Chapter Three
Marissa slammed
the door of her room, jarring Rachel out of her sleep.
"Have fun last night?"
Marissa asked as she stumbled to her dresser.
"Huh?"
"How much you make?"
Rachel sat up, rubbing
her wrists. The scarves had been tied just a little too tight and had rubbed
her wrists and ankles raw. She still hadn't quite recovered. "Uh, a thousand."
Marissa tried a low
whistle, but ended up blowing a raspberry instead. She laughed as she pulled
out clothes and dumped them on the floor. "Know what you should do first?"
"Get someone to guy
out 7-11's beer cooler for me?"
"Get an ID. My dealer
knows a guy. I need ta go see him anyway." Marissa pulled on a halter top.
"You're man had a couple shots and snorts wit me. Some of my best shit,
too." Marissa fell back on her bed, still only half dressed.
Rachel grabbed her
shorts from the floor. "You can get some more, right?"
"Why? You wanna try?
I still got some."
"After I get my beer."
Rachel picked up her shirt, then sighed when she saw it. Alex had wanted
rough, he'd gotten rough. The shirt was little more than a rag now. "Damn."
Marissa again attempted
a whistle and failed just as miserably. "You two did get rough. Way to
go, girl."
"Can I borrow something?"
Marissa flailed her arms, trying to gesture to her closet.
" Help youself."
Rachel tried to find
something modest. She had enough money so she wouldn't have to sleep with
anyone for booze for awhile. But Marissa didn't know the meaning of modest.
Rachel finally settled on a denim halter top. "You want anything?"
"Nope," Marissa said.
"I'm gonna take another shot, then go find my guy for more. I'll tell him
to have his guy come by later for the ID. If you still be wantin' it."
Rachel shook her head.
It'd been too long since she'd had a drink. "Sure. I'll be back soon."
Marissa was bent over
her dresser again, pulling out shorts and mini skirts. "See ya'."
Rachel was still shocked
every time she entered or exited Marissa's building. It was so clean and
bright. even on the sunniest days of the year Rachel felt it was over cast
in her building.
"My old building,"
she told herself as she walked towards the 7-11. She didn't intend to ever
go back.
Rachel stood on the
side of the gas pumps that was farthest from the 7-11 building. It didn't
take long for someone to approach her from behind. "You need something
ma'am?"
Rachel spun around
and quickly inspected the man who'd spoken to her. An unremarkable man,
wearing unremarkable clothes. He seemed to be trying almost too hard to
be inconspicuous. Marissa had pointed this type of person out to Rachel
before: most likely a police informant looking for people breaking the
law just to report them. But Rachel probably wouldn't have trusted him
anyways. What man who's almost thirty years old calls a woman who can't
even pass for 21 "ma'am"?
"No, I'm just waiting
for a friend," Rachel said with a charming smile.
"Boyfriend?"
"Nope, girlfriend."
Rachel smiled again when the man jumped slightly in surprise. She almost
always got that reaction with that clarification. If she said she was waiting
for her boyfriend (or any male companion) it was assumed she was using
a euphemism for a client, like Alex. But waiting for a woman was harmless
to these people.
The man loitered around
the station for almost 20 minutes, causing Rachel to get antsy. She wanted
to get a drink, but this station obviously carded, and she couldn't ask
anyone to buy anything for her with the informant stalking around.
Rachel practically
jumped on the first single guy she saw approaching the 7-11 after the informant
left to answer a page, she was getting that desperate.
"Hi! Would you mind
buying something in there for me?"
The guy, who was probably
just over 21, looked Rachel up and down with a leer. "If you can pay me,
sure."
Rachel pulled a twenty
out of her back pocket. "Ten on beer for me, ten for you to do with as
you like."
The guy frowned at
the bill. He'd obviously wanted something more physical, but Rachel was
going to avoid doing that if possible. He did take the money and in ten
minutes, Rachel was carrying a bag with two cases of beer back to Marissa's
place.
Marissa was sitting
on the floor of her living room. Sitting across from her was the man from
the 7-11. The one Rachel had pegged as an informant.
He glanced at the bag
Rachel was carrying. "Guess you did need something after all."
Marissa took a long
drag on her cigarette then passed it to the man. "You know eachother?"
"Kinda," Rachel said
warily.
"This be Malcolm,"
Marissa said. "He be the one that's gonna get you your ID."
Malcolm smirked. "It's
a lot quicker than waiting for someone who looks trustworthy enough to
buy your booze for you." He stood up and walked slowly around Rachel, appraising
her, as Rachel popped open a beer. It was all she could do to keep from
sighing with relief as she felt the beer travel to her stomach. It'd been
too long since her last drink.
"Very nice. Very, very
nice," Malcolm said softly, still evaluating Rachel. "No wonder you've
taken up residence with Marissa. You two must make a killing."
