Joe Gores - Interface

“Wasn’t I, Alex?”

“You were good, Robin,” he said finally. “A good little sow, lapping it up. Here.” His hand brought three small glassine envelopes out of his inner suit jacket pocket. He dropped them on the bed. He watched the girl scrabble frantically at them with an oddly erotic look on his face. “They’ll keep you until tomorrow.”

The girl was between him and the door again. Her face, her voice, her emaciated body pleaded her cause.

“Alex, can’t you... Please.”

“Jesus!” he burst out in a softly angry voice.

“You know how I hate to shoot myself up, Alex.”

“Look, I’ve got problems, I’ve got...”

He stopped there. A thoughtful look had entered his eyes. He stood still watching her shake heroin into the spoon, add water from the ancient single-tap sink in the corner.

She moved the spoon carefully over the candle flame until the water and drug had gone into solution. Despite her desperate need, the girl’s movements were efficient, swift, sure. Kolinski watched the process as if mesmerized. She filled the syringe and handed it to him needle-up like a nurse in a TV medical show.

The girl returned to the bed, lay back against the pillows. He sat down beside her. She was working on her veins again. Kolinski watched her, avidly now. He had another erection.

“You really love it, don’t you?” he asked her.

Her huge dark eyes, intent on her hands, answered his question. Then her need overcame her, she seized the short sleeve of her nightdress with her right hand and twisted it so the tight edge of the sleeve bit cruelly into the thin upper arm. This finally brought up the vein.

“Little Robin,” said Kolinski softly. “The early bird who eats the worm.” He laughed. He slid the needle into her arm. “My worm. Whenever I want you to.”

“Oh, yes, Alex, whenever you want me to...”

Kolinski depressed the plunger a couple of centimeters, then drew it back. The milky solution in the syringe turned pink as blood was drawn into it. He had made the vein on the first try.

His thumb moved, shoving heroin into her bloodstream. He said, mockingly, “Jesus, baby, if your old man could see you now! I’d love to see your old man’s face.”

The girl’s own face had gotten very intent and serious, like that of a student trying to catch every word of a difficult and involved lecture. She drew in a deep breath as the flash hit her, and the pupils of her eyes changed.

She exclaimed, “Hit me with the rest of it, lover. Let me feel it. Oh!”

Kolinski withdrew the needle, sat with the hypo on his hands. It was empty except for a faintly pink residue in the bottom of the syringe.

“Jesus, a hype who hates to shoot herself up!” He shook his head in wonder. The change in the girl was almost miraculous. Her voice was light, almost coquettish.

“There’s a lot of us hate to do it ourselves, Alex!”

“All of them women.”

She pouted. “We just don’t like the needle.”

“You like the dick. In the mouth.” He laughed heavily, tossed the syringe on the bed beside her and stood up. “I notice you’re quick enough to shoot yourself up when nobody else is around.”

Robin made a moue with her beautifully-shaped mouth. She looked her real age, a malnutritioned thirty-one or — two, instead of the raddled fifty she had looked a few minutes before. She smiled. Her eyes sparkled.

Kolinski’s erection had subsided. He said, “Listen, I got to get back to Bush Street but I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” she said simply. She drew up her legs under the worn nightdress and clasped her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees in a listening attitude.

“There’s a guy in town, has been here a couple, three weeks, anyway long enough to have maybe needed a woman. We want him bad. Goes by the name of Docker. He’s a big guy with...”

He stopped there because the girl’s face had changed, utterly. She had swung her legs off the bed and had suddenly stood up. Her voice was very excited.

“You said Docker ? A big guy, six feet, six-one? Horn-rim glasses and long blond—”

Kolinski had her by the upper arms, was squeezing them so hard that she looked momentarily faint.

“You know him? Has a limp—”

“One of the girls. He was with one of the girls a couple of nights ago. She said he was a son of a bitch, used a belt on her until she screamed. He told her it was the only way he could be sure she was really interested.”

“How are you sure of the name?”

“She snooped his wallet after he’d fallen asleep. She said he had a lot of money in there but she was afraid to take any. She said when he woke up he checked.”

“Who was it? Which girl?”

Robin opened her mouth, then frowned and shut it. She shook her head. “I can’t remember, we were all having coffee down on the corner and...” Her face brightened. “I’ll find out today for you, Alex. I’ll find out everything she remembers that might help. I know he took her to his apartment because he wanted her all night. I can get the address, anyway.”

He had her by the arms again. His face was elated, but his voice was solemn. “Robin, you turn that son of a bitch for me and I’ll put you in a hype’s paradise. I mean it! As much as you want, as often as you want it.”

Kolinski went back down the hall to the front desk, but he still did not leave, even though it had been nearly fifteen minutes since Hariss had said he was expecting him immediately. Instead, he stopped by the telephone and called, “Hey, Aunt Jemima!”

The office door opened and the chubby black girl appeared. If she resented either his words or his tone, it didn’t show on her face. Kolinski smiled at her.

“Was there any mail downstairs?”

“No, sir, Mr Kolinski.”

Kolinski crowded her back against the wall. His right hand came up between their bodies, with a lover’s gentleness cupped as much of one of the immense breasts as his fingers could span.

“This is important, Aunt Jemima. You didn’t take any phone calls from Mr Hariss for me this morning, did you?”

The girl was staring intently up into his face, wide-eyed, her ebony features shiny with dread. She shook her head quickly. “No, sir, Mr Kolinski, I most surely didn’t!”

“Surely didn’t what?”

“Take any phone calls from Mr Har—”

As she spoke the name, Kolinski’s fingers twisted viciously like someone turning up time on a parking meter. The girl screamed once before she was able to get the back of one hand up to her face. She bit down hard on it to cut off any further sounds. Her eyes never left Kolinski’s face. No doors opened to her cry.

Kolinski, still smiling, let his hand slide down her body and stepped back. The girl was shuddering against the wall, but made no move to touch her brutalized breast. The physical stench of her fear was palpable between them.

“Surely didn’t what?” repeated Kolinski.

“I... There was no phone calls for you this morning, Mr Kolinski.”

“And?”

“You weren’t here this morning, sir.”

Kolinski smiled delightedly. He laid a finger gently against the black girl’s fat carmined lips. He said, “I’ll bet you give a mean blowjob with a mouth like that, honey.”

“Ye... yes, sir, Mr Kolinski.”

He said thoughtfully, “Maybe one of these days...”

“Yes, sir, Mr Kolinski.” She paused. “Thank you, Mr Kolinski.”

Back in her room, Robin had remained standing beside the bed, exactly as Kolinski had left her, for a full thirty seconds. Then she crossed swiftly to the door, pulled it open a foot and cautiously thrust her head out. Past his waiting back, at the far end of the hall, she could see the black girl just emerging from the office.