She nodded, rubbed her nose with the heel of her other hand.
“Let me guess,” Buck said. “Meth and heroin?”
She nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Coke when I can afford it.”
“A bad combination.”
“Don’t I know.”
“When did you use last?”
All the signs of early withdrawal were present. A slight patina of sweat, quick head and eye movements, lip licking, nose rubbing, and a fine tremor in her fingers. Marla was beginning the spiral that would lead her to her next fix. The monkey had its claws in her back and was nipping on her neck. Soon he’d clamp down hard and she’d do anything to sooth the need. An addict’s life.
Her gaze dropped, as if trying to avoid the question.
Buck didn’t let up. “Maybe four or five hours ago?”
She looked at him. “How’d you know it was…” She stopped mid-sentence and gave a thin smile. “Of course you know. You’re a doctor.”
“And I’ve seen this roller coaster quite a few times.” Buck now offered his own smile. “Why not get in a program and dump all this crap?”
“Done that. Three times. Doesn’t seem to stick.” She shrugged and licked at her dry, cracked lips. “So here I am.”
“You know this stuff will eventually kill you. Right?”
“There’re worse things.”
“Well, let’s not let it get to that.”
After Buck opened, drained, cleaned, and dressed the abscess, Joanie gave Marla an antibiotic injection in her left hip.
“I’ll give you an oral antibiotic,” Buck said. “Take it regularly and don’t skip any doses. Okay?”
“I will.”
“Do you have a family doc?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore. I think they all gave up on me.”
“Well, we won’t. Come back here tomorrow so I can take a look at this. Okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“No. Don’t try. Do. It’s important.”
“I promise.”
“Where do you live?”
She shrugged. “Here and there. Sometimes over at Reverend John’s.”
“John Packard,” Joanie said. “He was a real reverend at one time. But, he had his own drug and alcohol problems so he got tossed from his church. Now he’s clean and has a boarding house down near the other end of town. He takes in addicts and runaways and does what he can. Good guy. Folks still call him Reverend John.”
“He’s saved me from sleeping in the rain more than a few times,” Marla said. “And fed me when I couldn’t buy a stick of chewing gum.”
“Do you have any money?” Buck asked Marla.
“Some,” Marla said. “About four bucks.”
Buck took out his wallet and extracted a twenty. He extended it toward her. “Get something to eat. Okay?”
She hesitated a beat and then took the bill.
“That’s for a good meal, not drugs,” Buck said.
Marla nodded a thanks and then swung her frayed backpack over her shoulder and walked through the automatic doors into the night, her jeans hanging loosely from her boney hips.
“You know she’ll use that money for drugs.”
“Probably. That’s up to her. But she does need a little help.”
“She needs a lot of help. Just not sure she’ll take it.”
“She’ll be back tomorrow,” Buck said. “I’ll work on her a bit more. Step at a time.”
“The eternal optimist.”
Buck smiled. “That’s me.”
Joanie raised an eyebrow. “You still coming over for dinner tonight?”
“Sure am.”
“Harvey’s making his famous venison stew and I think he has a bottle of bourbon with your name on it.”
“Tell him not to drink it all before I get there.”
She laughed. “He just might. But he has a backup or two.”
Buck glanced at his watch. “Pedro should be here any minute and then I’ll head home, clean up, and be over in say…half an hour.”
Dr. Pedro Padilla, another of the ER docs, had the night duty. The ER was quiet now so the handover should be quick.
“Perfect,” Joanie said. “I’m out of here, too. See you soon.”
CHAPTER 6
7 HOURS EARLIER
Marla Jackson walked down the ER entry ramp, her packet of antibiotics tucked into one back pocket, her $24 fortune in the other. Her arm ached, but that took a backseat to the withdrawal that twisted her gut, nipped at her nerve endings, and drove the cool night air into her chest. October nights could be chilly here in the hills, particularly on evenings like this when ribbons of ground fog settled into the low-lying areas.
She stopped on the shoulder of Main Street, slipped off her backpack, and knelt. Inside she found her stained and worn navy blue sweatshirt and tugged it on, pulling the sleeves down until only her fingers were exposed. Four months ago it had fit, now it seemed two sizes too large.
She needed to score. Get well. Kill the demons that warred inside her.
A tan sedan rolled by. Family of four, the woman in the passenger seat eyeing her with what she knew was disdain. She was used to it. Throughout high school, people had looked at her with a degree of awe that now had turned into righteous disgust. She crossed into the park. Tommy Finley, her connection, would likely be hanging near his usual spot. She followed the gravel walking path that wound beneath the trees until she reached the large oak that sheltered one of the park’s three small ponds. Where Tommy hung out and conducted his business. Nothing. Where the hell was he? She completed the loop through the park until she returned to where she had begun. Now what was she going to do?
“Looking for Tommy?”
The voice came from behind her. She turned. It was Jason Epps, Tommy’s partner or whatever he was. In the few dealings she had had with him he came off as mostly a prick.
“Yeah,” Marla said. “Have you seen him?”
“Nope. Looking for him myself.”
She rubbed one arm through the sweatshirt. “I need some stuff. Can you call him?”
“I’ve tried. He ain’t answering.”
“Damn it.” She looked around. A car cruised down Main. “Any idea where he might be?”
“Supposed to be here. He ain’t, so your guess is as good as mine.”
She heeled her nose, trying to kill
