how much. Aye? Let’s us go on.”
The doorway were only ten feet or so behind. Wouldn’t take he a minute to get back in there.
But Amy were smiling at him, like she’d forgotten all about how she’d been unhappy earlier. He sure weren’t gonna fuck that up by explaining it weren’t about being jealous or some shit—he weren’t—just that by doing that to her Roley had been challenging him. Just like he saying on Chess, just like he saying he were gonna chatter with Bump. All Roley trying him.
Not to mention he ain’t liked men pulling that kinda shit with any dames.
But dealing with Roley weren’t something he had to do that minute, neither. Weren’t like Roley wouldn’t be around the next day or the day after. No emergency or aught like that.
And he couldn’t deny that taking Amy home sounded good. Two ways he’d found to calm heself down: hitting were one, and the other was what she was clearly inviting him to do.
So he pushed thoughts of Roley, Slick, the whores, and especially Chess outta he mind, and headed for the Chevelle.
C HAPTER S IX
S HARP-EYE B EN WEREN'T answering he door, but Terrible knew he were inside; he’d been watching for over an hour, and he’d seen Ben go in not two minutes afore. Couldn’t wait longer than that, causen Ben probably scored while he were out, and iffen Terrible gave him long enough to shoot up he’d be too juiced to be any use at all.
He gave one more knock, banging the door hard. No answer. Right, then. Ben’s own fucking fault. He stepped back and kicked the door, hard, so it bulged and splintered at the frame. “Ben! Open the fuck up.”
No answer. He kicked the door again. This time a couple shards of wood broke off; the door cracked down the middle but ain’t split. “Last chance, Ben. I gotta break you door, I ain’t be happy, dig?”
After a second Ben’s voice came thin through the destroyed wood. “Aye, just a—just gimme one, aye, just a hold-on one minute.”
Was Ben tryna climb out a window, or get that spike in his arm before he had to talk? Fuck that. Terrible gave the door a final kick; it broke down and across, the parts with hinges falling open and the bottom falling to the floor.
Ben shrieked. Tryna get the needle in, he were; already had heself tied off. Terrible crossed the floor in three steps, used his open right hand to smack Ben’s face while yanking the needle away with his left. He held it over his head. “Where the money?”
Ben held his cheek. Fucking drama queen; Terrible barely hit him. “Got it. I got it. Swearing I do. Got me some knowledge too, got it, asked like you said. Gimme my spike, aye? Just gimme it, I give you—”
“Lashers an knowledge,” Terrible said, shaking his head. “Then you get yon spike back. Dig? Not before. Give it over.”
He tried not to look at Ben’s arm, the ugly tracks up and down the inside of it. Made him sad, iffen he were honest. The needle … the needle were the last place, the place where they admitted they weren’t even trying no more. And as always when he saw those, on anybody, he thought of Chess, hoped she never got there. Wondered what he’d do iffen she did.
Nothing, probably, causen it weren’t his fucking business, and he oughta stop thinking like it were. She weren’t his woman. Just his friend, and he had no right telling her what she oughta do or not do. Hell, even were she his woman he wouldn’t have that right. Specially when it weren’t like he were perfect, and specially when he knew—he’d come to know—that she had some serious shit to forget, and who the fuck was he to say she took the wrong way on forgetting it? Some might say he were just as bad, beating on people to forget whatany bothered him.
Some might say he were worse. They’d be right.
Ben’s head dipped. “Lemme get it, aye? Inna kitchen, see? Onna counter. See it?”
The money were on the counter, a fold of crisp new lashers layin there. Looked like all of Ben’s
The doorway were only ten feet or so behind. Wouldn’t take he a minute to get back in there.
But Amy were smiling at him, like she’d forgotten all about how she’d been unhappy earlier. He sure weren’t gonna fuck that up by explaining it weren’t about being jealous or some shit—he weren’t—just that by doing that to her Roley had been challenging him. Just like he saying on Chess, just like he saying he were gonna chatter with Bump. All Roley trying him.
Not to mention he ain’t liked men pulling that kinda shit with any dames.
But dealing with Roley weren’t something he had to do that minute, neither. Weren’t like Roley wouldn’t be around the next day or the day after. No emergency or aught like that.
And he couldn’t deny that taking Amy home sounded good. Two ways he’d found to calm heself down: hitting were one, and the other was what she was clearly inviting him to do.
So he pushed thoughts of Roley, Slick, the whores, and especially Chess outta he mind, and headed for the Chevelle.
C HAPTER S IX
S HARP-EYE B EN WEREN'T answering he door, but Terrible knew he were inside; he’d been watching for over an hour, and he’d seen Ben go in not two minutes afore. Couldn’t wait longer than that, causen Ben probably scored while he were out, and iffen Terrible gave him long enough to shoot up he’d be too juiced to be any use at all.
He gave one more knock, banging the door hard. No answer. Right, then. Ben’s own fucking fault. He stepped back and kicked the door, hard, so it bulged and splintered at the frame. “Ben! Open the fuck up.”
No answer. He kicked the door again. This time a couple shards of wood broke off; the door cracked down the middle but ain’t split. “Last chance, Ben. I gotta break you door, I ain’t be happy, dig?”
After a second Ben’s voice came thin through the destroyed wood. “Aye, just a—just gimme one, aye, just a hold-on one minute.”
Was Ben tryna climb out a window, or get that spike in his arm before he had to talk? Fuck that. Terrible gave the door a final kick; it broke down and across, the parts with hinges falling open and the bottom falling to the floor.
Ben shrieked. Tryna get the needle in, he were; already had heself tied off. Terrible crossed the floor in three steps, used his open right hand to smack Ben’s face while yanking the needle away with his left. He held it over his head. “Where the money?”
Ben held his cheek. Fucking drama queen; Terrible barely hit him. “Got it. I got it. Swearing I do. Got me some knowledge too, got it, asked like you said. Gimme my spike, aye? Just gimme it, I give you—”
“Lashers an knowledge,” Terrible said, shaking his head. “Then you get yon spike back. Dig? Not before. Give it over.”
He tried not to look at Ben’s arm, the ugly tracks up and down the inside of it. Made him sad, iffen he were honest. The needle … the needle were the last place, the place where they admitted they weren’t even trying no more. And as always when he saw those, on anybody, he thought of Chess, hoped she never got there. Wondered what he’d do iffen she did.
Nothing, probably, causen it weren’t his fucking business, and he oughta stop thinking like it were. She weren’t his woman. Just his friend, and he had no right telling her what she oughta do or not do. Hell, even were she his woman he wouldn’t have that right. Specially when it weren’t like he were perfect, and specially when he knew—he’d come to know—that she had some serious shit to forget, and who the fuck was he to say she took the wrong way on forgetting it? Some might say he were just as bad, beating on people to forget whatany bothered him.
Some might say he were worse. They’d be right.
Ben’s head dipped. “Lemme get it, aye? Inna kitchen, see? Onna counter. See it?”
The money were on the counter, a fold of crisp new lashers layin there. Looked like all of Ben’s
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