Death List (20 page)

It was a hot, muggy afternoon. Curtis cruised around in his old Buick for three hours, following up ads for apartments that he had seen in the local newspaper. He knew what he was looking for, but none of the places he had seen so far fit the bill.

Curtis wanted a place where there were lots of people-kids and their mothers, fathers coming home from work, and a couple of times a week bringing a few of the boys with them for beer. He wanted action around him, bodies moving all the time. That kind of a place would make his comings and goings, plus the ceaseless flow of junkies that would be visiting him, much less obvious. Living alone in a secluded little place raised the suspicions of the nosy neighbors who tended to live in those kinds of places. For the time being, anyway, Curtis wanted to lose himself in a crowd.

The end of the day was approaching fast, and Curtis knew he didn't have much time left. He had people coming at eight o'clock that night, meeting him in the backyard of his mother's place. The sun was low in the western sky, and the mugginess of the day had all but worn him out.

There was one last apartment house on his list, a place located just three blocks off of Main Street. Curtis figured that the location was good because most of the junkies he dealt with didn't have rides, and a place within walking distance would increase his business. He drove over to the Paradise Apartments and stopped in front.

The building was old and gray, with two dilapidated palm trees in front. Curtis leaned out his window and peered through the iron gates into the courtyard. A small pool was filled with children, and he could see three or four motherly types sitting around, smoking cigarettes and talking. The scene looked right.

The manager was an old black woman with two teeth missing in front. She talked with a lisp, and shook the stairway when she led Curtis up to the second-floor apartment.

"A young dude like yourself..., this is a good place." She smiled obscenely up at him, holding the door open.

The apartment was a one-bedroom, furnished in deep green and generally clean. The kitchen window looked out onto the street, and Curtis considered that a good point. Anybody coming toward the building from Main Street would have to make the turn at the end of the street. They would be visible from his kitchen.

"How much, ma'am?" Curtis asked, giving the lady his best college grin.

"Hunnerd an' ten...."

Curtis reached into his pocket, aware of the lady's careful gaze. He pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and a fifty.

"Here," he said, handing her the three-fifty. "Take it for the next three months. I don't want to be hassled with no rent for that amount of time. You dig?"

"Yessir!" the old woman replied, holding the money and wavering between giving him change or trying to rip him off for the extra twenty.

Curtis showed her to the front door, took the door key from her, and led her out onto the balcony. "And listen, ma'am, you just take that extra twenty in there and buy yourself something nice. Okay?"

The old woman was speechless. She looked up at Curtis and smiled, clutching the money in her hands. As Curtis watched her walk unsteadily across the balcony toward the stairway, he knew that there would be no problem from her-ever.

From that moment on, Curtis worked out of his new pad. It was easy going. The junkies liked it there and felt safe. The people who lived around him never knew what was coming down. They were all too busy with their own lives to worry about the lean, dark dude who had moved in upstairs. It was a good scene, and was to get even better.

Curtis saw Shirley the second day. He was standing out on the balcony, having just made a good three hundred off of one dude who was about to take a little journey to L.A. and needed some warmth for his bus ride. Curtis was feeling good, sipping a beer and watching the women and their children down by the pool.

Shirley was sitting with her three children on the patio. She was light-skinned, Mexican, with a head of the finest, blackest hair he had ever seen. Most of the other women around the pool were fat and showed signs of too many children. But not Shirley. Her bikini was small enough to reveal her long, lean legs and her rich, full thighs. Her stomach was flat, and her breasts pushed evenly against her tiny bra. Curtis watched her for the better part of an hour as she languished beneath the hot New Mexico sun.

Curtis' attention was diverted by a tall black dude who ambled into the courtyard. He watched as the man walked across the patio below directly toward Shirley. The beautiful woman said something to one of the other ladies, then got up and walked back toward her first-floor apartment. The black dude followed her, making his way along the opposite side of the pool. Curtis watched as he disappeared into her apartment.

He had never spoken with the girl, but Curtis was fuming. He couldn't understand the anger he felt, or the disappointment. It seemed impossible that he would even have a chance with such a beautiful woman, but nevertheless the rage was still there.

When the man appeared after only a couple of minutes, Curtis was relieved. At least the chick wasn't a working whore. He had seen so many housewives take on afternoon jobs to keep the spending money coming in that he automatically assumed that that was what this woman was doing. But two minutes wasn't even long enough time for them to get mellow.

The black man walked across the patio and left the apartment building. Shirley came out of her apartment a moment later. While she walked back toward her kids, she looked up at Curtis and smiled. It was the kind of look that made Curtis uncomfortable, because it revealed a knowledge in her.

The next day, Curtis watched from his living room window. He saw his old friend and one-time partner, Dan, walk into the courtyard and go to Shirley's apartment. Dan emerged a second later, strutting happily back toward the entrance.

"Dan, my man. What it is?" Curtis shouted down.

Dan stopped in his tracks and looked up at the figure of Curtis. "Hey! Curtis, baby. Wha's happenin'?"

"Come on up, Dan. Show you my pad.... I just moved in here!"

Dan looked around for a moment. He was always suspicious. When he had decided that there was nothing going on, he climbed the steps to the second story, ambled up to Curtis, and gave him a slap.

"Long time, man," Dan said, smiling.

"Yeah, baby. Come on inside and have a beer. I got some things I got to know."

Dan looked at his old friend curiously, then fol lowed Curtis into the apartment. There was still the tension of that night with Fat George between them, and Dan was highly aware of his own feelings. He was also badly in need of a fix. But that would have to wait because Dan wasn't about to admit to Curtis that he was mainlining. A few snorts had been his scene when they had been together ripping the Fernandez brothers off for a few nickels and dimes. But that had been the limit. Curtis was one of those dudes you didn't admit to using in front of, because Curtis didn't use himself. And Dan knew that Curtis would never consider taking him on as a partner if he found out that Dan was on the needle.

Dan still had hopes of getting in on the scoring end, but at the same time, he knew that his chances for making it in that kind of scene were evaporating as fast as he could puncture his veins with the needle. Time was definitely not on his side. It hadn't been since the night he had confronted Fat George.

Curtis came out of the kitchen with two cans of beer. He tossed one to Dan, then sat down in the armchair, resting his feet on the coffee table.

"How you been, Dan?"

"Groovy, Curtis. Nothin' happenin' with me that ain't fine...." Dan took a long swig of his beer.

"Still snortin' the powder?"

Dan lowered his can and stared down at the floor. "Ain't nothin' about nothin' doin' that shit, Curtis. You know that as well as me."