by Alan Osi
She started to interject, “I know, I know—you were only kidding, right?”
But, I kept going. “I guess I’m not kidding. I want things in my life to—I don’t know—proceed naturally, without accidental intervention, even by me. Do you have any idea how much people unintentionally influence their future? It’s fucking scary. Like we’re all ships with no captains.”
“Fair enough,” she said. She seemed into it.
So I doubled up. “Have you heard of, um, Heisenberg’s Unsurity Principle?”
She raised her eyebrows. “It’s uncertainty, actually, and yes.”
“I don’t want to say we’re a particle, and I don’t want to say we’re a wave,” I said. “Let’s just call this light and see what happens.”
She smiled, and in my head, I could almost hear an announcer: And Percival sticks the dismount!
We sat there in silence for a moment. I didn’t want to break it. Suddenly, our heads were a breath apart—the moment was building, an inevitable momentum—and then my phone buzzed. A fucking text message. I wanted to throw it against the wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces.
“You’d better check that,” said June, while the air around us returned to normal. “Could be one of the gang.”
So I did. It was Hailey. “where the hell r u?” her text read.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What is it?”
“Hailey. She’s looking for me.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, don’t worry. I mean, I don’t know. I hope not.” I stood up and reached down to give her a hand. “I guess we’d better go see.”
She grabbed my offered fingers.
We had been sitting on the back steps, out by what used to be a loading dock. Only the loading dock hadn’t been used when the building was last a center of industry, and where the warehouse sized doors were, now there was only a brick wall. In the city, the past often got boarded up and painted over. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn was set in Williamsburg, of all places; definitely not the slum it use to be.
In the same way, here only a small, person-sized door remained, and it lead into a kind of backroom, small enough to be a large office, large enough to be a tiny storage space. Tonight, we used this room to hold alcohol, ice, that sort of thing. We also had extra to-go packets of moondust, basically moondust wrapped in plastic wrap and tied closed with a rubber-band.
All these things were tossed into this room in haphazard piles, so now June and I hopped here and there in order to navigate back to the party. She almost fell once. But, caught herself, and smiled. And when we reached the door together, I said, “Are you ready for this?”
Because you could feel the party going on just beyond the threshold the door. We’d be leaving a private world we’d only begun to create and entering a hot one, full of smells and smoke, sex and wonder. The bass penetrated the walls, whispered vibrations to our teeth, gums, and bones. Furtive lights pulsed under the gaps in the doorframe. Occasional collective whoops and strange noises beckoned us forward.
“Sure I’m ready,” she said, quizzically. “You aren’t?”
I opened the door.
Smoke tainting the air, a wall of noise congealing into music, a sea of humanity. We’d had a good crowd before. But, now the place was bedlam. One of those scenes where the people trying to cross the room formed a little river of flesh, flowing together naturally, each slipping into the gaps made by the last person who’d elbowed their way through. Above it all floated Wally in his DJ booth, one hand on his wheels and the other raised, orchestrating the party like he had it on marionette strings. They were his, completely. It made me respect him a little.
June touched me on the shoulder and leaned in to speak. The noise obliterated her words.
So she grabbed my hand and pushed her way out into the crowd. I followed, I hoped she’d seen Hailey. I got overwhelmed by press of bodies against mine, so I focused on June’s hand in my hand. Eventually, I tried to take in as much as I could of what was happening. But, holy shit, there were a lot of people. How were The Disconnect managing, especially without June? Were Hailey and Mark helping now, was that why she’d texted me? I looked to the bar: one of the other girls juggled drink orders. She popped up from behind the counter, beers in hand, and gave them to some dude in a Hawaiian shirt. (Were those dumbass shirts coming back? I hoped not.)
In the distance, people were going up and down the stairs, now, steadily. I spotted, in the crowd, the ones who had already done moondust by their expressions of mute shock or naked glee, totally unmistakable.
Maybe it really was Heaven. Could we ever know?
Nothing was ours to know, but to experience only. Maybe understanding was a dream; I let my curiosity about what was happening around me go, and I squeezed June’s hand.
120. JUNE
I caught this glimpse of Hailey, when Percival and I went back into the dance. She stood on the stairs, looking out at the party; then descended, disappearing into the crowd.
I shouted into Percival’s ear, “I just saw her on the stairs.”
“What?” I saw him mouth at me, so I pulled him closer.
“I just saw her on the stairs,” I yelled, loud as I could. But, in response he only mimed he couldn’t hear me.
So. The throbbing bass foiled communication, there was no talking. And my heart pounded hard, I felt so alive: This was an instant in my life, special. I looked out over the party for a moment, taking it in, until I grabbed Percival’s hand and hurled us both out into it.
I pushed through the crowd, more or less in the direction I saw Hailey move. From her vector when she stepped off the stairs, she most likely headed to the DJ booth or the front entrance.
