The Spider Inside (11 page)

Going the opposite direction of Soup and Two Step, Nik drove
home slowly, carefully. No matter how much he wanted to just twist back the
throttle and fucking go, he didn’t. He would not allow himself to do so. The
fact that it was so hard for him made him think a little harder about himself,
how he seemed to be pretty much addicted to speed in all its forms, that maybe
if he was going to do what he was planning on doing, what he finally had the
chance to really, actually do, that maybe he should consider getting a
different vehicle. Maybe he should trade his bike in and get something that was
not only a little more inconspicuous but slower, too. He didn’t need to be
racing around L.A. at all hours of the day and night, and it was stupid of him
to have done so for so long. It showed a lack of discipline, a lack of common
sense and self control. Something that Martin would do.

This thought made him wince a little, and he hated it but
yes, it was something Martin would do. He could see him now, that stupid hippie
grin on his face lighting up a little when he got behind the wheel of some
shiny sports car (in Nik’s mind there was no way Martin would ever be able to
drive a bike, especially one like his). Martin would be the kind of asshole
that would run a red light and t-bone a cop car while he was loaded on
something and had a pound of dope in the car to boot.

No, he didn’t need to speed. He’d never speed again. He’d
never be as stupid and careless as Martin. He was smarter than him, better than
him, and it was time he started acting like it.

At a stoplight Nik took time to readjust the duffel bag on
his shoulder. There had been no way for him to get the bag in the compartment
of his bike, it had simply been too big. All he had to do was make it home and
then he could unpack and sit down and really think about what came next. He
needed to find out who Sue got the H from. As far as he knew Xander didn’t deal
skag, none of God’s people did...with them it was nothing but crystal meth. It
could be though, that he didn’t know Xander dealt heroin because he didn’t
do
heroin.

The light turned green and he rolled forward, accelerating
slowly and smoothly, just like any other responsible motorist would do.

The first thing he did at home was lock the doors and unplug
the phone. It didn’t matter who it was, if anyone came knocking he would
not
answer.

He cleared off the coffee table and started emptying his
pockets, dropping handfuls of capsules on the scarred wood surface, the same
capsules Sue had been handing out awhile ago at her party. His mind was having
a hard time recognizing the pile, comprehending it. There was enough shit here
for him to stay up and spin like a fucking top twenty-four hours a day for a
solid month, and that still left the duffel bag.

He unzipped it and took out, carefully, the first brick. It
was heavier than it looked like it should be, and wrapped in plain brown wax
paper. He set it on the table in front of him, then dipped his hands back into
the bag. He set a second identical brick down next to the first one, then took
out a third and set it atop the other two. Nik tried to swallow and couldn’t,
found there was no spit for him to swallow.

He took out two more bricks that had the same proportions
but were of a slightly lighter weight and wrapped in white paper.

He took out a gallon-size Ziploc bag stuffed full of the
same little capsules he’d taken out of his pockets. He took out another Ziploc
bag the same size, this one filled with shrooms, just caps and stems, no shake.
The last thing was another gallon Ziploc bag, stuffed full of what he knew to
be Vicodin, he could tell by the little M-357 scored on one side. How many were
in there? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. All that mattered is that he could
probably sell them for four or five bucks a pill, maybe even six if someone
were really looking hard and having trouble scoring.

What were mushrooms going for now? Most importantly, what
were in those bricks? He thought the ones wrapped in brown paper might be
heroin, and the others coke. He had no basis for this, just a hunch, but it
would be easy enough to find out. And fun, too.

Nik laughed aloud, alone in his apartment. His palms were as
sweaty as his mouth was dry.

The meth, what to do with all this meth? The short answer
was keep it, of course. He could hang on to this stuff and not have to worry
about scoring for a good long while.

But where would that leave him?

He didn’t want to be a fucking junky, not any more than he
already was, anyway. He wanted to sell, that was where the money was at. Sure
he was doing all right now punting to his friends but that was chump change. He
wanted more, and he wouldn’t get it by sitting on his couch snorting meth.

He had to be careful, though. He had to empty the caps and
get rid of what they came in, those were trademark Sue, and everyone that knew
her would know immediately where he got them. He would want to re-package
whatever was in those bricks, too. Again, he didn’t know if Xander dealt in
coke or smack, but he sure didn’t want to find out by being accused of ripping
Sue, and by extension Xander, off. He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was
post-mortem, but didn’t want to be made an example of to teach everyone else,
either.

After finally falling into a hot, unsatisfying sleep, Jim
crashed for about twelve hours out of sheer exhaustion. He was awoken with the
need to empty his bladder. The experience was just as unpleasant as before, if
not more so. He thought the smell might be a little worse and wondered idly
what he was doing to his body.

In the living room he turned on the television and sat on
the couch. There was a little light leaking in around the edges of the
curtains. It was about noon.

He was hungry, he was tired, he ached, he wanted more gack
and at the same time his nerve endings all screamed against it, railed hard
against the idea of doing more before getting more rest...not just sleep, but
rest
.
He needed some time off, period, or he was going to have a serious problem. He
wondered again about his health, about the brownish color of his piss, the ache
in his joints, the lack of sleep.

All these things were second to one thought: Cherry. He
wanted to see Cherry, more than anything. He needed to see her. Jim picked up
the phone and tried calling but she either wasn’t home or didn’t answer the
phone. Where could she be? Was she out with someone else? Jim stared blankly at
the television screen, the images washing over him but provoking no response or
emotion. He might as well have been looking at the wall. The fuzz in his head
made it hard for him to really think out a plan. He knew he needed sleep, but
he didn’t want to sleep.

He wanted to see Cherry.

