Free Tweaked by Katherine Holubitsky

family neighborhood; bicycles lie in the driveways and potted plants decorate the front steps.
    â€œStop here.” Chase motions just ahead, to a house on the left.
    I pull to the side of the road, across from the gray stucco bungalow he’s pointed out. There are two cars parked in the carport, a third on the driveway and two on the street in front. The Passat that had hounded Jack and me on the Upper Levels Highway is one of them.
    â€œThis is it? This is where you come to get high?”
    Chase appears nervous. He pats his hair again. “Yeah.”
    â€œBut there are bicycles in the driveways and a stroller across the street.”
    â€œYeah, so?”
    â€œYou are such a scuzz.”
    Chase holds out a hand. At first I’m not sure what for until I realize it’s for the money.
    â€œOh, no. I’m going with you.” I flip the door handle and start to get out.
    â€œNo.” Chase’s reply is almost a shout. “You can’t.”
    I look at him.
    â€œI mean, it’s not a good idea. They won’t let me in if they see you. They won’t trust you. I’ll just go in and pay them. You can watch me from here.”
    I close the door again. “I don’t trust
you
.”
    â€œI’ll be five minutes. You’ll be sitting right here. I’m not kidding, they’ll slam the door in my face if you’re with me. We’ll be out of here faster if you just wait.”
    I know he’s about as trustworthy as a rabid skunk. But he is within my sight, and I guess I figure he won’t try anything with me right here.
    â€œAll right, you’ve got five minutes. If you’re any longer, I’ll be pounding on that door until it comes down.” I dig the envelope containing the two thousand dollars out of my pocket. “This is it, Chase. Your last chance. Pay those losers off, get back here and leave this crap behind you.”
    Chase nods. He snatches the money from my hand, removes it from the envelope and rolls it into a wad.He stuffs the roll in his pocket, letting the envelope fall to the floor of the car. He is twitchy. I figure he’s nervous about facing his dealers. I watch as he crosses the scruffy yard and knocks on the front door. He turns and looks at me once, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. I glance at the clock. Six minutes after ten. The door opens and he disappears inside.
    I wait. It’s now quite dark and Burnaby Mountain looms close. A car drives by and turns into the driveway of the house two doors down on the same side of the street. A man steps out from the driver’s side. He holds the back door for two young children while they jump out. All the time he stares at me sitting in Mom’s car in front of the drug house. It creeps me out that if he knows what goes on inside his neighbor’s house—and how could he not know with guys like Chase and Ratchet coming and going at all hours—he probably thinks I’m a druggie.
    The blinds are drawn in the two windows that face the street. The small front yard is neglected: weeds grow through the bark mulch, which looks like it was thrown down at some attempt to landscape many years back. A dead cedar stands in the corner of the yard next to the driveway. Red needles lie scattered around its base.
    I look at the clock again. Ten minutes after ten. It has been four minutes since Chase walked through the door. God, I hope this changes things. Chase still has toface the assault charges, but if he’s working and Mom and Dad can return to dealing with the regular hassles of life—the fridge on the fritz or repairing a burned-out headlight—life would be so unbelievably good.
    A car pulls up behind me. Two guys and a girl get out. The girl I notice the most: stringy hair, legs like bowed matchsticks, stumbling behind the two guys like an awkward starving goat. When the door opens, they immediately enter the house.
    Ten fifteen. Nearly ten minutes.