by Alan Osi
I didn’t even say anything to her, I just walked over to the dresser, where I’d left the bag of moondust. And as I went to open it, she nearly leapt across the couch and smacked it out of my hands.
“Don’t,” she said.
And I was speechless. I walked over to the bag, picked it up, walked into the bedroom, and locked the door.
Her voice followed me as I went into the room and locked the door. “Don’t. Don’t! Violet, DON’T!” Near hysteria.
Something was wrong with this stuff.
Something was very wrong with Sally.
And what was I to do? Love and pride told me to take it. But, then again Sally was lying against the door, and I could feel and hear her pleas, terror. My hands were shaking.
But didn’t I have to know?
And didn’t I owe it to myself, to us, to go where my love had gone?
I opened it up, and put the stuff in my eyeball.
It was like being inside ten thousand suns.
When I dropped moondust in my eye, it changed my life forever.
Joy beyond understanding.
And what could I have done then, after I had returned? I tried to convince myself it was a hallucination. But, my heart said different.
In the end, I did the only thing I could do: I opened the door, went to Sally, and we held each other tight, not needing to speak, nor wanting to. Our tears said enough.
61. ROB
So I guess Will didn’t show up for his stakeout shift, and now this fool texted some crazy idea about finding one dude in Manhattan and getting moondust from him. One dude. In Manhattan. He lost his fucking mind.
Will’s text said, “urgent some guy named messenger giving md away in manhatt. We find him we learn how to make it--meet here asap.”
I smelled bullshit. We had a plan, and we needed to stick to it. End of story.
The ride down was the usual boring, except for some dudes who did acrobatics on one of those old lady’s walker things in the middle of the train isles before asking for handouts. I was hoping they would fall over, they almost did once or twice. When they came to me for a handout, I didn’t have nothing for them, of course.
By the time I got to the spot, Clyde was already there. It was retarded for us all to be here like this, way too visible. But, there wasn’t much to do about it. Nothing, but, handle the situation as fast as possible.
They were already talking. But, I wasn’t trying to listen. I just broke on the scene.
“Eh,” I said, “What’s this I hear about changing the plan?” I wasn’t trying to keep any heat out of my voice, neither.
Will blinked like I smacked him. I must have scared him because he started stuttering. “What are you talking about? I found some information, and we need this man—we’re running out of time…”
“What information?”
“There’s another supplier of this stuff. He operates on the island.”
“So?”
“So we can find him. He’s on the Upper East Side.” “That’s big area, fool.”
“He’s on the streets up there, handing the stuff out! All we got to do is—”
“He’s on the streets handing it out?” My voice rose, and I let it. “What the fuck does that have to do with me, and why the fuck did you call me here when you know we look suspicious as hell now?”
“Whoa,” Clyde said, “calm down—”
But I wasn’t about to. “No. What the fuck is this? What kind of dumb-ass sense does it make for all of us to be standing here, when the dude knows we’re looking for him? If he comes back now—”
“He’s not coming back here,” Will said. “Face the facts, man, the dude’s gone—”
“Who are you to decide what he’s doing or not doing?”—
“The only person here with common sense—”
“Oh, now I’m gonna smack the shit out of—”
“Shut up, both of you!” Clyde yelled. “You’re causing a scene, idiots. So chill out, will you? Goddamn!” He sat down, his head in his hands. “Seriously,” he said. “What the hell? Huh?”
It was exactly how I feared it might turn out. Exactly.
62. WILLIAM
Rob said, “Well, scene or no, we made a plan, and we’re going to stick to it. End of story. No one gets out, that’s not how this works. How it works is, Will, stick to the plan or I fucking shoot you. Which will it be?”
I couldn’t believe this.
“You know what?” I said. “I agreed to be part of a crew, not someone’s bitch. Do your own stake-out! Me, I’m going to go find this messenger guy.”
I stood up, unsure where this standoff would take us.
63. CLYDE
I thought Rob was going to jump Will right there. Turns out I was wrong.
Not that it mattered. The whole thing was fucked up, and no one even cared about making it right. But, me.
Rob stared at Will a long time, not doing anything, not saying anything. Then he said, “Fine, genius. You got three days to find your dude and bring us some of this shit you all are so high on. You don’t have it in three days, you got a problem. Me.”
“Who made you king?” said Will.
Before responding, Rob took one step closer to him. Will tensed, to take a step back or send a knee forward. But, he stayed still.
“I did,” Rob said, and turned to me. “Call me twenty minutes before my shift.”
I nodded, and Rob walked away.
Once he turned the corner, Will mumbled, “Right, like I’m scared of you. Bullshit-wanna-be bruiser.”
I just looked at him and shook my head.
“Man, fuck that guy,” Will said. “You do what you want. I’m out of here. When I find the messenger, I’ll let you know.”
“Whatever,” I said to his receding back.
The end result of all this was me stuck on watch again, ‘cause now there were only two of us, splitting Will’s shift in half on top of doing ours. This really sucked.
