"No contact, man. You leave the shit in a garbage can, like you do at Global. You'll know which can it is, 'cause there'll be a big envelope on top of the trash. Just make like you're bag ladies or somethin', and look through the cans till you find the right one."
At that moment, Shack turned back from the wall. In his hands, he held a shopping bag, an old, dirty one with the name of a department store printed on it. Behind him, Joe and Crank could see a large gap in the wall, a space where two cement blocks had been removed. It was too dark in the remote basement corner to see what was hidden in the hole, but Joe and Crank already knew what was there.
"Is that the stuff, man?" asked Crank casually, pointing at the bag.
Shack nodded. "Yeah, this is the shit. Here." He handed Crank the bag. "There's three packages in there, okay? You know where to take them, and you know what to do with them. They've all got the same amount of stuff, so it doesn't really matter which one you deliver where, all right?"
"Yeah," said Joe. "No problem, man."
"Most of all, watch your damn asses. Be careful when you deliver, don't look suspicious." Shack paused, looking the two guys over for a moment. "Well, try not to look suspicious, anyhow. The last thing we need right now is trouble, you got it? Lotsa' guys're gettin' busted lately, and I don't want that happenin' to us. All I want is to run a nice, square business and make a little money, that's all. You get caught, you've never heard of us, you've never seen us. Understand?"
Crank nodded. "Yeah, we know. Don't worry."
"I am worryin', shitface. You guys do the job, you always deliver and everything, but you've never been hauled in. All we need right now is a couple of fuckups narkin' to the cops. Just watch your butts, and maybe we won't never have to worry about it. As for the cash, you take it to the usual place and drop it off around midnight. You get your money on Saturday, as usual. Okay?"
Joe and Crank both nodded.
"All right, then. Get the fuck outta' here." Joe and Crank left, yanking the curtain of moldy blankets shut behind them.
*****
Chapter Seven
It took the rest of the day for Joe and Crank to finish delivering for the pushers. The packages for the South Side didn't take long, since their drop-off places were both nearby, but the one for Hoover had to be carried farther away. Hoover was a borough of Brownstown, about five miles from the South Side, and Joe and Crank had to walk the whole way across town to get there.
As always, the day's work went off without any problems. There was no trouble, no run-ins or close calls with leery cops; the delivery spots were exactly as the pushers had described them, with no changes or surprises. At 120 Maxwell Street, Joe and Crank walked down an alley, knocked on a dirty side door, gave a bundle to a black man named Teddy, and got an envelope back. Beside the gate at Global Steel, they placed a package in a big trash barrel with a runny "X" spray-painted on the side, and left with an envelope they found inside the barrel. In Hoover, they spent some time looking through garbage cans behind the YMCA; when they found the right one, they tossed in their final package, then walked away with yet another cash-crammed envelope. Everything went smoothly, and once again, Joe and Crank earned their forty dollar pay.
At about nine o'clock, the two finally made their way back downtown, tired from hiking all day and ready for a beer and a smoke. It was dark and chilly by then, and Joe and Crank were both shivering. Neither of them had a jacket on, and neither owned a jacket to begin with; they only wore T-shirts which blocked the popsicle breeze like cheap paper towels.
"D-damn, it's cold! I'm f-freezin' my balls off!" chattered Joe, rubbing his arms rapidly.
"Ah, fuck you," said Crank. "This ain't nothin'. You ain't got no balls to freeze anyhow."
"Fuck yourself, man. You ain't cold 'cause you got all that blubber to hold in the heat. Me, I'm no fuckin' whale, and I'm cold. Let's go somewhere."
Crank held up the shopping bag full of money. "Like where, bud? We're stuck with this shit till midnight. All we need's to go someplace an' lose it, or maybe have some cop find it. No way."
"Okay, let's go to your place, th-then. I'm freezin'! You wanna' get fuckin' frostbite or somethin'?"
"No, no man...," mumbled Crank, suddenly looking thoughtful in the brittle streetlight beams. "I got a better idea. Let's go over to Benny's place, all right? Maybe he's got some beer."
