Page 29

1996

The relationship that developed between Orchid and Mal was not sexual or romantic. It was deeper than that. Despite their outward differences, they operated on the same intellectual and spiritual plane. They recognized something in each other that didn’t need to be articulated: a soul connection, though neither of them would have used such a clichéd term. The trust between them was instant, inherent. Orchid knew Mal was not a good person. He was a dealer, a killer, a ruthless, even cruel leader. But she knew he would never hurt her.

Mal became Orchid’s mentor and guide to surviving, even thriving on the streets. There was a brand-new painkiller out called OxyContin, and Mal knew a dirty doctor willing to write multiple prescriptions for a kickback. Mal sent his minions to pharmacies around the city to fill the scripts and bring the pills back to Mal, who then sold them for a profit. The drug company said Oxy was gentle and non-addictive, but Mal knew different. Once his mules or dealers tried it, they could no longer be trusted not to dip into the supply. He was always on the lookout for fresh meat, for people who wouldn’t sample the wares. Orchid was a legal adult, capable of having a prescription filled. And she would never double-cross him.

Lucky for Mal’s business model, there was a shady pharmacist willing to fill multiple prescriptions at once. Mal introduced Orchid to Allan, a bald man whose belly strained against his white lab coat. He took the scripts and filled them for a price. Orchid would handle the drop-offs and pickups. She still looked decent and respectable. She wouldn’t draw attention.

One day, as Orchid waited for Allan to count out the painkillers, she noticed a sign on the plexiglass above the counter. It read:

Los Angeles County Drug Take-Back Center

Unused, unwanted, expired medications disposed of here.

“What do you do with the expired drugs?” she asked Allan when he handed her the paper bag filled with plastic bottles.

“Someone from the county collects them and they put them in hazardous waste.”

“Can I buy them?” she asked. “There are people living on the streets who need medication.”

Allan didn’t comment that Orchid was completely unqualified to be doling out prescription meds to the sick and poor. He just smiled. “How much you offering?”

Orchid told Mal she wanted to start her own business. “People down here are suffering. They have no insurance and no doctor. There are perfectly good antibiotics and blood pressure meds going to waste.”

“Sure,” he said. “But I get a cut.”

“Of course.” She’d never doubted it.

“And you have to keep working for me. Keep doing the pickups and deliveries.”

“I can do both,” she assured him.

With Lucy’s help, she could. Lucy was still a child, but she was already growing steely and savvy. She was fully capable of roaming the neighborhood, finding out who had an infection, an STD, a previously diagnosed condition they could no longer afford to treat. With Allan’s input, they learned which medications worked for what ailments. And they sold them: for money, for recreational drugs, for favors…

The girls worked hard, and even with a portion of their profits going to Mal and Allan, they gathered enough money to rent a studio apartment. The building was derelict and dangerous, but the unit had a private bathroom, a hot plate, and a small fridge. And it was their own. They cleaned it, painted it, and furnished it with battered furniture from Goodwill. Soon another girl moved in with them. Her name was Tracey, and Orchid put her to work helping Lucy sell the meds.

Orchid had built them a home. Now she would build her empire.