Twelve by Nick McDonell Read Free Book Online Page A

dealers until they are almost right on top of her. She is trying to play it cool, but she has never done this before. White Mike feels sorry for her.
    Lionel eyes the girl, but she is focusing her attention on White Mike. He is the one she can deal with. They introduce themselves, and White Mike inquires as to how much she wants. First, though, Jessica wants to know exactly what the stuff is called, even though she doesn’t want to come off as naïve. So she bracesherself and asks, looking away from White Mike. Lionel grins and grunts with laughter.
    â€œTwelve,” White Mike says. He tries to look her right in the eye but can’t catch her gaze.
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œ Twelve .”
    â€œOh.”
    Lionel’s baritone slides out from his hood, surprisingly smooth, even musical. “How much,” he says, not even really a question.
    For the first time, Jessica really looks at him. The dark skin hooded under the sweatshirt, unwashed, and the eyes looking straight at her. Lionel is handsome, in his way. He has a strong jaw and doesn’t look fat, even though he is enormous. Jessica takes this all in.
    â€œA thousand.” She almost totally busted her cash-advance lines for this.
    Lionel’s eyebrows arch for half a second. White Mike sighs and indicates for the three of them to start walking, and takes the money from the girl, crisp bills in his hand, and Lionel hands her five tiny Baggies. Jessica now has the impression that this drug is Lionel’s domain and not White Mike’s. Her attention is refocused. White Mike is surprised when she asks Lionel for his beeper number, “because, you know, it might be easier if it was direct, and maybe I’ll want some more . . .”
    Lionel gives her the number. White Mike doesn’t want to think about this.
    Jessica, eager to get away from them now, says goodbye and turns the corner hurrying toward Fifth Avenue.
    That was easy .
    I am so cool.

Chapter Twenty-Four
    WHITE MIKE LOOKED at her as she spoke. His mother said that it could be a couple years, but it might he less, and at the end she said she was sorry, and he said, Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. She said she wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, and they were just going to live the best life they could. Did you hear me, Michael? Always live the best life you can.
    That night White Mike woke up sometime after midnight and walked to the kitchen in the dark. There were no windows in the old kitchen, and when the swinging door swooshed silently closed behind him, the room was black. Not even a sliver of light came through the crack under the door. He reached up to a cupboard, opened it, and searched for a package of cookies. His hands found the package and took it down, all in total darkness. Next he pulled a stool up to the cupboard to get a glass. The first thing he felt was a champagne flute, so he took that, and it was as cold as the tiles on his bare feet. He placed the glass next to the package of cookies on the counter. He opened the package assilently as he could and removed a stack of cookies, the whole bunch in the first of the divided rows of the package. He placed the stack next to the flute, closed up the package, and replaced it in the cupboard. He turned in the direction of the refrigerator and regarded the darkness before him. Then he closed his eyes, and the darkness changed imperceptibly, maybe just in that he knew his eyes were closed. He stepped across the kitchen to the refrigerator and opened the door. Orange brightness flooded his closed eyes, and he reached about for the carton of milk. He found a carton, cold and full, and took it out, closing the door as quickly as he could. The brightness faded, and he opened his eyes. In the darkness he opened the carton and poured himself a champagne flute of undiluted cranberry juice, his mother’s favorite drink.

Chapter Twenty-Five
    WHITE MIKE AND Lionel watch the girl hurry