Joe stopped shaking. "Ah, hell! You want to go there? What th' hell's wrong with you, man? You remember what happened the last time we were at Benny's?"
Crank grinned slyly. "Ahh, c'mon Joey. Forgive and forget, I always say."
"Forgive nothin', man! That fucker almost killed you! He hates your guts, and if you go over there again, you're askin' for trouble."
Still smiling, Crank slid over and spread an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Look, Joey, this is how it is. Benny and I had a little...disagreement. So what, right? We been friends for a lot longer than we been enemies. He probably already forgot the whole damn thing. Let's go over there and bury the hatchet."
"Right, man. He'll bury it in your fuckin' head! No way, uh-uh. You got a death wish, that's your business. I don't. If you go over there, you give me that bag and leave me here. That dude's a bruiser, you know? He's liable to take me down with you."
For a moment, Crank stood there, staring at the bag, then at Joe. Then, he started smiling again. "Okay, sure. You don't have to go. Stay right here till midnight, then deliver the cash. Just do me one favor...don't bother coming by my place to sleep tonight."
"You sonnuva' bitch," said Joe vehemently. "That really sucks, you know that? It really does."
"Ah, Joey," chortled Crank, "don't be mad. Let's go see Benny."
With that, they started down the chilly street toward Benny's place.
*****
Benny Firestone lived three blocks from Crank's apartment, on Miller Avenue. He inhabited an old garage, a low, collapsing hut between two houses; nobody used the garage anymore, and Benny rented it for just twenty dollars a month. Of course, the place had no heat, electricity, or sewage, but Benny got by without them. As a result, the place didn't smell too good most of the time.
Joe and Crank arrived at Benny's around nine-thirty; when they got there, Crank marched up and rapped loudly on the door. It was a typical, rickety garage door, about ten feet wide, which only opened by rolling and folding up into the sagging ceiling. There were three square spaces at eye level across it which had once been windows, but all the glass was broken out of them and boards were nailed over them on the inside of the garage. Crank waited a moment, then knocked again.
Again, there was no answer, no voice or movement behind the stingy door. After a minute, Joe turned and started walking away. "Well, guess there's nobody home, man. Let's get somethin' to eat."
"Shut up and get your ass back here," snarled Crank, beating on the door again. "He's here, I know it."
"Yeah," said Joe over his shoulder. "That's why there's no lights on in there. I'm leavin'."
"He's asleep, or stoned, man. Probably both." He knocked again, much harder this time. "Wake up, you fucker," he mumbled to the ratty wood, huffing. "Wake up already."
Suddenly, a strip of light appeared along the base of the door. Something thudded inside, and Crank pressed his ear against the wood to hear better. "Yo, Benny!" he shouted, laughing a little. "You there, man? Open up, it's me!"
In the garage, something else thudded; then, there was a loud crash, and a clatter like falling cans. Joe and Crank heard a muffled voice, then heavy footsteps shuffling in their direction.
"Hey!" yelled Crank. "Benny-boy! Open up! You got some beer?"
"Ah, shit!!" roared someone behind the door. "What the hell is this? Who the fuck is it?"
Joe did not like the sound of Benny's voice and considered running away immediately. Benny was not a guy to fool with; he was a huge man, an unemployed construction worker who was welded with blocks of muscle from head to toe. Benny was completely bald, and when he
attacked someone, he looked, and felt, like a nuclear missile. He had an irrational, furious temper which exploded at any time, setting off a crazed frenzy which crippled or mauled anything in his way. Benny was an animal, and Joe, like everyone else, feared him; for some reason, Crank did not.
"Just me, pal, your old friend Crank." Crank turned to Joe and winked.
"What did you say?" ground the garage voice, in low, gravel tones.
"I said it's me, Crank. I just dropped by for a beer."
"That's what I thought you said," rumbled Benny. "Wait a sec'." Inside, there were more scuffling footsteps, away from the door, then toward it again. There was a click as the door's lock snapped open. Joe and Crank stepped back and watched as the big garage door slowly swung upward.
"All right!" laughed Crank triumphantly. "I told you he was home, Joey."
Joe nodded and got ready to run.
