Dope: A Novel
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From the author of Come Closer comes the most highly acclaimed-and unusual-thriller of the year. Josephine, a former addict, is offered a thousand dollars to find a suburban couple's missing daughter. But the search will take her into the dark underbelly of New York she thought she'd escaped-and a web of deceit that threatens to destroy her.
This was why I quit. The never-ending conversation about dope, always the same loop, around and around. There was no aspect of junk that could go unexamined for more than twenty-four hours. I couldn’t stand it anymore. A few minutes ago I had craved a shot like I was dying for one. And now more than anything else I hoped I would never have to speak to another junkie again. I liked Cora. I really did. I just wished there was something else she could talk about. We had said goodbye and I was about
white dress, like a girl might wear to a formal. She looked too young to be here. She hopped off her bar stool and came over to look. When she saw the photo she blinked and pursed her lips, just enough to see it if you were looking real close. “No,” she said quietly. I imagined that she always talked like that, quiet and soft. “I’ve never seen either one of them.” Daisy passed the photo down the bar. The rest of the girls said they hadn’t seen either of them. I thanked them, and they went back
with the management.” He looked me up and down. “They ain’t hiring.” “Gee, now you’ve hurt my feelings,” I said, “but it ain’t that kind of business.” “Well then, what kind of business?” “The kind that’s none of your business at all.” He tried another angle. “You know there’s a two-drink minimum. That’s one for you and one for a girl.” “Two whole drinks?” I asked. “I think I can handle it.” “I don’t know,” he said. “The drinks in there ain’t cheap. And I got word from the boss—no single
had a chance to give me the same routine as the doorman I showed her the photo of Nadine and McFall. She looked at me for a long time before she looked at the photo, and then she only glanced at it. “I don’t know,” she said. “That could be anyone.” I asked if it was all right if I spoke to some of the girls. She looked at me and shrugged. “You wanna buy a girl a drink, you can do whatever you want with her.” I figured the Nelsons had given me enough dough to shell out a little. I went over to a
looking for one. Groups of teenagers went from block to block, seeing what the news was on the various street corners. Kids were playing stickball in the street. A woman yelled from a tenement window: “Ant’ny! Ant’ny, you come home RIGHT NOW!” At Houston Street I stopped at a newsstand and bought the Daily News. Then I got a taxi to take me the rest of the way home. I lived in the Sweedmore, a hotel for women on Twenty-second and Second. My room was around the size of a shoebox, but it was safe