Bait: A Novel (5 page)

TWO DAYS AGO.

“H
ow much did that cost you?” Kenny asked.

“No different from anywhere else,” Merle replied.

Kenny Colbert shifted his weight uneasily in the leather armchair. He was getting antsy. Looking at the tar turning in Merle’s fingers made him twitch with delight.

Matty, on the other hand, sat completely still. His voice was soft, as if raising it might disrupt preparations. “Except this stuff ain’t like that weak-ass shit
you
keep buying.”

Kenny was defensive. “My shit ain’t bad.”

Matty and Merle exchanged a smirk on the sofa. Kenny leaned forward in his seat, gawking at them for validation.

“C’mon, my shit ain’t
too
bad. . . .”

“Your shit ain’t too good either, kid,” said Merle. “We gotta expand your palette.”

“And you need to learn to take your medicine properly,” Matty added, nodding to a syringe lying at the end of the coffee table. “Like a grown-up.”

“I told you needles freak me out,” Kenny whined. “I ain’t sticking myself.”

Matty groaned. “Oh, don’t be such a pussy. You don’t get your money’s worth freebasing. You gotta inject for best effect.”

“I
don’t
like needles, Matty.”

“Love this kid,” laughed Merle. “No matter what, he sticks to his guns.”

Merle reached over and gave Kenny’s neck a squeeze, fingers lingering longer than appropriate. Kenny shrugged the grip off and leaned away. He hated being a third wheel to Matty and Merle, or M&M, as they were called. As far as Kenny was concerned, Matty was the only piece of candy between them. His beige skin and curly brown hair, complemented by his almond eyes, were almost too sweet. Merle was bland in comparison. He was much older, gaining weight and graying around the edges, but always had money to blow. Being equal amounts dealer, thief, and pimp, Merle was bringing in a lot of disposable income. His little whore Matty generated a good portion of it too. Being too old to hook himself anymore, Merle had a kind of father-figure complex going on with his escort-in-training, although it didn’t stop him burying his dick in Matty when Kenny wasn’t around. And it didn’t stop the older man from trying it on with Matty’s friends every now and then.

“How much longer?” Kenny asked. “I’m fucking jonesing here.”

Kenny looked at the time displayed on a large and completely out of place antique grandfather clock standing next to the fifty-inch flat-screen TV on the opposite wall, both taken in trade. He watched the second hand tick, faster than it should, though time itself was dragging. Kenny needed his hit hours ago.

“Be patient,” Matty said. “You want it done right, not done fast.”

Merle’s cell phone chirped and he retrieved it from his pocket. He was smiling when he looked at the call display. The smile fell when he recognized the number. Creases appeared on his brow. He rose from the couch with a grunt.

“Take over, Matty,” he ordered. “I have to take this call.”

“Jesus, Merle. C’mon, we’re right in the middle of fixing our—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Merle spat. “Some things are a little more important than your goddamn tar.”

Kenny didn’t like the tone of Merle’s voice. This was pimp-Merle, the
don’t you dare fuck with me
part that revealed itself on occasion. Matty should have folded, but he decided to be a little bitch instead.

“Like
what
, Merle? What’s more important than this? Please tell me, because I really, really want to know.”

Kenny was sure Matty would receive a slap for his insolence, and he might have, had the incessant ringing of Merle’s incoming call not forced the older man to leave the room for some privacy.

“Take care of Kenny,” Merle said over his shoulder as he headed for the bedroom. “And prep my dose. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Merle slammed the bedroom door behind him, making Kenny flinch. Matty didn’t even bat an eye, taking over the preparations with an unimpressed shake of his head.

“What was that about?” Kenny asked.

Matty shrugged. “Who cares?”

“Don’t you?”

Matty rolled his eyes. He wasn’t interested in anything his pimp-daddy was talking about. His only interest was the heroin laid out before them. Kenny’s curiosity, however, was aroused.

“Is he talking business?” Kenny asked.

“He’s always talking business,” Matty said. “He doesn’t talk anything else.”

“What’s he got going on these days?”

Matty turned an impatient grin on him. “Hey, you wanna get high or you wanna keep flapping your lips?”

Kenny realized then just how much Matty didn’t want to talk about Merle or Merle’s business, probably because it involved his own fine naked form in all kinds of compromising positions.

“High,” Kenny said, and he turned his attention back to the junk.

“Wait here a second,” Matty whispered.

He tiptoed to the kitchen and rummaged around in some drawers, returning a minute later with a secretive smile on his face and something in his hand.

