Read The Spider Inside Online

Authors: Elias Anderson

The Spider Inside (3 page)

RAT AND MOLE

They walked down the stairs to the parking lot and Jim
offered to drive, then turned and saw Cherry was still wearing her sunglasses.
“Cherry, you don’t--”

She got in the car without a word but did give Jim a small
smile. He knew she wasn’t going to take her sunglasses off for anything,
midnight or not, not until they got back to the house.

Jim drove with his window down, enjoying the feel of the
cool night air coming in and drying the sweat off his body. It made him feel
almost human again.

“You want a bump?” Cherry asked, holding up a tiny glass
vial.

“Definitely. You held some back?”

“Just for the trip.”

“How’d you know we’d be going?”

“I knew it was your turn, and that I wanted to go with you.
Roll up your window, will you?”

Jim cranked up the window and focused on even, steady
driving. There was only enough left for a bump apiece, at least until they
scored. Spilling any of it could be catastrophic. Neither of them felt even the
faintest bit of guilt on holding out on their friends, they knew back at Nik’s
that someone, most likely Soup, who’d run the mirror all night, or maybe Nik,
had held back some for when shit ran out and someone had to go out and make a
buy. It could take only thirty minutes, it could be a couple hours. Sometimes,
not very often, but sometimes it could take days. That hadn’t happened for a
long time, though. Not since God had taken over, brought in his own cook and
money man and Xander and the rest. Since God came to town there had always been
enough ice for everybody.

Cherry tapped half the contents of the vial into the inside
of her pinkie nail.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

“You’re such a dork,” Cherry said, but not without laughter.
She held her pinkie up to his nose and Jim inhaled sharply, and the little pile
was gone. It hit him just like always, like a sweet and sour punch in the back
of his brain. He could feel the things that were falling apart come back
together again. The shadows went back to where they were supposed to be and
would stay there, at least for now. His body at once felt more potent, powerful,
alive. Pulling onto the highway he was seeing three and four moves ahead. He
sped up a little and cut off the Volvo in the next lane and got past the car
that had been in front of him. When he passed it he cut back into the right
lane, just as another car was coming up ahead of him. He floored it, passed a
Harley, a BMW SUV, a Ford Taurus, and another Volvo. He cut this Volvo off too,
not because he needed to, but in order to stay consistent.

Cherry put her bump up her nose and the windows went back down
and the stereo came on, Cherry put in
Rise Against
and it was the exact
perfect thing to hear at that exact perfect moment in time and she turned it up
so it was loud but so they could still talk

“...and I was serious Jim about doing a song with you. I’ve
been working on the music myself, I almost have it, it’s almost perfect. Not
like this, not fast and aggressive but it’s actually kind of a sweet song,
mellow, a little sad maybe do you think you have words already for that or do
you want to come up with new ones or write them together--”

“Together,” Jim said. “I have words, lots of words, I got
books full of words but that was from before, you know? That was me in my own
space and time, in my own little world or whatever, and I like it all, I think
it’s good, but this should be something new. Something fresh. Pure.”

“Pure! Exactly! That’s why I wanted to start over on the
music. I have tons of guitar parts but I wanted this one to be something
special, because it’s with you.”

“Everything is so different when it’s just me and you, you
know that?” Jim asked. When the words were across his lips he wished so badly
to take them back it left a pit in his stomach; he’d crossed the line, she
wasn’t into him like that, they had always been such good friends and what if
this fucked it up? What if she didn’t want to be around him anymore? Wasn’t it
better to have her as a friend than not have her at all? Of cour--

“I do feel that. You’re different, Jim. You’re a lot smarter
than the other guys for one thing. You understand things. I don’t have to
explain anything to you. Take this next exit. I’ve always felt this stronger
connection to you.”

Jim took the exit and tried to keep the stupid sappy smile
off his face. There was something. She felt it, too!

“Take a left here,” Cherry said.

“Where are we going?”

“Sammy’s.”

“Sammy lives over by the tire store, doesn’t he?”

“No, well, he used to, yeah. His mom let him come back home
and live with her.”

“Oh, in the trailer?”

“Yeah. You know where it’s at?”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked with a grin. “I was the one
that first took you there. Right before she kicked him out, remember?”

