Free Black Ice by Leah Giarratano

conversation with a speed dealer than go there. 'Mum. I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll give you another call soon.'
     
Jill cleaned away her breakfast and took a shower. That was the other thing she'd fixed as soon as she got in here – a new showerhead to ensure the water coursed hot and strong. She donned her uniform for the day – Playboy hipster tracksuit pants in baby blue, matching midriff hoodie, a white singlet, push-up bra and sneakers. Her hair went into a high ponytail, and she slicked on lots of black eyeliner. Sitting down on her bed, she picked up a cheap jewellery box from the nightstand and began pulling on the ten silver rings Krystal Peters always wore. She was not prepared to have any more piercings for this assignment – one in each ear was enough for her – but lashings of inexpensive rings and bangles seemed to help her blend in with her neighbours. Some spangly silver earrings completed her outfit. Ta-dah, she checked out Krystal in the mirror, as always bemused and a little shocked to see her standing there. She picked up her handbag and set off to wake Ingrid.
     
It had turned out that Ingrid Dobell – Jill/Krystal's new bestie, and her neighbour from across the hall – was hooked in with plenty of the speed and smack dealers in the Fairfield area. She didn't use herself – told Jill she'd seen the damage it had done to her father and brothers – but she'd grown up in the area and had a lot of friends. When Jill had moved in, supposedly on the run from a bad break-up with her man in Brisbane, Ingrid had come around to drop off a welcome pack: a shiny red laundry bucket packed with a bottle of no-name washing-up liquid, some Chux, a small jar of instant coffee, a roll of toilet paper, a package of shortbread biscuits and a carton of milk.
     
In her kitchen, Jill had unpacked the bucket, touched by the thoughtfulness. At ten-thirty the next morning, she'd gone around to thank Ingrid.
     
'Come in, come in,' said her neighbour, standing back from her screen door, waving Jill inside with the smoke from her cigarette. 'Don't mind the mess. Haven't got around to getting my place done yet.'
     
Actually, the unit wasn't terribly untidy. Some unfolded washing on the couch, a few dishes in the sink, shoes on the floor. Jill would have had to have typhoid fever to leave her place like that overnight, but she'd been expecting a lot worse of her new neighbours.
     
'I'm a carer for Mrs Dang, next door to you,' said Ingrid. 'Poor love has schizophrenia. I make sure she's taken her meds, had something to eat, and I tidy up a bit.' Ingrid took a seat at her kitchen table; with a bare foot, she pushed out the other chair for Jill. 'She's not too bad this morning. Only asked about her cat once.'
     
'Her cat?' said Jill.
     
Ingrid laughed and blew smoke towards the ceiling. 'Yeah, poor thing. She thinks the government took her cat to do experiments on it.'
     
'Where is her cat?'
     
'Never had one as long as I've lived here, and that's coming up for nine years now.' Ingrid laughed again. 'Doesn't worry me. She's good fun, and I'm gettin' the carer's pension to look after her.'
     
'No shit,' said Jill.
     
'Yep. Not bad, eh? Mind you, she wouldn't cope on her own. I've been doing this shit for her for years anyway. She's fucked.' Ingrid finished her cigarette and looked around for another. 'Anyway, Krystal, what's your story?'
     
It was over the first glass of wine a week after they met that Jill had sounded Ingrid out for some contacts. She'd seen no drug paraphernalia around her flat, so she was a little worried about Ingrid's reaction, but she figured that she might as well try to get something if she was going to have to drink this crap.
     
'So, Ingrid,' she tried. 'You wouldn't know where I could get any shabu around here, would you?'
     
That had been three months ago, and Ingrid's initial introductions had led to others that had resulted in the takedowns Lawrence Last was so happy about.
     
Jill