by Rick R. Reed
Tony shook his head. His apartment was just up ahead. He would have to tell Ethan he couldn’t do it. And he would have to advise the guy to leave this whole idea alone. Killing someone for the insurance money! Jesus Christ! It’s part of every B-movie cliché out there. Tony couldn’t believe he had actually wavered and thought about doing it. The idea of him in some dark alley, with a knife or a sledgehammer, waiting for some poor soul to come along so he could rip or slam the life out of him, was abhorrent. It made him sick to his stomach, so ill he had to pause for a moment, panting, and grip the side of an apartment building for support.
So sick, in fact, that it had brought about a kind of epiphany. Just the fact that he had thought seriously of taking someone’s life for a wad of money made him question his entire moral compass. Made him wonder what kind of stuff he was made of or what kind of stuff he was degenerating into. Was he losing his soul?
Was he like the guy in the Escalade, who could leave a boy, maybe dying, on the street? Had he become so amoral? Immoral?
He trudged up the wooden stairs, feeling bile at the back of his throat and guilt, like a physical thing, heavy and cumbersome, pressing down on him and making him exhausted.
He pressed his key into his lock and turned it, thinking about redemption and what he would do next, what he needed to do to achieve it. What Tony was imagining doing as he swung open his door and shut it behind him was not even stopping to take off his coat, but marching right into his bedroom, taking the supply of crystal methamphetamine and flushing it all down the toilet. I will not think twice about it. I will just go and do it and then that will be the end of it. Fuck cutesy names like ‘Tina,’ there was nothing cutesy about this toxic mix of ephedrine, Red Devil lye, muriatic acid, Coleman’s fuel, red phosphorous, and iodine that was seducing young men by the thousands and leading them down a cunning path of self-destruction.
He threw his gloves and hat on the floor, along with the sunglasses, striding angrily toward the bedroom. His rage was up, rage fueled by shame and self-disgust. There was a time when he never would have considered being a hit man. But that was before he’d become a drug dealer.
Could he get back? Was there still a way to return to being what he once had been? A decent human being who didn’t live off the weakness and misery of addiction? Could he once more look at himself in the mirror and think of himself as honest, upright, the kind of person who could play with a friend’s children and not feel his very presence tainted them? Could he hang out with his family on a holiday or sit next to Sandra on a date without the question running through his mind: would they even let me near them if they knew the truth?
He didn’t know. He only knew he needed to escape. He could only hope he wasn’t too far gone, already, to get back.
He had removed his “pharmacy,” as he called the box, from his bedroom drawer and was headed toward the bathroom when the phone rang. He was tempted to let it ring, tempted in fact to open the window and fling the Nokia out the window, let it crash to the pavement below.
But instead, he set down the box of drugs on a chair in the living room and with a shaking hand, flipped open the clamshell. “Yeah?”
“God, I’m glad you’re there, Tony. It’s Ethan.”
Tony stared at the wall. His voice was dead. “What do you need?”
“I should have picked some up when I was there. Could you spare an eight ball?”
Tony breathed in. He wished he was so noble that he could refuse this one last sale, this one last profit. Instead, he toyed with the idea of throwing out the stuff after he made his sale to Ethan.
What kind of human being are you, anyway?
“I…I don’t know, Ethan.”
“What?”
“I have to check, see if I can spare that much. I need to make a run down to Indiana, see my cooker. You know?” Tony looked down at the box of tiny baggies, knowing he had more than enough to meet Ethan’s request.
“Check now.” Ethan sounded irritated. Tony imagined him grinding his teeth and pacing. You put him where he is now, Tony. You created this need in him. Yes and no. People do make their own choices. What the fuck?
He shook his head, hating himself. “I’m just looking and…yeah, I think I can do it.”
“I’ll be by in a half hour. Just give me time to hop in a cab.”
Tony closed his eyes, a pall of self-disgust settling on him, making him feel covered in soot. “Yeah, yeah, all right, man.” He shook his head and had to bite his lip because he wanted to cry. How long had it been since he had actually cried? How long had it been since he had been so in touch with his own emotions?
Was he even in touch with them, now?
“Okay, man, I gotta book,” Ethan said. “I’m completely dry.”
Tony listened to dead air for a moment and then cried out, “Ethan! Wait! Don’t hang up!”
He thought for a moment that he was too late, when he heard Ethan’s breath. “What is it? Don’t tell me…”
“No, I’ve got your stuff, don’t worry,” Tony said, hoping he didn’t let his disgust seep through. “But about that other thing we talked about this morning?”
“Yeah?” Ethan sounded wary.
Tony took a deep breath and forced himself to say, “Count me out, man. I thought about it and I just can’t do it.”
“But—”
Even though Ethan wasn’t there to see, Tony held up his palm. “No, Ethan. There’s no going back, no persuading me. It’s just not something I’m able to do.”
“Hey, I’ll just find someone else.”
“Maybe you will. And it’ll be on their shoulders, not mine.”
“What is it? Cold feet?”
