Banshee | $crim

1. Selkie

The noise of the dorm never dies down. Even during lights out at 10:00 pm sharp, the girls in the bunk next to me whispered until early morning. The deputy's key jingled as he walked down the hall for the rounds, and the door unlocking from central control woke up most of the dorm, so they knew when to pretend to be asleep. When breakfast came at 7:00 am, I could barely stomach the barely edible slop.

I was standing at my bunk for morning headcount when a deputy called my name from the locked door.

"Savoie, pack up your shit," he said. "C'mon...I ain't got all day."

Just as the officers said, my bond would disappear, and I'd be processed out by Monday.

There wasn't much to pack since I had only been in jail for a few days and didn't have any commissary acquired. But, still, I knew they wanted me to strip my bed, so they didn't have to later.

When I first arrived at the jail, it didn't take me long to get booked in. The jail knew me and didn't have to go over everything in detail this time. Getting processed out, however, does take a while. If I was getting bonded out, who knows it would've even hit by today.

When I stepped out of the building, I knew who to call.

"I didn't know what else to do!" Mabel cried over the phone. "They said you had already told them everything and this was the only way to avoid prison time. You did it too!"

Mabel and I weren't exactly best friends, but she was the only person I could go to during situations like this. In my life, I have two sets of people: normal friends and using friends. Mabel is the latter. My normal friends are who I go to when I need to vent about work or boy problems. They remind me that there's a life outside of drugs. It's like being Hannah Montana if Hannah was Miley's alter-ego when she needed a fix instead of fame.

My normal friends don't know that I relapsed. Only a few have been with me long enough to know of my multiple rehab attempts, but they think I've been sober for almost a year. The others don't even know about that part of my life, and it'll stay that way. I've had too many friends who started out as normal friends, only to get sucked into the thrills and excitement and turn into a husk of what they used to be.

This was never in the plans for us, though I suppose we aren't the planning type. We just wanted to make a little bit of extra money and make a run from Miami back to New Orleans. Scrim said, albeit through a series of middlemen, he would cut us a deal if we did it. I'd be a dummy to not take that offer and I'm no fool.

"I can't go to prison, Penny. I'm too pretty for prison!"

We weren't going to prison. Not yet, anyway. As long as the information we provided leads to the arrest of Scrim, we're golden. In fact, our first spy mission starts tonight. Before our plans were foiled by New Orleans's finest, Mabel and I were to get the supply we picked up in Miami and drop it off at Scrim's house during a party. At least, I'm assuming his house, but it could possibly be a decoy or one of his henchmen's. Either way, there was a party at someone's house, and we were supposed to be there.

Neither of us know too much about Scrim. We've never spoken to him in person; always through someone within his circle. I always thought it was weird, like he's the president or something. Bro, you're just pushing out some drugs and guns in an already oversaturated market. Get over yourself.

Mabel finally showed her face after being AWOL all day. She laid out a series of outfits on my bed and told me to pick one.

"Do you think he likes girls who are innocent or bimbos?" I asked as she tried on dresses. "You never know with guys like that."

Mabel is a pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes that contrasted my blonde hair. She had a soft accent, that made the boys fawn over her. Like me, she grew up in a small town, far away from the city, even if our lives couldn't have been farther apart. Where I saw bayous and gators, she saw Aston Martins and polo games. Eventually, the boredom of a sleepy town in Georgia got to her and she fell down the same path I did until we met in New Orleans.

We moved in together a few months ago after I lost my job and couldn't afford the place I was staying anymore. Mabel's previous roommate had just moved out to go to college or something, so the timing couldn't be more perfect.

"Definitely slutty," Mabel said as she tried on her final outfit. The two-piece outfit contoured her body, highlighting every curve she wanted while leaving just enough to the imagination. She wore black heels and curled her hair.

On the other hand, I chose something more lowkey since she stood out. Don't get me wrong, I definitely wasn't modest, just different. Club clothes were never something I found myself wearing unless it was all I had. In those cases, I usually wore an amalgamation of someone else's clothes mixed with mine.

Tonight, I found a simple little black dress, with a strappy back to still be sexy enough. I didn't want to upstage Mabel. I found heels to match, with little charms along the ankle strap.

Before heading out, we properly accessorized. Oh, and I can't forget the bundle of coke the cops gave back to us for tonight's drop. We couldn't show up empty-handed, of course.

The house was bigger than I had ever seen before. Once I thought the house was done, there was more. The pool in the back looked enticing, but I kept my mind focused on the goal: get Scrim arrested. It wasn't long before I recognized the middleman I had met with previously to arrange the drop-off for tonight.

"Well, well, well," he said. I didn't know his real name, only that he called himself Chetta, like that's even a real name. "If it isn't little Penny and her friend Mabel. It's your lucky day, girls. Scrim wants to see you."

"Us?" I questioned. "Why would he want to see us?"

"Don't worry about it," he assured, leading us down a dark hallway. He knocked on a door and another unknown man opened the door. I assumed this wasn't Scrim. The new guy told us we were "permitted" to enter where we saw a room straight out of the movies. There were guns and drugs all over the room. The DEA would have job security for a year if they got their hands on this.

On the balcony of this room stood who I could only guess is Scrim. He had short, blonde hair and tattoos from head to toe. He kind of looked like Wish.com Chetta. When he saw Mabel and I, he snuffed out his cigarette and motioned for us to sit on the couch. He poured us a drink before he started talking.

"Who's who?" he asked.

"I'm Penny, sir," I sheepishly replied. I was scared out of my mind, and he knew.

"Sir? Only the people at the bank call me sir. No need for the formalities; just call me Scrim. I just wanted to meet the two pretty ladies that did the run for me this weekend. How did it go?"

"Great!" I piped up. I could feel Mabel getting nervous next to me. "We got everything right here."

I pulled set the bookbag on the table in between us. Scrim unzipped the bag and opened one of the bundles with a pocketknife. He held out the knife, with a little bit of coke on the end. I hesitated.

"Don't get shy on me now," he said. "Gotta make sure you're not feds."

Mabel bust out in the loudest, fakest laugh I ever heard. It's like she wanted to blow our cover. After she regained her composure, we both took a hit before he shooed Mabel out of the room, leaving us alone. I didn't like being alone and the thought of Mabel alone was worse, but what could I do?

Scrim towered over me as I sat on the couch in the large room. He smelled good, but the room also smelled like weed and boy sweat so he could probably smell like anything else and I wouldn't mind.

"So," he said once she left, "what's up with your friend?"

"She's just paranoid. She's never done anything like this, so she's just nervous."

"Are you nervous, Penny?"