Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,88

knocked out again when they call. Apparently he has been getting high from his own supply, and the higher strength of the new drug has kicked him on his ass a couple times.

Some guys just can’t handle their purple heroin.

The kettle clicks just as the men shuffle from the room, peanut butter sandwiches in hand. They have left a dirty knife on the countertop, as well as a new collection of crumbs. I look up to find Clara staring at me.

I clear my throat and pour the boiling water into the little plastic noodle cup, but inside I am raging. This is supposed to be a safe place for Clara, but the purple heroin has breached here too. Her addiction may have begun with alcohol, but she has moved onto deadlier vices now, and if I don’t get her clean soon —properly clean—I could lose her for good.

This solidifies it for me. I am going to the meet. And I am going to tear this whole stinking, fetid enterprise down if it is the last thing I do.

For now, I fold the foil lid back over the noodles and smile reassuringly, then grab a fork from the grimy cutlery drawer and give it a quick clean in the sink before handing it and the noodles over.

“Why don’t you go sit in your room and eat?” I suggest. “I’ll just be a minute.” I look around at the mess. “I just need a moment alone with your kitchen.”

“Thanks,” Clara says.

She turns to go, and I say, “Paul, will you go with her?”

Once again, Angelo nods his assent and another guard peels away from my pack. I find some paper towels under the sink and fit them into the empty holder, then fill the sink with hot soapy water and start to clean down the countertops. Some of the dried food takes a little scrubbing, and I am halfway through budging some particularly stubborn tomato sauce blotches when Paul comes running back into the room.

“I think she’s having a seizure,” he says, eyes wide.

I dash past him to a room down the hall. Behind me, I can hear Giovanni and Angelo arguing about what to do. The door is open, and just inside, Clara is on the bed, thrashing back and forth, only the whites of her eyes visible. The noodles sit untouched on the desk beside her.

Angelo arrives in the doorway behind me, pale-faced. I find it interesting that although he would not blink at the sound of gunshots, the sight of a frail girl seizing next to a cup-o-noodles has rattled him to his core.

I wheel around, voice raised hysterically. “Go get help!”

Paul bolts down the hall toward the front door without looking to Angelo for approval. At that moment, Clara shoots from the bed, arms outstretched. Angelo dives forward to catch her, barking orders at Giovanni to take her legs and help him get her onto her back.

Both of them are distracted, fully engaged in the task of keeping Clara from harming herself until the fit passes. I use this opportunity to slip quietly from the room, whispering a thanks to my best friend for her award-winning performance. I also make a quiet promise as I jog toward the back door that when this is over, I am getting her out of this halfway house to somewhere she can heal properly.

I slam through the back door and down the steps, scanning the back alley for the car Debbie said she would leave here for me. There is a blue Toyota parked next to the trash cans, and I dash over and start feeling around on top of the front tire for the keys. I cast a glance behind me toward the street, half expecting John to rock up at any moment with his arms full of fresh fruits and vegetables. My fingers close around the keys and I hop into the car, starting it up and backing it out as quickly as I possibly can.

I feel bad for deceiving Angelo like this, especially considering how good to me he has been and how much trouble he and the others are likely to get into for letting me slip away. But I can’t think of that now. I add these thoughts to the growing pile of guilt at the back of my mind and check the time, realizing if I don’t hustle, I’m going to be late for the meeting.

I jam my foot on the gas.

28

Alexis

I open the trunk of