Memoirs Aren't Fairytales (29 page)

“Hey Dad,” he said. “Just leaving now.”

I peeked out from under the tarp. Dustin was on his cell phone.

Dad had to be Richard.

“I'm going to stop and get something to eat and then head up to Mom's. Should be there in five or six hours,” he said. “I'll call you on my way home.”

He hung up and turned on the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Ten minutes later, I peeked out again, trying to see through the windshield. We weren't on the highway. We weren't in Dorchester or Boston either because I didn't recognize the street. But I knew we were on our way to pick up the shipment. That was what he meant when he told Richard he was going to stop and get something to eat.

I didn't know when I should come out from under the tarp. I could wait until he opened the back doors to load up, but surprising him then didn't seem like the best idea. I didn't want to scare him while he was driving and cause an accident. So when he stopped at a red light, I crawled up behind him and kissed him on the cheek.

He jumped in his seat. “What the hell?” he shouted.

“Surprise.”

“What are you doing in here?”

His face was red.

“I'm coming to New York with you.”

The light turned green, and he pulled into the nearest gas station and started to turn around in the parking lot.

“Where are you going?”

“I'm taking you home,” he said.

I climbed into the passenger seat. “No—”

“Nicole, I can't protect you from these people.”

I grabbed the steering wheel to stop him from turning and he jammed on the breaks. “Hear me out, okay?” I said.

I told him I didn't want to be alone. I said losing Heather had been really hard on me and I didn't feel like myself anymore.

The redness on his cheeks began to fade, and he rubbed my shoulder as I talked. I was getting somewhere.

I said just being with him during the long drive would make me feel better. I even offered to wait in a restaurant while he picked up the shipment and dropped it off. The begging helped my case. But the blowjob gave me the answer I was looking for. While I sucked, he put the van in drive and turned back onto the road. He even told me I could go with him to the supplier's place, but for the delivery I'd have to wait at a restaurant.

We pulled onto a back street that ran parallel to a shipyard. There was a strong smell of fish in the air, and seagulls were flying overhead.

I asked where we were, and he said Conley Terminal in Southie. He explained that boats, stacked full of containers, came into the harbor to import goods for Boston and the surrounding areas.

“The drugs are hidden in the containers?” I asked.

He nodded.

“And a container is going to fit in this van?”

The yard was still a few football fields away. Even so, the containers looked bigger than the van. There were guards and dogs walking through the yard and what looked to be a security check-in gate up ahead. I didn't know how we were going to get past the guard on our way out with a van full of dope.

“No baby, we buy the drugs from an importer who's already cleared customs,” he said.

I didn't understand, but he told me it would all make sense in a couple of minutes.

Buildings ran along the side of the shipyard, and a few blocks before the security gate, he pulled down a long driveway.

The lot behind the building was empty. Dustin drove up to the garage door and honked three times. The garage door opened. He drove in and parked, and the door shut behind us.

“Stay here and don't come out until I tell you to,” he said and he got out of the van.

The building was a massive warehouse, and on all three sides were wooden shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling. On the shelves were couches and oversized chairs wrapped in layers of thick plastic.

Dustin stood by the front of the van, waiting for the man walking towards him. His orangey red hair was cut in a fade. They shook hands. Dustin handed him the envelope tucked in the waist of his jeans. The man opened it, and his mouth moved like he was counting whatever was inside. When the guy put the envelope in his jacket pocket, Dustin pointed at me. The man's eyes moved over the hood and through the windshield, meeting my stare. He then looked back at Dustin and shrugged his shoulders.

Dustin waved, signaling for me to come out.

“Séamus, this is Nicole, my girlfriend,” Dustin said.

Séamus stuck out his freckled hand for me to shake. “Nicole,”

he said and dipped his head.

His accent sounded like he was from Ireland. Southie was full of Irish mobsters. I knew Dustin dealt with some rough men, but the mob? Damn. He was in deeper than I thought.

Another guy drove a forklift with a wooden pallet with two couches wrapped in plastic over to where we were standing.

