I don’t know why, but on the ride over to Pat’s, I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, since this seems like a sure thing, but I feel it anyway. I keep looking into my rearview mirror just to confirm that Claude and Jean are following in their little black sedan.

Everyone else is in a good mood. Trace keeps telling racy jokes, and even Vivian is getting in on the fun. Miller laughs the loudest, though he never offers a joke of his own.

“Why’s the boss so gloomy?” Bill asks as we’re pulling down Pat’s driveway.

“I’m not,” I grunt.

“He doesn’t like dirty jokes,” Vivian says. “Too uptight, I think.”

The boys all laugh and I can’t help but smile. She gives me a little look, a subtle thing, but I just shake my head a bit.

I don’t know what it is. It’s the same feeling I used to get before we’d ride out into the desert in Afghanistan on those long drives between villages. Those were the most dangerous times, and if we were going to get ambushed or have an IED blow up beneath us, those were the days. It never happened and my bad feelings are all for nothing, but still, I can’t shake it.

I park the van in front of Pat’s house, and this time there are other cars here. They’re all different, some of them nice and some of them beat up, but there are probably six in total. As we climb out, a whole horde of people come out the front door to meet us, all followed by Pat. She’s beaming the whole time, and I suddenly realize that she may have exaggerated a bit when she said she was totally alone in this world.

I glance over at Viv and we start shaking hands as the guys unload the equipment. I meet Pat’s neighbor, her second cousin’s third kid, her grocer, her hairdresser, the guy that owns the hardware store, that guy’s son, and a bunch of other people that I can’t remember. They all come fast and hard, wanting to get their stories out, like they’re all bursting at the seams to start talking.

“Hold on, hold on, everyone,” I call out, trying to silence the crowd. “Please, listen for one second. We’re going to talk to you all, but I’m afraid we’ll run out of time if we don’t do this as orderly as possible. The guys are setting up in the back room, so we’ll take everyone there one at a time. Vivian here will do the interview while I prep the next person.” I look around at the faces staring back at me. “Now, who wants to go first?”

Everyone raises their hand, and a smile breaks across my face.

I glimpse Jean and Claude wandering around the property. Nobody asks who they are, and only Pat seems to notice their existence. She seems to understand, though, and doesn’t complain.

From there, things go fast. The first interview is with a girl related to Pat somehow, I can’t remember, I think it’s her sister’s daughter’s daughter. Her name is Macy, and she’s still very much an addict.

It’s obvious. I mean, if she weren’t talking about it, I’d be able to tell. Glassy eyes, stringy hair, sallow skin: a general sense of hopelessness, dirt, and decay. She’s probably been an addict for a while now.

“When did you first try fentanyl?” Vivian asks her.

“In school,” she says, looking nervous. “A friend of mine. She said it was fun. I mean, it’s totally fun, it’s just—“ She stops and looks down. “People say I need help.”

“Do you need help?” Viv asks softly.

“Maybe,” she admits. “I don’t know. I don’t have a life, or a job, just the drugs, but they make me feel… something. I don’t know what it’d be like without it. I mean, I’m okay, right?”

Vivian just shakes her head. “Tell me more about how you first started.”

She draws them out, one after the other, masterfully saying whatever they need to hear. Sometimes she has to agree with them, sometimes she has to be forceful, and sometimes she has to stroke their ego. Like with the hairdresser, Barb.

“I told her, I says, Meredith, you keep doin’ this trash, you gonna die. You know? I told her and now she’s dead, I knew all along.” Barb smiles proudly.

“Clearly you were right,” Vivian says. “But what was it like, watching your best friend fall into addiction?”

“Like nothin’, at first, but then all of a sudden it was everythin’.” Barb frowns, trying to find the words. “It’s hard to explain.”

“You’re doing a good job. Please, keep going.”

As I prep the next person, getting their basic story and info, Viv works on camera. We fall into a flow together, that great feeling where everyone is working and on task and things are just coming together. Everything just flows from there, one thing into the next, and it feels like the work is almost easy, or at least it feels good.

I can tell the crew is into it, too. They’re all paying close attention to what they’re doing, not making jokes, not fucking around like they sometimes do. Everyone is concentrating, getting through this group of people. This is more interviews than we normally do in a single day, especially without any prep, but we’re all afraid that if we try and break it up, we’ll lose people.

This is the center of our story. One man talks about finding his brother, high out of his mind, out in their back yard trying to kill all their chickens. Another guy talked about getting clean and relapsing, again and again and again, until his best friend OD’d and now he’s clean for good.

It was tragedy after tragedy, some of it mildly funny, but all of it human. This is what we came here for. We came for the truth. We came to see how opioids and drugs can tear apart a community.

