Later - Stephen King Page 0,61

jail,” she said. “I don’t think I’d like the food, let alone the company.”

We passed a sign pointing to the Cuomo Bridge, which everybody in New York still calls the Tappan Zee, or just the Tap. I didn’t like that. “Where are we going?”

“Renfield.”

The only Renfield I knew was the Count’s fly-eating helper in Dracula. “Where’s that? Someplace in Tarrytown?”

“Nope. Little town just north of New Paltz. It’ll take us two or three hours, so settle back and enjoy the ride.”

I stared at her, more than alarmed, almost horrified. “You’ve got to be kidding! I’m supposed to be home for supper!”

“Looks like Tia’s going to be eating in solitary splendor tonight.” She took a small bottle of whitish-yellow powder from the pocket of her duffle coat, the kind that has a little gold spoon attached to the cap. She unscrewed it one-handed, tapped some of the powder onto the back of the hand she was using to drive, and snorted it up. She screwed the cap back on—still one-handed—and repocketed the vial. The quick dexterity of the process spoke of long practice.

She saw my expression and smiled. Her eyes had a new brightness. “Never seen anyone do that before? What a sheltered life you’ve led, Jamie.”

I had seen kids smoke the herb, had even tried it myself, but the harder stuff? No. I’d been offered ecstasy at a school dance and turned it down.

She ran the palm of her hand up over her nose again, not a charming gesture. “I’d offer you some, I believe in sharing, but this is my own special blend: coke and heroin two-to-one, with just a dash of fentanyl. I’ve built up a tolerance. It would blow your head off.”

Maybe she did have a tolerance, but I could tell when it hit her. She sat up straighter and talked faster, but at least she was still driving straight and keeping to the speed limit.

“This is your mother’s fault, you know. For years, all I did was carry dope from Point A, which was usually the 79th Street Boat Basin or Stuart Airport, to Point B, which could be anywhere in the five boroughs. At first it was mostly cocaine, but times changed because of OxyContin. That shit hooks people fast, I mean kabang. When their doctors stopped supplying it, the dopers bought it on the street. Then the price went up and they realized they could get about the same high from the big white nurse, and cheaper. So they went to that. It’s what the man we’re going to see supplied.”

“The man who’s dead.”

She frowned. “Don’t interrupt me, kiddo. You wanted to know, I’m telling you.”

The only thing I could remember wanting to know was where we were going, but I didn’t say that. I was trying not to be scared. It was working a little because this was still Liz, but not very much because this didn’t seem like the Liz I’d known at all.

“Don’t get high on your own supply, that’s what they say, that’s the mantra, but after Tia kicked me out, I started chipping a little. Just to keep from being too depressed. Then I started chipping a lot. After awhile you couldn’t really call it chipping at all. I was using.”

“My mom kicked you out because you brought junk into the house,” I said. “It was your own fault.” Probably would have been smarter to keep quiet, but I couldn’t help it. Her trying to blame Mom for what she’d become made me mad all over again. In any case, she paid no attention.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though, Cha—Jamie. I have never used the spike.” She said this with a kind of defiant pride. “Never once. Because when you snort, you’ve got a shot at getting clean. Shoot that stuff, and you’re never coming back.”

“Your nose is bleeding.” Just a trickle down that little gutter between her nose and upper lip.

“Yeah? Thanks.” She wiped with the heel of her palm again, then turned to me for a second. “Did I get it all?”

“Uh-huh. Now look at the road.”

“Yessir, Mr. Backseat Driver, sir,” she said, and for just a moment she sounded like the old Liz. It didn’t break my heart, but it squeezed it a little.

We drove. The traffic wasn’t too bad for a weekday afternoon. I thought about my mother. She’d still be at the agency now, but she’d be home soon. At first she wouldn’t worry. Then she would worry a little. Then she’d worry a