The door rolled back the whole way and Benny was standing before them. He was dressed only in a pair of grimy, torn briefs, and did not look very happy to see the guys.
"So, hi, Benny," said Crank, still smiling. "How you doing?"
Benny scowled, flaring his nostrils and curling both lips like a gorilla. "What's the idea, fuckhead?" he grunted, gritting his teeth. "Didn't you get my message the last time?"
"Well, I though, you know, the whole thing had blown over by now. We just lost our tempers a little that night, that's all."
For a long moment, Benny just glared menacingly down at Crank, his Frankenstein bulk dwarfing the chubby redhead. Joe noticed that the giant was holding one hand behind his back the whole time.
"Crank," said Benny finally, "what's your problem? Can't you tell I want to kill you?"
Crank chuckled nervously. "Ah, Benny, be cool. We been friends since what, '69? We go way back, you and me. You don't just throw away friendship like that. Let's forget that night ever happened."
"No, man," growled Benny violently. "Let's forget you ever happened." Benny's hand shot out from behind his back, clutching a large, long object. Suddenly, wildly, he swung it at Crank, smashing him mightily on the ribs. Crank leaped away, screaming, as the object came back around, barely missing his skull. Clutching his chest in pain, Crank started to stumble away, as Benny swung insanely behind him.
Joe was already halfway down the street by then. He had been expecting trouble since Crank first suggested visiting Benny, and when it came, he was ready. Besides, he had seen what the object was the instant Benny pulled it out.
It was a baseball bat.
Joe and Crank ran for their lives, off into the stolid, dreamless streets of Brownstown.
*****
Chapter Eight
"Holy shit," panted Joe, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I thought that guy'd never give up!"
Beside him, sacked on the asphalt of the alley, was Crank. Crank was dripping with sweat from the chase, and was wheezing and hacking uncontrollably. His rolls of flesh rippled and pulsed as he frantically gasped for breath.
"Y-yeah...," he puffed, "...that d-dude runs like...a b-bat ...outta' hell..."
For a few minutes, neither of them said anything, and the only sound in the alley was their diesel rasping. Outside the mouth of the alley, a car swept by, then another; Joe jumped when something scraped a trash bin. He goggled crazily around, wondering if maybe it was Benny, still chasing them. As he searched the alley, though, and saw no sign of the madman, he relaxed. It seemed like a safe place: there was a brick building on either side, scaling into the night sky and studded with wiry fire escapes; the alley was closed by another brick wall at the rear, a cavey dead end stacked with trash and garbage cans; there was only one opening, right on the street, so Joe and Crank could hide and watch for their crazy hunter.
This was where Joe and Crank had finally eluded Benny, after a long and exhausting chase through Brownstown. Just as their lungs were cracking and their legs were ready to snap, the two slipped away from their pursuer and into this refuge. As they dove into the darkness and dug in, silent and desperate, they heard Benny's footsteps passing swiftly by outside.
They had waited for about five minutes, and then, when they felt that Benny was truly gone, came out from behind the piles of dripping garbage.
After a while, Joe felt his breathing returning to normal, and his body finally started to relax. He leaned back against the alley wall, the cold, wet brick hard against his spine. Suddenly, he realized how cold it was, and started to shiver; until now, he had been too busy running for his life to worry about the weather.
Joe turned to his friend, whose body was still soaked with sweat and heaving wildly from exertion. Crank's eyes were shoehorned shut, and his face was twisted with pain; he kept gasping and coughing, even as Joe's breathing calmed, and held his side where Benny had walloped him.
"Crank," said Joe, shaking his head, "you are one dumb sonnuva' bitch." He laughed, a few quick, cynical snorts, then propped his head against the wall and gazed at the sky.
Between the buildings that enclosed the alley, only a small slit of night was visible; even that bit was clouded over, so there were no stars. "Why the hell did you do that shit, huh? You knew that ass-wipe was gonna' beat on ya', so why the fuck did ya' go up and knock on his damn door?"
Crank was still wheezing, but not as bad now. "Joey...I ain't...stupid. Really, man...I knew th-that...Benny'd prob'ly...do somethin'..."
