by Nico Walker
Emily and Livinia were in bed. I woke them. It was warm upstairs. My heart ached. It was good. Emily got up. Livinia went back under the covers; she liked it there; she liked to sleep in the morning.
Emily and I shot up and got ready to go. I dropped Emily off. She said she wouldn’t mind taking the bus home. I’d said I had to go to my parents’ house for something. She was fine with that: maybe my mom would give me some groceries to bring home; maybe my dad would give me some folding money.
I parked and I went to class. I wanted to feel as normal as I could feel for a few hours. I wanted to pretend I was polite society. I wasn’t supposed to meet up with Raul till three o’clock. I got home at half past noon and I let Livinia out. I had been by the Wendy’s and I’d bought her a cheeseburger. She wolfed the cheeseburger down in about two seconds and then she looked at me like, Where can we get another one of those?
She reminded me of myself, insatiable.
I shot the last of my dope. I smoked a cigarette.
* * *
—
IT HAD been about twenty hours since Black had called.
He’d said I was some shit.
I’d said, “Huh?”
He said, “You some shit.”
“Hello? Black?”
“You gonna make me put my black mask on.”
“What?”
“You gonna make me put my black mask on.”
“I can’t hear what you’re saying.”
“I’m gonna put my black mask on.”
“What did I do?”
“Pay me, motherfucker.”
Emily was watching TV. She said, “Who was that?”
I said, “It was Black.”
“What did he say?”
I lit a cigarette and sat down.
“What did he say?”
“He said he’s gonna put his black mask on.”
“What?”
“That’s what I said.”
She kicked the end table. “Suck my dick, dude!”
“Shit! I dunno. That’s what he said. He said he was gonna put his black mask on.”
“What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. He’s a fucking bitch.”
* * *
—
RAUL CALLED at half past three. I was ready and I went out. I felt good. I was nervous, but not nervous in a bad way. I felt alive, that was all.
We met up a little after four. Raul had borrowed his cousin’s car. A nondescript car, a few years old. Something grey and Japanese. Temp plates. It was perfect.
Raul was driving. We passed the bank I was supposed to rob. From the street you could see inside through the front window. The location didn’t seem too bad, but when we went past the bank I saw something I didn’t like.
I said, “This one’s no good.”
Raul said he thought it was a good bank to rob.
I said, “The tellers are behind bulletproof glass. It won’t work.”
“Grab one of the customers,” he said.
“How about I grab your fucking grandmother? Let’s find a different one.”
We drove around and looked for something better. Then the banks were closing.
I said, “Fuck.”
Raul said he knew a bank that stayed open late. “It doesn’t close till seven,” he said.
I said alright.
The bank was in a shopping center. It was an older shopping center and I thought that was good because the bank probably didn’t have shit for security. The doors were old; the cameras were probably shitty.
I said, “This one’s good. Let’s wait till there’s no people.”
We waited. I was ready to go as soon as it was empty. I didn’t want people in the way. I was wearing a hoodie and a knit hat. Raul had brought them for me. I had a can of bear spray. The bear spray was Emily’s; she had it from when she’d been out in the woods in Washington State. I’d borrowed it without asking. I hadn’t ever robbed a bank before. I didn’t know what to expect. But I was fine with it. Just I didn’t want people in the way.
I don’t imagine that anyone goes in for robbery if they are not in some kind of desperation. Good or bad people has nothing to do with it; plenty of purely wicked motherfuckers won’t ever rob shit. With robbery it’s a matter of abasement. Are you abased? Careful then. You might rob something.
I owed some dope boys some money. I didn’t give a fuck. Fuck Black and his fucking money. He could get it how he lived. I was only ever afraid of one thing in my life, that I wouldn’t be able to get heroin. I wasn’t ever more than twelve hours from total collapse. And there was the desperation. I was compromised.
* * *
—
RAUL WENT to take a piss. He went around the side of the building and pissed and he came back. “It’s twenty to seven,” he said.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m gonna do it now. Fuck it.”
There were three people working in the bank and there was one customer. The customer was a woman. There were two tellers who were young women and a manager who was an older man, and he was fat and just looked like shit, like a 60-something-years-old baby. Suspenders. You name it. He sat at a desk in an office. One wall of the office was glass and the manager watched me and I could feel he was sure of why I was there. I had the hoodie up and I was wearing my hat real low. But he didn’t want to be sure. It was snowing outside. Maybe I was just cold. I went to the desk where they had the pens and the deposit slips. I took a deposit slip and wrote on it. I wrote the word fuck about ten times. Slowly. I was waiting for the customer to leave. She was a small woman, mid- to late 40s, a black wool coat; she had shoulder-length black hair with grey in it and was someone’s mother.
She left.
I walked up to the counter and gave the note to the teller on the left. She didn’t need to read the note. She got the money out. And the other teller was looking at me like, Aren’t you going to rob me too?