"Hey, I work alone,"
Marissa said. She frowned as she finished her cigarette. "She just be crashin'
here." She started to pat her pockets, looking for more drugs.
Malcolm started to
pull things out of a brown paper bag that sat on Marissa's coffee table.
Eyeglasses, sunglasses, high necked blouses, a lap top, a digital camera
and a few other props. Rachel looked them over carefully. "What's all this
for?"
"Sometimes people need
to look older, 'cause there's no way they can pass for 21," Malcolm explained.
He looked at Rachel's face again carefully. "You won't need the glasses,
but pick out a sweater. You'll look more respectable if you look like you're
wearing clothes. No offense, Marissa."
"None taken." Marissa
had found her bag of heroin and was now standing over her stove, mixing
the powder with water so she could shoot it.
"Go stand by that plain
wall," Malcolm instructed. Rachel grabbed a black sweater and pulled it
over her head, juggling her beer from hand to hand as she went to the wall.
Malcolm double checked that his camera had a disk in it before crossing
to a few feet in front of Rachel. "Mind dropping the beer? We need to do
this exactly like the real deal."
Rachel took a last
gulp from her can, then threw it towards the garbage. She missed completely
and instead hit Marissa in the head as she came back to the living room,
carrying a saucepan. "Watch it," she grumbled.
Rachel giggled. "Sorry."
Malcolm gave her a harsh stare. "Sorry," Rachel mumbled again. She tried
to focus on the camera, but her eyes weren't cooperating.
Malcolm sighed, mumbled
something about people not able to hold their alcohol, and went back to
the table to grab a pair of slightly blue tinted sun glasses. He handed
them to Rachel. "They'll mask the glassy eyes, but look legit." Rachel
put them on and Malcolm began snapping pictures. He took five before stepping
away and telling Rachel she could relax. Rachel threw off the glasses and
sweater, then grabbed another beer. Malcolm went to work at the coffee
table with his computer while Rachel sat next to Marissa.
Marissa didn't notice
Rachel sitting down. She was concentrating too much on her left arm. She'd
tied it off at her bicep with a rubber hose and was now squeezing her fist,
trying to get a vein to pop. "Come on," she muttered. She finally stabbed
her arm with the needle and drew a little blood. Rachel was fascinated.
She'd never actually watched Marissa shoot up before.
"Why'd ya' draw the
blood?"
"Makin' sure I hit
the vein. Can't be wastin' my shit." Marissa shot the blood and the drug
back into the vein, then drew a little more blood and did it again. "Makin'
sure it all be in there," Marissa explained. She relaxed her fist and pulled
off the tube, then sighed as she felt the drug begin to course through
her veins. "You want to try?"
Rachel took a gulp
of beer. "Maybe later." She wandered over to Malcolm to look over his shoulder
as her ID was created. Right now he only had Rachel's picture on the template
for the license.
"What do you want your
name to be?" Malcolm asked.
Rachel almost gave
her real name, but stopped herself just in time. People on the street didn't
really have access to TVs, so no one had figured out she was the
Rachel yet, but there wasn't a human being on the planet who didn't know
the name Rachel Berenson.
For some reason Rachel
was struck with a wave of nostalgia. Later she'd blame it on the beer.
"Sara Naomi Jordan."
Malcolm nodded and
typed in the name, then the rest of Rachel's stats, right down to her new
birthday. He printed it out on a portable printer, then grabbed a sheet
of scrap paper and a pen. "Practice writing your name before putting it
down on the license. It has to look natural."
The first two times,
Rachel actually wrote 'Rachel' before her brain and hand finally connected
and started writing 'Sara Naomi Jordan' over and over. Her first attempts
were stilted and scratchy, but by the time Rachel had filled one side of
the paper, she had it down to an art. She wrote it perfectly on her license.
Malcolm took a portable
laminator out of what Rachel's fuzzy mind had dubbed his bag of tricks.
As he put the license in to be laminated, Rachel grabbed another beer for
herself and one to offer to Malcolm. "It's the least I can do," she told
him.
Malcolm took the beer
with a curt nod. After gulping about half of it down he looked to Rachel,
who was sitting as his feet now, almost too dizzy to stand. "Shall we discuss
payment now?"
Rachel shrugged. "I
guess."
"Normally I only take
cash for these jobs, but I think we could work out a trade agreement. My
service for yours, so to speak."
"Huh?"
"Come on, you can't
be so drunk that you don't get what I'm saying."
"I'm not as think as
you drunk I am," Rachel said, but then she laughed, obviously putting Malcolm
on.
"Even I know what you
be talkin' 'bout," Marissa said. "And I be on a good trip." She sighed
in contentment.
"I have to be a lot
drunker before I go to bed," Rachel said.
"Were you drunk last
night with Alex?"
