The guys looked at each other, suspicious, the default setting of most dope dealers.
“You know, squirrely,” Allen said. “You say he was more of a rock man, and I can see that. He was really jumpy, you know. Didn’t look like someone who would be interested in sunflower, unless he’s a Belushi.”
She wasn’t about to explain that he hadn’t been buying it for himself. “So you remember him. And this was about a week ago?”
They both nodded enthusiastically.
She put the phone back in her pocket, and finished off her beer. “Well, thanks,” she said, turning to go. Mom blocked the doorway out of the kitchen.
“You’re not going to make a purchase?”
Nessa stammered. “No. I just wanted to find out if John had been here. I’m trying to find him.”
“You drank one of our beers.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.” Nessa tried to get around Mom, but she stuck out a bony arm and caught Nessa by the elbow.
“That’s not how we do things around here.”
All the blood in Nessa’s body drained to her feet, making her feel like she might just lift off of the ground.
“What do you mean?” her voice came out as a squeak.
“You come in here, don’t make a purchase, we might think you’re an informant or something like that,” Mom said. “Might be wearing a wire.”
She grabbed the front of Nessa’s tank and pulled. Nessa grabbed her wrists, but the old lady was shockingly strong and managed to use both hands to rip Nessa’s tank right in two.
“No wire,” Mom said, turning her toward the men. Nessa tried to cover herself with her arms, but Mom held her fast.
“Might be somewhere else,” Allen said with a gleam in his eye.
“Maybe you ought to look,” Mom said. “Put your wallet on the table. Keys, phone, everything you got. Need to make sure you don’t have pepper spray or some damn thing.”
“Please,” Nessa said. “Don’t.”
“On the table,” Mom repeated.
Nessa emptied her pockets, and Smearface grabbed up the wallet while Allen rose from his chair, licking his lips and fingering his belt buckle.
Oh, shit.
While Mom kept Nessa’s elbows pinned together behind her back, Allen got on his knees in front of Nessa and started to unbuckle her belt. She wanted to knee him in the face, but there were two shotguns in the room, and who knew how many other weapons were within arm’s reach.
“What have we got here,” Smearface said, opening Nessa’s wallet. “Sixty--seven bucks cash.”
Allen looked up into her face as he slowly unbuttoned her Levi’s.
Nessa began hyperventilating.
“Platinum Amex,” Smearface said. “Wow. How many junkies you know got that?”
Allen slid her jeans off her hips.
“Please,” she said. She turned her head and tried to catch the old woman’s eye but she was having none of that.
“Kansas state driver’s license. ‘Donati, Nessa.’ Business card . . .”
Allen rubbed his palms together before reaching inside her pant legs to feel her calves and then slowly travel up to her thighs and in between her legs. His other hand snaked up to peel her panties off.
“Altair Satellite Radio?” Smearface said, reading the card. “You’re—-holy shit. You’re Nessa of Unknown Legends!”
Allen froze, his index finger hooked over the elastic band of Nessa’s underwear, and turned his head toward his buddy. “Are you shitting me?” Then he looked up at her. “Is that you?”
She couldn’t decide which would be worse for her. Maybe they hated the show. Maybe they thought she was a pompous blowhard or a know--nothing. Maybe they were Beatles fans.
But she said, “Yes. That’s me.”
Allen rocked back on his heels and slapped his thighs. “This is unreal. We listen to your show every week.”
Mom loosened her grip on Nessa, who pitched forward onto her knees, painfully. Then she pulled up her underwear.
“I am so sorry,” Allen said, hoisting her from the floor and yanking her pants up, which hurt. Mom let go of her. She buttoned her jeans, buckled her belt, and swallowed back the vomit that was crawling up her throat.
“Mom, get her a shirt, will you?” Allen said. “And make sure it’s clean.”
Mom left the room, and Nessa pulled the remnants of her tank together.
“I can’t believe it,” Smearface said. “It’s really you.”
“It’s really me,” she said, blood finally pumping through her body. She had been convinced just moments ago that it never would again.
Mom appeared in the doorway with an oversized T--shirt that looked like it was from the eighties.
“Not that one, Mom,” Allen said.
She handed it wordlessly to Nessa, who held it up and looked at it. Harley’s Best, Fuck the Rest, it said. She pulled the shirt on over her head.
“Let us make it up to you,” Smearface said. “We can give you a dose for free, but you gotta shoot it here.”
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
She pictured Daltrey’s face.