Chapter 11

Time had ceased to have meaning for Renee and Fran. Only Manuel's comings and goings marked changes in their routine that they could recognize as time.

Each time it was the same. Before the shot, the Mexican would fuck them brutally.

Renee swallowed, feeling her saliva gulped down her throat moving like a large, fuzzy tennis ball. Now, she didn't know how she could live without heroin, without the needle.

Hopefully she watched the door, craning her head. She was so accustomed to the straps that she didn't try to move her bound hand and foot anymore. It was automatic to work around them.

God! It had been a long time since Manuel had come. Her lips were dry, but Renee felt the perspiration dotting her face and body. Once, earlier, Manuel had been late. Renee thought then she was going to die. But now it was worse, much worse.

"Manuel! Manuel!" Fran was writhing on her own bed, sobbing the Mexican's name as her anguish rose. At first the two women talked. They seldom spoke to each other anymore.

What was there to say, Renee wondered bitterly. Either they were in pink clouds at the beginning of a trip, or they were in agony. Friendship had become unimportant to her, to both of them.

Renee almost cried with joy when the door opened and Manuel came into the room.

Moving without fuss, he unfastened Fran and then came over and took the straps off Renee. "You both can go now," he said grandly.

Fran and Renee both stood, naked and trembling, afraid to believe their ears.

"Go on," Manuel smiled at them. "Little ones, run home to mother."

Staring at each other, Fran and Renee both started sobbing at once. Tears of joy, sorrow, and of frustration. At last the nightmare had come to an end.

Grabbing Fran's hand blindly with hers, Renee started backing toward the door, afraid to thrust the pimp long enough to turn her back. It was a trick, she thought, and steeled herself for the shock of finding the door locked.

But the latch clicked firmly when she turned the handle. Peering outside in the corridor, Renee saw no one.

"Come on, Fran," she cried happily, "we're going home!"

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

Manuel took the hypodermic needle out of his pocket and held it up to the light. "A good-bye kiss, maybe."

Renee felt her resolve slipping away. "Come on, Fran," she urged. But the older woman just stood and shivered, her eyes frozen to that clear cylinder of liquid the Mexican was holding.