"Alex?"
"He's my brother. He
told me that last night was one of the best lays he ever had. He told half
the neighborhood, actually. You're gonna have guys beating down your door
tonight."
"They'd better not,"
Marissa mumbled.
"Really?" Rachel asked.
"Really," Malcolm said.
"I could get you warmed up and I'll consider it the payment for the ID."
Rachel finished her
beer. "Sounds like a fair trade." She tried to stand up, but felt so dizzy
she collapsed back to the floor. "I don't think I'm going anywhere."
Malcolm crawled over
Rachel. "I don't think that's necessary."
"What's wrong?" Rachel rasped. She felt like something had died in her mouth.
"You're awake!" Marissa dropped down beside Rachel. "I thought he'd killed you."
"What?"
"I seen it happen before. A man can do shit to you so you stay asleep. You don't never wake up."
"I think your high's worn off," Rachel mumbled as she slowly propped herself up. "Where's my beer?"
"Um, I think Malcolm ran off with it. Something about you not being as good as promised."
"Fuck him. He left my ID, right?"
"I think so. I was still outta it when he left."
"Then I'll go out and buy a whole liquor store. The best stuff they have." Rachel swayed as she stood up. "Or maybe not." She sank back to the floor. "But I need a drink."
"I've got something better," Marissa said.
Rachel looked sideways at the needle Marissa was holding out. "I don't think so. I mean that shit's expensive. And, no offense, but sharing needles isn't my thing."
"I'm clean," Marissa said. "I just got my results back. No horrid diseases are contaminating my blood."
Rachel picked up the needle with two fingers. "How do I do it?"
Marissa took the needle back and handed Rachel a rubber tube. "Tie this around your bicep, then make a fist a couple of times. I'll fill the needle." Rachel did as she was told while she watched Marissa put the needle in the saucepan and drew out half a syringe of liquid. She handled the needle reverently as she brought it back to Rachel.
"Now for a vein." Marissa inspected Rachel's arm and found a vein immediately. "You have large veins."
Rachel giggled, a combination of nerves and booze. "Is that a compliment?"
"It makes it easier. This may sting for a moment. . . ." Marissa stuck Rachel with the needle, drew a little blood, then injected the contents into Rachel's vein.
Rachel winced as Marissa injected the blood-drug cocktail, then again as Marissa drew a little bit more blood and injected it again.
"It's okay," Marissa said as she withdrew the needle. She pulled off the rubber tube, then patted Rachel's arm. "It should kick in any second now."
Rachel focused her attention on the tiny spot of blood that had welled up from the needle prick as Marissa did the same procedure to herself. Rachel poked the blood drop smearing it on her arm. She giggled, then looked to Marissa, who was growing frustrated as she searched for a vein. Rachel didn't understand that. She felt so good.
Marissa finally shot a needleful of heroin into her arm and waited a moment. "Augh! No! The man. . . my dealer. . . the bastard ripped me off."
"Huh?" Rachel asked. She leaned back so her head rested in Marissa's lap.
"This shit ain't pure enough to do nothin'." Marissa loaded up the needle again with the last of the cream colored liquid and quickly shot it into her arm without checking to see if she'd found the vein. There was a tense moment, then Marissa sagged and sighed deeply. "That's. . . better."
Rachel smiled. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this relaxed. "Good. I like you better when you're relaxed."
Marissa smirked. "I don't think I ever seen you relaxed. You always be all stressed."
"I have my reasons."
"We all do." Marissa lifted Rachel's head off her lap, then laid down so their heads were next to eachother.
"I could fall asleep right here," Rachel said as she stretched slowly and methodically, like a cat.
"Waste of my smack," Marissa said. "Just relax. Enjoy the feeling while it lasts."
"I want it to last forever."
"I'll find more later. I think I have more."
"You better."
Marissa smiled. "Know who you remind me of?"
"Who?"
"One of those Animorph chicks. You look a lot like her. Um . . . hey, her name be Rachel, too."
Without the drug-induced drowsiness, Rachel would have bolted. But she felt too good to do much now. "You know about her?"
"She kicked ass. She looked death in the face and came back. I always thought she be a natural for the street."
Rachel groaned and rolled over onto her side. "I thought we didn't talk about our pasts."
"Who was talkin' 'bout what past?"
"My name is Rachel."
"Yeah."
"That's how I started my diary. When it all started."
"Watchu talkin' 'bout, Rachel?"
Rachel bolted upright. "I'm Rachel," she cried. "I'm Rachel. I'm the Animorph."
"Whoa," Marissa murmured. She sat up and hugged Rachel. "Calm down, girl. I'm gonna find more shit. You need it."
"No!" Rachel clung to Marissa. "No, please. Don't leave me."
"Okay! Okay, Rachel. I be here. I ain't leavin'."