“I’ve got a present for you.”

“You do?”

“Uh-huh, but don’t tell Merle, okay?”

“I won’t. Cross my heart.”

Matty held out his hand, a small packet of white powder in his palm. “Forget that tar, I’m treating you to something better. Merle picks up from this particular connection once in a while. It’s not too often, only when the supplier comes into town, which is a pity because this shit is incredible. It comes from Afghanistan, straight from the source. That’s where they grow the best poppies on the planet.”

“Yeah?” Kenny grinned. “Awesome.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, sweetheart. Quality control is in short supply these days, but this here is triple-A rated. You ready for your medicine?”

“Yeah, just let me take a leak first.”

Kenny rose and made his way to the bathroom. If the stuff was as good as Matty was saying, he worried about wetting himself. Once, while tripping, Kenny’s bladder had relaxed involuntarily under the influence of premium quality. He passed the closed bedroom door where Merle was taking his phone call and heard a muffled voice speaking rapidly with stress. Curious, Kenny strained to hear the conversation, figuring Merle was talking to a prospective client about Matty and his services.

“. . . Look, I know what type of guy you need. I’m just saying he’s not a bad boy. . . . Yeah, I understand, you don’t need to remind me of that. . . . Look, a deal’s a deal. Have I ever not come through before? He’s what you want . . . he fits your
profile
 . . . yes . . . yes . . . I’ll have him gift-wrapped for you in less than twenty-four hours. . . .”

Kenny leaned away from the door, no longer comfortable with wanting to hear the sordid details of what sexual favors Matty was capable of providing for what prices. His friend never spoke much about what he did to earn his keep and Kenny felt suddenly guilty for eavesdropping. His own parents, people of wealth and influence, had argued regularly in the privacy of their bedroom when he was a child. Cupping a curious ear to their closed door had been one of his biggest regrets, an action that led him to discover the extent of the hatred his father had for his “faggot son.” His mother wasn’t much better, convinced that Kenny’s homosexuality was a phase, and that with the help of prayer and patience, God would straighten him out. Wishful thinking, Kenny knew even back then. At sixteen he was kicked out of the house after being caught in the basement with his hand down the pants of an older boy. In less than twenty-four hours he was on the street with nothing but the suitcase his mother had packed and his father’s final words still ringing in his ears.

You made your choice to be an affront to God, son. Your mother and I don’t ever want to see you again.

Kenny took his piss and returned to the living room, perturbed by memories, not wanting them in his head anymore. The junk would help. He wished he had the balls to cross the line to injection, but freebasing was his m.o. After all, Kenny sucked like a vacuum cleaner. Numerous men could testify to that.

“Here’s the prom queen.” Matty chuckled. “Just in time.”

Kenny plopped down in the armchair. Matty had his hit prepped, lighter already cooking the underside of an aluminum foil square. Kenny’s eyes strayed to the syringe nearby. Matty noticed.

“Thinking about a change in tactics?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Why now?”

“I want the whole nine yards. I want to chase away my demons and not have them come knocking for a while.”

Matty smiled. “Smoking or shooting, this shit will do that regardless. I promise.”

“I hate this stupid hang-up I have with needles. . . .”

“Next time, Kenny,” Matty cooed. “We’ll hook it up for you next time.”

“Fucking things scare me. They always have.”

Matty caressed Kenny’s hand. “Look, I’ll shoot you up myself when you’re ready. You’ll barely even feel the pinch when that junk hits your bloodstream, okay? But for now just stick with what works for you.”

Kenny looked at the syringe again. “What’s it like, shooting that stuff?”

Matty grinned. “It’s like . . . having this wonderful wiggly worm inside your head.”

He held out the hit. Kenny leaned forward with his pipe and inhaled the fumes rising from the foil until his relaxing muscles caused him to fall back into the cushions. He closed his eyes, diving headfirst into the drug’s euphoria, the plunge peeling away his worries and stretching time over the ticking of the grandfather clock. Faintly, in the center of his head, he was sure he could sense that worm Matty was talking about, wiggling, dancing, making love to his gray matter. Kenny trilled with delight.

“Best shit ever.”

NOW.

“G
ood shit is harder than ever to get,” Kenny said. “But I still score some prime now and then.”

“Yeah, I heard Overtown rolls out some good grade,” said Felix. “In Liberty City you’re lucky if you don’t get jacked with a score of baking soda. I’ve blown B.S. up my arm more than a few times.”

