long, cool rush that would lift her beyond the clammy walls, beyond the gray hills outside to a white, featureless place where there was neither choice nor betrayal. He almost wished he could join her there. He shook more powder from the packet into the spoon, then closed his eyes and opened them.
When the powder had melted, he put the spoon down on the pallet, drew the liquid into the syringe and held it up, looking for bubbles. He missed the vein on the first try, his hands shaking badly. When he tried to pull it out a peak of white flesh rose around the needle. He clutched her elbow tighter. The second time the needle slipped easily into the vein. He raised his thumb and depressed the plunger.
Where he drew the needle out, a tiny red bubble blossomed and burst. Michelle's face unclenched and she sank down onto the pallet with a sigh.
He staggered down the stairs and, outside, got down on his hands and knees and vomited.
He found him in the bazaar.
“You have decided,” the Pathan asked.
Trey nodded. There was nothing he could say.
“You have somewhere to go?”
“I won't bother you,” Trey said.
The Pathan nodded solemnly, then reached under his shirt and held out a dirty white envelope. “Two hundred dollars,” he said, “as a token of good faith. When I return you will have the rest of the money for me, as we agreed.”
Trey let him stand there, holding the envelope. The Pathan waited; he would not insist.
Finally Trey took the envelope and shoved it into his pocket. “Two hours,” he said.
After nodding again, the Pathan turned and walked off through the bazaar. Trey imagined rifle sights on the receding blue turban.
The sun had just dipped behind the mountains in the west. The bazaar was closing down. Trey was sitting at a table in front of a tea shop. The old man who had served him came out to look at him, then went slowly back inside.
Someone was talking to him but at first Trey didn't hear what was being said. The man who was speaking had his bushy hair tied back in a pony-tail and wore a gold ring through his left nostril. He was waving his hand in front of Trey's face.
“Hey, man, do you read me? Anybody home in there?” He unstrapped his backpack and took a seat across the table. He put his index finger to his ear and said “Bang!” then patted his shirtpockets. “Got a smoke?”
Trey shook his head.
“Got a voice? No, don't answer that. I know how it is. Some days, what's to say. Am I right? Silence is golden. I got this friend in some monastery, he's taken this vow of silence. Which is entirely cool.” He held his hands out between them and cracked his knuckles. “Speak to me, man. I'm going crazy. Five fucking hours at the border. They tear my pack down. They strip me. Check my asshole. Under my toenails. Behind my ears. But I'm clean. Jesus, I'd kill for a toke right now. Swallowed my last half gram on the bus. Once that hit I thought the Khyber Pass was going to swallow me alive. What a place. Journey into Hades. So tell me, what's the scene around here? These dudes toting guns. They got a war going on?”
Trey saw the Pathan approaching briskly, then stopping a few yards short of the tea shop, taking his pistol from the holster and leveling it at him. Trey's companion quit talking and followed his gaze, then dropped to the ground and rolled under the table.
The Pathan seemed to be trembling. “We had an agreement,” he said, his voice very strange.
“What happened?” Trey said.
“Perhaps you think to make a joke.”
Trey opened his mouth to speak but couldn't catch his breath. The pistol was following the motion of his head.
The Pathan said, “My offer was more than generous.”
“Where is Michelle,” Trey asked.
“Where? Do not worry about where. She is where you left her.” He stepped forward and examined Trey's face. “You do not know, then?” He shook his head, spit on the ground between them and, stepping forward, went through Trey's pockets with his free hand. He found the envelope, put it in the sleeve of his shirt, then left.
The man with the ponytail got to his feet and put his arms around Trey's shoulders.
Trey looked at the ring through his nose, wondering if it had hurt to have a thing like that put in.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” the