Page 132 of Truck Up

“So, you’re the one who found her?” he asks me.

I nod.

“Did you move her body?”

“No. All I did was check for a pulse. I knew it was pointless. Her eyes were empty.”

He scribbles a note before he looks at me. “What about drugs? Did you find any in the apartment?”

I nod again. “There was a pile of coke on the coffee table, along with some weed.”

Ricky looks behind him. His eyes fix on the mess I made in the living room when I tossed the coffee table. “So you did that?”

“Yeah.”

He’s quiet for several seconds like he’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I don’t. What else is there to say?

“May I ask why?” He probes.

I jump to my feet and pace on the sidewalk. This is the truth I don’t want to admit, but he’s not going to leave me with any other option.

“I’m an addict,” I say. “Always will be. I was so close to taking a hit that it angered me. So I eliminated it as an option.”

Ricky raises a brow and stares at me. “You destroyed evidence so you wouldn’t use it?”

“Did you not hear me?” I yell, poking myself in the chest. “I’m an addict! You can’t put drugs in front of an addict and expect them to not crave a hit. It was either that,” I point inside the apartment, “or else that shit was going to be inside me. I can’t go back to that.”

Ricky raises his hands in a calming motion. “I’m not judging or reprimanding you. Just trying to get the facts.”

“It feels like judgment.” I admit.

“Sorry,” Ricky says, and he sounds like he really means it. He’s found me one too many times in the past, completely strung out and barely hanging onto life. He knows how far I’m capable of falling.

I stop and rest my hands on my hips. Taking several deep breaths, I calm myself before I look at Ricky. “No, I’m sorry. You’re just doing your job.”

He nods before he continues. “Any evidence of anyone else in the apartment?”

I shrug. “Not when I found her, but she didn’t make that mess by herself. She throws parties all the time.”

“Any idea who she hangs with?”

“Not really. I don’t keep up with that crowd anymore. It’s probably safe to assume any of the other addicts around these parts are intimate with Mom. Find the lowest of the low, and I guarantee they know her.”

“Do you know who sells her drugs?” he asks.

I shake my head. “It changes all the time. She doesn’t have money, so she uses people until they’re sick of her. Then she finds someone else willing to share.”

“When was the last time you saw her alive?”

“We visit her one Sunday a month,” Chase says. “Our last visit was three weeks ago, I think.”

Ricky makes note of that before he looks at me. “What made you stop by today?”

“I’m struggling with some life choices. Seeing Mom always helps me find clarity.”

“Are any of these life choices due to—” His radio cracks, interrupting him.

A female voice echoes around us. “We have an assault and possible hostage situation at Williams’ Family Market in Beaver. Any units in the area? Please respond.”