“Buying off a corner is a fucking fool’s game,” Ginger said. “You got to get in with a dealer you can trust.”

Felix thrust his hips forward. “Or let a dealer get in you, right?”

Ginger thought of Curtis. “Bite me.”

Felix laughed. “Hell no, honey, you’d bite back.”

A wry smile curled the corners of Ginger’s mouth. Felix warmed to it.

“Who am I to judge anyway?” he continued. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I done for tar in my day.”

“Fuck, can we stop talking about dope for a minute?” Nash said, clutching his pained stomach. “You guys are making me hungry.”

“Shit, man, what else is there to do?” Felix said, looking around at the sea and sand. “You wanna go for a dip? Work on your tan?”

“I want to get some answers.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Well, it appears there’s someone else on this island we ain’t met yet.” Nash stood carefully, so as not to strain the ache in his gut. He pointed toward the footprints leading from the beach to the grass and trees. “I say we follow the trail.”

Felix shrugged. No one seemed to have a better suggestion. Nash took the lead, the others falling in behind. Only Ginger held back, reluctant to be led by the likes of a man she was at odds with. Kenny glanced back repeatedly, his worried eyes insistent that she follow.

“C’mon, Ginger.”

She ran to catch up, knowing the boy wouldn’t fare well without her. They hiked single file through the brush, tramping down tall grass and swatting aside branches, following the trail as best they could. Once they passed the tree line they were engulfed by leaves and bark. Hot, muggy air stuck to their skin inside the thicket. Insects buzzed in the vegetation and scuttled out of their way. Within minutes they’d transgressed the small forest center to the opposite side of what was indeed an island, no more than several hundred yards in width. Another beach came into view, looking identical to the one they had just come from, except for the solitary human being sitting on the sand a hundred yards up the shoreline.

Nash turned to Felix. “How about we go introduce ourselves to Robinson fucking Crusoe over there?”

Felix gave Nash a sly smile. “Try calling me your man Friday at some point, see what happens.”

Felix chuckled at Nash’s wide-eyed look of surprise and took the lead, making his way toward the new player on the beach. The stranger did not appear to notice. As they neared they saw he was seated next to a metal trunk, lid flipped open. Felix called out, but the man didn’t react. He only watched from the corner of his eye. Felix broke into a jog, arriving on the man’s scene ahead of the others.

“Who you?” Felix said with a jab of his chin.

The mulatto’s eyes were dull, his smirk even more so. No doubt he was one of their kind, track marks and all. He looked the oldest and most abused out of everyone. Erratic nappy hair, clothes in shit state, scratches and scars peppering every exposed piece of beige skin. In the center of his gray, nicotine-stained beard was a trace of a smile that simply said
I am incapable of giving a shit about anything anymore.
Ginger and Kenny both took a curious step toward the open trunk, but the man stopped them with a glance. Felix stepped closer to the man so as to tower over him.

“Hey, I asked you a question.”

No answer. With a grunt Felix balled his hands into fists. Nash jumped in, knowing that Felix was aching for an excuse to beat on someone.

“Nash, Felix, Ginger, Kenny, Maria, that’s us,” Nash said, waving a hand toward each person to match him or her with a name. “C’mon, let’s start off on the right foot. What’s your name, pal?”

“Tallahassee Jones,” replied the man lazily. “Call me Tal, if you must.”

Felix sucked air through his teeth, but his hands relaxed. Nash breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted no violence today, black on black or otherwise.

“Tal it is,” said Nash. “You have any idea what’s going on? Or are you as much in the dark as we are?”

“I got a bit of light to shed,” he replied. “It ain’t much, though.”

Tal dipped his lined forehead toward the open trunk beside him. Maria hung back, afraid, but the other four stationed themselves at the corners and looked inside. Neatly placed in the confines were six sandwiches wrapped in plastic, an armful of apples, a box of energy bars, and a dozen bottles of water.

“What’s this, a frigging
picnic
?” Ginger seethed.

The others were speechless. Wedged between the bottles and the side of the trunk was a plain white envelope torn open at one end.

“Okay, can someone please explain this to me?” Kenny whined. “Like, right fucking now?”

No one said anything. Kenny looked back and forth between Nash and Felix, wanting someone to say something that made a shred of sense. Every passing second of silence added another dent in his worried expression. Maria inched her way to the box and leaned in for a look, braced as if she expected something to spring out and attack her. Felix reached inside and picked up one of the sandwiches. He turned it over in his hands, wondering if it might be poisoned.

