Part 23

[A/N: Super Bowl? ;0 ]

Jesse tried to move quickly through the streets, eyes down, arms crossed protectively against his chest. He thought he might be able to find some old crack houses he still remembered and get a few hours sleep. He knew he would have to keep moving during the night, the most dangerous time alone out there. Some bus bench would have to be an alternative if he couldn't find better, or a stall in a public bathroom, but security or a cop would definitely roust him at either. He didn't want to chance that the very first day.

Houses would be nearly empty now, midday, with only a few slacker bodies sleeping off heavier partying. All others, agitated, shuddering, would be out. It was amazing how little a body needed to sleep when every cell in it wanted more of whatever it had just consumed. More. There has to be more. That was the only drive. Eating and sleeping were incidental. Crashing was never a truer word.

Only a few passersby eyed him as he slouched hurriedly along, trying to hide his casts and vulnerability. He merely appeared cold to the unobservant. He was cold, the New Mexico day was dreary and wet, the puddles splashed Skinny Pete's worn, spongy sneakers as he flopped through them. His casts were proving too heavy to keep his cross armed position for much longer.

He was so thirsty again. A few miles back, a child helped him get a drink from a small playground water fountain as he stood pathetically over it, trying to find some sharp point in the bandages that could poke the fountain's button switch. The young child stood patiently as Jesse tried to make the drink last, swallowing in great gulps, and was very pleased he could help a grown up so much. He smiled at him a long time, head craned looking back, as he ran back to the swings. Jesse wanted to stay there, watching the carefree children play, just sitting until they came and picked him up. The parents were already eyeing him with both sympathy and suspicion. He moved on.

His shoulders throbbed and protested further movement, his tendons sang pain as he lowered his arms to his sides. He couldn't even swing them without his shoulders screaming, and he walked stiffed armed for more miles, pace slowing. More eyes watched the odd man with the unnatural walk as he passed by. He would have to get inside somewhere soon.

Jesse was nearly crying with pain, fatigue, and thirst when he finally made it into a house, one the police and social workers hadn't boarded up yet, although boards alone were never enough to keep the vagrants out. He pushed against the new, torn hole in the hastily put up chain link fence, kicked open the uncomplaining, splintered door and collapsed onto the nearest cockroach infested pile of soiled blankets that he thought large enough to be able to rise up from again just using his knees. He had kicked them together into a higher mound before thankfully sinking down into the disgusting heap. The smell of urine and borax or some powered detergent wafted over him, someone's attempt to keep the tick, bedbug and flea population down during sleep. It didn't work.

He was awakened only a couple of hours later, by someone touching his casts and pulling at his waist belt. He had crossed his armored arms over his chest again and tried to pull a few blanket ends over himself with his teeth, tasting every foul thing possible, to hide himself, but his rapist was not put off by such minor modesty. In the past, Jesse was hardly molested the moderately few times he used crank hideouts, he was too fit and healthy looking to risk a fight with, and everyone was content at those times with whatever was in their veins at the moment. Now, Jesse looked somewhere in-between. He still looked somewhat healthy - shiny, clean brown hair, soft, fair skin yet unburnt by sun, a little shine of beard stubble growing again. His injuries clearly showed he couldn't put up much fight, though, and he was so appealingly helpless. Fresh, unguarded meat. Someone wanted a taste.

"Get off me, motherfucker!" Jesse yelled so loud and kicked so hard his assailant was taken aback. Usually the sleeping bodies still in there were far too gone and uncaring to mind a little fun. The tall, thin rapist sprung back agilely, grinned at him with rotten, brown teeth as he slowly, flourishly, pulled open an old, discarded barber's razor that had dents and pit marks in it from overuse. It had been dangling from a cord on his wrist as he was touching Jesse. The clicking sound and vibrations as it hit against his casts was partly what had woken him.

"But you look so sweet sleeping there," the bony junkie whined, "can you blame me?" He actually pulled on a pout, his lips pushing forward. "I just wanted to touch them. They look so…" he couldn't finish his frustrated, addled thought. "I don't want to cut you, you look like you've been cut plenty already." He almost purred. He wanted to caress those impressive scars. "It doesn't have to be bad."

Jesse got up as quickly as he could. He was able to roll up, though it hurt when he pushed accidentally against his hands. He was getting feeling back in them. He didn't want to think how much feeling it might soon be.

"No, don't be that way, I can repay you. I can find you what you need. Just be nice. Isn't that what you do anyway?" The junkie was so disappointed. He thought there might be something mutually beneficial, this alluring meeting.

"Shithead, stay away from me!" he shouted. His voice was all the practical defense he had, and it was rapidly becoming hoarse.

"What, you think you can do better than me?" his assailant scowled. Holding the razor higher, he laughed. "I'm going to make you prettier."

-000000000000000-

"You promised Mrs. Schrader that you would tell us where he is. So shoot, so to speak." Artie was standing over his bed, the nurse watching from behind, seated. He was allowed a few minutes to see him, just to get the location, no overcautious procedures needed. The agent had a little hand held recorder with him.

"But I've already told her," Walter smiled. "She just has to think about it a little more. I gave her enough of a hint."

Artie stared at him a moment, mouth agape, thinking over her mental state and the implications. He grabbed White's front collar, twisted the soft material until it began choking him. "No more cat and mouse, you are telling me what you told her. Now!"

The nurse rushed up and struggled with the DEA agent. "Stop it!" she shouted into his face. "Security! David!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

Artie's recorder clanked to the floor, rolling. He used his free hand to grab the back of Walter's neck, pushed his two hands together.

"To'hajiilee," Walter managed to wheeze out. "That's all I said when she left. To'hajiilee."