Page 5 of Played
I shake my head. “Tony had some shit to take care of.”
“What shit?”
“None of your fucking business, shit for brains. You want this or not?”
I step close enough that I see him trembling, but I would expect no less. I’ve got at least a foot on him, and I’d guess he weighs a hundred-twenty pounds dripping wet. His survival instinct is probably screaming at him to run, but the rest of him, well, that’s jonesing for his next hit. “Y-yeah, I want it.”
I wink at him. “Good boy.”
His eyes blow wide when I pull the syringe from my pocket. “W-what the fuck, man?”
I grab him by the scruff of his neck. “This is what you wanted, right? Oblivion?”
He struggles and opens his mouth to scream, not that anyone will pay him any mind around here, but I shove a rag between his teeth anyway. Holding my finger to my lips, I tell him to shush.
His eyes are wide with fear now, and he’s shaking like a leaf caught in a storm. “Relax, Indy. This is going to feel real nice, I promise.”
I stick the tip of the needle into his arm. “This is some grade A pharmaceutical morphine. Not like that usual shit you inject into your veins.” I inject him with it, and his horrified expression is quickly replaced by a look of pure contentment as he slumps into my arms.
I scoop him up and carry him to my car. “Time to get you back to your daddy, kid.”
Chapter
Three
KING
Igreet the staff at the assisted living facility as I pass by the front desk. I know most of them by name after visiting here every other month for the past three years. In case they demand I stop by for dinner, I keep these visits from my parents, and I usually manage to sneak in and out of the city in a single day.
My grandfather’s health has been declining for years, and it broke my heart to take him from his Long Island house and put him in here, but like he always does, he settled in easily and made the best of the situation.
When I get into his room, he’s dozing peacefully, while a rerun ofFrasierplays on his TV. I wrap my fingers around his fragile hand and squeeze gently, noticing how little padding there appears to be between flesh and bone. “Hey, Grampa,” I murmur.
His eyes immediately flutter open, and he squeezes back, the faintest of smiles thinning his lips. “There’s my boy.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, and an intense wave of guilt washes over me. Even if I don’t like coming to New York because of them, I should have made more of an effort for him. “I’m sorry it’s been a while, Grampa.”
“No.” He croaks out the word and gives a feeble shake of his head. “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself on my watch, son.”
I rest my forehead against his knuckles, feeling like a sinner looking for absolution I will never find. “Are you in pain?”
“Not enough to make me want to quit,” he rasps, and it sparks a coughing fit that has him grasping for the oxygen mask at his side.
I take it and press it against his face, gently fixing the elastic strap behind his head. My grandfather has been sickly for as long as I can remember thanks to a congenital heart defect, which has been exacerbated all his adult life by his six-cigars-a-day habit. He’s also battled and won two previous bouts of cancer. He is anything but a quitter. He’s the man I admire and respect more than anyone else in the world, and it hurts me that I’ve been away from him for so long. I should have been a better grandson. I should have visited more often.
When he’s able to breathe again, he pulls the mask aside. “Your mother is insisting I come home,” he says, despondent.
I can hardly believe she wantshim home. More like she wants to get her hands on whatever money he has left after he dies. She wants to look like the good, doting daughter she most definitely isn’t to her socialite friends. “And how do you feel about that?”
He shrugs. “I do like it here, but the doctors are suggesting it would be best to be with family.”
“Then you can stay with me. My place in Chicago has plenty of space, and it’s on the ground floor.”
“I can’t move to Chicago, boy.” He shakes his head. “As much as I’d like to raise hell with you there… If I were ten years younger…” He laughs softly. “My doctors are here. My nurses.”
“There are doctors and nurses in Chicago, Grampa.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m too old to move halfway across the country, King. Too tired. I just want a little peace.”