I probably should have on account of I’d made this much trouble already.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t really want to rob anyone.
I just wanted some heroin.
I wanted it to be over.
I walked fast out the door and got in the car and lay down in the backseat.
I said, “I did it. Go.”
Raul took off. Sirens were coming on but we had blended into the traffic and we’d already got away. I put the temp plate back in the window. The street was a river of light.
We split the money. He dropped me off at my car.
I said, “I need some dope.”
He said he didn’t have any.
“I’ll call you in a minute,” he said.
He called ten minutes later. “Call Black,” he said.
I bought three grams from Black and paid him the money I owed and drove home. Emily was back at home already. I showed her the heroin and the money.
I said, “I robbed a bank.”
She said, “I thought you were acting strange this morning.”
I said I’d felt funny all day.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Emily was in the other room, on the mattress on the floor beneath the window, with the blankets twisted and disheveled. We couldn’t be next to one another on account of our kicking and sweating and our throwing up into little plastic trash cans. I had to get up and do something. My legs were damp.
I stood in front of the kitchen sink for forty-five minutes, drinking water so I’d have something in my stomach apart from bile and snot, and down went the water and up came the water—part bile, part snot now—and didn’t let go of my lip and hung down to the drain. It had been more than twenty-four hours since our last shots. All our credit was used up. We needed money. We were fucked.
When s
he moaned—though it hurt me and I could have cried and it would have cost me nothing—the moan was beautiful, and I felt an urge to run to her when she moaned and said “fuck” like she did. Her bottom lip was perfectly shaped. The beads of sweat were perfect. Her eyes closed and her shirt off. Her pajamas stuck to her. Her scent that was all of her. The strand of hair against her cheek to the corner of her mouth. We came in seconds. When you were sick that was all it took. I had to figure out what I was going to wear.
I left the house in some grey slacks and an oxford shirt that were from the thrift store, in a baseball hat my mom had given me and some phony eyeglasses and a peacoat. I brought a little green plastic trash can with me to throw up in. I was feeling melancholy, but it was a calming melancholy. Life was fucked but I was good. This was what I knew. And fate was fate. My heart was full and life was precious.
We had had a break from the snow and you could see the dormant grass. The day was cold but it was forgiving. It was time to commit a robbery. I drove by the bank. There was a police car parked across the street but the police car was empty. I turned onto the side street that was past the bank, and I threw up in the little green trash can. I took the side street down and turned left onto North Park, made the first left, and went halfway down and parked.
No plans. No stopwatch. No ski mask. No gun. Because I didn’t like shit like this I didn’t give a fuck about doing it the proper way. Emily was sick and all it was was I had to rob the bank or go to jail and I could say I had tried. I figured the best thing would be to just go ahead and do it so I could find out what was going to happen. I got out of the car and started moving that way, stopping once to vomit on a tree lawn. When I got to the bank I took a look around for the policeman who belonged to the police car, and I saw the policeman walking half a block up and he turned to go into a bar.
Now would be fine.
The bank was busy but there were many tellers and the line moved quickly. I took an envelope out of my pocket and examined its contents. I had to puke. I unbuttoned the top button on my shirt and kind of pulled my peacoat over and threw up down my shirt. The lady behind me asked me if I was alright.
I said, “Yeah. Just a sneeze.”
I threw up again.
“I think you’re really sick.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” I said. “Man, I keep sneezing.”
I was called to the counter. I took a piece of paper out of the envelope and unfolded it and handed it to the teller: “I received this in the mail yesterday.”
The teller read the note; then she put some money on the counter. I took the money and the note, and I left. Once I was in the street I started running. I turned the car around and threw up all over myself and drove to North Park. If I made a right I’d be in Cleveland proper in about twenty seconds. If I made a left I’d be where rich people lived. I took a left and drove through Cleveland Heights. I laughed when I got away. When I passed Lee Road I knew I was home free. It was as if nothing had happened. I got home and Emily and the dog were on the couch. Emily had her eyes closed. I walked into the living room and got all the money out of my pockets.
“We need to get some dope. Right now.”
She said, “You’re such a badass.”
I called Raul and said I’d like to meet up with him immediately. He said he’d meet me at the Subway at Mayfield and Warrensville. I got changed and Emily and I hit the road. Raul was actually on time for a change. Emily got in the backseat. I was so glad that I wasn’t in jail and that we had lots of money. I bought all the heroin that he had in his pockets. Seven grams. Raul got out and Emily and I got off in the car. Big motherfucking shots we did. And our hearts were beating their wings slowly. We were saved. We felt like angels must feel like.
Seeing as we were both hungry we went to Subway and ordered some sandwiches. We ordered big. We even bought some of those cookies they have by the register. I tipped the sandwich artist $20. He said he liked my T-shirt.
Emily and I shot a fuckload of dope that night. We weren’t worried; we knew we’d have it all next week and the week after and maybe the week after that.
