April 18th, 4:15 p.m. The Lower East Side, New York City

This chapter is dedicated to my sister-in-law, Jennifer Abrams, who bears no resemblance whatsoever to Kate's friend except for the fact that she also grew up on Long Island.

The call from the taxi was a "heads-up" to Kate's dealer. It was time to restock. Sure, Jared had just supplied her with some, but she knew that would only get her to next Thursday. Once a month, she would receive an envelope with a scrap of paper and a scrawled phone number jotted on it.

She took her downtown jaunts in stride, they were the most exciting activity she had going on in her life. It was an adventure, a walk on the wild side for a well-to-do white girl from the Upper West Side. She grew up believing subways were beneath her, with Vanessa always dragging her along in taxis, car services or limos. Today she preferred them, if nothing else, as another rebellion against authority.

The Donnybrook tavern at the corner of Clinton and Stanton wore a gray sandstone façade with an engraved welcome that read 'Home to lively debate and raucous revelry,' though neither was going on at the time, being an hour or so before the after-work flood of patrons. The place had dark brown wooden tables and chairs, matching the bar and stools. Kate took up residence at a table against the far wall adjacent to the bar, the darkest spot in the place and stared at the brick wall. A few minutes later, a woman slid in across from her.

Her birth name was Jennifer Elizabeth Anna Marie Depietrio-Andonio, but Kate knew her only as Jen D. She wore a black penny dress, her hair and lips equally jet black. She also had that nose ring and cross bar thing going on. Kate thought the silver one impaling her right nostril to be a nice touch, too. She no doubt had put her fashion merchandizing degree from LIMCollege to good use. Her olive complexion exuded an understated sensuousness about her, like a wild provincial gypsy who had been instantly transported to the big city.

Kate appreciated the contrast: Upper West Side chic meets Lower East Side Goth. The place was upscale, but her new booth companion reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap shampoo. "You look cheery, as usual."

The brooding CatholicSchool drop-out from Valley Stream, Long Island returned fire with glib artillery. "Thanks, you look like shit...as usual." They both looked up at the distraction that was their overly-solicitous waitress and ordered lattes.

Kate had first contacted Jen through one of her short term affairs when she moved back to New York after graduate school. At that time, Jen was operating her business out of her mother's home in Long Island. Both traded catty looks with each other, but Jen's was more suspicious. Kate would lose more weight and add more years to her own face each time they met. The cover up under the eyes by now had long since worn off, her face gaunt and peaked.

Ignoring the jibe, Kate changed the subject. "So, you moved out, huh?"

Jen chortled. "Kicked out is more like it." Her arms outstretched, she rocked back and forth. "My mom just couldn't take it anymore. Threatened to burn my clothes if I didn't leave."

"Uh-oh. What'd ya do?" Kate asked with the tone a mother uses when she knows her child crapped in his pants.

"Real funny, actually," Jen answered, followed by another chortle. "One of my ex-customers somehow got a hold of my house number and spoke with my mom about when the next batch would be ready. Can you believe that shit?" Jen asked with an eye roll. "So what've you got for me?"

She caught Jen gazing at her Louis Vuitton purse, from which she removed a white envelope filled with cash. Kate plucked it from her purse and slid it to Jen across the wooden shellacked table.

Jen's signature poker face took a holiday for a few moments. She was used to nickel and dime deals, but Kate had figured Jen looked forward to providing happiness to a pathetic trust fund baby. Jen opened it up to find a healthy sum of cash—eight-thousand dollars-worth—for her month supply of heroin and cocaine, and had found her annuity at last. Jen's brown eyes widened and her nostrils flared.

The waitress returned with their lattes.

"And it gives me great pleasure to make you happy," Kate said.

"Fuck you," Jen said. "You know, I have to ask myself, what's an attractive one like you doing this shit for? And I always come up with the same answer: because you need some excitement in your boring uptown life."

"Well, maybe my life's not as boring as you think," she said, cocking her head to the side.

"If you say so." Jen sipped her latte, put the cup aside and leaned in. Kate used her best sotto voce. She scuttled Jen's Amway-like success story speech, bursting with adolescent anticipation, "So, can we do this thing, already? I thought we came here to do the thing."

Jen met her gaze with her soft endearing brown eyes. She smiled and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, girl. We're just a couple of chicks enjoying our lattes."

Kate grinned and said nothing.

Jen slid out of the booth. Then tapped her on the shoulder as she passed, then walked out.

The grin turned sour when she realized their coffees were unpaid for. Shaking her head, Kate tossed a twenty on the table before walking outside.

