Chapter Ten

Stepping out of the private car he had rented, Chuck waved at the driver before making his way towards the apartment complex. Dressed in a black suit and overcoat, he ignored the quizzical stares he was getting from people in the neighborhood and entered the run-down building. Climbing three flights of stairs, he stepped into the hallway and knocked on apartment 3B. Within seconds, the door swung open and a young girl with reddish-brown hair stood facing him.

"You're definitely in the wrong neighborhood," she said with a laugh, dressed in skinny jeans and a black halter top.

"My name's Chuck Bass. You're Jane Martin right? I have a few questions for you."

"I don't deal with cops," the girl said and took a step back, instantly losing her smile.

"Do I look like a cop to you?" Chuck asked, his tone of voice firm.

"Then what do you want?"

"I need to know where Harold Waldorf is."

"Never heard of him," she said and came to shut the door when he stopped her.

Removing the photographs from the envelope in his hand, he showed them to her and she let out a loud sigh.

"Look, I don't care that you're his supplier," he said as she crossed her arms at her chest and looked away. "But I need to find him and you're the only one who can tell me where he is."

"Why do you care?" she asked with a scoff. "He's nothing but a deadbeat junkie."

"He's my girlfriend's father," Chuck replied with a sigh.

As she quickly considered her options, a bulky man dressed in sweat pants entered the hallway from his apartment two doors down.

"Hey Jane!" he exclaimed as she poked her head into the hall to face him. "Is this guy giving you any trouble?"

With tattoos inked over his arms and neck, he stared at Chuck for a long, hard moment before she eventually replied.

"No, he's a friend."

Stepping into her apartment, she quickly pulled Chuck inside behind her and shut the door.

"This really isn't the best place for you to show up dressed like you own Manhattan," she said and made her way towards the sofa in the center of the room.

Following her, he took a seat on the old, torn armchair across the sofa.

"So why are you looking for Harold?" she finally asked.

"Because he's been missing for a few weeks and his ex-wife is worried sick," he replied. "Not so much about him but for her daughter."

"Does your girlfriend know he's missing?" she began and he shook his head.

"No, she doesn't know anything," he replied and sighed. "You supply him with heroin?"

Jane glanced at him for a moment before looking away. "You know, you've got no right to barge in here and judge me…"

"I'm not judging you," he corrected quickly. "Look, I've committed my fair share of sins and I've snorted and injected more crap into my body then you can imagine."

Staring at him quizzically, she leaned back in her seat and somewhat relaxed.

"I don't care what you do for a living or how you make ends meet or whatever you want to call it. All I care about is finding Harold Waldorf and you're the only person who can tell me where he is," Chuck explained.

When she made no effort to respond, he reached into his inner coat pocket and removed his checkbook.

"Maybe you haven't heard of my name before but I'm about the richest kid in New York," he began as she looked up at him, a sad look in her eyes. "How much is it going to take for you to talk?"

"I don't want your money," she snapped before getting to her feet. "Do you have any idea what it's like to lose your parents as a kid and have absolutely no one look out for you? Having to live on the streets and doing things you never thought you'd do just to survive?"

He stared at her for a long moment before speaking. "Where is he?"

Scoffing once more, she rolled her eyes and sat back down.

"I don't know where he is," she finally said after a minute. "He calls me when he needs his next supply and that usually ranges between every three to four days."

"Do you go out to meet him or does he come to you?"

"I go out and meet him," she replied. "None of my clients know where I live."

"Alright," he said, placing his checkbook back in his pocket. "When was the last time you supplied him?"

"Four days ago."

"So he should contact you either today or tomorrow then, right?" he asked and she nodded. "When he does, I want you to give me a call. Don't tell him that I'm looking for him because that might scare him off."

Grabbing a pen from his pocket, he scribbled his cell number on a notepad on her coffee table and pushed it towards her.

"Why should I help you?" she asked and he looked up.

"My mother died giving birth to me and my father was killed in a car accident last year," he said quietly. "I may be rich but loss is something I know more than enough about."

Surprised by his response, she softened her posture towards him.

"Last year was the worst year of my life. I disappeared after my father's funeral for a month and drowned myself in whatever I could get my hands on, either alcohol, drugs or women," he explained. "My girlfriend and I weren't officially together back then but I broke her heart by leaving. When she took me back in the summer, I swore to myself that I would never let her go through something like that again, either because of myself or anyone else. Will you help me or not?"

Thinking for a moment, she eventually nodded.

"Fine," she said and let out a sigh. "When he calls me, I'll call you."

Rising to his feet, he came to leave but stopped and turned towards her.

"I know your name, where you live and what you do," he said as she watched him in silence. "Don't screw with me because if you do, I promise you won't like the consequences."

Buttoning his overcoat, he opened the door and walked out of the apartment as she watched him go. Once the echo of his footsteps had disappeared, Jane rose to her feet and entered the rusty balcony at the end of the room. Staring down at the street below, she watched as Chuck climbed into his car and the driver pulled away. As the car grew smaller in the distance, she twirled the piece of paper between her fingers and smiled.