Free Deviation by Scott M. Williams Page B

don't you think about
what you want for lunch, or dinner, and I'll go and get my pipe. In
the meantime...” He got up and fetched the bourbon from the
cabinet, setting it on the table in front of her. “Help
yourself.”

10.
Plans

    An
hour later they had the bourbon down to the dregs and cartons of
Chinese food in front of them, Dianne using a fork and Frank a pair
of chopsticks he'd retrieved from a kitchen drawer. They'd called
and gotten the food delivered, and when someone began pounding on
the door Frank had at first thought it was Lester; he had no idea
when Lester was coming; but it was only the Chinese being delivered,
and they sat at their table and passed the bourbon back and forth,
eating.
    Frank was getting worried about Lester. The man was
due to deliver a staggering quantity of drugs to the church at any
time that day, whenever it was convenient for him, and Frank had no
way of paying for them. There was no use telling Lester to wait
until tomorrow, because he wouldn't have the money then, either.
He'd never have the money. He had only $726 dollars in his checking
account and $132 in his wallet. The drugs were going to cost over
$6,000.
    There was going to have to be some other way of
dealing with Lester. He knew there was no time to put off thinking
about it, but he was having such a wonderful time with Dianne that
he didn't want to dwell on it any more than he absolutely had to.
    “How's that chicken?” she asked, pausing
to take a small sip of bourbon.
    “Good.” He held out the carton. “Try
some.”
    Dianne leaned forward and stabbed her fork into his
Garlic Chicken. It wasn't something she'd normally have the courage
to do, but she was fairly drunk. She smiled and pulled the fork
out, sitting back in her chair and scarfing down the sample. It had
been almost 24 hours since she'd eaten and she was feeling ravenous.
    “Good?” he asked her.
    “It's wonderful!”
    “See?” He'd already tried some of her
Spicy Shrimp. “They're both good. It was a good idea.”
He rubbed his face and began picking at an imaginary scab, feeling
the need for a hit of meth. Dianne had declined to smoke again and
he felt awkward smoking it in front of her. He thought of asking
again now, but he didn't want to become tedious.
    “What do you do when you run out of Wild
Turkey?” she asked, sliding the dead bottle toward him.
    “Are you saying you want more to drink?”
    She smiled. “Maybe just a little. I know I'll
regret it in the morning, but after what I just went through I think
I kind of deserve it.”
    “Maybe you deserve a little taste of meth, as
well.”
    She glared at him. It was obvious she didn't like the
idea. “No thank you. I really don't want to try that.”
    He picked up the bottle and shook it. Nothing but a
sip of backwash. He returned it to the table and sat up, trying to
think of what else he had tucked away. He got up from his chair and
went to the refrigerator, ducking inside and coming up with two
bottles of Irish Stout. He used a bottle opener from the drawer to
open them and brought them back to the table. “I know St.
Patrick's day is over, but I've still got some good stout here.”
    Dianne grabbed a bottle right away. “I love
dark beer! Oh, this is perfect!”
    They drank their beer and ate, and Frank spent a few
minutes trying to work out some type of plan for dealing with
Lester. He wanted to ask Dianne for her input, but wasn't sure it
would be a good idea to involve her. It was obvious she had no
interest in drugs, at least not meth.
    “What are you thinking about?” she finally
asked him, setting her empty food container aside.
    Frank looked over at her. He shrugged. “Problems
of my own.”
    “What kind of problems?”
    He took a drink of beer. “Oh, I've got quite an
assortment.” He decided to share this particular problem with
her and see what she thought. “I've got a drug dealer
stopping by later today to make a delivery, and I've got no way of
paying him. Not