However, having me, a girl who weighed one-hundred-forty pounds on a good day, leading a guy through the crowd put me at a disadvantage. We couldn’t use his greater size and strength to force a path; my ability to squeeze through smaller spaces was also useless. So I stopped for a second, made eye contact, and pointed in the direction we needed to go. He understood and began forging a path with his elbow and shoulder. That he didn’t know exactly where Hailey had gone was a non-issue, because I didn’t know, either.
Luckily, he seemed to intuit that I saw Hailey in this general direction, because he moved with confidence, without looking back at me with silent questions. Instead, he took in indirect, searching path, zigzagging across the floor. Before long, we got to the hallway that led out the front door. Still no Hailey.
He looked at me, then, and I shrugged. He got his cell-phone out, sent a text, his face lit blue by the screen.
121. HAILEY
“About fucking time,” I said to Percival, when he came out the front door. He texted “meet outside now,” but somehow, I got out here first.
We were about the only ones leaving the party. In fact, here and there stragglers still entered, coming from some other event or after hearing of us from friends. That guy Nico covered at the door now, and had acknowledged Percival and June’s passing with only a lazy wave.
It miffed me to see Perce dragging June along with him, honestly. We had stuff to talk about, and this was not a conversation for one-night couples. But, I let it go: She could think I was a bitch, if she wanted to. But, I needed to get to the point, without going out of my way to make her feel part of the team.
“Those guys who were outside of your apartment,” I said. “They’re here.”
“What?” Percival said, his whole demeanor changing. I knew he heard me, but needed a second to switch gears. It was a lot to ask, going in seconds from trying to get laid to dealing with danger.
“The guys staking out your apartment. They’re upstairs now. One of them is on moondust.”
“But how do you know?” June said.
So I turned from Percival to her, annoyed for two reasons: first, it was a two-person conversation; and second, who the fuck told her what we were talking about?
“It’s a valid question, Hale
,” Percival said quickly. So I let it go and turned back to him.
“The cell-phone picture I took, remember? I saw the guy. He and his two buddies are wearing hoodies, the idiots. They stand out like republicans at a Phish concert.”
“Shit. Okay. Fuck.”
“Real helpful, dude,” I said and sat down on the steps, pulling out my pack and lighter. “I’m definitely glad I called you for this powwow.”
“What should we do?” said the girl.
“We?” I said.
“Not helping, Hailey,” said Percival. “Anyway, we got all of them in this.”
He had a point. So we shut up and picked our brains for a second—searching for a solution. Then I came up with something. It wasn’t very much, though.
“Look,” I said, “The goofy reporter scared them off once, right? Where is he?”
Perce answered, “Not here. I sent him a phony address.”
“Why the fuck did you do that?”
“We don’t trust him, remember? You were the one who said I should get rid of him.”
“So get him here,” said June, cutting into our bickering.
“Yeah,” I said to Percival. “Get him here.”
Percival, now outnumbered, took out his cell phone, and started hitting buttons.
122. MAXWELL
A phone rang through my stupor. Eyes wouldn’t focus. Room spun like someone dropped me in rough seas. I grabbed my head. But, that didn’t stop it. I could deal with it asleep. But, now I wasn’t because of that damn noise: the phone ringing.
“Hullo?” I said when I picked the phone up. It rang again, right in my ear. I forgot to hit the little button. So I hit the little button and said, “H’llo?” again.
“Damn, dude, how drunk are you?”
“Fuck you for asking. Who is this?”
“Percival.” And then his voice came through but distant, like he wasn’t holding the receiver close enough. “The preppie’s sauced. I don’t know if he can even stand, let alone come here. We’re on our own.”
“Come where? You gave ma bullshit address, y’asshole. Bullshit! You fucked me!”
“Well the real one’s 553 Franklin, Bronx,” he said. “Get here if you can walk. Peace.” Then he hung up.
553 Franklin. 553 Franklin. 553. Had ta keep saying it ‘til I could write it down. Knocked the pens over reaching for them too fast. Had to rip a piece of paper out of one of my books. But, who cared? Wrote it on the paper, then went through my phone and found the cop’s number. And called him.
“Yeah?” he said, when he answered.
“553 Franklin,” I said, and hung up.
Then I drank some more. Then I threw up. Then I called a cab.
123. ANNIE
The unfamiliar thing I had become, washed clean in the light, found itself rushing down a tunnel into darkness. And then the darkness hardened, coalesced into sensation, and the sensation became recognizable. Once again I felt myself: I sensed limbs, sounds, and the feel of clothing against my skin, the reddish black of light leaking through my eyelids.
The knowledge of my own identity.
I was me again, and I felt like vomiting, because I hadn’t been. I felt like I’d been outside of time. I felt like… It couldn’t have been real.
Still the joy was with me, and it was fading now. The visceral feeling of that light, as if I had briefly merged with something brighter than stars. It felt like pure love, pure consciousness.
Where was I? I opened my eyes.
There was the low and constant thump of nearby bass, and Elba, my friend, was staring down at me.
The party. I was at the party. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.
“Well?” said Elba.
But what was there to say? She’d taken the stuff before me. We’d gone in turns, to make sure no one stole our stuff or groped us while we were insensible. So she already knew.
