Bits of food in the carpet. Doug wished that he hadn't taken his shoes off at the door, hadn't been punished so badly for being polite. The crumbs stuck to his socks and created an unpleasant crunch whenever he stepped forward.
Deeter's house smelled of rotting food, but it wasn't coming from one oppressive source, at least not as far as Doug could tell. Instead, the stink hit his nostrils from a thousand different directions, each strain aged differently and creating a veritable cornucopia of smell. No wonder Deeter himself smelled so bad, he couldn't tell over the odor of rotting food in the carpets.
His hollow face and withered body suggested that there was another reason that he had problems smelling, but Doug didn't want to think about that. Instead, he focused on the dust and the trash and the junk that was pilled up around him as if it were collectible items, wondering how someone could let himself and his home fall apart so completely. Wondering if he would do the same.
Skeeter was just as immersed in Deeter's world, and Deeter was talking to himself.
"Yeah...", he mumbled, leading them on a gradual trail towards his room, shuffling awkwardly and circling things that did not need to be circled, "I remember when I still had problems with girls... I was about your age, I think... I remember that I started to worry that I was a queer or something." He stopped now and looked at Doug with a solid stare and raised eyebrows. "Do you ever wonder if you're a queer, boy?"
Deeter's penetrating gaze made him nervous, and he turned to Skeeter for help.
Skeeter just looked away, ashamed.
The entire house was his, but Deeter slept in the basement. Heavy drapes were pulled across the windows, blocking out all of the natural light. There was a low table set up in the middle of the room, painted black and covered in mirrors and coke dust. Deeter sat by the table and measured out two lines.
"Sure you don't want one, little guy?", he said, meaning Skeeter, "I made this one especially for you. Your friend can have one too but he isn't family so he'll have to pay."
Skeeter shook his head, looking disgusted. "Naw man, I told you I'm not into any of that, and neither is Doug. We just came here for advice."
"Suit yourself", he replied, placing a roll of paper to his nostrils and inhaling deeply, "More for me". When he had finished he sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.
"What do you want to know?", he asked.
"Well – I.. guess just...", Doug trailed off, unsure of how to respond. "There's this girl, her name is Patti Mayonnaise. I've liked her for years. We're friends and everything, but I want to know how to make it so we're... more then friends."
It didn't take Deeter long to respond with an answer: "I've got exactly what you need", he said. He got up and began hunting through a set of drawers in the corner of the room. Doug wondered what he was looking for, knowing for certain that it could not be cologne, not coming from someone who was so obviously oblivious to stink.
"Here", he said finally, extracting a package of bubble-wrapped pills in shiny foil, "try this."
"What is it?", Doug asked.
"It's called Rohypnol. You put it in her drink. Take her someplace quiet after that, and I can guarantee that you two will become 'more then friends'."
"Roofies!", Skeeter burst out, unable to contain himself, "You can't give him roofies, man, he's thirteen! What are you thinking?"
Doug considered the package, realising now that he was looking at date rape drugs.
"You really think that this will work?"
"Doug, you aren't seriously considering this, are you? What he is suggesting is wrong, just like I was wrong for bringing you here. You're not doing this because I won't let you. We're going." He ripped the package out of his friend's hands and began to pull him away from the table. Deeter didn't seem to notice that they were leaving, he just snorted another line of coke and leaned back in his chair.
"Open the closet", he said, when they were almost out the door.
"I'm sorry?", said Skeeter, annoyed.
"Open the closet. It's right next to you."
"No, I don't think we'll be opening any closets. We're just going to lea-", Skeeter had began, but Doug cut him off by pulling the knob and opening the door. They both stopped dead at what they saw.
The closet was covered in photographs, evidence of Deeter's sexual conquests. There were girls tied up in belts, girls wearing handcuffs, girls in lace with pubes sticking out from behind their panties, and various combinations of these. Some were asleep, you could see that, and the thought of what that meant made Doug shudder, but the vast majority were awake, smiling playfully at the camera. Deeter had known a lot of girls, and what was even more surprising, a lot of them had known him.
"You mean that you-"?
"Yeah," Deeter replied, "every single one of them".
"But I thought that you used...?" Doug gestured offhandedly to the bundle of pills that still lay on the table, not wanting to take his eyes off of what he was looking at.
"I did, at first – to learn. But after I loosened up it wasn't such a big deal anymore."
Doug was silent at this. He didn't know what to do. He knew that it was wrong, but he couldn't argue with the results - they were right in front of his face. The thought of doing the same to Patti Mayonnaise was giving him a shy, teenaged boner.
"Here", said Deeter, walking up to him and placing the package firmly into his hand, "Just take it. I'm not going to ask you to pay for it right now. Think of it as a free trial offer- if you don't use it then you can just bring it back here in a week, no questions asked."
"No Doug, you're not doing it. This isn't right, man.", Skeeter said, reaching for the pills. Doug brushed him off and put them in his pocket.
"Why are you doing this for me?", he asked Deeter.
"Because", the stoner replied, a twisted smile on his lips, "I think that you are going to become a very good customer."