“Honk when you're done,” Séamus said, and both men went into the office by the back wall.

Dustin went to the front seat and came back with a knife, cutting the plastic off the furniture. When both couches were uncovered, he sliced each of the cushions, the armrests, and the back panels. Fluff stuck out from each gash.

“Start pulling,” he said.

He was standing in front of the first couch, yanking out the fluff.

“What am I looking for?” I asked.

Once all the outer fluff was out, he held up a brick of heroin wrapped in more plastic and stamped with a skull and crossbones.

“How many are there?”

“A lot,” he said.

We worked our way through all the cushions and the back panels of the couches, and piled all the bricks on the ground. By the time we were done, there had to be over a hundred of them, and we packed them into the paint cans. When those were full, we stuffed the buckets too. We covered the buckets with tarps, and on top we scattered paint trays, brushes, and edging tape.

I waited in the passenger seat while Dustin looked everything over to make sure it was all secure, and then he joined me in the front seat. He honked and we backed out through the open door.

New York City was a four-hour drive and that was a long time to go without using. My stomach was already queasy. I couldn't wait. I took out a rig, spoon, and bundle from my pocket.

“Put that shit away,” he said. “You've got to wait until we're in New York.”

“But I'm starting to feel sick.”

He looked in the side mirrors and the rearview. “Then hurry up, I try to only break one law at a time.”

“I love you so much,” I said, next I could ask him to stop at a gas station to pee. Dustin only did runs with guys on board and they probably peed in a soda bottle. I should have worn a diaper.

He kept his eyes on the road, but he squeezed my leg. “I love you too, baby,” he said. “And you did good back there, but promise me you'll never sneak into the van again?”

“Yeah—”

“No, I mean it, Séamus is cool cause he's family, but the other guys I deal with don't fuck around,” he said. “I can't just bring someone new with me to the delivery. There's a code, and I've got to follow it.”

I never thought about the risks involved when Dustin ran these drugs. It seemed so simple, pick-up, drive, and drop off. But the mobsters were probably strapped, and if they sensed something wasn't right they wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

“You and Séamus are related?” I asked.

The road was bumpy, and I really had to pee, so I was having a hard time keeping the spoon steady.

“Séamus and Richard are brothers,” he said.

Brothers? Shit, what if Séamus called Richard and told him I'd been at the pick-up? Richard would know I was up to something and he'd figure out my plan—get Dustin out of Boston before he found out we'd had sex—and order one of his squatters to kill us. Someone could even be following us now.

“Does Richard have another van?” I asked.

There was a mini-van behind us and a black car behind them.

“No, just a car,” he said.

“What color?”

“Black, I think.”

Even if I was being paranoid, there could still be someone waiting for us in New York. I couldn't let Dustin deliver these drugs.

“How much can we get for this load on the street?” I asked.

He took his eyes off the road to look at me. “Why?”

The smack was bubbling in the spoon and I dipped the rig into the mixture, filling the chamber.

“I don't want to go back to Boston,” I said. “Let's go somewhere, anywhere, maybe California and sell these drugs on the street. Just think how rich we'll be.”

“You're crazy.” He looked in his rearview mirror and turned on his blinker to merge when the street went from three lanes to two. “Is that why you wanted to come to New York?”

I flicked the chamber with my finger to get out the air bubbles. “We could do it, you know, and we'd make a good team,” I said. “We could hustle together out on the streets in California.”

“Do you know what would happen if I didn't drop off these drugs and return the money to Richard?”

“How would he find us in California?”

“Richard and Séamus and his guys wouldn't be the only ones looking for us. The Guidos who are supposed to get this shipment would be looking too,” he said. “Nicole, they'd hunt us down and kill both of us.”

“Not over one little shipment.”

He laughed, but nervously.

“Then we'll go to Mexico,” I said.

“We can't run for the rest of our lives.”

I stuck the needle into the back of my hand and waited for the flash. “As long as I'm with you, running wouldn't be so bad.”

