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Molly, we need to talk. Be at your window at midnight. I’ll unlock it and help you out. Midnight. And make use of these…
He’d managed to slip a pill bottle under the rag without me seeing him do it. He’s smooth. Lorazepam. Sleeping pills. Though he didn’t explicitly say it, perhaps fearing somebody other than me would see his note, I get what he wants me to do. It brings a little smile to my face.
Finally, a little revenge.
Slipping the bottle into the pocket of my jeans, I walk through the main room and into the kitchen. It’s only the second quarter so I’m sure they’re going to be wanting food by halftime. I look in the refrigerator and the pantry, trying to figure out what I can make them. Of course, given the lack of groceries, there really is only one thing I can make.
“Spaghetti it is,” I call out.
I put the pot of water on to boil then set about making the sauce. We’ve got a large jar of some garlic and herb sauce, so I use what vegetables we have, along with a chunk of Italian sausage to dress it up a little bit. Once I mix everything together, I look to the doorway. Nobody’s there and they’re all still screaming in the main room, so I make my move. Grabbing a meat tenderizer, I shake the pills out of the bottle onto the cutting board and crush them all up, making sure it’s a fine powder. Once it is, I scrape it all into the sauce and stir vigorously, blending all the Lorazepam into it.
I honestly don’t know anything about dosages, so I just hope I don’t accidentally kill somebody. Except for Hammerhead. I wouldn’t mind seeing him OD on my special batch of spaghetti sauce. Once the noodles are done, I drain them and use the colander to shake off as much of the moisture as I can. After that, I dump all the pasta into the pot of sauce and mix it all up really well, humming a happy tune to myself as I do.
Since plates are in such short supply right now, I grab half a dozen bowls from the shelf, forks from the drawer, and a stack of paper napkins. I grab a bag of garlic rolls then carry that all out to the main room and set it all down on one of the empty tables. After that, I return to the kitchen to grab the pan of spaghetti and some tongs, then take that all out too. I set the pan down just as the second half ends and the halftime show comes on.
“Perfect timing,” Hogwild says with a grin.
“About fuckin’ time,” Hammerhead mutters.
I catch Hawk’s eye and give him a subtle shake of the head, silently telling him to not eat the pasta. He turns back to the TV, his demeanor icy, and takes a long swallow of his beer. The guys all get up and dig in, Hammerhead dishing up the first bowl, of course. I stand there watching them eat like an idiot, simultaneously terrified and amused.
“Ain’t you gonna eat, Hawk?” Hammerhead asks around a mouthful of food.
“Nah. I’m good,” he shakes his head. “I ate when I was out.”
Hammerhead turns to me, chewing with his mouth open and sauce all over his chin. He swallows, then takes a piece of a roll and wipes the sauce off his face and stuffs it into his mouth.
“Why are you standin’ there like an idiot?” he asks. “You need somethin’?”
I shake my head, his voice breaking the paralysis that had gripped me. “No. Nothing.”
“Gimme another beer,” he growls.
“I’ll get another round,” I tell him, and turn on my heel back to the cooler. The bottle of pills said in very bold letters, “Warning: do not mix with alcohol.” I sure would hate for the guys to feel some really horrible side effects tonight. So I happily crack open another round of beers and pass them out.
“Here you go,” I tell him as I hand him his drink. He looks down at the bottle and back up at me.
“You can go,” he grunts. “I’ll call you when it’s time to clean up.”
I turn and walk out of the room without another word, trying to hide my smile. I’m practically skipping down the hallway, barely able to contain my laughter. Stepping into my bedroom, I close the door and wedge the piece of wood underneath it to keep it shut. I jump onto my bed and bury my face in my pillow, laughing like a maniac into it. It feels good to finally let it all out. And when my laughter finally dries up, I feel my heart swelling. That spark of hope I thought was cold and dead suddenly has burst to life once again.
I don’t know what’s going through Hawk’s mind, but I have a feeling he’s going to help me. At least, I hope that’s what’s happening here. I can’t see him having me drug the club if he wasn’t going to help get me out of here. Hawk’s note breathed new life into that spark, building it into a small flame. And I’m hoping at midnight, Hawk will tell me something that will turn that flame into a roaring fire.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
It’s just about midnight and all the guys are already out. Hammerhead managed to stumble back to his own room, but the rest of the guys basically conked out where they sat. Jammer made it over to the couch and crashed. Deadbolt and Hogwild claimed the other two rooms in the clubhouse. And two guys I’m not familiar with just laid down on the floor and went to sleep. The Cards won, and I kept the drinks flowing all night knowing the combination of alcohol and medicine is absolutely going to fuck them up. I have no doubt they’re going to feel like shit come morning and it makes me smile.
With everybody asleep, I know this is my chance, so I slip out the side door and make my way around to Molly’s window in the back. I knock softly on it, and she quickly pulls back the ratty old curtain, a wide smile on her face. For a second I feel like I’m in some teenage romantic comedy. Like she’s the girl next door and I’m standing outside her window. I definitely can’t blast a boom box though.
There’s a latch lock on the outside of the window, keeping her from opening it from the inside. It makes me sick and all I can do is shake my head as I unlatch it. She quietly slides the window up and climbs out. Reaching up, I help her down, setting her on her feet in front of me.
“Where can we go to talk?” I ask.
She grins and takes my hand, leading me through the darkness. At the far end of the lot is a storage shed. Molly leads me around behind it to a park bench that’s butted up against the shed. There are empty bottles, cigarette butts, and all manner of debris back here. We step up onto the seat then sit down, side by side, on the bench. I look around at the garbage that surrounds us and frown.
“What a dump,” I comment.
She laughs softly. “I used to try to keep it clean, but it never stays that way very long,” she says. “These guys are pigs.”
