Chapter 43 #2
Rajan keeps going. “They probably think you’d steal some.
You’re a little too desperate. Desperation is good in the low-level jobs, because you’ll do anything for a bit of money.
” He knows that intimately. “But when you’re the one handling the money, you actually gotta use your head.
You’ve never had much experience with that. ”
“Shut up,” Zach says, and Rajan knows he’s on the right track.
Hat Stealer doesn’t, though. “What’re you even talking about?” he says to Rajan. “Zach’s rolling in money. He doesn’t need it.”
Rajan grins with all his teeth, still looking at Zach. “Really?”
“Well, yeah.” Hat Stealer glances between Rajan and Zach, finally clued in that something else is going on. Zach hasn’t moved a muscle in like a minute. “Zach, your dad is a hotshot lawyer. Isn’t he?”
Rajan’s eyebrows rise. Zach really went all the way with this ruse.
It’s sad, really. He had to pretend his family was rich to become respected as a leader among his friends.
He probably feels like he’s so close to gaining that full membership.
It would be terrible if someone came around and ruined his progress.
“You know what,” Rajan says thoughtfully, “now that you mention it, I remember reading that.”
Zach speaks then, his jaw clenched. “Where the fuck would you have read that?”
“Mr. Kerr,” Rajan replies offhandedly. “He used to leave student files out on his desk all the time. I read some of them. Like yours.”
Zach turns white so fast, Rajan has the impression that poverty isn’t the only secret he’s hiding.
But Rajan’s certain whatever else was in that file is no big insult. It’s probably just sad. And if Zach wasn’t such a dick, Rajan might even feel sorry for him. But since Zach is a dick, and has also been torturing him for four days straight, Rajan will use it to his advantage.
“Why don’t you tell them, Zach?” Rajan suggests. Zach says nothing. “There was a lot of interesting stuff in your file. You always acted like you had big money, but the truth is, you and your family are—”
“Hold him down,” Zach barks at Snake Tattoo, and Rajan settles back. Finally.
Snake Tattoo, however, looks confused. “I thought you said—”
“I changed my mind,” Zach snaps. “We’ll bring the notes back. And the ledgers. That’ll be enough proof. You’re right, I don’t trust him to not escape.”
More like, he doesn’t trust Rajan to not be a loudmouth about his family’s exact circumstances the whole way there.
But Snake Tattoo, appearing pleased that Zach’s agreeing, doesn’t question him further.
They all look at Rajan, and the energy in the room changes slightly.
Rajan knows what this means. He feels strangely calm, though.
Whatever they do to him, it will be over eventually. He just has to ride it out.
Then Zach produces a syringe from his pocket.
“Wait,” Rajan says slowly. “What’s that?”
Zach examines the syringe. “Remember when Perry threatened me with a needle?”
Of course Rajan remembers. There are some things he can never forget.
“He gave me an idea,” Zach continues, nodding at the guys around him, and the circle tightens around the chair. The foreboding feeling intensifies. “Ever done the IV stuff, buddy?”
It all clicks. The needle Zach’s uncapping. The reason Zach didn’t want anyone giving him obvious injuries—it wasn’t just because they needed him for a mission. It was because Zach had always planned to kill him like this.
It’s the one way he doesn’t want to die.
Rajan launches himself out of the chair.
They clearly didn’t expect that, because he gets halfway across the room before there’s a blow to the back of his head. He staggers. They grab at him, voices everywhere.
“Careful with the face—”
“Grab his legs—”
“The jacket—”
He’s slammed back to the floor. His already injured ribs and shoulder explode in pain. That’s all they need to roll him over. Dazed, he barely registers the flash of scissors. His jacket and hoodie are being cut off, leaving him in his T-shirt.
He claws at them with his fingernails, and when they force his arms to his sides, he surges toward the pointed part of the scissors. He’s yanked back instantly, someone putting him in a choke hold. Snake Tattoo gives him a disbelieving look. “What are you doing, you freak?”
Zach answers for him. “He’s trying to get his face carved up so they can’t write him off as an OD.” He lights a cigarette, a smile twitching on his lips. “But you know what, buddy, that just isn’t gonna happen.”
Rajan pants, immobilized. Zach sinks to his haunches to speak in his ear.
“To answer your question, this is heroin. And fentanyl. Everyone knows you prefer”—he mimes snorting a line—“but tonight it wasn’t enough, was it?
You wanted something new, but you took it too far.
Open-close case, when they find you. No one gives a shit about a junkie. ”
Rajan finds he has only one word in his vocabulary. “No,” he whispers. “No—no—”
Zach blows smoke into his face. “Goodbye, Rajan.”
His arm is forcibly extended as Zach gets up. The voices around him become almost soothing. Mockingly so.
“Relax, man.”
“Yeah, take it easy.”
“You’ll enjoy this.”
“OD’ing is a nice way to go.”
No, it’s not. It will confirm what everyone thinks about him.
The words on his medical records—substance use disorder—will be his legacy.
Everyone—his dad, his brothers, Kat, Simran—will believe it.
He’s already relapsed once. The bruising on his arm will damn him.
So what if he’s a tiny bit scuffed up? Junkies usually are.
His sobriety before all this will mean nothing, his struggles will mean nothing.
Everything he tried to do for himself, meant nothing in the end.
The needle comes down, flashing in the dim light. He’s still saying No, but now it’s a long breathless stream, nononononononono—
There’s a pinch in the crook of his elbow. Then it burns. Right before it lights him up from the inside.
A head rush, so unbelievably beautiful. The voices distort into a buzz, and Rajan’s no dies in his chest. They let go of him. Someone pats his cheek roughly. His head lolls to the side, vision focusing long enough to see several sets of legs walking out of the room. The light turns off.
He waits to see his mother. But this time, when the door swings shut, he is alone in the dark.