we get together tonight?”

  Clare hesitated. She wanted to work another few hours. She wasn’t sure whether Freya would be able to tell she was on something. “Not tonight, though I’d love to. I’m working another few hours here and then crashing as soon as I get home. You wore me out last night.”

  “Oh. I should have realized you wouldn’t want to get together so soon.”

  “I do want to, but I can’t tonight.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’ve thought about you all day.” That was a slight lie. She had thought of Freya, but only during bathroom breaks. Her total focus was on the brief.

  “Me too,” Freya said.

  Clare waited for something more, but Freya was silent. She’d embarrassed her by turning her down and she didn’t want that. “How about tomorrow night? My house again?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Freya said, her voice sounding more relaxed. “I’ll call you tomorrow to see what you’d like me to bring.”

  “Just yourself, I think. That’s more than enough.”

  When they disconnected, Clare was excited and slightly aroused. She wanted to see her…what? Girlfriend? How odd that sounded, a
nd how good, too. But not tonight. She wanted to dive back into the brief and that feeling of being suspended in time she’d experienced all afternoon. When she got home that night shortly after eleven, she took a couple of Valium and tried to sleep. Three hours later, she finally did.

  * * *

  The storm was getting worse as Clare drove out of Money Creek. Flurries were whipping around the car, making visibility difficult. Snow whirled in small cyclones in the empty cornfields. It was still daylight, with the edges of twilight closing in. She was anxious as she neared her destination. She fumbled a couple of Valium out of her pillbox and swallowed them dry.

  She saw the tiny road to Henry’s house when she was almost upon it and took a hard left up the drive. At the top of the drive were three cars—Henry’s old Volvo, a beat-up pickup truck, and a low-slung Chevy Malibu. She would have thought drug dealers could afford better rides.

  She parked behind the pickup and got out. The house and the grounds were still awful, unimproved by the beautiful snowfall. How had it come to this? She was nothing like these people.

  The front door opened and Henry leaned out.

  “You made it. I was afraid the snow was going to get worse.” It hadn’t occurred to her she might have used the weather as an excuse not to come. Stupid. She walked to the door, holding her coat closed at the collar.

  “You better let me in. If I’ve got to be here I don’t want to freeze to death.”

  He opened the door to let her pass. “Don’t be that way, Clare. Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you.”

  She walked past Henry and shrugged out of her coat in the tiny foyer. He hung it in the closet and took her by the elbow into the living room. A feeble lamp cast a dim light in the dark room. She would have expected them to have a nicer party house, too. This looked like a place squatters would never get thrown out of.

  Bobby Hughes and Ray Barnes sat around the coffee table and a woman who must have been Bobby’s girlfriend leaned against his shoulder.

  “Welcome, Clare,” Ray said. “Join us.” He went back to chopping up lines of cocaine on the coffee table.