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Arsenic And Rio PDF

373 Pages·2016·0.79 MB·English
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Arsenic and Rio By DJ Manly The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Arsenic and Rio Copyright (cid:164) 2008 DJ Manly ISBN: 978-1-55487-089-9 Cover art by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books Look for us online at: www.extasybooks.com Chapter 1 A s Marshall stood looking out the window at Havendale House, he wondered what was more miserable, him or the weather. As the wind moaned around him, he rubbed his hands together for a minute and tried to feel something beside numbness. The only sensation that assaulted him was loss as the rain slashed against the pane glass window. He knew all about these places. Only damaged goods were sent here, refuge from the streets, “troubled youth”. Losers, living together in cleverly disguised buildings, which were weaved into the fabric of a typical middle class neighbourhood. But no one was really fooled. The director of Havendale House was a psychologist by the name of Frank Barter. He had been standing outside last night when the two police officers had deposited Marshall at the front door. Barter was a tired looking middle-aged man who spoke very slowly, as if everyone had problems understanding the English language. Having hastily introduced himself and scribbled his name on the clipboard, one of the cops shoved at him and he ushered Marshall to his room. Before leaving, he said, “It’s late now. Get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow, Marshall.” His roommate was a younger kid named Gaston Turgeon, a chubby redhead with a big mouth. He talked nonstop from the moment Marshall walked into the room. He was one of those mixed French and English kids who didn’t speak either language well. Gaston announced to him that he was fourteen and loved heavy metal and pot. Then he proceeded to list his favourite groups and 1 DJ Manly detail the reasons why he felt so inspired by their songs. After talking for almost twenty minutes without receiving so much as a nod of acknowledgement, Marshall finally looked at him and said, “Haven’t you noticed I haven’t said a fucking word since you began blabbering?” “Yeah…” Gaston laughed, “Hey, why not? Can’t you talk?” “Figure it out, genius.” He replied softly, giving him a meaningful glare. He then turned on his side and closed his eyes. Gaston stopped talking. * * * * In the morning, rather than follow the others down to the dining room, Marshall stayed in his room looking out the window. It was still raining and somehow that made him feel less alone. When a young woman suddenly walked into his room, he knew she was some kind of counsellor. They all had that same expression on their faces, some combination of compassion and apprehension. “Marshall?” She smiled. “I’m Susan. Welcome to Havendale House.” Marshall met her eyes and then looked at the floor. “You can’t keep me here. I’m almost eighteen.” “You have been mandated by the courts to be here, Marshall. There is nothing we can do about that, but we can do something about the future.” Her voice was soothing and optimistic. He had heard that tone before like a well-rehearsed script. “Bet you say that to all the boys,” Marshall smirked, his voice mocking. “Ah, you have a sense of humour,” she grinned. “You must be hungry. Why don’t you come down for some breakfast? Frank will want to see you later, go over the house rules and set up counselling sessions.” “I’m not hungry, thanks.” Marshall turned his back. “Suit yourself.” A few hours later, the one called Susan came back to his room. Marshall lay on the bed, his battered overstuffed duffel bag under his feet. “Marshall,” she said, “it’s lunch time. Won’t you come and have a sandwich or something?” 2 Arsenic and Rio Marshall sat up and looked at her. “I told you, I’m not hungry.” “Frank wants to see you at one o’clock. Go see Gracie at the front desk and she’ll show you where Frank’s office is, okay?” He shrugged. “Whatever.” “In the meantime, why don’t you have a look around? It’s a pretty nice house. We have five residents here, ranging from the ages of fourteen to eighteen.” “It’s not a house,” Marshall told her, meeting her eyes, “it’s a prison.” She sighed. “Anyway, feel free to move around.” “Can I feel free to move around outside the door, too?” He quipped. “You don’t have that privilege yet. That’s up to Frank. He will discuss it with you later.” “I’m sure he will,” Marshall responded without expression. * * * * Susan