I got a call from Joe. I hadn’t heard from Joe in over a year. I said, “Joe, how the fuck are you doing? It’s so fucking good to hear from you.”
“Did you—uh—rob a bank today?”
“…No. Why?”
“They’ve got a picture of a guy who looks a lot like you on the news, and he robbed a bank.”
“…Oh. Man, that’s weird—No—Yeah, that definitely wasn’t me. Strange. Huh…Hey, man, I’ve got to go, alright? Okay, yeah. Listen, I’m gonna call you though….Okay, later.”
The news was over, so I went online. One of the stories on the home page of the local news channel was about the bank robbery. I clicked on the story and saw a surveillance photo of me that was pretty clear. I may as well have sat for an oil painting.
“I’m going to jail,” I said.
Emily looked at the picture: “Holy shit.”
“I’m fucked,” I said. “Shit…Fuck…Fuck…But who the fuck watches the Saturday local news broadcast? Nobody, right? No….No. I’m alright. Look. It says they’re looking for a guy who’s six three. I’m five eleven. Fuck. Look at the fucking picture though. But you can’t really tell it’s me, can you?”
I shot half a gram of heroin to calm myself down.
I looked at the picture again.
“No,” I said. “We’re alright.”
Getting rid of the money wasn’t going to be a problem. Our rent was past due and we owed eleven hundred dollars. Eleven plus the seventeen hundred. Plus the five hundred I owed Pistol and the five hundred I owed Black. That was thirty-eight right there. That left just thirty-five and that would be gone in three weeks.
I slept well for the first time since I couldn’t remember.
* * *
—
SUNDAY. I woke up and did a nice-size shot of heroin. I rolled out of bed and went down to the kitchen, cooked up the shot, and put it in a vein on top of my left foot. It itched some.
The actual getting high part of heroin was fine so long as you had a tolerance. It was more or less safe as milk like that. The first twenty seconds were quite fine, especially when you were getting off first thing in the morning. The only thing better than the first shot in the morning was the first shot after you’d been sick for a day or two. In those instances the 180-degree turn from abased wretchedness to resplendent consolation was something like a miracle.
The dope came up from my foot, the rush came on, and my blood sang nicely with it. My brain humming away. I sat in my blue chair and smoked a Pall Mall and thought about my problems.
I called Raul and told him I wanted to buy half an ounce of heroin. He said he was in Akron but he could do it when he got back and he’d call me as soon as he did. I took a shower and put on my cleanest clothes and drove out to visit my parents. My dad was in a good mood that day for some reason I couldn’t have guessed at and my mom was trying to be cheerful and fussed over me and I felt bad. I was uncomfortable in comfortable places. Nice people looked so nice when you were on heroin.
“How’s school?” my mom asked.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Most of my professors are alright. One of them’s a prick, but the other three are good.”
“Well, I’m glad that things are looking up,” she said.
I said I was doing good as far as my GPA, better than I’d done in a while.
“How much more do you have to do?” my dad asked.
“I can get done in three semesters. I might have a credit hour or two left after that. But not much.”
My mom asked if I was staying for dinner.
I said I was.
My dad cut up some leftover roast beef for their dogs. My mom did the dishes. I didn’t ever have to do the dishes since I got back from Iraq. My mom thought
I was a hero. I wasn’t. But then I didn’t try to correct her. Not that I wanted to lie by omission about being a hero. I just didn’t want to have to explain anything.
It was dark when I drove home. I shot the last of my heroin. Emily and I had done three and a half grams apiece in a little over thirty hours. Seven hundred dollars.
Raul didn’t get back from Akron until ten o’clock. He called me from his girl’s apartment and said he had what I’d asked him for. I got the money together and I went out to see him. I called him when I got there. He came down. He got in on the passenger side. “Any of your people watch the local news?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“They had a picture of me on there last night. It was very clearly me.”
“I didn’t watch it.”
“Yeah. It’s just got me worried.”
“I robbed a guy at an ATM machine once,” he said. “They had a picture of me on the news but they never caught me.”
That was comforting.
I said, “I figured it’s probably not a big deal. If I don’t hear about it in the next couple days I’ll never hear about it. I can’t be doing this shit though. The shit’s just too fucking dumb. You got that half?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he said. “This shit’s supposed to be pure fire. Be careful with it. I bought it down in Akron today. That’s what I was doing. It’s double-bagged because it stinks like straight heroin when you open it up.”
I didn’t check the bag. I had done right by him. We had robbed some shit together. I had bought a lot of grams from him. I figured if he was going to rip me off he’d have done it already. When I got home I found out I’d paid Raul thirteen hundred dollars for half an ounce of instant mashed potatoes. I called him. I said, “Raul, you know this is instant mashed potatoes, don’t you?”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said.
And he hung up.
Emily said, “What are you going to do?”