Again, Joe snorted. "Then why in hell did you go and do that shit? That don't make sense, y'know? If you know some mother's gonna' kill you, you don't go outta' your way to run into him!"
As he spoke, Crank slowly calmed down. His clots of fat were not heaving as much, and his voice was not as raspy. "I know man, I know. You think I want that...shithead punchin' my brains out? Why th' hell...do ya' think I...ran away?"
"Yeah, well, if you were so worried about savin' your ass, then why'd you go in the first place?"
"Fuck, I don't know," said Crank. "Somethin' to do...I guess." He coughed and spat phlegm on the asphalt. "I just...I just did it, y'know? Didn't you ever just do somethin'? You don't always need a...reason to fuckin' do somethin'."
"To do somethin' stupid, I do!"
"Aw, fuck you. I did it and it's over and we're still alive. Forget it, man."
"Forget what, man?" Joe smiled, and they both laughed.
For a minute or two, they were silent, and it seemed that the world was silent with them. There was no sound from the street at all, no cars swishing past, no shouts in the distance, no dogs barking. It was weird, an unnatural silence in the center of the city, a sudden absence of noise and movement. It was as if the entire place had been frozen, snatched in mid-swing like a pendulum and held still in its path. There was no sound, just Crank and Joe, and cold air, and the smell of garbage, and the coaly shadows.
"Damn, it's quiet," said Joe, staring out at the street and scratching his beard.
"Yeah, freezing, too."
"You shit-face, I thought you said you weren't cold."
"That was before."
"You know," said Joe, "that guy could'a really killed us. I'm fuckin' serious, man. You see his eyes? If we would'a hung around one more minute, we'd'a been dead meat."
Crank looked thoughtful. "Yeah, prob'ly. That dude's fucked up. He's an animal, y'know?"
"Hah!" shouted Joe. "I thought you said you were friends from way back!"
"We are. Just 'cause I hate him don't mean we can't be friends, right? We did some wild shit together, let me tell you."
"So you guys had so much fun that now he wants to rip your ass off, right? C'mon, man, don't give me that shit."
"I'm not, I'm not. We been friends, y'know, but like, we were better friends way back. After a while, he just got fucked up, right? You know that guy shits on his floor?"
"So do you, man."
"Not on purpose, I don't." Crank looked at Joe, then, straight in the eyes, and his face came as close to a serious expression as Joe had ever seen it. "Joey, you know what else Be
nny does? He fucks dogs."
Joe stared at Crank in disbelief. "Aw, man, come on. No way. Benny?"
Crank nodded, his doughy face still strangely grave.
"Aw, no way, man. Uh-uh."
"Yeah, Joey, he does. Take my word for it. I seen it once, a long time ago. It was sick, man, really sick."
Joe slowly shook his head. "Shit, I heard'a guys doin' that, you know, but I didn't think Benny...well, the dude's real tough and everything...and big, man. It's hard to picture. No way." He laughed.
"He done it, man, lots. Why you think I don't run around with him anymore? I think he's a faggot, too. I called him that once, to his face, and he started poundin' on me. You remember, it was that last time we were over at his place."
"Holy shit, you mean that's what started it? Damn, I didn't even know."
"Now you do. That fucker's got all kinds'a perverted ideas, man. He is bad news."
"He don't look like no faggot."
"He is, believe me. I found out the hard way." Crank turned away, and Joe stopped smiling.
"Holy hell," he whispered. "That sonnuva' bitch."
Crank nodded. "Like I said, Benny is trouble. He is bad news." Crank leaned back and stared up at the wall.
"Then why'd you go back there tonight?"
"I told you, I ,just did. No reason, I just did it."
There was a crushed beer can on the ground beside Joe; he picked it up and began turning it in his hands. "1 still don't believe that baseball bat shit. Man, it's weird. What is this, everybody's got a thing for fuckin' baseball bats, now?"
"No, fuckin' dogs," said Crank, and they both laughed.
After a while, the two fell silent again. Crank kept staring at the wall, and Joe played with the beer can. Then, suddenly, Joe jumped, as if he had been bitten by something. He leaped to his feet and started looking frantically around the alley.
Getting Higher Page 4
