smelled anything like it. After Lloyd left, Darrell dipped right in. It was too gummy to snort so he peeled off a big piece and stuck it inside his bottom lip next to his teeth. That way he knew it would work fast—get right into his system.
Darrell had already been up two straight nights cranking. He prided himself on having a high level of tolerance for meth, never showing the effects, never losing control. But this new stuff—it hit him in the chest like an iron fist. Before long he was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, can’t stop, can’t stop now , his heart thumping,fast and loud, fast, fast, fast and heavy, feeling like it was going to implode at any second and rip him to bits. Several hours of this, exhausted, feeling like he was dying, Darrell stretched out with his back on the floor and lay there the rest of the night, not moving, his eyes sealed shut, babbling, talking who-knows-what. Mary sat on the couch crying, scared and confused, with no idea what she was supposed to do. She tried prying his eyes open a few times but she couldn’t bring him back. Darrell lay there moaning and jabbering, flickering in and out of reality. He heard Mary crying and he thought she might leave him. He was lying there weak and helpless. Mary didn’t need this action. There was nothing stopping her from throwing her things together and going back home to her folks in Branson. He didn’t want her to leave, he desperately hoped she wouldn’t, but there was nothing stopping her. It might be the only good move she had left.
Sometime the next day Darrell opened his eyes and asked Mary to help him. “Please help me,” he pleaded. “Please do something.” She got him to his feet and took him outside and loaded him into her ’80 Dodge. She considered taking him to the hospital in Branson but decided against it. It was too risky. It might spark an investigation into his dealings with Lloyd. She decided to take him to Lloyd’s house near Shell Knob instead. She hated the thought of taking him down there and having to ask Lloyd for help, but she figured she had no choice. Surely Lloyd, of all people, would know how to deal with someone overdosing on bad crank.
They made it to Lloyd’s just as he was leaving for the cockfights. He took them to a trailer out back and stood there by the door, looking at Darrell, looking at Mary, really looking at Mary, checking her out good. He told them to stay put. When he got home later, at two or three in the morning, he’d see how Darrell was doing and then drive with Mary to Darrell’s house to pick up the crank that was waiting for him. “Does she know where it’s hidden?” he asked Darrell, like Mary wasn’t capable of speaking for herself. “Yeah, she knows,” Darrell said.
Mary didn’t like the looks of the situation. She’d never trusted Lloyd, she’d always expected the worst of him, and now she feltcompletely spooked with him standing there, so smug, so sure of himself, eyeballing her and Darrell. Darrell liked it even less. He was still sick, weak, and woozy, but he saw Lloyd dialing in on Mary and he knew they wouldn’t be staying. There was no way they were going to stay and wait for Lloyd to finish off whatever he’d started.
Not long after Lloyd left, Mary put Darrell back into the Dodge and they headed for Reeds Spring. They talked about it along the way, driving east on Route 86 and up Route 13 past Lampe and Kimberling City. Now everything was taking shape. The bad meth, the tainted meth—whatever it was—hadn’t been an accident. Lloyd was out to get Darrell. He wanted to hurt him, punish him, maybe even kill him. Both Mary and Darrell were certain of this. And Darrell was certain of something else besides: Lloyd was after Mary. He’d probably been after Mary since he first saw her. He was waiting for his chance—no, not just waiting, he was plotting it out, planning on getting her by herself so he could rape her, get her wired, turn her into his own
Darrell had already been up two straight nights cranking. He prided himself on having a high level of tolerance for meth, never showing the effects, never losing control. But this new stuff—it hit him in the chest like an iron fist. Before long he was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, can’t stop, can’t stop now , his heart thumping,fast and loud, fast, fast, fast and heavy, feeling like it was going to implode at any second and rip him to bits. Several hours of this, exhausted, feeling like he was dying, Darrell stretched out with his back on the floor and lay there the rest of the night, not moving, his eyes sealed shut, babbling, talking who-knows-what. Mary sat on the couch crying, scared and confused, with no idea what she was supposed to do. She tried prying his eyes open a few times but she couldn’t bring him back. Darrell lay there moaning and jabbering, flickering in and out of reality. He heard Mary crying and he thought she might leave him. He was lying there weak and helpless. Mary didn’t need this action. There was nothing stopping her from throwing her things together and going back home to her folks in Branson. He didn’t want her to leave, he desperately hoped she wouldn’t, but there was nothing stopping her. It might be the only good move she had left.
Sometime the next day Darrell opened his eyes and asked Mary to help him. “Please help me,” he pleaded. “Please do something.” She got him to his feet and took him outside and loaded him into her ’80 Dodge. She considered taking him to the hospital in Branson but decided against it. It was too risky. It might spark an investigation into his dealings with Lloyd. She decided to take him to Lloyd’s house near Shell Knob instead. She hated the thought of taking him down there and having to ask Lloyd for help, but she figured she had no choice. Surely Lloyd, of all people, would know how to deal with someone overdosing on bad crank.
They made it to Lloyd’s just as he was leaving for the cockfights. He took them to a trailer out back and stood there by the door, looking at Darrell, looking at Mary, really looking at Mary, checking her out good. He told them to stay put. When he got home later, at two or three in the morning, he’d see how Darrell was doing and then drive with Mary to Darrell’s house to pick up the crank that was waiting for him. “Does she know where it’s hidden?” he asked Darrell, like Mary wasn’t capable of speaking for herself. “Yeah, she knows,” Darrell said.
Mary didn’t like the looks of the situation. She’d never trusted Lloyd, she’d always expected the worst of him, and now she feltcompletely spooked with him standing there, so smug, so sure of himself, eyeballing her and Darrell. Darrell liked it even less. He was still sick, weak, and woozy, but he saw Lloyd dialing in on Mary and he knew they wouldn’t be staying. There was no way they were going to stay and wait for Lloyd to finish off whatever he’d started.
Not long after Lloyd left, Mary put Darrell back into the Dodge and they headed for Reeds Spring. They talked about it along the way, driving east on Route 86 and up Route 13 past Lampe and Kimberling City. Now everything was taking shape. The bad meth, the tainted meth—whatever it was—hadn’t been an accident. Lloyd was out to get Darrell. He wanted to hurt him, punish him, maybe even kill him. Both Mary and Darrell were certain of this. And Darrell was certain of something else besides: Lloyd was after Mary. He’d probably been after Mary since he first saw her. He was waiting for his chance—no, not just waiting, he was plotting it out, planning on getting her by herself so he could rape her, get her wired, turn her into his own