And underneath is all, the Strips are always present. They’re not talking about them directly, but there are references. People talk about the dealers, the gangbangers, the violence and the money. It’s like everyone wants to accuse the Strips of destroying this place, but everyone is too afraid to say their name.

After hours of interviews, we have only three more people left to talk with. Everyone’s exhausted, especially Pat, but she’s keeping her spirits up.

“Think we can finish?” Bill asks me, frowning. “Light’s gonna be gone soon.”

“We can do it. Let’s try, at least. We have some good stories coming up.”

He nods, looks resolved. “I’ll make it work.”

We get back to it. Vivian interviews a girl, maybe fifteen years old, about her mother’s addiction. Meanwhile, I’m prepping a guy that nearly died himself, OD’d just a couple months before.

As we start getting ready to switch off, there’s a noise outside. It’s thumping bass, the sort of thing you hear from a car, getting closer. I can see the mood in the room instantly shift, and Pat walks quickly over to me.

“I think that’s Tommy,” she says.

“Who?” I ask.

“Tommy. He’s in the Strips. I asked him to come.”

I stare at her. “Is that safe?”

She smiles, a little sheepish. “I knew little Tommy as a boy. He was a nice boy.”

“Tom’s a fucking prick now,” a guy named Larry says. “Beat the shit out of my neighbor just a week ago for no fucking reason.”

“He’s not dangerous,” Pat says, shaking her head.

“You’re kidding yourself. You invited him here?” her hairdresser hisses. “He’s gonna fuck these boys up.” She looks at me, eyes wild. “Y’all better leave.”

“We’ll be fine,” I say, heading toward the door. I look back at Vivian. “Stay here.”

I walk quickly out onto the porch and I watch as a truck pulls up, waving a Confederate flag. Idiots probably don’t know what that thing stands for, but that’s the least of my worried right now as three guys climb out of the truck and walk toward me.

The guy in the lead is maybe twenty-five years old at most. He’s got a short, clean beard and his head is shaved completely bald. He’s wearing camo pants and a tank top with a gun in its holster at his hip. The two other guys are dressed about the same, though one is pretty fat and the other can’t be older than twenty at best.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy in the front calls out.

“I’m Henry, visiting with Pat. Are you Tommy?”

“Tom,” he says, spitting on the ground. “And you shouldn’t fucking be here, bitch.”

“Pat invited us,” I say. I stare Tom down, trying not to betray my fear to him.

“Don’t matter. We heard about you fucking cunts, sniffing around our territory.” He stops at the base of the steps, just a few feet away from me. I can feel everyone in the house behind me creeping closer, listening and watching.

“We’re just journalists,” I say. “Not getting in anyone’s way.”

“You’re in our way. I thought we made it clear, but maybe we didn’t. Get the fuck out of our town before we kill you.”

“Who are you?” I ask him. “I mean, who do you work for?”

He grins and his little cronies laugh too. “We work for ourselves,” he says. “They call us the Strips, but whatever, we accept it. We just fucking sell what we sell and make a living. And we own this town. So you better fuck off.” He puts his hand on his gun and my pulse picks up.

“Best be moving your hand, son,” a quiet voice says from off to the left.

We all look over and there’s Jean, calmly pointing a gun at Tom’s face

Tom and his friends go to pull their weapons, but another voice catches them off guard. This time, it comes from the roof. I can’t see him, but I know it’s Claude.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I start killing. Bet I can take you all before any one of you can get a shot off.”

“What the fuck is this?” Tom spits. “I thought you were journalists.”

“We are,” I say. “And I’d love to talk to you. But we brought protection, just in case. We don’t want trouble.”

“You got trouble now, bitch.” Tom moves his hand away from his gun. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.” The three guys pile back into their truck and pull off.

My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid I might pass out. Jean comes up and nods to me. “You good?”

“I’m good,” I say.

“We should get going now, before they come back with more men.”

“I’m sorry,” Pat says, coming up from behind me. “I thought… he used to be good…”

“It’s okay,” I say to her. “You’ve helped out a lot already.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

I walk through the silent crowd of scared locals and stop in front of Viv. “We gotta go,” I say to her.

“Okay,” she answers.

I nod at the guys and we start to break down the equipment. We pack up the van in record time.

As we finish up, Viv hangs back with Pat. She’s clearly trying to make Pat feel better, though I don’t know why. That old woman put us in a lot of danger, and now I’m afraid we’ll have to leave town completely.

“Viv,” I call out.

She waves at me and hugs Pat. I sigh impatiently. I just want to keep Viv safe, that’s all. I feel bad for being short with Pat, but I’ll make it up to her.

Viv comes over and we pile into the van. We pull out a second later with Claude and Jean bringing up the rear.

There are no dirty jokes on the way back. I think everyone knows the truth: the stakes just got even higher.