Brink and Wade
“I want my money.”
“Don’t have it.”
“I need that money.”
“Do I have to tell you again you stupid bitch, I don’t have the money.”
“Tell me again. And call me that word again and I’ll find a way to get you back into the hospital.”
I knew my threat didn’t impress Wade. Considering his stoned state, just conversing was impressive. But lately, ever since Wraithe’s attack, I couldn’t see anything too daunting. Even trying to revenge myself against Wade. Things were becoming much more possible to me. I was feeling very Ben Franklinesque nervy. At least, that how it all looked.
“Okay ditz. I have the bag, me and McGovern are trying some down at the lake. I’m shotgun. I fill the pipe and put the bag under the seat. I leave the car, he leaves. I say ’my bag”! Too late. He’s gone.”
“And I call him. He won’t answer. Next day I get him. Says his mom found the bag and dumped it down the toilet.”
“I’m calling her.”
“Oh, and what? Tell her you want to come and get your bag of dope?”
Wade choked on his laughter.
“When are you going to get me my money?”
“Look Brink. It happens. Sometimes we lose. That’s what happens when you mess with illicit things.”
“If I was a guy I’d fuck you up.”
“I know when a girl says to a guy ’watch your back’ he doesn’t flinch. But I’m telling you - watch yours.”
“In my boots.”
“Years. I am a girl of revenge.”
Wade walked off, a full moon showered him as he hitched up his baggy pants, walking like someone who had won.
Admitting Wade had spoken any truth gagged my soul. But there it was: in my desperation I had tried to make a bargain with the devil.
And the devil had not been paid off in full.