The Edge

Chapter 9

Across town, we enter a gated community and I gape as we roll into the driveway of a palatial Colonial style house. Brimming flowerbeds, attractive stone pathways and exotic fountains adorn the landscape. Massive columns decorate the exterior of the historic home, which additional porches and balconies wrapped in ivy jut forth, adding to the sense of grandeur

"This is where your druggie friend lives?" I ask in awe.

"His folks toss him out from time to time, but he always finds a way back into their good graces. Jealous?"

I whistle slightly as we step out of the car, admiring the view. "My brother's right; mooching off family does have its advantages." I start up the front steps, but Luke reaches out to restrain me.

"Ah, his parents aren't exactly fond of me. Let's go around back."

We follow a path sloping down the hill to encounter a lower level of the house not visible from the driveway. Country music is blasting from the interior. "Your friend lives in his parents' basement?" I ask over the twang of hillbilly crooning. "I should get one of these for my brother; it's like...an enclosure for moochers."

"It's their natural habitat," Luke agrees. "Maybe you'll be in luck and Dominic is in need of a roommate." Tempting, but that wouldn't go over well, seeing as Wes declares himself straight edge and has always been virulently anti-drug. Luke raps briskly at the door of the basement. Someone inside turns the volume of the music down, but Luke has to knock again several times before footsteps approach and the door swings back.

"Hey, man," greets a bleary Dominic in surprise, a joint frozen halfway to his lips. "What are you doing here? I thought you had...uh...stuff going on."

The guy is not what I'd been picturing. Well, the red eyes and the blunt well represent the stereotypical pothead, but a slovenly stoner he is not. Dominic is well-kept and smartly-dressed in name brand clothing, attractive in a yuppyish way. He fits the image of a groomed son from an affluent family to a tee. Behind him, his living space is immaculately tidy and organized, even if does reek of marijuana.

"Oh, you heard about that?" quips Luke, brushing a hand through his hair. "Actually, that's what I need to talk to you about. Can we come in?"

"Sure. Why the hell not." Dominic ushers us inside and plops back down on his couch, watching us thoughtfully. The basement is larger and much nicer than my home; it's lavishly furnished, but definitely not my style. There's a masculine feel to the place; a coffee table is stacked with hunting and wildlife magazines, while buck heads and taxidermied fish have been mounted on every wall. Luke introduces me as a friend after we've settled into a pair of plush recliners.

"Friend, huh?" ponders Dominic. He studies me for a moment and shakes his head. "Nope. What I think you've got on your hands is a regular old groupie."

I bristle, ready to defend myself, but Luke laughs. "If only."

His friend shrugs. "I'm just saying, considering most females would cross the street to avoid you at this point, I'd watch out for the ones trying to latch on. Can't be right in the head. You might want to watch what you say to this one."

"Don't be rude, Dom."

"You're right when you're right. Where are my manners?" Dominic reaches towards me and proffers his joint. "You smoke, babe?"

I wave him away irritably. "The contact high you're providing is quite enough for me. And I'm not a groupie, I'm a concerned civilian investigator."

"First it's cops, now we've got ourselves a 'civilian investigator.'" Dominic grins and lolls his head to glance at Luke. "I know you don't usually partake these days, but if there ever were a time to get stoned, this would be it," he declares solemnly. "Stress relief. If I were in your situation, I'd be lit 24/7."