Barbara Seranella - No Human Involved

Diversion Books
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Copyright 1997 by Barbara Seranella
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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First Diversion Books edition November 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62681-174-4

Buy you a drink?

Munch turned to size up the man who had spoken to her. His sad, baggy eyes were set in a basset hound face. A five oclock shadow rolled in and out of the loose folds of skin on his cheeks and chins. Deep lines creased his forehead. She squinted a little to bring him into focus, then looked at her glass. There was only ice left.

What the hell. She shrugged an indifferent acceptance.

Jack Daniels, Black Label. She always said Black Label when she ordered. She didnt know what it meant or if it was any better than any other colored label, but she liked the way it sounded.

The man pulled a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket. He extracted a twenty and put it on the bar. He held up two fingers to Benny the bartender, and the money was swept away.

Whats your name? the sad-eyed man asked.

She glanced at the fancy bottles stacked against the mirror behind the bar. Sherry, she told him. Hows that? And well call you John.

Sounds fair enough.

His skin was sallow, even in the dark and forgiving rouged light that reflected off the bottles of liquor. She thought he looked tired, beaten down. The calculation that followed was automatic. Taking into account his age, his clothes, and the bulge in his wallet, she knew hed probably go thirty, enough for a spoon, a six-pack, and a bag of Fritos. Not that she was interested. That part of her life was over. She was getting a fresh start, beginning today. He smiled at her. Maybe even an extra twenty, she amended, making her mouth curve upwards, if he were stupid enough to leave his pants in the room when he went to the bathroom. The man collected his change, and while his attention was diverted, she took a second long look. At least he wasnt old. She hated it when they were old. It took them forever.

The negotiations would begin after the second drink, each of them speaking in carefully coached phrases.

She had once been busted for telling a middle-aged man in a Chrysler that she had a place. That was all that shed said. I got a place. It was right after he had asked her if she was looking for a date.

Everybodys got a place, dont they? she had protested as the vice cop slid the handcuffs on. They hadnt even discussed a price or service to be performed.

The cop had just shaken his head. Save it for the judge, he said.

Supposedly if you asked them if they were a cop, they had to tell you, or they couldnt not tell you. Something about entrapment. Shed never put much stock in that theory; it was probably just some hooker myth. Not a hard and fast rule like Always get the money first.

Ill buy the next round, she said. One drink and some of these guys thought they owned you.

He blinked slowly and his mouth dropped open. It reminded her of one of those lizards they show close up on National Geographic specials. Lashless lids closing over dry eyeballs. It pleased her that she had surprised him.

Whatever you say, Sherry.

Maybe he thought that shed get so drunk that shed do him for free. That wasnt going to happen, not today. Just one more for the road and she was out of there. Shed already gone ten hours with no dope, eight of which were on purpose. It wasnt much, but it was a start, and certainly longer than shed ever gone when she had a choice.

Benny set down two fresh cocktail napkins. She smiled when she recognized the red, white, and blue coasters. He had bought them last year to celebrate the bicentennial. In his patriotic zeal, he had purchased an entire gross. Cases of them were still stacked to the ceiling in the storeroom. Someone had suggested that he stock the bathrooms with them. He was a vet, he said, and he didnt think that would be right. But Lincolns birthday? The irony wasnt lost on her. The Venture Inn catered to a color-conscious crowd. You wouldnt think Abraham Lincoln would rank as one of their heroes.

Honoring dead presidents, are we? she asked him.

Always, doll, Benny said as he slammed down their drinks. She scooped up her glass before the liquor had a chance to settle.

The life had been fun once, when she was young and fresh. Sex had never been sacred, just an easy means to an easy end. Just let them catch you, she was advised early on, thats all a woman has to do and the money flows in. It flowed out just as easily, going to buy the only thing that ever made her feel loved. The dope had been her salvation.

She massaged an abscess on her forearm and winced at the tenderness of the damaged flesh. She didnt need to look at the knot beneath her fingertips to know that the abscess was red and angry, she could feel the heat of the infection through the fabric of her blouse. The abscess was her own fault, a result of shooting barbiturates when she was already too loaded to see straight, much less do a proper job of giving herself a fix. Stupid, she thought, stupid and a waste. Her whole life was a waste. It was time for a change. Shed go to the country and dry out, start over.

She never minded the sting of the needle; in fact, she welcomed it. The jab followed by that rush of relief as the thick red blood spurted back into the syringe to mix with the dope, turning it all a muddy color. Then a slow squeeze of the plunger, sending the precious elixir through her bloodstream. Eyes closed, she pictured the dopes path, flowing through every vein, artery, and capillary till it reached her scalp, the tips of her toes, and that dark screaming place in her gut that needed to be quieted.

Been here long? the sad-eyed man asked.

His voice cut into her thoughts, startled her. Shed forgotten he was there with his tired face and too many questions.

Too long. She shook her head, angry at the way her thoughts had turned. Focused, she needed to stay focused. Less than one full day clean and she was already mooning over the dope like some jilted lover. She knew from previous experience what to expect. The first three days would be the worst. Her bones would ache and the cravings would consume her, canceling out every other thought. Shed gone through it all before. Periodically, she would taper off. Unchecked addiction gets expensive, the habit snowballs, growing steadily till it might cost as much as seventy dollars a day just to get even, never mind high. But those times she hadnt quit so completely, only cut down, supplementing the smaller amounts of heroin with pills and booze till her tolerance decreased. This time would be different.

The funny thing about dope was that she hadnt thought the high was anything special at first. Kind of a dreamy, sleepy numbness. It hadnt really gotten good till she was strung out. The monster was a sneaky bastard.

She scratched at the scabs on her forearms. Soon shed be able to wear short sleeves again. She wouldnt have to cover the tattoos of needle marks running from wrist to armpit. She might even buy some new clothes, something that fit. The pants from the Salvation Army donation box were three sizes too big. She hadnt spent money on anything but dope unless she absolutely had to.

She was ready to admit it, the life wasnt fun anymore. Like everything and everyone else, it had turned on her. They didnt stop for her anymore on Venice Boulevard, not even on Main Street. The men cruised past slowly in their Cadillacs and Continentals; even the Mexicans in the pickup trucks passed her by. They avoided her bold stares in search of fresher game. The dope had stopped working, too. It wasnt that the drugs were too weak or that she had been burned. All the physical signs were still there. Her eyes would take on an eerie dull shine like a pair of those Duncan yo-yos that glowed in the darka flag to the narcs who circled the neighborhood. Her nose still itched and her pupils still pinned, shrinking to tiny dots. But it seemed that no matter how much dope she did, the old magic was gone. The antsy unnamed need, the hole in her gut, remained.