“Oh, shit! That’s right. I thought it was Two Step.”

“No, he was there, but I introduced him to Sammy, too. So
his mom let him come home, huh? That’s a surprise.”

Cherry shrugged, not knowing if it was a surprise or not.
But she knew Sammy usually had pretty good crank, and had said he did this
time, too. Of course, she’d talked to him a day ago...or was it two? She lit
herself a cigarette and then lit one for Jim. They traveled down back roads and
finally turned to enter the trailer park. They drove to the end and parked.

“Will he be up?” Jim asked.

Cherry looked at him.

“OK, Sammy will be up,” Jim said. “But will his mom? What
fucking time is it, anyway?”

“It’s like noon, fool,” Cherry said and this got them
laughing. Cherry finally took her sunglasses off and put them on top of her
head and got out.

Jim followed her up to the front door. There were still
plenty of lights on inside, and they took this is a good sign. Jim walked up
the rickety two-stair staircase and knocked on the door and stepped back down a
step so there would room for it to open.

They waited.

“Maybe they didn’t hear you,” Cherry suggested and Jim
leaned forward and knocked again, a little longer this time and a little harder
as well.

“I think I hear someone,” Jim said. He turned around to look
down at Cherry. “I hope his mom doesn’t--”

“Can I help you?” Sammy’s mother asked, her voice just as
loud and grating as Jim remembered it. He could take it now though, he was
still riding his wave and the prospect of a score was just beyond this door,
which was currently being blocked by Sammy’s enormous, obnoxious mother. She
was wearing a stained pink nightgown the size of a bed sheet and held a tabloid
magazine in one hand, a smoke dangling from her mouth.

“Is Sammy here?” Jim asked.

Sammy’s mother gave him a long look. “He’s downstairs.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go around back.”

“What?”

“Around back,” she said again, and then closed the door in
Jim’s face.

The two of them did their best to stifle their laughter and
headed around to the backside of the trailer.

“Who knew a fucking double wide had a basement?” Jim asked,
walking backwards as he talked to her. “Did you know that?”

Cherry shook her head and then took hold of Jim’s arm,
stopping him. “What is that?”

Jim looked forward again. He took a few steps toward the
thing he would have walked into had Cherry not stopped him.

“It appears to be a big fucking pile of dirt.”

“Sammy,” they both said at the same time. By walking close
to the trailer they skirted the mound and when they came around the corner the
yard was lit up. There was a set of double doors set into the ground at an
angle at the base of the trailer.

“She makes him live in the fucking crawlspace?” Cherry
asked. She walked past Jim, calling Sammy’s name. Jim followed her to the open
doors.

There was a wheelbarrow half full of dirt next to them.

“Sammy?” Cherry called into the crawlspace.

“One minute!” came back at them. They took a few steps away
and finished their cigarettes and waited for Sammy. He came halfway out of the
crawlspace. He was covered in dirt from head to toe, wearing what once had been
a pair of whitey-tighties and nothing else except swimming goggles and a hard
hat, his huge curly mop of black hair sticking out beneath, and plastered to
his forehead with sweat.

“Hey! Jim! Cherry! What’s up guys?”

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Jim asked.

“Huh? Oh, a little home improvement.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Cherry asked.

“Of course, of course! I’ve got all the permits. I checked
with the city building commission, everything is in order there, I’ve consulted
an architect friend and an engineer. I’ve got the paperwork, if you need
to...um, well it might not look like much now, but you come back in another few
months!”

“Aren’t there gas lines and stuff under there?” Jim asked.

“Sure, sure. But everything’s been cleared with the city
planning commissioner. I’ve got the permits, everything’s in order. Would you
like to see them? I’m doing most of this initial work myself, of course. I’m on
a budget.”

“Right. Well, maybe we can make a contribution to the
cause,” Cherry said.

Sammy stared at her with a blank look on his face.

“You got anything?” Jim asked.

“Sure, sure, come on in. You want the tour?”

“I can’t, Sam. I got inspections in the morning.”

“Oh, sure. Wait here.” Sammy disappeared back into his hole.

“Inspections?” Cherry asked.

Jim shrugged.

“You really think he knows what he’s doing?” Cherry asked.

