I was FUMING in a way I’d never felt before. Preppy must have sensed my anger because he reached out and grabbed my arm like I was going to lunge at her and I can honestly say that I was definitely thinking about it. I answered her through my teeth, “Have you ever thought that unlike some people who just run their fucking mouths without a single thought behind their words, that maybe Bo’s just waiting for something important to say?”

“Whatever, as long as you know what you’re getting into,” she said, scratching at the scabs on her arm, a drop of blood bubbled to the surface and trickled down to her wrist and then into the lines of her palm but she didn’t seem to notice. “So how much?”

“You want us to BUY him from you?” Preppy asked in complete disbelief, although something told me that he wasn’t as surprised as his voice led on. "You've got to be fucking kidding me?" It was his turn to be angry. The chords in his neck tightened. He reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled his gun, holding it with two shaky hands as if it were physically hurting him not to pull the trigger.

Trish barely flinched when she looked up and saw the silver barrel pointed down at the top of her greasy grey head. He cocked the gun, the click echoed throughout the small room. He stepped forward, glaring hatred down at the ghost of a woman as he pressed the gun to her forehead. “You give him a shitty fucking life in this open sewer of a home. You starve him. Neglect him. And do God-knows fucking WHAT to him and now you want to SELL him?” An evil sounding laugh escaped him. “Fuck, I’ve seen some evil shit in my life but right up there with the likes of my own fucking mother.”

“And why shouldn’t I get paid?” Trish asked, ignoring everything Preppy said that wasn’t in line with what she wanted to hear. “You want something that’s mine. In my world you gotta pay for what you want, supply and demand.” She lit a cigarette butt with shaky hands and inhaled once before the cherry fell off into her lap, she brushed it off her blanket and it fell to the floor where she stubbed it out with her dirty bare foot.

“You treat him like a fucking nuisance dog and when we tell you that we’re gonna take him off your hands for you all you can respond with is how much?” Preppy licked his lips like he could taste the kill in front of him. “I tell you what you stupid cunt, how about you sign those papers and I pay you by not blowing your motherfucking head off right now,” he seethed.

“Prep,” I said, using the calmest tone of voice I could muster. I knew that Preppy identified with Bo and the way he was raised and neglected, but looking down at this frail woman in the throes of heavy addiction I couldn’t help but think that if things hadn’t happened exactly the way they had I could so easily have ended up just like her. “Let me talk to her.”

“Doc,” Preppy started to argue, but he must have seen the determination written all over my face. “Three minutes, I’ll be right outside,” he said, with a look that said he didn’t like the idea at all. With one last glare down at Bo’s mother he lowered his gun to his side but didn’t put it away before leaving, slamming the trailer door shut behind him.

“Trish, right?” I asked, taking a step into the living room over a pile of rags. I side stepped the couch and tried not to let the disgust show on my face as I saw thousands fleas jumping up from the rug as I maneuvered around the garbage, my ankles under instant attack as they landed bite after bite. I pushed on.

“That’s right. It’s Tricia but everyone calls me Trish.”

“Heroin?” I asked, pointing to the needle on the side table.

Trish looked up at me for the first time as if she were just noticing I was there. “None of your fucking business. You think just because you’re a stiff that you came come into my fucking home and take my kid for nothing? That you’re some how better than me ‘cause you’re not depending on a fucking needle to get you through the day?” Trish shook her head from and lit the butt of another cigarette from the overflowing ashtray on the side table to next to her chair.

I stepped closer and knelt down next to her. I pulled up my sleeves and set my forearms across her bony knees. My touch startled her and she sat up as if I’d stabbed her. “I haven’t always been a stiff,” I said, using my eyes to point to the scars on the inside of my arms. “I know a lot more about how you’re feeling then you think I do.” Trish’s gaze roamed my scars. Her eyes met mine. “I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to have something so small take all the control when it comes to your life.”

Trish looked like she was contemplating something. She sat back in her chair and I stood back up, pulling my sleeves back down my arms. She looked at her own arms then back up at me. “So you think because you used to be a junkie that you can bully me into giving you my kid? Is that it?”

I shook my head. “No, I think that because you’re a junkie you understand why he’d be better off living somewhere where your addiction isn’t what he sees every morning and every night. Where heroin use won’t be his normal. Where the fridge will be full and so will his belly. Where his clothes will be clean and he’ll go to school every day. But most importantly, where he’ll be loved and that love will be more important than anything. It will come first...” I glanced down to the needle and spoon on the table. “Before any needle.”

Trish scoffed. “My love for him comes before...”

“Don’t bullshit me,” I interrupted. “That comes first, second, third...and only.”

Trish’s shoulders hunched over even more. With a growl she grabbed a pen off the side of the table and was about to sign her name to the page when Preppy opened the front door and said. “Wait,” he said, throwing me off. I was about to ask him why when he turned and called for Billy who came in a second later carrying something in his hand. He walked over to Trish without looking around, without saying a word. I think it was the only time I’d ever seen him not smiling. He nodded for Trish to sign and when she was done he grabbed the pen from her hand. That’s when I realized what he was holding was a stamp which he pressed down on bottom of each page. He initialed a few lines under her signature, and with a nod to Preppy on his way out he left without saying a single word.

I gathered the papers and handed them to Preppy who was still standing by the door.