Steal the Lightning: A Field Ops Novel (Field Ops #3)(43)

Silverman still had his camera.

“Stella, I know I said I wouldn’t film you, and I won’t, if you don’t want me to. But I think that it would help a lot . . . ?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t care. Don’t care no more . . .”

She swung her arms. She looked up at the sky, the trees.

“We’re put here on God’s Earth, and people say we’re put here for a reason, an’ each an’ every one of us, we got a purpose under Heaven. But I tell you: purpose is like indoors, too. And when you trying to make it, day by day, don’t got no time for purpose. Sit there, ponderin’,” she cupped her chin in her hand, “wonderin’ what it’s all about. So sure, maybe here’s my purpose. I dunno. My purpose, talkin’ to you, right here, right now. Gotta be somethin’ . . .”

“We can go somewhere more comfortable, if you like. A café, or a hotel, or . . .”

“Uh-uh. We come here ’cause there’s no one listenin’. ’Cause there’s no one near. You shoot your little movie, Paulie. You make me like a big, big star. But right now, all I’m tryin’a do is get my life back, see? ’Cause that’s the way it feels. Like some fucker stole my life. I dunno who, I dunno how . . .”

Silverman cradled the camera, glancing at the monitor. He said, “You don’t do drugs, Stella. I know that. But you did try div a couple of times, didn’t you? And I wondered how that came about?”

“Ah, shit . . .” Then she grinned at him. “Paulie, you are setting up a fucking interview here, ain’t you? You are putting me on Fox fuckin’ News!”

“Yeah, Stell. And you know you’ve just blown it for me, don’t you?” They traded grins. He waited for a moment. Then he said, “You want to answer anyway?”



“OK, OK.” She spread her hands, looked at her fingers. Her voice was lower now, more hesitant. “I’m talkin’ now—talkin’ ’bout a bad time. And, I know what you all thinking. Homeless, yeah, that’s bad, that’s like, rock bottom. Only it ain’t. Bottom is like, six months, one year, two years on, you done everything, tried everything, you cannot get your shit together. It’s like everywhere you go, there’s just this brick wall. Whether it’s welfare or it’s cops or cold or hot. Things are lookin’ up for maybe five, ten minutes, an’ then—smack. Down you go again. Weren’t always that way for me, though, I’m tellin’ you. Had my own place, had a job, I was never rich, but, hell, I paid my bills, and then—ah, Paulie.” She looked up suddenly. “They don’t wanna hear this, no one wants to hear this. What you want me to say? What you want? Ah, Jeez—” She raised her hands, she shook her fists.

“Tell me about div,” he said, and then, again, “This is important, Stell.”

He waited. The kind of silence that makes people talk, simply to fill it.

She sighed.

“Div. Yeah. Some shit I never wanna see again. No sir.”

“Why’s that, Stella?”

“He was . . . this guy. Didn’t come on like a dealer. Kinda quiet. Nervous even. An’ just him. No bodyguards, no war chiefs . . . And the other thing, see: this guy ain’t sellin’. He is givin’ it away. Says, if he likes you. If you’re right for it. An’ the way he talks, way he says it . . . like he’s tellin’ you the product done the choosin’. We got a lot of crazy people here, but this guy, this guy’s different.”

She paused, took out a cigarette. Silverman waited. Then he said, “What did he look like, Stella?”

“He looked . . .” She blew smoke. “Looked like a guy, I guess. White guy. Good clothes. Nothin’ fancy, but, good, y’know? These like, Italian boots, you know? Shorties, ’bout to here. Shades down, all the time. Indoors, too. And he’d take a look at you, look in your eyes, say some shit like, div loves you. And he’d dust you free.”

“Div loves you. What did you think that meant, Stella?”

“I told you. He acted like the stuff had, like, a mind all its own. Crazy shit. Or maybe not so crazy. I dunno. An’ he called himself a name. He had cards, like business cards, but all that’s on ’em is a picture, ugly fuckin’ thing. Boy eating a apple. An’ he shows it round, he points at it, says, You wanna know who I am? Well, that’s me.”

“Johnny Appleseed,” I said.

“Yeah! Ah, shit. I don’t like thinkin’ ’bout this, right? Don’t like—don’t like rememberin’, it’s gone, it’s over, yeah? Not part of me no more—”

She pulled angrily on her cigarette, but it was down to the filter. She dropped it and then ground it out under her foot.

“So, there I am. I think, OK, my life is so fucked now, how much more fucked can it get?

“Dumb, huh? Fucking dumb. I know that now . . .”

“This stuff—it twinkled. Twinkled like stars. But not the first time round. First time, it was kinda dull-looking, not white like coke, or yellow, just this kinda dull gray color. First time, it’s like nothin’. Maybe if you didn’t use, and didn’t let it in, maybe it stayed like that. But once you got a taste—oh my. After that, it’s as pretty as the stars up in the sky. Just pretty, pretty, pretty. An’ a little further down, you start to feel it, too, just like it’s in there, watchin’ you, sat right behind your eyes or somethin’. An’ it sees what you see, knows what you know—”