watched him as he got up and went over to the window again. He was a handsome boy, quite beautiful really, with shoulder length dark curly hair and soft sherry brown eyes. He was far too thin and it made him look delicate. In spite of his Italian heritage, he was quite pale. She would remind Frank to make an appointment for a physical next week to determine if he was healthy. She knew, given his background, that HIV was a possibility. He was uncooperative, but so were many of the boys when they first arrived. It usually took some time for them to adjust to life in the group home. What disturbed her most about Marshall is that he seemed so sad, disconnected really. There was something missing in his eyes. She hated to admit but usually when they came in that way, it was already too late. * * * * By the time Marshall left his room, it was well after one o’clock. He had fallen asleep, then figured he might as well go and hear what this Frank guy had to say. He wandered the carpeted hallway where three 3 DJ Manly other bedrooms and a bathroom were located. There were two other rooms that said Private on the doors. He ended up in a big dining room where two women were cleaning off one long table and a smaller one near a picture window that was nicely decorated and clean. Beside the kitchen door was a flight of stairs leading into a basement. At the bottom of the stairs was a large recreation room where two boys played ping-pong. The boys barely glanced at him. Marshall left and headed back upstairs to the dining room. He had taken the wrong direction. The kitchen workers, two women with skin as black as ebony, gave him curious looks when he reappeared. They didn’t speak to him. He made his way past the bedrooms again, then turned the corner. A desk was situated next to the front door. Behind it sat a rather homely woman with gray hair. She was talking on the phone as he approached. She immediately put down the receiver when she saw him and issued him a forced smile. “There you are. We have been hunting all over for you. Marshall Calletti, right?” She massaged the back of her neck for a moment. “Frank is waiting for you.” “Sorry, I got lost.” She eyed him, pressed a button and opened the door beside her. She picked up the phone again and said, “We found him. He’s here. Go in. It’s the door on your left. He’s waiting,” she urged. The man named Frank Barter opened his door just as Marshall was about to turn the handle. He was not much to look at, balding and short, a pudgy little man with thick-rimmed glasses and rings of sweat under the arms of his peach coloured shirt. “We were waiting for you, Marshall. Please, come in and sit down.” He directed him to a chair. “Who are ‘we’?” Marshall asked, looking around. “Just an expression. No one, just you and me.” Marshall looked around him. The office was small, not much bigger than a broom closet. A pile of file folders rested on the floor, some on his desk and others jammed together on a shelf fixed to the wall. There was no window and right above them, an old ceiling fan clunked away. An expensive looking computer sat on his desk as well as a jug of ice water. On the wall was a picture of a redheaded woman and three boys, ranging from about the age of twelve to sixteen. Frank poured some water into a glass and asked Marshall if he 4 Arsenic and Rio wanted some. “No thanks,” Marshall looked down at his hands. This office was bizarre. It made him feel claustrophobic. Frank opened a file and began thumbing through it, then closed it and looked at him. “Susan says you don’t want to eat.” “Not hungry. Am I breaking some kind of a law or something?” He met his eyes. “Not yet, but you will have to eat eventually.” “Guess so…sometime,” Marshall replied with a shrug. Frank reached over and lifted the receiver of the phone. He pressed a button and said, “Gracie, hold my calls.” He hung up without waiting for her to answer. “I’d like to talk about your file.” Marshall sighed. “Whatever. You have the power.” He picked at the material of the chair. “Do I have a choice?” * * * * Frank Barter studied him for a minute. He was a good-looking kid and the evaluation by the police psychologist intrigued him. He certainly seemed to fit the profile, but he planned to be more careful this time. Last time, it had been a disaster. “Let’s talk about you first, Marshall… You have quite a history here, arrested several times for prostitution, petty theft and vandalism. You appear to have slipped through the system, released into the custody of a twenty-nine year old man posing