Page 5 of Girl, Entangled

‘Ella, I’d bet my life on it.’

Creed laughed, but nobody else did.

CHAPTER ONE

Billy Hayes had never seen Rock Creek Park by daylight, let alone moonlight, and so he’d lost his bearings within two minutes of getting here.

The directions had told him to enter via the east gate and then walk past the third bench on the left and turn right where the trail forked under the oak. Billy had walked past four benches and seen no fork, and was starting to think the asshole on Murmur was just screwing with him. Apparently, this seller only sold in places where the cameras weren’t, and the depths of Rock Creek were one such place.

And even so, Billy would walk a hundred miles for what was on offer, because opportunities like this didn’t come often.

When MCI Jessup had released Billy four months ago, they’d given him two things to help him on his way to reformation: social housing and a fridge magnet. The fridge magnet was a little whiteboard that said DAYS, and Billy was supposed to write the number above it. He’d gotten as far as nine days before the cravings became unbearable. Prison had reinforced a lot of things Billy already knew, like the old adage that snitches got stitches, but what he hadn’t known was that you could come out of prison with worse cravings than you’d gone in with, because in there you didn’t have a choice, and out here you did.

And Billy’s choice was to inhale the Afghan.

They called it the Afghan because it was imported from Afghanistan, where opium was as pure as the snow on the mountains it grew under. The East Coast had always had the worst heroin in America, and that fact hadn’t changed during Billy’s five years inside. He’d tried some within a week of being released and it was still the same old gunky, black tar crap. The Afghan, however, was what the hardcore called Honest Brown, and Billy figured he deserved a treat after what he’d been through in jail. He’d worry about the fridge magnet later.

By the glare of his cell phone, Billy finally found an oak. He turned under it as the directions had instructed, then looked around for any signs of life. This kind of cloak-and-dagger routine was a pain in the ass, but not unexpected when it came to procuring the best of the best.

Rock Creek Park was empty, and Billy Hayes didn’t like empty anymore. He checked the Murmur app for any new messages. There weren’t any, but the green dot next to his potential new dealer’s name – M – suggested he was online. Billy considered shooting him a message, but told himself he’d wait until the clock struck eleven, which was in seven minutes. There wasn’t much around this area of the park except for a few walking routes, but Billy figured there’d be fewer prying eyes here than anywhere else in the park. According to M, the DEA had made a push to catch the big opium dealers recently, and anyone busted with the good stuff could be looking at fifteen years, hence the need for maximum discretion.

Billy understood it well, so he hadn’t asked any further questions or made further demands. The worst-case scenario was that some loser had sent him on a wild goose chase. Billy could live with that. He doubted anyone would try and jump him, because he’d mentioned outright in the messages that he was an ex-con with enemies on the outside, so he always kept a switchblade on him just in case. That would deter anyone with half a brain, and prison life had taught Billy that cons were usually brainier than they let on.

He checked his phone again. No new notifications, but when he went into the chat, he saw that M was typing.

Then the message came through.

The package is at the entrance to Picnic Grove 9. Remove the contents and leave the money in the bag.

Billy hadn’t realized they were doing dead drops. That worked for him. The idea to grab-and-run wormed its way into his head, but isolating a potential dealer of the best highs in the country was a fool’s move. He replied: Heading there now.

As he walked, Billy checked to see if the man gave any further instructions but none came. He followed the route downhill until the gate for Picnic Grove 9 appeared. It was a giant archway with a sign beside it that said CLOSED AFTER DARK, but the open gate suggested otherwise. Billy used his phone to illuminate the floor, and there, at the foot of the archway, was a brown satchel.

Billy had the money folded in his pocket. Once he’d confirmed this was the Afghan, he’d put the whole one-fifty and maybe an extra ten in there just to show his appreciation. Billy crouched down, unbuckled the satchel and stuffed his hand inside.

The main compartment was empty.

He tried the side pocket. Empty too.

He patted the bottom. He turned the satchel upside down and shook it. Nothing fell out.

‘What the hell?’

He raised his head to look back the way he’d come – and felt a small sharp prick on the left side of his neck.

Billy thought he should reach for the switchblade. He thought he had reached for the switchblade, but his hand went to his shoulder, then it went down. His knees went next, and two broad hands around his shoulders stopped him from falling.

He was suddenly off his feet, moving and remaining stationary at the same time, just like the effect that heroin had on him.

***

Billy was moving, and not by his own accord.

Something had hold of him and was pushing him along, and his head wouldn’t stay still on his neck, and his arms wouldn’t go where he sent them. He thought it was a dream. He thought it was the Afghan. He’d inhaled the Afghan before and this was the effect it had. Your body went one way and your head went another, and you weren’t present for either.

Wheels. He could hear wheels. They needed oil. He was sitting in something and something was pushing him from behind. His chin was on his chest. He tried to lift it. He managed an inch. Then it came back down.

The ridiculous question of whether or not he was dead came to mind, but the answer was not as clear-cut as he’d have liked. A branch went past his eye. He saw bark, then stars between the bark. He was still outside. He was still in the park. Each root he passed jolted up through whatever he was sitting in and into the part of his head that wasn’t working properly.