David Duffy - In for a Ruble

The door to the end room on the ground floor opened, directly across from where I sat, and a thin man in his twenties came out, wearing only a flannel shirt and dirty jeans. The cold didn’t seem to affect him. He walked toward the fast-food place next door, his right hand scratching his left arm, before he disappeared among the dumpsters that demarcated the two properties. I got out and followed.

The burger joint was doing a good breakfast business and smelled of grease. The average weight of the customers, somewhere north of two-forty, regardless of height or gender, indicated a cause-and-effect relationship at work. The thin man had to wait. He fidgeted and scratched. A sharp face, goatee, long hair tied in a grimy ponytail. I stood in the next line, two back. When his turn came, he ordered egg biscuits with gravy and two coffees light with extra sugar. The guy behind the counter slipped a foil packet into the bag and palmed a fifty in return. Breakfast of champions.

I followed Skinny back to the motel, closing the gap as we approached his room. He took the foil packet from the bag and put it in his pocket. He was still twitchy and didn’t notice me until I grabbed his arm as he unlocked the door.

“What the fuck?!”

“Inside.”

I shoved him in and closed the door. A woman about his age, also thin, sat on the bed, naked, except for the sheet around her waist. She had gray-blue skin, sunken eyes, fallen breasts, and a needle track running up her left arm. She made no attempt to cover herself. Crumpled foil, a spoon, hose, and syringe on the bedside table.

“Who the fuck are you?” the thin man said.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not here for you. What’s your name?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

I took a twenty from my pocket. “Play your cards right, you could earn a couple bucks this morning. Or I can make a shitload of trouble. You choose.”

“You wanna fuck Cindy, it’s gonna cost ya more than twenty,” the man said, leering. I was tempted to hit him, but that wouldn’t help things.

“I asked you a question. What’s your name?”

“You a cop, mister?” Cindy spoke for the first time, her voice just above a whisper.

I shook my head.

“Talk to the man, Les, we can use the bread.”

Les started to tell her to shut up, then thought better of it. I picked up the tinfoil.

“Little short this morning?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“True. But maybe I can help you out.” I held out two twenties this time.

“Listen to the man, Les,” Cindy said.

“Your girlfriend’s giving you good advice.”

“She ain’t my girlfriend. She’s my wife.”

I was tempted to tell him if she was my wife, I’d wrap her in something for warmth if not decency, but that was none of my fucking business either. I showed them the photograph of Andras.

“I’m looking for this kid. He was here Saturday night. You see him?”

I thought recognition flickered through his eyes, but he shook his head. Cindy raised herself on her knees and looked over his shoulder.

“I remember him. I…”

“Shut up, stupid cunt!”

Les spun and slapped her. She fell backward across the bed. Enough for me. I took him by the belt with one hand, the back of the shirt with the other, and ran the skinny body across the room into the wall, headfirst. I dragged him into the bathroom, grabbed the foil packet from his pocket, and dropped him in the tub. He looked up with half-conscious eyes.

I held up the smack. “You make a single sound before I’m through here, this goes down the drain. You hit Cindy again, I will find you, wherever you are, just like I found you today, and pound you until there is nothing left to pound. You understand?”

He didn’t move. I stomped on his ankle. He yelped in pain.

“Do you understand?”

“Y… yes.”

“Don’t come out of here until I’m finished.”

My threats were meaningless, except to flush his heroin, which he’d realize as soon as I left, but they made me feel like at least I tried. I returned to Cindy, wide-eyed on the bed, still naked. I found some jeans and a shirt on the floor, which I handed over.

“Put these on.”

I turned my back, ever gallant Galahad, while she dressed.

“Okay.” She was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“If I gave you enough money for a bus or a train, is there somewhere you could go, get yourself cleaned up, start over?”

“You mean… leave Les?”

I nodded.

She thought about it but not long enough. She shook her head. “He’s all I have.”

“He’s scum, Cindy. Look at this dump. Is this what you want? He get you hooked?”

“He… He’s all I have.” She started to cry.

I’d tried. Breaking her away from Les would take more than one attempt by one leather-coated Galahad on a cold January morning.

“Tell me about the boy.”

She looked away.

I held out the foil packet, making the shift from chivalry to shit. “Tell me about the boy, or I’ll throw this into the wind.”

“No! Please…”

“You saw him. When? Saturday?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. About nine, I guess. Maybe later. We were going out, get something to eat. He and a girl were a couple doors down. They were yelling, that’s how come I noticed.”

“A girl?”

“That’s right.”

“What did they say?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Angry yelling?”

“I think so.”

“Angry about what? Please try to remember.”

She closed her eyes and scrunched up the hollow face. She was trying or putting on a good act. I waited.

“I know! I remember!” Her eyes popped open, and she smiled, pleased with her accomplishment.

“That’s great,” I said, clapping my hands in encouragement, feeling like a fool.

“He kept shouting, ‘Where is he? Where the fuck is he?’ She kept saying, ‘How should I know? This was your stupid plan, remember?’”

She looked doubtful for a moment, then her face brightened again.

“At least I think that’s how it went. Yes, that’s it. I remember the part about ‘stupid plan’ because she was really angry about that, like he’d done something without telling her, and she was pissed, just like I would have been.”

I wondered how often Les left her out of the plan. That was probably unfair, if only because Les didn’t seem the type ever to have a plan—beyond securing the next fix.

“Did they say anything else? Anything about this guy they were expecting?”

“No. You don’t have it right. They weren’t expecting anybody, only him, he was. And she was pissed because he hadn’t told her.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry.” Having remembered her story, she was sticking to it. “What did the girl look like?”

“Tall, blond hair, I think. I didn’t get a really good look at her. She was wearing, like, a ski parka. And a wool hat pulled down over her head.”

“How old?”

“Same age. As the boy, I mean. Young, twenty, maybe less. I don’t know.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. I mean, they shouted back and forth three or four times, I think. The same thing about where is he, how should I know, then they went inside. We left.”

“And when you came back?”

“Didn’t see them again.”

“Were they still here, you think?”

She shrugged.

“What time did you come back?”

“I don’t know. Ten thirty, eleven, maybe.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t see them again?”

“No.”

She looked up at me with her sunken eyes. “Can I have my fix now, please. I need it.”

I looked over at the bathroom door and made one more stab.