64. MAXWELL
From Justine’s apartment, I walked to the subway in something of a daze. I felt disconnected, like the halves of my being no longer communicated: logic and emotion, heart and mind. Maybe it was better this way—cleaner—at a time when my life trended messy.
I was officially single again. I felt an ink cartridge exploded in my gut.
I didn’t get one usable soundbite out of her.
It was late afternoon, almost time. I took a deep breath—once and for all expelling every thought, worry, and possible guilt over what happened with Justine; and inhaling the future. This required die-cast testicles, total focus.
Was it a good idea? Probably not. But, the great ones took great risk. And, if things did go bad, I’d be able to get away just fine. I ran track and jogged regularly. I had sneakers on for this very reason, just in case.
After I got to the station, the train took ten minutes to arrive. And every minute took longer to pass.
This seemed a worse idea the closer I came to seeing it through. I tried to focus on the simple things going on around me as I rode the train, like the woman sitting across from me who scolded her school-aged child. She said, “Never let yourself get confused, you know this? You got to know what’s going on at all times.” I wished it were possible to take the young mother’s advice.
The little boy, dwarfed by his back-pack and tennis shoes, nodded with wide-eyed sincerity. New York was such a savage place, I couldn’t blame the woman for giving her child that impossible task. Confusion, or hesitation, or general limpness of will—any of these could be deadly here.
Never let yourself get confused, you know this?
Once again, I rehearsed the plan for my upcoming deception.
First, I needed to find them. I had a picture of one suspect, I would sweep the exterior of Percival’s building, looking for signs of a stake-out.
When I saw them, I would send a text, wait for backup, and, once everyone got into place, con as if my life depended on it. I fingered the
last bag of moondust in my pocket, reassuring myself. I double-checked the printout of my info on Westgate, who called himself “the messenger.”
Assertion: Would this plan get him killed? The moral implications of my plan, if successful, were worth considering. Rebuttal: To hell with Harold Westgate. He ran amok, ruthlessly disrupting every life he pulled into his sick sphere of influence. Any harm that came to him would be a boon to society.
In any case, I wouldn’t be telling them to do him in. I’d simply be replacing him with Beaver as a target. In the grand scheme of things, whichever lowlife received whatever awaiting punishment made little difference.
I spent the rest of the ride practicing my tough-guy voice in my head. A woman came on who reminded me of Justine, and I felt like shit. But, my self-loathing was useful. Method acting. Plus, I didn’t give a fuck. No one’s ever as dangerous as the man who has nothing to lose, they say.
65. CLYDE
I spent the next two hours tired and mad, sitting in Williamsburg on this endless watch. I tried to appear homeless, as if I had nowhere else to go. Looking bored and depressed hadn’t been too hard.
I figured it was best to let Rob cool off a bit, so I’d taken this shift without an argument. You had to manage hot-heads like him; if he went off at the wrong time, we’d be fucked. And I needed this. I needed the money and the security of a steady income. Selling coke was dangerous. I needed a better game.
This crew had become such a headache; I wondered why I ever thought safety in numbers made sense. Will kept going rouge, Rob was basically acting like a douchebag, and the way they fought, someone might get stabbed.
How could I get those two to act right? That was the million dollar question.
What happened next, I never saw coming. Maybe I should have.
Some guy came up to me, dressed all proper like. He wouldn’t have been out of place in a country club, and he walked straight for me, staring at me the whole time.
I was supposed to be homeless. Being homeless in New York meant being invisible. So I knew something was up.
I prepared myself, reaching in my pocket for the knife I kept. He didn’t have the walk of a thug, and he certainly didn’t have the clothes. But, better to be ready than be injured.
“Hey guy,” he said, with flat, vaguely eastern-European accent, “Is this what you look for?”
He threw something at me. I caught it automatically—good reflexes. I didn’t even want to look at it. But, when I did, I saw a small packet of powder. Holy shit.
I played it cool though. “Come on. Just ‘cause I’m homeless don’t mean I do heroin.”
He smirked. “You are not homeless, and that is not heroin.”
“So what is it?”
“You know what.”
“Pretend I don’t,” I said.
I tried to read him—his face, his clothes, his stance, and his voice—aside from the slight accent, none of it told me anything. Not good.
“If that is how you want to play,” he said and shrugged. “This is moondust. We sell it. One of our distributors lives there,” he said and pointed at the building. “All of this you know.”
He paused, maybe to gauge my reaction. I stayed quiet.
“I am the guy who is sent to talk to you.” He pointed at the rooftop, “Up there is one of the guys watching in case I don’t like how this goes. I am waving to him now.” And he did. The guy on the roof waved back.
I started seriously worrying. But, I had to fake calm.
“Why should I believe you? If I even know what you’re talking about, I mean.”
“Understand, please. They send me to keep this quiet. Which is good luck for you, unless you are stupid.” He paused, and took something out of his pocket, a phone. As he typed into the keypad, he said, “Did you know that as long as shooter is well hidden, one shot is safe? Could be car backfiring. People look up, they see nothing, and they keep walking.”
He hit send and put the phone back into his pocket. Then he said, “A few seconds from now, from rooftop. Your last warning.”
