waved her fingers as if to say, “toodle-oo”.
“Dammit,” I whispered, and left.
*
The hour-long drive to Lyndon, home of Lyndon University, was excruciating. All I could think about was the image of Laura, lying on that bed.
I was finally able to put it out of my mind as I arrived at the squat, brick house a few blocks from the small campus. I got out, walked up onto the porch, and knocked on the door.
It took way too long, but the door was finally answered by Mattie Donovan.
Mattie appeared to have aged ten years from when we used to hang out just last year. He was still a perpetual slacker, and I told him that he needed to get his act together if he wanted to keep doing business. He was still a good guy, just sloppy.
His eyes were bloodshot, and the smell of weed emanated from the open door.
“Hey, Mattie,” I said.
“… shit,” he replied.
“Good to see you, too.”
I stepped past him into the living room, and things were already wrong.
Two guys I had never seen before were sitting on the couch, completely baked, and staring at the television. The coffee table in front of them was littered with spent cigarettes, bags of chips, a bong, and a glass vial next to a pipe. The only sources of illumination in the room were the television and some Christmas lights strung around the borders of the ceiling. Bedsheets covered the windows.
Mattie closed the door behind me.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “We’ve got weed, but if you want something harder, I think we have some—”
“No.”
“You want a soda or something?”
“Mattie, you know why I’m here.”
“Um … no, man. I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”
“You’re behind on your payment.”
He scratched the back of his neck, trying hard to feign confusion. This wasn’t like Mattie. He could be a fuck-up from time to time, but he had never lied to me.
“Really? You sure about that? I thought I paid.”
“Come on, Mattie.”
“No, yeah. I paid Reggie. Like, last week, I paid him.”
“Mattie, Reggie sent me.”
I noticed that the two guys on the couch, while still high, were intensely watching our conversation.
“Oh … Really?” Mattie asked, stalling for time.
“Who are your friends?” I asked with a nod towards the couch.
“They’re just friends, you know? From out of town.”
The guy with blotchy skin and the bad haircut, sitting on the far end of the couch, flicked his eyes towards the darkened hallway off of the kitchen that led to the bedrooms.
“Is that some of your inventory?” I asked, pointing to the table. “Because if it is, and you’re behind on payments, I sure hope your friends have paid for it. Also, if you’re keeping your stuff here with the money, you know how bad that is.” I was going for bravado, but I worried that I had overplayed it.
Mattie nervously snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, they paid for it.”
“Great. Then you can give me the cash, I’ll get out of here, and you can continue to entertain your guests from out of town.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