Jim went into the bathroom and took a long shower, the water
hot at first, until he felt good and clean, then he gradually turned the water
colder and colder until he was wide awake, his head clear, or as close to it as
he could manage.

Out of the shower he found clean clothes...his last pair of
clean socks and last clean shirt and reminded himself to do some laundry.

He grabbed his wallet and his smokes and his lighter, the
one with the secret compartment in the bottom where he put his stash. It would
actually hold quite a bit if he packed it right but he didn’t have much to
carry so it wasn’t an issue. He didn’t want to do it, not right now, but he
knew at some point he would and wanted to have it handy when the time came
around.

Jim started to walk. He stopped at the ATM in the little
corner store up the street and checked his account, still surprised at the
amount of money he had. In late April he’d gotten a lump sum deposited into the
account and wasn’t sure why, had no explanation except for it must have been
his parents, for some reason. He hadn’t talked to them in ages but decided he
should swing by, check on his dad.

He withdrew the cash and forgot about it for the time being.
In a couple days when he had some rest he would take care of it. He was in no
shape or mood to speak to his mother right now, and didn’t think he could
handle seeing his dad, not right now, not after the way the old man had looked
the last time Jim saw him.

Jim bought another pack of smokes, a box of pizza rolls and
a bottle of water. He heated the pizza rolls up in the microwave in the back
and then ate them standing in front of the store. When he was done he felt a
little better. He drank almost half the water in one long, blissful swallow.
Jim finished the water and lit a smoke and started walking again, taking it
nice and slow, just keeping an easy pace. He was still tired at the core of
himself for one thing, the other was it was starting to heat up and he didn’t
want to sweat.

It took him about half an hour to get to Cherry’s apartment
complex.

He knocked on the door and no one answered. He knocked
again, and nothing. Cherry’s apartment was a corner unit at the end of the hall
so Jim sat down against the end wall and waited.

Twenty minutes later, when Cherry came home from the market,
she found Jim asleep next to her door. He looked so much younger when he was
asleep. She wondered how long he’d been sitting there and she put down her
groceries and knelt next to him, and woke him up by whispering in his ear.

After awakening him in the hall they’d gone inside and
Cherry cooked up a nice late lunch for the two of them. Though it was only two
in the afternoon when they were done they popped open the bottle of wine Cherry
had purchased, and had it with some crackers and brie.

Jim felt a pleasant warmth inside himself and in his head
and was a little surprised at how much he was feeling just the glass and a half
of wine he’d so far consumed. He still felt sleepy, but there were more
important things than sleep. He put his wine glass down on the coffee table in
front of him and turned to Cherry, who sat next to him on the couch. She smiled
and brushed her hair back behind her ear. He watched the color rise in her
cheeks and put his hand on her knee.

Jim remembered all times he had acted all confident and
suave around her, while in his head his mind was spinning like a roulette
wheel, trying to think of something to say. He opened his mouth and leaned
forward a little.

“Cherry...” he said.

She leaned forward and they kissed. Her lips tasted like
wine and he wanted to drink of them until the end of the world. She put her
hands on either side of his face and pulled his lips harder against her own.

In the bedroom he worried about how long he might last, it
had been a long time since he’d last had sex, and it had been awhile since he’d
masturbated too. Just watching her take her shirt off, seeing her lean, perfect
body in the sunlight coming through the window, seeing her standing there with
nothing on but her bra and panties, unhooking the bra and climbing into bed
with him, all this time he felt as if he were just on the very edge of his
orgasm, was sure he would blow at the very first touch of her hands on his
naked skin.

She seemed to sense this and started by just rubbing his
chest and his neck and then laying next to him, kissing him softly, not
grinding against him too much beneath the cool cotton sheets. Jim slowly kissed
his way down her body and used his tongue and fingers on her until she pulled
him back up. He’d cooled down a little and they took the sex slowly, slowly,
and when he came she came with him.

Jim turned over onto his side and looked at her, and she was
just the way she always was in his head when he thought of her. Her eyes were
half closed and she had a contented little smile on her face that was fading a
little as she fell toward sleep. Her curtains were open a little and the
sunlight was coming in. It turned the fire-engine red streak in the front of
her hair into a strand of drawn fire amongst the light brown that was her
natural color.

He was following her down into sleep, wonderful sleep, and had
just closed his eyes and then nothing, but not for long enough. As though
through a tunnel or from the bottom of a well he heard the phone ringing, long,
slow rings, louder and more piercing with each passing tone. Just when Jim
thought it had stopped he heard Cherry answering it and this finally pulled him
back up from beneath the warm blanket of darkness that was fighting so hard to
close over him.

Jim opened his eyes and looked at Cherry. He could tell by
the light in the room that some time had passed, surely no more than three or
four hours. She was sitting up with the sheet gathered against her and on the
phone and she turned and looked over at him.

“Two Step’s on the phone. He said Alice has the hottest
glass to come through in a while.”

“That good?”

“What he says. Better than that blue shit from New Mexico.”

“Bullshit,” Jim said, sitting up.

“It’s what he says,” Cherry said, shrugging. “He wants to
know if they should pick us up?”

“What do you think?” Jim asked, part of him really wanting
to taste this new glass, most of him thinking please say no, say no, say no.

But Cherry had left Sue’s party long before him. She’d had a
good couple days to rest and adjust. A smile spread across her face, a
different smile from the one he’d so admired only a few hours before. Cherry
shrugged.

“Fuck it,” Jim said. “Tell him twenty minutes.”

Cherry turned back to the phone and relayed the message and
Jim got out of bed and started to dress, his limbs still weak and his bones
still grinding in the sockets, his eyes still feeling hot and dry. He wanted to
sleep to fix all these things.

But,
Jim thought,
there’s another way to fix them,
too
.