“Yeah, right. Cold feet. I have very cold feet about taking—well, I don’t want to say it on the phone. We know what we’re talking about. Please don’t ask me again.”
Ethan was quiet. “Sure, man.” His tone was clipped. “But you won’t tell anyone what we talked about, right?”
Tony stared out the window. The sky was beginning to cloud up. He wondered how the boy on the bike was, wondered what the child’s parents were doing—if they had been notified, yanked away from their jobs to confront this sudden and horrible trauma. He didn’t know the answer to Ethan’s question. Could he just let it happen, even if he didn’t have a hand in it? Or would he have to find out who Ethan’s sugar daddy was and warn him?
“I won’t report you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Good.”
Ethan started to say something else, but Tony hung up.
Finally, he cried.
* * * *
Ethan was impatient. Three cabs had passed, and none of them had stopped. He was beginning to feel the horrible, end-of-the-world, crushing sensation known as the crash. He had to get to Tony and rectify the situation. Right then, nothing else mattered. Not remorse over what his life had become. Not disappointment over Tony’s refusal to help him in his ‘ultimate solution’ to his problems. Not anything, but getting high again.
Why weren’t these fucking cabs cooperating?
Finally, one pulled over. Ethan yanked open its door and barked Tony’s address at the driver, telling him there was a ten-dollar tip in it for him if he got him there fast, even though the fare, itself, would amount to less than ten dollars.
Ethan’s nerves jangled. He found it hard to sit still. He moved from one side of the cab to the other, tried to interest himself in the lakefront on one side, the high-rises on the other, as if trying to stay clear of the emotional black cloud he knew would weigh him down like something heavy and monstrous sitting on his chest.
Last time it was so bad, he almost killed himself. Had actually stood, tight-rope-walker style, on the balcony and almost fallen to his death.
Maybe he would have been better off.
But Tony’s building was coming up on his right. A giddy feeling, almost like being high, coursed through him. His face felt hot, his mouth was dry, and he could feel his he
art accelerate.
The moment the cab halted, Tony fumbled in his wallet and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the front seat. He jumped from the cab, ignoring the driver who asked him if he wanted any change at all. He didn’t care. It wasn’t his money, anyway.
He leaned against the buzzer for Tony’s apartment, praying Tony would be willing to slam him, to take a needle and inject him with a hot dose of the only thing he loved. Who knew, though? That last conversation with his dealer had been really weird. Who knew what was up with him?
The buzzer sounded, and Ethan tried to bound up the stairs, but made it only halfway. His heart felt like it wanted to break through his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Jesus Christ,” he managed to croak, sitting down, intending to stay on the damp wooden stairs long enough to regroup, to let his respiration and heart rate return to normal-enough levels so he could make it up the rest of the stairs.
But he didn’t want to wait long enough to be able to walk up the steps, so he turned and crawled up the rest of the way. Struggling to get on two feet, he banged on Tony’s door.
Tony was waiting for him. A weird smile played about his face. He was holding a shoe box, the lid on it.
“Ethan, buddy, today is your lucky day.”
“Huh?”
“Just gimme the money.”
Ethan fumbled and pulled out three one-hundred-dollar bills. “I don’t have change. But it doesn’t matter,” he whispered. He could barely speak. Already he salivated at the thought of the drug’s rush through his veins.
Tony took the money, handed him the shoe box (that was odd!), and began to close the door. “WTF, man? I need to slam.” He felt like sobbing.
Tony just shook his head. “All outta spikes, dude. Sorry.” He shut the door in Ethan’s face.
Ethan was about to pound on the door again when he opened the box and looked inside.
“Holy shit!” He managed to squat down and empty the contents of the box (a prodigious amount of the drug…enough to keep him going for a while) into his backpack. He kicked away the box and started down the stairs.
He got three steps before he stopped, pulled a tiny pink baggie from the bag. He put the baggie to the wall and hammered the crystalline shards within with his fist until they were a fine powder. He sat, pulled out his keys, and lifted one, then two, heaping mounds of the white powder first to one nostril, then the other.
It burned like hell.
And Ethan closed his eyes and breathed out, in a hiss, “Yes.”
Chapter 13
Jess tried to ignore the white business envelope slid under her door. She sat cross-legged on the dusty living room floor, back against the wall, and positioned so she could take in the late afternoon sun coming in through the bank of three windows gracing the room. In her hands was the script for a play she would audition for next week, Generation Z, a first outing by a local playwright who had just graduated from Columbia’s theater program.
It was supposed to be a comedy about the summer after high school graduation, set in a fast-food joint. What it was, was dismal and trite. But Jess didn’t have casting directors from the Goodman, Steppenwolf, or Chicago Shakespeare Theater beating down her door. So she thought she’d take what she could get, even if it meant playing a teenager in a bad play that would probably have an opening-night audience of twelve and would go downhill from there. All she could do was hope the exposure would lead to something.
But someone was beating down her door, Jess thought as she nervously glanced over at the white envelope. It lay there like something innocent, but Jess knew it would bite her when she touched it. She knew what was inside the envelope: a letter from the property management company, telling her the rent was past due…vague cautioning statements leading up to threats of collection agencies and eviction.