“Give me your drink,” I said. She handed me her screwdriver: I’d finished mine before.
I drank deeply from it, needing the burn inside of me, and the sensation of queasiness: of my body, on the verge of rejecting something. It was earthly, grounding.
“I know the feeling,” Elba slurred.
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“What could I have said?”
There was nothing, she was right about that. After the Steppenwolf references, seeing the paintings on the walls, hearing people’s cryptic warnings and watching others take moondust, nothing was going to stop me from trying the stuff. It was just unthinkable that I wouldn’t have.
“OMG,” I said.
“Yeah,” Elba answered. She had this haunted look in her eye, the same look I imagined I had. She reached over, and wrapped me in a one-armed embrace. We sat that way for a second, not speaking. The party went on around us.
124. LEONARD
I lay in bed grinding my teeth, thinking about what was going down tonight and about how I’d failed to stop it. I imagined all the innocent fools, kids naive enough to take some strange drug when offered it, ruining their lives with that one decision. And all the neighborhoods that would eventually be destroyed because of it. Collateral damage.
Then the phone rang. “Detective Greene.”
“553 Franklin” was all the voice said, and then he hung up. Smith. Luckily for both of us, it was enough.
I shot out of bed like my ass was a Roman candle, waking Christine up in the process. She woke up mean.
“Leaving again. What kind of marriage is this? I feel like a mistress except you never fuck me.”
“Honey, you know I have important work to do. I was telling you about that case I’m working on, right? You know, when I was sharing my day like you want me to? Well I got the address of that drug party. You know how many innocent freaking kids will be screwed for life if I don’t go down there right now, don’t you? Let me do my job. “
“It’s always them,” she said. “It’s never me.”
We were having problems. But I couldn’t think about that now, so I dressed as fast as I could in the dark and silent anger of our bedroom, and when my shoes were on, I shot out of there, grabbed my coat, rushed out of the house, and started making calls on the front steps.
“Shelly,” I said, when she picked up. “You still want in on this moondust thing? ‘Cause it’s happening tonight.”
“Of course. Where?”
“553 Franklin. I’ll be there in 15. Hurry.”
Next I called the station. It was too late to get SWAT or any of the other crack teams of overconfident assholes. But I kind of liked that way. Give me the beat guys over wannabe military any day.
“Yeah,” someone answered. By the voice I guessed O’Boyle, he was on desk duty because of an altercation a week ago. Details were fuzzy, something about a tranny and a garden hose.
“O’Boyle, right?”
“Who’s this?”
“Greene. You get that memo from the chief?”
“The one says we got to listen to your jerk ass?”
“Screw you. I need every cop I can get to 400 Franklin for a raid.”
“Just like that?”
“What’d the captain say?”
“What kind of heat are we expecting?”
“Party kids, not gangsters.”
“I thought this was supposed to be some kind of national security thing. They planning to throw bong water at the statue of liberty?”
This is what I was talking about with the rookies these days. Wiseasses, all of them.
“Listen, I don’t have the time or patience to explain this to you, and we both know I don’t got to. Get every cop who can get there down to Franklin Street now. Understand?”
“Every cop I can round up, 10-4. Good luck with I. A.”
He hung up.
O’Boyle had a point. This was the definition of half-cocked, and cops could lose badges for shit like this, if it went bad enough. But, I didn’t have the luxury of planning. Sometimes in life, you have one moment to handle
something before it got out of control.
This was that moment, and if I took it, maybe I could make a difference for once. All I’d ever wanted to do. Worth the risk.
125. PERCIVAL
“Just wait out here for your reporter friend,” said June. “It’s the smart thing to do.”
I responded, “He’s not my friend. And even if he were, what could he do? Max’s a dickhead, and he’s drunk as shit. Even if he still had it in him to play badass, mobsters have restraint or they take coke. They don’t drink until they piss their pants.”
Hailey said, “Are you suggesting we force-feed the dork blow? ‘Cause I think I’d like to see that.”
But I was taking this too seriously to be amused. “I’m saying he’s no good to us, now. This isn’t going to work.”
June asked, “So what do we do, then? What’s your idea?”
“I’m going in there,” I answered, without really meaning to. But, as soon as I said it, I knew it was true.
Hailey looked at me with surprise and a kind of appraisal. June looked worried. “But there are three of them, right?” June asked.
“Yeah, there are. But, that’s not really the point.”
“What is the point?”
“I can’t live like this.”
“We left the instructions for just that reason,” said Hailey. “They’ll probably just read ‘em and go away.”
“Maybe. But, why haven’t they gone away?”
June answered, “Because it’s a party. They’re enjoying themselves?”
“Bull,” I said. “They’ve been after this for weeks, and now they got it, but they don’t leave? They don’t know anybody here, right? Hailey, didn’t you say they were alone?”
“Yeah,” she said, quietly. “And they didn’t dress for a party, either.”
“Right. Because they’re here for me.”
“But why?” June asked. “You said it yourself, they got what they wanted. Why would they care now?”