The junkie threw up in my pristine Dodge Charger and I wanted to toss her out the car. The whole thing was going to have to be detailed after this and it wasn't going to be cheap. This wasn't going to be worth it.
I parked and lifted her limp body from my car. She was sound asleep now. I carried her into my apartment building and old Mrs. Jones from a few doors down peeked out from her door. “Everything okay, Mr. Ash ?” she croaked out, raising an eyebrow.
“Don't worry about it, Mrs. Jones. Just go back inside.” She harrumphed and closed her door. I was probably going to miss out on her Christmas cookies this year.
I unlocked my apartment door while still holding the chick. It wasn't hard since she barely weighed ninety pounds. I navigated through the mess of dirty clothes and empty pizza boxes, making it to my bedroom. I dropped her on my bed and she instantly curled up with my comforter.
I wondered how she got in this mess in the first place. Her black blouse and jeans were torn and ripped but I could tell they were expensive brands. Did she run away from something or someone? Drugs can really fuck up a person's life.
The O'Malleys weren't very patient and I'd have to give them an update soon. What could I tell them? I kidnapped the junkie and now she's held up in my apartment. They'd think I was crazy. But there was a method to my madness. If I could get her to speak about her dealer, the O'Malleys would look the other way if I didn't check in with them tonight.
I went to the kitchen and looked for a clean glass. The place hadn't been cleaned in years and I didn't even remember the last time I used a glass. I went to the sink and filled up a dirty one with water. It was the best I could do. I placed the water on the nightstand next to the bed. She'd wake up soon enough and be deathly thirsty.
I splashed water on my face in the bathroom, staring at my dirty mug in the mirror. What if she didn't give up the dealer, Ryker? Torture was my best tool in the toolbox but I couldn't do that to a woman. No matter what. The O'Malleys had been forgiving when I'd refused torturing a kid a while back. But this was different. They'd cut this chick's head off if it meant getting their drugs back. I just had to hope that I could convince her to spill her guts.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, shocking my system. I pulled it out and the screen read: Ian Murphy. He wanted an update on my progress but I wasn't ready to give him one yet. I hit the end call button and shoved the phone back in my pocket. I could dodge his first call but if I tried to do the same thing on the second call, Ian would have his dogs out looking for me.
The junkie was still sound asleep in my bed when I went back to the kitchen. I opened the fridge and found a beer can sitting all alone in the very back. I cracked the top and drank half of it on the way to the bedroom. It sure took the edge off the situation. I took a seat across from the bed and watched the chick sleep in the dark, sipping on my cold beer. This might take awhile.