dying.”
“Just shut up and answer questions. What was the last fix?”
She turned a bit, her back half toward him. “Cap and a half.”
“Main-lined? Yes. I saw the new marks. Kid, do you want to kick the habit?”
“Right now, yes.”
“How do you mean, right now?”
“I do and I don’t. I can’t explain. Sometimes I think of what’s happening to me. I mean, the way it’s making me look. Then I want to kick it. But not cold. A taper. Then… Oh, hell, Vern. What’s left if I do? What’s left for me? I’ve already spoiled one kind of life, and there’s only the other kind. Nothing in the middle.”
“What were you thinking about when I came in?”
“Killing myself. I was thinking about different ways.”
“That would be a nice mess.”
“It would be easier than the way I feel. I spoiled my only connection Friday. I don’t know how to get another one.”
“Maybe I can do something.”
She turned quickly and he saw her immediate misinterpretation, written shrill across her eyes. “I’ll do anything you want me to do, Vern. Anything. Honest to God.”
“I don’t mean that. I’d like to see you kick it. You’ll feel different when you’re out from under. God, you’re seventeen and you look twenty-five.”
“I know.”
“I can’t get in touch with the right people until tomorrow. Then I might not hear for a couple of days.”
“I can’t stand it that long. I can’t stand it.”
“I don’t mean for a fix. I mean for a way to get you off it. If things work right, you can play sick and—”
“I won’t have to play hard.”
“Shut up and listen. Play sick and I can maybe get hold of the right doctor. One who won’t tell your old man the score. Just tell him you’re… well, on the verge of a nervous breakdown and ought to go into a rest home. You’ll get a cure.”
“No.”
“I tell you, you’ll get a cure. It’s not hard. They taper you off. They use other drugs that cut down the shakes.”
“They all say it’s terrible.”
“I want your solemn promise that you’ll play ball with me on this.”
“I can’t stand it that long. I’ll go crazy. I’ll do something terrible.”
“Suppose, in return for your promise, I get you enough to tide you over.”
She grabbed his arm. “Can you? Right now? Can you?”
“What about your promise?”
“Oh, yes, Vern. I’ll do it. I told you I’ll do anything.”
“A junkie’s promise. You know what that’s worth.”
“Cross my heart, Vern.”
“You won’t leave the house until you leave with the doctor?”
“No, Vern. No. Get me a strong fix. A heavy one. I need it.”
“You got an outfit here?”
“No. I was wishing I had. I was going to put a bubble in my blood. They say that kills you easy.”
“Stop that kind of talk.”
“All right, Vern. Anything you say.”
“You understand I’m taking a hell of a risk. I’m doing it because your old man gave me a break. I don’t want you to break his heart.”
“Hurry, Vern. I promised. Go get it for me.”
He went out into the hall and shut the door quietly. He recognized all the dimensions of the risk he was taking. Yet, all in all, it seemed to be a lesser risk than letting her go off, fly apart, or remake her own connection until her habit got so big it ruined her, turned her into morgue bait or a face in a line-up. In either case, Rowell would be snuffing around. This way—and certainly topside would see the necessity for co-operation—no one should be the wiser, and the kid would get a cure that she would think was the result of human kindness.
He knew he might not have much time. Yet he had to pick the safest peddler in the book. He went silently through the kitchen and let himself into the store. The red neon around the wall clock burned all week end, as a night light. He found the book under the counter and looked up the number.
Chapter Eight
AFTER THE FOURTH RING a woman answered at the number Vern Lockter called. “Is this
“Just shut up and answer questions. What was the last fix?”
She turned a bit, her back half toward him. “Cap and a half.”
“Main-lined? Yes. I saw the new marks. Kid, do you want to kick the habit?”
“Right now, yes.”
“How do you mean, right now?”
“I do and I don’t. I can’t explain. Sometimes I think of what’s happening to me. I mean, the way it’s making me look. Then I want to kick it. But not cold. A taper. Then… Oh, hell, Vern. What’s left if I do? What’s left for me? I’ve already spoiled one kind of life, and there’s only the other kind. Nothing in the middle.”
“What were you thinking about when I came in?”
“Killing myself. I was thinking about different ways.”
“That would be a nice mess.”
“It would be easier than the way I feel. I spoiled my only connection Friday. I don’t know how to get another one.”
“Maybe I can do something.”
She turned quickly and he saw her immediate misinterpretation, written shrill across her eyes. “I’ll do anything you want me to do, Vern. Anything. Honest to God.”
“I don’t mean that. I’d like to see you kick it. You’ll feel different when you’re out from under. God, you’re seventeen and you look twenty-five.”
“I know.”
“I can’t get in touch with the right people until tomorrow. Then I might not hear for a couple of days.”
“I can’t stand it that long. I can’t stand it.”
“I don’t mean for a fix. I mean for a way to get you off it. If things work right, you can play sick and—”
“I won’t have to play hard.”
“Shut up and listen. Play sick and I can maybe get hold of the right doctor. One who won’t tell your old man the score. Just tell him you’re… well, on the verge of a nervous breakdown and ought to go into a rest home. You’ll get a cure.”
“No.”
“I tell you, you’ll get a cure. It’s not hard. They taper you off. They use other drugs that cut down the shakes.”
“They all say it’s terrible.”
“I want your solemn promise that you’ll play ball with me on this.”
“I can’t stand it that long. I’ll go crazy. I’ll do something terrible.”
“Suppose, in return for your promise, I get you enough to tide you over.”
She grabbed his arm. “Can you? Right now? Can you?”
“What about your promise?”
“Oh, yes, Vern. I’ll do it. I told you I’ll do anything.”
“A junkie’s promise. You know what that’s worth.”
“Cross my heart, Vern.”
“You won’t leave the house until you leave with the doctor?”
“No, Vern. No. Get me a strong fix. A heavy one. I need it.”
“You got an outfit here?”
“No. I was wishing I had. I was going to put a bubble in my blood. They say that kills you easy.”
“Stop that kind of talk.”
“All right, Vern. Anything you say.”
“You understand I’m taking a hell of a risk. I’m doing it because your old man gave me a break. I don’t want you to break his heart.”
“Hurry, Vern. I promised. Go get it for me.”
He went out into the hall and shut the door quietly. He recognized all the dimensions of the risk he was taking. Yet, all in all, it seemed to be a lesser risk than letting her go off, fly apart, or remake her own connection until her habit got so big it ruined her, turned her into morgue bait or a face in a line-up. In either case, Rowell would be snuffing around. This way—and certainly topside would see the necessity for co-operation—no one should be the wiser, and the kid would get a cure that she would think was the result of human kindness.
He knew he might not have much time. Yet he had to pick the safest peddler in the book. He went silently through the kitchen and let himself into the store. The red neon around the wall clock burned all week end, as a night light. He found the book under the counter and looked up the number.
Chapter Eight
AFTER THE FOURTH RING a woman answered at the number Vern Lockter called. “Is this
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