His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, and his leg was bouncing. He wasn't convinced. But there was one thing I could say that might change his mind.

“I think I'm pregnant,” I said and emptied the dope into my vein.

I hated lying, but it was the only way. And once we got settled somewhere, I'd figure out how to tell him I'd gotten my period.

He looked at me again and I smiled. “I'm a couple days late, and I'm never late.”

But maybe I wasn't lying. I hadn't kept track of the twenty-eight day thing since the abortion, so there was a chance I could be pregnant. And since we'd been together, he'd never worn a condom and pulled out when he was ready to come. But pulling out wasn't the best birth control.

His eyes went wide, and his mouth opened.

The car in front of us pulled over and double-parked. “Watch out,” I yelled.

He braked hard and swerved to the left so he wouldn't hit the car. He had the van under control, and his eyes were on the road, but his lips were moving and no words were coming out. He was talking to himself. Why wasn't he talking to me, saying how happy he was that he was going to be a dad?

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you,” I said.

“No baby, I'm glad you did,” he said and put his hand on my stomach. “I just wanted to wait until I had enough money saved, that's all.”

“Mexico sounds a whole lot better now, doesn't it?” I asked.

“Hell yeah, it does.”

“So what do you think? Should we go?”

He was about to answer when I heard the siren. I looked in the side mirror and saw flashing blue lights.

“Fuck,” he shouted and put on his blinker, pulling over to the side of the road.

“Were you speeding?”

“I think the cop saw me swerve back there.”

The cop got out of his car and waited for the traffic to slow down so he could come over to the van.

“Get rid of all this crap,” Dustin said, pointing to my lap.

I stuffed the rig, spoon, and bags into my pocket just before the cop tapped on Dustin's window.

Dustin rolled his window down, and the cop peered inside the van.

“Saw you swerve back there,” the cop said. “You almost hit that Neon.”

“Sorry officer, my girl here just told me she's pregnant. Shocked the hell out of me and I just took my eyes off the road for a second.”

The cop was a big man, taller than the van with fingers the size of sausages.

“License and registration,” the cop said.

I felt his eyes on us, watching Dustin's hand as he pulled out his wallet. And on mine when I took the registration out of the glove box.

“Are you insulin dependent?” the cop asked me.

“No, sir,” I said.

I handed the registration to the cop, and that's when I saw the blood drips from the needle hole running down the back of my hand.

“I picked a scab,” I said.

The heroin was causing my whole body to tingle.

“Then why is there a needle sticking out of your pocket?” the cop asked.

I looked down.

He was right. Not only was the orange cap sticking out, but half the chamber was too.

I was a little high and my brain wasn't working right.

“It's for bees,” Dustin said. “She's allergic and she's always gotta carry around that medicine in case she gets stung.”

The cop told us to wait in the van and he'd be back in a few minutes.

Once he was away from the window, Dustin punched the steering wheel.

“Don't worry,” I said. “I think he bought the whole bee thing.”

“Screw the bee thing, there's a warrant out for my arrest.”

Richard would bail him out if he got arrested. But that would screw up my plan to go to Mexico, and then Dustin would definitely find out about Richard and me. If he got in trouble I didn't know what I'd do, where I'd live, and how I'd get dope.

“Do you know what that means?” he asked. “It gives them the right to search the van.”

I turned around, glancing at all the brushes and trays and paint cans. It looked legit. Why would the cops even bother to search through it all?

Dustin sent a text message and then rested his head on the steering wheel. “We're fucked.”

We? I'd get in trouble too? But Dustin had the warrant, not me. Why wouldn't they let me go after he was arrested?

“Don't say anything to the cops, not now or when you're in jail,” he said.

Jail?

“Why would I get arrested too?” I asked.

“Nicole, I was arrested on a drug charge and never showed up to court,” he said. “They're gonna search the van and when they find the drugs, you've got to keep your mouth shut. Richard will bail us out, just keep fucking quiet. Got it?”