I do not endorse the use of illicit substances. Just because it has apeared in a story I worte does not mean it's okay. Stay above the influence. That should settle my liability.
With practiced caution, Jim peered through the peephole of his door, standing on his toes to do so. He groaned softly when he beheld the dirty rainbow-colored ski-cap, raggedy denim jacket and pale face of his friendly neighbor, Loser the User.
He opened the door a crack, hoping to hide the infant within, and produced from some yet-unknown chasm of patience his most winning, and least threatening smile.
"Louise, what can I do for you?" He grinned.
"I heard a kid." Louise (Lose or Loser to her friends) said quickly, wiping her bright pink nose with one finger and spastically trying to glance inside Jim's apartment.
Jim looked her up and down, scanning her minutely, though such attention wasn't really needed. Her skin was as pale as that of a corpse (he should know), but her eyes were flushed red, pupils mere pinpricks in the green soup of her eyes. She was as jittery as a cat with ADHD and seemed to be rocking, dancing, and trying to stand on her toes at the same time. She would try to look over his shoulder, and then get distracted by the moth crashing into the light down the hall with a sickening thud.
"Louise…have you been using again?" The audacity of his question shocked even him, however it sounded common enough.
Louise gave him a pitying look, which seemed to say "Poor man, there's jelly in his brain."
What she actually said was "Well I heard a kid crying and I followed it to your door and I knew you didn't have a kid so I asked myself 'What could Jim be doing with a kid' but I couldn't think o'nothin so I decided to ask you myself. Here I am."
She said it all in one breath, and all as part of one complete stream of words. Jim rolled his eyes and pulled up a lie that he thought would convince the girl. Although at that point, he thought, telling her he'd conjured the kid out of thin air might've convinced the girl.
"He's my nephew. I'm watching him for my brother."
"Why's he crying?"
Jim twitched, hoping to avoid being interrogated at his door. He did have an appointment to keep.
"I don't know. Maybe he's hungry?"
"I could come in and have a look see. I'm really good with kids, you see my sister—" Loser tried to step past Jim, but he held firm. The last time the girl had been in his house he'd lost a few pieces of silverware and an expensive paperweight that went into fuelling the girl's drug habits. Tonight he wasn't feeling so charitable.
"That's fine. As you can hear, he's stopped." Jim said sweetly, hoping the girl caught the hint that his sweet voice was just another disguise for his I'm-going-to-kill-you voice. "Goodbye."
He made to shut the door, but found in obstinately blocked by one of Loser's ratty black boots.
"I didn't know you had a brother."
Jim worked to keep his face straight. "That's right. Colonel James Moriarty."
"Colonel? What regiment?"
"Supplies."
"I thought your name was James?"
"No. It's Jim. Totally different. Now…" Jim opened the door a crack and made to slam it on her foot. Hard. She slid her boot out of the way just in the nick of time as the door closed with a titanic crash that shook the entire wall and made the knick-knacks on his book shelves rattle. "Good night."