She took a left on Essex Street, spotted Jen up ahead, and caught up alongside.

"So, how are you doing?" she asked.

"Oh, business is pretty good. Right now, you're one of my best customers, though." After a few moments of silence, Jen asked, "Why do you always take it raw, anyway?"

"I prepare it all myself. Always have." She thought it strange Jen couldn't fathom why a customer wouldn't want to justify a hefty discount.

"Modest to a fault, aren't we?" Another eye roll followed. Ever the ambitious one, soon she recruited enough of her buyers to become pushers themselves as she rose in stature to a mid-level supplier. Jen had not too long ago set up a heroin mill in her apartment with a couple of her local pushers. Her inventory came from upper-level suppliers of a Dominican cartel, which advocated a business policy of discipline and quality control. "You got me thinking. I'm expanding and well, could make a fortune together if..." Jen cut herself short.

"Sorry, I'm just a woman of science, not Walter White."

Before she knew it, Jen pulled out a cute strawberry print gift bag from her purse and stuffed it into Kate's.

She tried to recover Jen's train of thought. "But let's say for the sake of argument that I wanted to--"

Jen raised her hand palm out. "On second thought, just forget it. I'd sooner tell you to do it with one of your friends anyway...except you don't seem to have any."

She threw back a proud smirk before descending into the subway station, leaving Jen with nothing to do except return to her day job.

* * *

Kate wanted to burst out of her own skin. The unbearable itching was God's way of telling her it was time for another hit. God, I need it, NOW!

Outfitted with hardwood floors and decorative moldings, her apartment was what every young single 23-year-old woman would want, but most could only yearn for. But it was far from pristine. Kate kicked a half empty Lo Mein container through her living room littered with several other take-out containers. Scattered mounds of white dust dotted the table.

She walked into her kitchen and dropped her mail on the table that shared space with a Bunsen burner, singed spoons, and new and used syringes. Her nose crinkled as she shut her eyes, then she inhaled the rancid scent of processed heroin.

After separating the junk mail, she saw the letter she had been waiting for. The return address was from the State of Rhode Island Department of Health. She set herself down at the table and scanned the envelope with suspicion, like it was set to explode upon opening it. Then the torturous itching barged in and accosted her attention.

It was time.

The antidote was in her purse, the contents of which she emptied along with the paper bag of tiny, plastic, tan powder-filled baggies on the kitchen table. She set the envelope down and grabbed one of the spoons from the kitchen, heated up the powder, and added water, all within less than five minutes. Grabbing a fresh syringe, she submerged its plunger down into the solution, then retracted it. A deliberate jab into her left elbow was all that was required.

Uhmm.

She strolled into her spacious bedroom, kicked off her shoes, then stripped down to her panties. She started scratching herself wherever sweat had formed under her clothes. Red welts were already present where she had scratched herself raw on several occasions. She only stopped when her fingernails dug up blood, as an open wound sting replaced the itching. Sleeveless, she glanced down on both of her arms near her elbows. Her veins were almost completely blown out. She'd have to start injecting in her big toe. Looking at her wardrobe, she thought to herself that being on Frugeré's payroll sure had its advantages.

Before she retreated to her bathroom and reached in the drawer under the sink to find a stash of sterile syringes.

At least I'm a responsible junkie!

Having filled the syringe with the contents of the spoon, she then grabbed the rubber band resting on the towel rack and wrapped it tightly around her forearm. She took the syringe and gave her left arm a good stab, seeing blood briefly back up into the vessel, before pressing down on the plunger. Liquid Nirvana has arrived, thank God. Then she punctuated the high with her customary sugar rush appetizer by grabbing a bunch of gummy bears from an open bag lying on the kitchen table and stuffing them in her mouth, swallowing them whole without chewing. Dinner tonight would consist of a well-balanced diet of Wheat Thins and Sea Salt Caramel ice cream straight from the container.

Her schedule for the rest of the evening included watching Castle reruns on TBS—the-all Castle-all-the-time channel—maybe read a journal or two, then sleep. She admired Detective Beckett conducting all of those intense criminal interrogations. Kate didn't know why, but she was awed by the way Beckett worked the suspect over: the questions, the chase and the search for the truth. Just plain cool, she thought. Sleeping, on the other hand, was something she couldn't do, both because of the drug and because of the fear of experiencing horrible nightmares and hallucinations.

There she was, sitting in her living room chair while the drug coursed through her, alone together with none other than Kate Beckett.

We see what Kate's life has been reduced to. What do you think of Jen? She happens to be my favorite character in the story.

Copyright © 2016 by Alan Field. All Rights Reserved.