Hippie Jack was not that careful or wise, though we'd had conversations about the ethics or apparent lack thereof possessed by Cocaine Mike, when Jack was fucked up and happy he was what we'd call a trusting soul, it didn't help that his blow intake was now a full blown problem, one day as i stopped by to pick up the usual pound or two, he had somehow lost an eight ball of coke, lost being the operative word as Maggie, one of the infamous Glimmer Twins, a pair of rich suburban white girls turned local hoodrat junkies, had just left his place after purchasing some flake, as it dawns on my Hippie friend that he's just been fucked he begins yelling at me and accusing me of snaking his blow, to which i tell him to go fuck himself and get his shit together while pointing out who just happened to be sitting here when i walked in, when i asked if he left her and her fucked up boyfriend alone his face went blank, i then turned out my pockets told him to fuck himself again and get my shit, i paid him what i owed and paid for another 1 1/4 lbs because i didn't want to owe him shit, he stammered an apology and i told him it's cool but shit wasn't, i could see the end and all i could do was think of finding a new connection, this one was on shaky ground at best...
Of course if i give the impression that i was some kind of savant i was... that is if you put the word idiot in front of it, i had a singular focus of keeping my business up and running, i was over-paying the student loans and had become accustomed to the lifestyle slinging afforded, i wasn't buying a BMW anytime soon but i usually had enough pocket money for a few forays to the strip club every week, i had enough to buy another beer every time i needed another beer, i could order pizzas with impunity dammit, i was a fucking hood and this was my glamorous life...of course i also stood just slightly north of raging fuck-up or to put it more aptly, my own one car parade...
Right before shit really hit the skids i had once again gone to Jack's for the re-up, it was nearly 5pm and i had called at least 4 times because i was out and needed product, Hippie Jack had been sleeping off another coke and booze bender and was a Class A fucking asshole when i got to his place, he was pissing and moaning and i was about to remind him of which one of us was the fucking meal ticket when he sat down and pulled out a plate of rock, he took a big hit and became the most pleasant guy in the world, i'm sure this would have set off warning bells had he not loaded the pipe again and passed it to me, i of course took said pipe and ripped a winner... the drug myth goes that one hit of rock can kill you and i have first hand knowledge that the myth makers might have been right on that count, the instantaneous rush was stupefying and frightening, my heart racing and breathing elevated, Jack looking at me and wondering if i was going to kick it right in his living room, i got up and tossed some water on my face and tried to slow down my fucking ticker, twenty-six was the wrong age to kick it dammit, i realize now how close i was to punching the ticket that day, i think i knew it then too, you could cue Perfect Day by Lou Reed as Hippie Jack dragged me out his apartment and down the porch steps to prop me next to the pedestrian overpass that ran over Bigelow Blvd, he'd put me next to the pay phone and hopefully have the change to call the EMS before running back into his place and slipping out the back door and hightailing it to the boozer, i'm sure hoping the whole time that i didn't die because hell, i was the best mover he had...
Spoiler alert... i didn't die, though i did learn something and that was it was time to quit the fucking rock, i did, Hippie Jack didn't... and then one day it happened. He came home after closing the bar to find his apartment had gotten robbed, of course he had once again loaned himself Mr. Big's money to fund his coke business which was he was now using the profits off of to fund his own personal coke habit, Jack was no longer at the edge of that Downward Spiral he was hurtling down it head first... the blow bought with Mr. Big's money was gone, his stock of grass was gone, most importantly the roll of bills, the money hidden in his coat pocket, the money that could have paid his debt but put him back at broke was gone, and of course the only way for him to make any money was hustling and the only guy willing to front him gear was now going to be short $4,000, this is not a business to short money in unless of course you don't want to be in it anymore, hopefully you don't take a beating or worse, in Hippie Jack's case he was written off, Mr. Big didn't to fuck him up, Jack was out plain and simple, i was out a good connection, it didn't take fucking Sherlock Holmes or Jessica Fletcher, The Hardy Boys or Inspector Clouseau to know who jacked him, it was the guy who knew where all Jack's shit was, that menacing motherfucker who lived upstairs and liked to shoot guns in the basement, Cocaine Mike... it was time for me to scramble...
2 comments:
Oh dear, what a tale of Skid Row, both parts 1 and 2. You can see disaster written all over it from the beginning. You've got to be savvy when you're in that game and you seem to have enough nous to have managed your way through a difficult field. Dealing, generally, is done by people without much access to stable credit, and you can hardly go to the bank asking for a couple of grand to set yourself up as a dope dealer.
You should set yourself up in a nice quiet little place in Northwest England -- no dodgy people upstairs and definitely no guns! :)
Anyway, I look forward to part three.
looby- i hate to say it but as i'm going along there might be 5 parts to this, at times it's crazy to sit back and think about it but it entertains me... and the great things about American Universities in the late 80's/early 90's was that they'd give credit cards away like candy, usually with a $1000 dollar or more limit, you could sign up for three a week if you wanted, of course this fucked a lot of people with bad credit but it was those credit cards which "kickstarted" all my business endeavors back then, what a laugh!! so i guess i'm one of the few who actually did have the bank set me up with a loan, if Citibank only knew, of course they're such fucking criminals they probably half admire the scheme, give me a thumbs up and offer me a job...
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