And, right on cue: pop.
A gunshot never sounds in real life like it does on television. In the city, the sound bounces off of building walls and mixes with all the other noises, so it barely even sounds impressive. Kind of like a firecracker.
But, if you knew what to listen for, the sound is unmistakable.
What the fuck did we step into?
66. WALLY
I got this dope new videogame from Games-Trader. It was sick.
In the game, aliens invaded and took over people’s bodies and stuff. You had to save the world. That’s what was awesome about video games. I always saved the world.
So, there I was, kicking back with a 40 and this hot-ass game when my dude Percival called. If I hadn’t been so dope, I would have been surprised to hear from him, because last time I called him, he acted all mad for no reason. But, I knew he needed me. It was only a matter of time before he came back for my business. It happened really fast. I almost laughed.
So I hit the pause button on the game, accepted the call on my phone, and said, “Percival, what’s up?”
“Beaver,” he said. “How are you?”
“Right as rain, dude. And call me Wally.”
“Right, whatever. Look. You’ve broken the cardinal rule of our clients. You told a stranger about us.”
“But I didn’t—”
“You did, dummy. You called me with the guy standing right in front of you. That means you get cut off.” He paused.
I didn’t speak, trying to figure out what to do.
He continued, “But, you’re in luck. We thought about it, and we’re willing to give you a second chance in exchange for a favor. If you don’t want to do it, it’s up to you. But, none of us will ever sell you moondust again. And you know you won’t get it anywhere else.”
Something about his voice told me he meant it. And I liked having moondust around. It put me on the cutting edge, a real cool ride. “What would I have to do?” I said. “I’m not going to bury no heads in the desert or no shit like that.”
He cleared his throat. “No burying heads, Wally. I need you, right now, to get up and go to Williamsburg and stand on the roof directly across the street from my apartment building. You remember where I live, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. When you get on the rooftop, keep a sharp eye out, and stay visible. Someone will get your attention. When he does, you will wave to him to make it clear you’ve seen him. He will then engage another gentleman in conversation. At some point during that conversation, he will wave to you. Wave back. Stay there until their conversation ends. When it ends, leave. Do not leave in a way that either of the men see you go. You should seem to disappear. Do that, and you’ll be back on my rolodex.”
“That’s all? I just wave at some guys?” I said, to be sure.
“That’s it. But, it’s non-negotiable. Everything has to be done exactly as I told you. And you have to do it right now.”
I thought about it. I hated to leave, I was right in the middle of a boss level. But, then again I did want some more moondust. “Okay. But, I’m going to come see you and get some ‘dust soon. Do I get a free one?”
“No.”
“Whatever. Do I call you when it’s done?”
“No. I’ll know. Now repeat to me what you’re doing.”
“I’m going to leave right now,” I said, in an annoyed voice. “I’m going to go to the rooftop across the street from your building and wait for some dude to get my attention. When he does, he’s going to go talk to some other guy, and when he waves to me, I wave back, and then stand there until the conversation is over. Then I go home.”
“Good. Later, Beaver,” he said, and hung up.
I really did hate to leave. But, it was worth it. So I put on my kicks and my jacket, grabbed my cigs and my keys, and went about business.
67. MAXWELL
He fell for it. His worry, seeping throug
h his poker face, told me everything I hoped.
Beaver and his cronies were done; there were no other parts still to be played, I had the stage all to myself. I smiled, took a breath, and continued, “Now that I have your attention, here is our position. Your government does not know this product exists yet, so we like this. We like quiet. But, no one works without permission, and no one messes with our guys. You must understand. To hang out here for you is bad idea.” I let him sweat for half a second before continuing.
“Here is where you get lucky. We have problem, and we want outside help solving. There is guy operating in Manhattan. His name is Harold Westgate. But, calls himself messenger. He is crazy, and he’s not a part of our organization. We cannot allow this.
“You remove Harold Westgate from this business, however you want. No killings, as these bring the bullshit on us. But, otherwise…” I shrugged. “In return for this, if you can learn from Westgate how to make yourself, become an affiliate.”
I reached into my pocket for the slip of paper with Westgate’s address and handed it to him. “You will cooperate, yes?”
He hesitated for a second. I kept the tension off of my face, to appear as if he decided his fate, not mine.
Not flinching, not even blinking, he said, “Yeah, okay.”
“You make right choice.” I took the phone I purchased in Union Square out of my pocket, and gave it to him. “Here is burner phone. Do not use for any purpose. We will be watching and, when time is right, we will call. Now leave.”
As I walked away, I cast my gaze up, looking for Wally Beaver. I did it: I got him back into his apartment. Another hurdle crossed: he had his home back, and therefore I had my home back. Hopefully, the smell of cigarette smoke and feet would fade quickly.
But still, this hollow, empty, angry feeling. I was single again.
68. PERCIVAL
I was watching from a nearby rooftop. I nearly did a spit-take when they both walked away at the same time. The guy who was staking out my place walked toward the J-train and didn’t come back, Max went in the other direction. I couldn’t believe it. But, it really did seem as if the douche reporter had sent the hoods packing.