At least she didn’t have many belongings to be put out to the curb! She tried to laugh, but things were grim. She set down the Kinko’s-bound script, stood up, stretched. Then, she walked to the door and picked up the envelope, turning it over in her hands.
That morning, a notice had also arrived from Commonwealth Edison, with the surprising news that she was in arrears to the tune of $258. Her cable had already been cancelled (although she had no TV anymore, so that really wasn’t a big worry), and a threat to turn off her cooking gas had come from Peoples Energy the day before. At least heat was included in the rent she couldn’t afford to pay. She hooked a nail into one side of the envelope and ripped it open, read the legally intimidating words from her landlord. She frowned.
“What am I gonna do?” she asked the walls.
She had an interview the following week with a restaurant in Greek Town. Even if tips were good, she was still so far behind in rent, utilities, and a growing credit card debt (she was up to about six thousand dollars and barely able to handle the minimum payments) that she saw no way she would ever get clear.
What would she do? File bankruptcy? Go back and live with her parents? Imagining herself in Naperville, in her girlhood bedroom, made her life seem like such a failure. A complete and utter disaster. She knew her mother would dote on her, doing her laundry and bringing food on a tray up to her room, gestures that would only make her feel worse.
None of it was any good. Damn Ramona. At least she could have left her with some money! Jess slid down to the floor again, tossing aside the letter.
When her cell phone chirped, Jess was surprised. She didn’t even expect it to still be working, since Cingular was another company with whom she was playing hard to get. She located the phone in the kitchen and flipped open the clamshell just before it switched to voice mail.
“Hello?”
“Jess?”
Immediately, warmth flooded through her and her worries seemed to abate, giving her a little space and air to breathe. “Robert?” She wondered if he could see her smile or feel the delicious thrill just hearing his voice sent through her. “How are you?”
“I’m good, sweetheart…”
He called her sweetheart!
“I was just thinking about something you said when you were here.”
“What’s that?”
“You said you wondered why you came down near my house on Christmas. You know…that night?”
“Yeah. I did and do wonder what led me to that particular place.” Jess thought the man certainly didn’t waste time with small talk. She liked that about him.
“I don’t.”
Jess had a feeling she knew where this would lead, but let Robert continue.
“I think it was Keith. I think Keith brought you there, so that I could see you…and save you.”
Jess nodded, even though she knew Robert couldn’t see her. She cleared her throat and said, “Okay.”
“Does that make any sense?”
“Not really.” Jess had to be honest. The warmth at hearing from Robert was fading quickly. This whole game of reincarnation suddenly seemed sad and desperate, and she wished she hadn’t told him anything about her dreams or feelings. But she didn’t want to be cruel. “I mean, if Keith wanted you to save me, how could he know you’d be out walking just at the time I was thinking of take a midnight swim in Lake Michigan?”
“I know a lot of this is inexplicable.”
Jess sighed. “Did you ever think maybe you’re the one who needs saving? Maybe Keith wanted us to meet so I could save you?” Jess felt a weird paradox. The rational part of her mind told her she was just tossing out ideas, something to keep the man on the other end of the line at bay…simply exploring possibilities. Another part of her, a deeper, more instinctive part, told her that there was truth in what she was saying, even if none of it made logical sense. It didn’t make logical sense because it was coming from a place deep within her, a place beyond analysis, but no less valid. The same place from where her dreams emerged…
Maybe it was Keith.
“What would you need to save me from?” Robert’s voice dropped a little, and Jess detected a
sudden loss of confidence. She suspected he knew exactly from what he needed saving.
“I’m not sure. Maybe we need to find that out.”
The line went silent for a while. It seemed there was little else to say. After all, they were essentially strangers. Regardless of some supernatural past history, they knew little about the details of one another’s lives.
Jess stared out the bare window, at the dying light, almost violet. Factions warred inside her. The rational side told her they didn’t know each other and this nonsense should stop. He had helped her out, helped her a great deal…made sure she was still around, in fact. The other side—the dream side Jess thought of it—told her that she needed to explore more with him. Maybe even needed to discover if there was some remnant of love left over from another life upon which the two of them could build a life in the here and now, as preposterous as that might seem for a gay man and a lesbian.
Who said love had to be all about sex, anyway?
“Jess? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Ramona?”
“Well, yeah, there’s that. But I have a feeling I’ll get over her. She’s not the only gorgeous black woman in Chicago.” Jess was surprised to find a giggle escape from her; she stopped herself from saying something about the talents of Ramona’s tongue. “I guess thoughts of lost love get pushed out by more unpleasant realities.”
“Such as?”
Jess debated whether she should tell him about her financial woes. She feared it would seem too obvious, like she was playing him for money. He was very well off and could probably help her out. But she really didn’t want that. He had done enough. She didn’t want him to think she was some kind of scammer.
“Oh, this and that. Things just aren’t going right for me.”
“Such as?”
Jess let out a big breath. What the hell? They were friends now, right? She didn’t have to accept anything from him…even if he offered.