“Ham and cheese, anyone?” he said.

“You first,” Ginger said. “Age before beauty.”

Felix snorted. “No one beautiful around here as far as I can tell.”

“Read what’s in the envelope,” Tal advised.

Ginger reached for the envelope, but Nash beat her to it. He slid the folded letter out, a paragraph of black type on white unfolding before his eyes. The others held their breath. Nash read the message aloud, slowly, carefully.

“Dear civilians,

“Please know that no one will be coming to your aid. Much effort has been made to ensure this. Enjoy what has been provided, but also know that it is all the sustenance you shall receive here. Food and water will only get you so far, as there is something else you desire, and will continue to more and more as time passes. If you want your next hit, you will have to earn it. Your target is the island across the channel to the north, where another box of supplies awaits. This one also contains an allotment of the purest, highest-quality heroin you will ever experience, guaranteed. Further instructions are in the next box. Begin whenever you wish.”

There was one additional line that Nash failed to mention to the others. He read it silently to himself as he folded the note.

You
are being observed at all times
.

Dumbstruck silence followed. The letter’s contents were too much for everyone to digest at once. Nash held on to the note. No one seemed to want to read it for themselves. Tal eyed Nash with a raised eyebrow, fully aware that the last line had been left out.

“Who the hell left this for us?” squawked Kenny.

“My bet is on
them
,” Tal said and stood.

He outstretched his arm and pointed a crooked finger at the sea. Beyond was the target island referred to in the letter, roughly a mile out from where they stood. Anchored in the water between them and the island was a large motor yacht.

“A boat?” asked Maria, eyes alight with hope.

Nash was shocked that none of them except Tal had noticed until now. As soon as Kenny saw it he ran to the edge of the water, arms flailing.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hey! Over here!”

Ginger and Felix were quick to join in the frantic flagging. Tal chuckled at the furor of the three and turned a wry smile on Nash. Nash didn’t like it. It was an extension of Tal’s
I can’t give a shit anymore
expression that suggested something more sinister.

I think I preferred being in the dark,
Nash thought.

He and Maria peered at the stationary boat. The distance didn’t allow for much detail, but Nash could make out the dark shapes of two figures standing on the bow of the white vessel. The commotion on the shore was not stirring a reaction from them, yet it was clear they were looking in the right direction. Soon a third figure emerged and joined the other silhouettes. The three stood motionless, observing the six stranded souls on the distant beach.

“C’mon, we’re not that far away,” Felix said, dreadlocks shaking in disbelief.

He waved his arms once more and stopped. Ginger had already quit. The lack of participation from Nash, Maria, and Tal told her all she needed to know. Kenny kept up his antics, unhampered by the others’ refusal to continue.

“Are they goddamn
blind
?” shrieked Kenny. “We’re right fucking
here
!”

“They can see us,” said Nash. “They know we’re here, because they’re the ones that put us here.”

Kenny whirled around, shocked eyes tearing up, baby face twisted into a pulsating pink knot. The look of defeat on all their faces angered and terrified him at once, prompting him to kick at the sand.

“This is
bullshit
.”

A breeze ruffled the paper in Nash’s hand, attracting the attention of Felix. He signaled for the note and Nash passed it to him. Felix read it over silently. He too failed to make mention of the last line to the others.

“It’s from those guys,” said Felix. “It has to be. That boat and this letter are one and the same.”

“What do they want from us?” asked Maria.

“They want us to make our move.”

“Our move?” whined Kenny. “What is it we’re supposed to do?”

It was obvious from the letter what they were supposed to do, but no one spoke, no one wanted to admit as much. Their gazes drifted from the boat to the channel that separated them from the other island. It looked relatively calm, shades of blue darkening with the depths away from shore. Despite its serenity, the idea of traversing it churned their guts. A mile was a hell of a distance to swim, and Christ knew what was lurking in those waters.

“We’d never make it anyway,” Felix said finally.

“We might,” said Nash.

From the corner of his eye Nash saw Tal scratch his ear like a dog with fleas. In front of him Ginger raked her nails feverishly over the skin on the back of her neck. Another cramp twisted Nash’s intestines. Kenny kicked sand in the direction of the next island, showering grains into the water.

“Fuck
that
,” spat Kenny. “No frigging way. Not doing it. Never gonna happen.”

There was silent agreement. It was suicide. The six of them stood defiantly on the shore and did not move for quite some time. Neither did the three figures on the boat.

“This could go on all damn day,” Tal finally said and walked away.