Casey Andrews folded the job application as she left Thompson’s Market on Sixth Street. She was feeling good about herself. Clean sixty-one days and on the verge of getting a real job. The store owner, Mr. Rawlings, had liked her. She could tell by the way he had trouble hiding a smile when he talked to her.

She was good looking, and it might be an unfair advantage to the others applying, but she would take whatever she could get. As she crossed the street, she thought about the NA meeting that was going on right now. It might not be a bad idea to stop in.

As she moved down the street, she spotted Marco Walker. He leaned against a wall and was talking to a young woman, who looked strung out. She had heard he was in jail. How did he get out?

She turned to cross the street.

“Casey!” Marco shouted. “You’re not going to visit an old friend?”

If she was going to be working at Thompson’s Market, Marco would see her often, and he could make her life difficult. Better to make nice and not rock the boat.

Gripping her purse strap, she turned to him, smiling now. “Marco.”

He strode toward her, his gait relaxed. Nothing ever seemed to rattle the guy. “I haven’t seen you lately.”

“I thought you were locked up.”

“Was, and now I’m not.”

“Well, glad you got out. Be seeing you.” She turned.

“What’re you doing down here?” Marco fell in step beside her.

“Getting a job.”

He snapped the application from her hands and read it. “You’re going to be a shopgirl.” He was laughing at her.

“Something like that.” She grabbed the application back.

He looked her up and down, leering, reminding her of what she had traded for her last hit. “I can see you being a shopgirl. Good customer service.”

She gripped her purse tighter. “Thanks.”

“I’m heading to a party. Do you want to come?”

“No, thanks. I need to catch my bus home.”

He sniffed, looked from left to right. “Let me give you a ride. No need to take the bus.”

“That’s okay.”

“I insist.” His tone sharpened. “Unless you think you’re too good for me.”

She did not need the trouble. And a ride was not going to kill her. “Sure, Marco, that would be nice.”

“That’s my girl.” He removed a key fob from his pocket, clicked, and the lights of a black Mercedes winked. He opened the door and waited like a gentleman for her to take her seat.

The interior was filled with the new-car smell, and the seats were super soft. Marco always did like the good stuff. He slipped behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Got something for you.” Before she could respond, he tossed a baggie filled with a white substance on her lap.

“What’s this?”