Bad Things

‘Who the hell—?’

‘Nope,’ I said, and rapped him on the kneecap with the iron. He yelped. ‘That's not how this is going to play. Want to try again?’

‘Rick,’ he said.

‘Better. Where are the drugs, Rick?’

‘What the fuck?’

A new voice. I glanced up to see Kyle and the other guy – Doug, I assumed – standing in the doorway. Doug's pupils were pinned even worse than his friend's, and he was looking at me as if I was a commercial for a cancer charity in an evening that had otherwise featured very mellow programming.

‘Here's the thing,’ I said, to Doug. It had been his idea to visit the Pelican in the middle of the night. You can always tell the difference between the big dogs and the little dogs, even when the bigger ones are still damned small. ‘I'm the person who supplied your friend Kyle with his drugs.’

‘Shit,’ he said, urgently.

‘Yeah.’ I pushed Rick to the side, making sure he stayed tangled with the chair and wound up falling heavily into the corner.

‘Shit,’ Doug said again, blinking fast. Dumb and high though he was, he was smart enough to realize that the evening had taken a very poor turn.

I left a beat and then lashed hard right with the tyre iron, smashing the nearest light fitting and sending a shower of glass fragments around the room.

Kyle and Doug leapt back, arms over their heads. Rick meanwhile was trying to fight free of the chair so he could regain his feet.

I rested my own foot – pretty gently – on his chest. He went back down almost gratefully.

‘Tell me you've still got it,’ I said. ‘Except, of course, for what you've sucked up into your faces already.’

Doug nodded quickly, compulsively. He hadn't been hit yet. He'd be valuing that position a great deal, and ready to do pretty much anything to protect it.

‘I'm waiting,’ I said.

He didn't hesitate. Ran straight to the fridge and dug in the vegetable drawer. Out came a brown bag. He thrust it at me like it was on fire.

I looked inside, threw it to Kyle. Then took a step closer to Doug, and looked him in the eyes.

‘Do you understand how lucky you've been?’

He nodded feverishly.

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘Ordinarily this would go some whole other way. Kyle assures me you're decent people, despite appearances, and so I'm hoping you're not going to wake up tomorrow feeling pissed off and like you should have been more assertive about this, and decide to take it out on Kyle instead.’

‘No way,’ Doug said, quickly.

‘Good. You do, then I'll come burn your house down. Understand? And I don't mean this shitheap you're living in.’

‘Honestly, man,’ he said. ‘W-we're cool.’

I nodded to Kyle, and we walked out the door.

Halfway back to the car I stopped and put my hand on Kyle's arm. He turned warily. He looked about twelve years old.

‘I don't need to talk this through with you in the same way, do I?’

He shook his head quickly.

‘Get rid of that shit, fast. Pay back the people you got it from, then pay back the loan. And do not do this ever again. You are simply not up to this way of life. You piss off someone just one step higher up the food chain and you're going to wind up fucked or dead. I mean you no disrespect, Kyle – this is just career advice from someone who knows.’

He was nodding almost continually now, his chin twitching. ‘Okay.’

‘Here's how this business works. At the top are the guys who make the stuff and run the top-level distribution: the shadows who make the real money and never get caught. Then there's the next tier, the guys you bought your drugs from. They make a bunch of cash too, though once in a while they go down or get shot when the next wave rolls over them. At the bottom there's the guy you're trying to be, the street grunts. Who make a little cash in the beginning but always wind up junkies, or in jail, or dead, about which the guys above do not give a fuck.’

I grabbed his chin and made sure I had his full attention. ‘You really want to be that guy? Bitch for some asshole who right now is sitting on a yacht bigger than any house you'll ever own?’

He shook his head, as best he could. ‘No.’

‘Well then.’ I let go and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We're done. Let's go home.’

We walked the rest of the way back to Becki's car. She slumped with relief when she saw the bag.

‘How?’ she said. ‘Is everything—?’

‘It's all done,’ I said. ‘And your boy did good.’

I rode in the back. I should have felt okay about what had just happened, but I did not. I watched the town as we passed through, then down at the river as we went south over the bridge, then the dunes and the dark sea beyond.

Becki stopped the car outside my house, a lot more gently than the night before.

‘Thank you,’ she said, but she said it like someone who'd been done a favour.

Then she shook her head, added, ‘See you tomorrow,’ and the feeling backed off a little.

When I got to the top of the path I looked back. The car was still there. Becki and Kyle were holding each other, their foreheads pressed together, her hand stroking the back of his head, the top of his neck. There's nothing to beat that. Nothing in the world.

I let myself into the house, feeling tired and wrong and like I could walk a thousand miles in any direction and have no reason to ever turn back.

I felt better after a shower, and took a Coke and cigarette out onto the balcony. I wanted a beer, too, but I know better than that.

No big deal, I'd decided, as the hot water coursed over my head. Not doing anything would have led to a worse situation for people I cared about. Isn't that as good a justification for action as any? And hadn't I been staring at the waves the previous night, feeling too much to one side of the world?

I shook my head, dismissed the train of thought. I know how much difference a night's sleep can make, that what seems ungovernable and world-breaking at one a.m. can be made to feel like someone else's dream if you put seven hours of unconsciousness between it and you. Tomorrow's not just another day, another person lives it – and every time you go to sleep, you say goodbye. Amen.

I went back indoors and got a glass of water to take to bed. As I passed the laptop I hesitated, then decided I could put the day properly to rest by checking my email one last time.

There wasn't even much spam and I was already moving away before I realized a final message had just come in.

Subject line: !! INTERRUPTED !!

I swore, wishing I hadn't checked. Now I had no choice but to read it. Staying on my feet, I clicked on the email and watched as it came up on screen.