“Oh sure, sure. Everything’s in order. He no more met with
the planning commissioner than I met with Jesus Christ. Ten to one says we
don’t score.”

“We’ll score,” Cherry said.

“Not from Sammy.”

Sammy came back with a forlorn look on his face. “Hate to
disappoint but it seems I’ve run a little low, myself.”

“How long you been down here, Sammy?” Jim asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Still on that first shift, you know?”

“You dug all this? At once?”

“Well, no, Cherry. Not at once. I did it with a shovel, one
shovelful at a time.”

“Right. My bad.”

Sammy leaned forward, staring up into her face with a naked
greed that was nauseating. “You don’t know of a way to do it all at once, do
you?”

“We do, but you don’t have the permits for that,” Jim said.

Sammy nodded, the disappointment so pure that they could no
longer bear to mess with him anymore.

At least, not too much more, Jim thought.

“Look, buddy, I got a guy inside the Mayor’s office, okay?”
Jim said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really? Aw Jim that’s great! I can’t thank you enough!”

“Okay, Sammy. We’ll see you.”

“Sure thing Jim! Just call me with those new permits any
time.”

Jim nodded and they left. He wanted to talk about Sammy, but
they needed to talk about something else, first.

“You know anyone else?” Cherry asked.

“Frog.”

“You don’t know anyone else? Besides him?”

“Not off the top of my head. Not without doing some major
foot work.”

“He gives me the creeps.”

“He’s the only guy I know who allows pop-ins. He’s not so
bad.”

“You’re not the one he pulled a fucking knife on, Jim.”

“Just...stand behind me, okay? Or you can sit in the car.”

They drove off. The positive energy had been sucked out of
them. No one liked to go through Frog even though he always had shit, never
gave short counts, and his product was always good. The problem was Frog himself.

He answered the door wearing only a pair of cut-off
camouflage shorts that came down to about his knee. His chest was a dirty road
map of scars and bad tattoos. He stared at them without a word for maybe a
minute, his pale gray eyes eating them up, both Jim and Cherry doing their best
to meet his gaze. Jim held out the longest. Finally, scratching the thick, dark
stubble on his neck, Frog stepped back and they followed him inside.

“Shut it and lock it,” Frog said, as he went back to his
table.

Jim locked the door, looking around the apartment. His eyes
didn’t know where to stop, was the problem. What had once been a good sized
apartment had become little more than a hole that got smaller every time Jim
had to crawl inside it.

Sammy would have been comfortable here, though. Jim thought
Sammy would have been right at home.

Frog was a pack rat, but a special kind. Same as he was a
special kind of dealer. He wasn’t always strictly a cash man, he was open to
the bartering system. Frog had the certain kind of cruel eye that could look a
person over and tell exactly what was most important to them, and that was what
he’d deal for. There was a bucket next to the chair Frog always sat in, and it
was filled with rings, nothing but rings. Not costume trash or pieces of junk
that would turn your fingers green, either. He had to have a small fortune just
in that bucket.

But he wouldn’t, maybe
couldn’t
, get rid of it. It
wasn’t about the money for Frog. It was about taking that one little piece of a
soul someone was clinging to and trading them drugs for it. He had a bookshelf
full of other people’s journals and diaries, home movies of people he’d never
meet. Some of it, like the bucket of rings, was worth some serious coin...but
most of it wasn’t. Most of it was junk to the casual observer. The apartment
looked like a flea market.

But Jim could see the little things in each object, a faint
glimmer of what made it special to the person who finally let go and traded it
in. Here was a dog-eared copy of
On The Road
...wouldn’t get you a buck
fifty in a used book store, but it had been carried back and forth across the
country, read and re-read and re-read again. If you opened the cover you would
find an inscription...not an autograph, nothing like that...just a quick note and
maybe an inside joke from a girlfriend or brother or whoever. There were
thousands of miles on that book. It represented a good part of someone’s life.
The sweat that softened the cover held a lifetime of memories and hope and
yearning, the book had been someone’s best friend for years, yet here it was.
Someone got hooked on gack and when they were jonesing, sure fuck it, take it,
I can get a new copy. Maybe they even had...but Jim would bet everything he
held dear that new copy still had an un-cracked spine and if he was still out
there, still had a piece of his old self left, that someone wished every day he
hadn’t given up his book.

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