as your uncle, an Art Anderson. Yet you never spent more than a night locked up. You were always bailed out. Can you tell me about that, Marshall?” * * * * “You tell me. You have the file,” Marshall replied dryly. “He was your pimp, wasn’t he?” “He took care of me.” “But he made money from your sexual activities, lived off you?” “We took care of each other.” Marshall bit his lip. “Mr., ah…Anderson died of a heroin overdose. Is that right?” He nodded and looked away. 5 DJ Manly “You were there with him, called the ambulance?” “Yeah, but ambulances don’t come too quickly in that part of the city. They figure one less scum to worry about.” “You sound bitter.” “He was my friend.” “Strange choice for a friend, a guy who lives off the sexual activities of a kid and buys heroin with the earnings,” Frank replied simply. “How long were you associated with Mr. Anderson, Marshall?” “He took me in when I was twelve.” “And what about your parents?” “You know about my parents. It’s in the file.” “I’d rather hear it from you.” Frank leaned forward. Marshall sighed, “Okay, my father was a drunk and died of alcohol poisoning when I was ten. My mother is nuts and in a hospital somewhere for the criminally insane. She tried to stab me with a butcher knife.” “You saw a psychologist when the police arrested you, two weeks after Mr. Anderson’s death. Am I right?” “Jesus, are you stupid or do you just enjoy playing the same song over and over?” Marshall threw up his hands. “Yes, I saw a fucking shrink and he was weirder than you are. And I wasn’t arrested!” “Watch the language, Marshall. Calm down. Take a breath.” “Yeah, right. Take a breath.” “You were taken into custody then. You were not arrested at that time, but it was clear you were selling your body on the streets and taking drugs. No charges were filed, but you were deemed a troubled youth in need of protection.” “I was not doing drugs,” Marshall scowled. “I smoked a bit of weed, that’s all. The hard stuff, I never touch. I’m not that stupid.” “I see. It’s interesting how you’ve been able to slip through the cracks all this time, Marshall.” “Because I was allowed to slip through the cracks. The system is so clogged up, they have no time to go looking for more,” he replied with a shrug. “Lot of fucked up people out there.” “How long have you been on your own?” “Since they took my mother away to the crazy house, just before my twelfth birthday.” 6 Arsenic and Rio “You ran away from the foster home they placed you in after your mother was institutionalized.” “You win a thousand points,” Marshall said. “Were you mistreated there or was it because you didn’t bother giving it a chance?” Frank Barter lifted an eyebrow. “Look,” Marshall bit his lip, “let me tell you something about life. Life sucks and there are very few people who really give a damn about anyone except themselves and when they’re nice to you…well, they want something. That’s just the way it is. Art…well, he might have profited from what I did but, he never abused me and our relationship was mutual. You know what I mean? We suited each other.” Barter nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean. Ever think about seeing your mother?” “Why in hell would I want to see her?” Marshall sneered. “She tried to kill me.” “You understand she’s sick.” “Yeah, her and ten thousand other people,” Marshall shrugged. “All right, Marshall, let’s leave it for today. Next time, I would appreciate it if you showed up on time.” “When can I get out of here?” “You were court mandated here for treatment, Marshall. The length of time is determined by…” Frank began, looking at his file again. “I know about that shit, I mean outside this place?” Marshall threw up his hands. “Am I to be a prisoner here?” “When I think you are ready, I will grant you a pass. First, you will start eating. I will have a doctor check you out to make sure you are healthy. Did you practice safe sex out there, Marshall?” Marshall rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes. I know about AIDS.” “Have you been tested?” “No, ‘cause I feel fine.” “Says you completed grade eight on your file, but I will arrange for you to take the educational assessment test this week to determine what level you are really at.” “Looks like I’m going to be a busy little beaver, doesn’t it?” Marshall sneered. “Seems so,” Frank rose out of his chair. “Ask Gracie for a list of 7

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Most books are stored in the elastic cloud where traffic is expensive. For this reason, we have a limit on daily download.