Marion met Arnold at the small bar of an intimate continental restaurant on the east side. He stood as she approached and extended a hand. She took his hand and his seat. How are you Marion? Fine Arnold, how are you? Well, thank you. The usual? Please. He ordered a Cinzano with a dash of bitters and a twist for her. You look exquisite, as usual. Thank you. She smiled and let him light her cigarette. Soon they were advised that their table was ready and the maitre d' led them to the table and asked Monsieur and Madam how they were this evening and they smiled and nodded politely, as one does to a maitre d', and told him they were fine. Marion relaxed into her chair and felt her body absorb the atmosphere. The thing she enjoyed about Arnold was his taste in restaurants. They were always small, intimate and chic, with exceptional food, something you very rarely find in America. The elegance of her surroundings had more to do with the glow she felt than the aperitif she sipped almost continuously. Im disappointed that you are indisposed. Well, theres nothing much I can do about that, she smiled, Freud notwithstanding. Is Anita out of town, or something? Why do you ask? No reason, really, just curious. He looked at her for a moment before answering, No, but she will be involved in something most of the night. Newsmen were there yesterday taking her picture, along with a few other "members" in the garden. Can I ask you a personal question Arnold? Certainly. How did you and Anita ever manage to have any children— She held up her hand, Im not trying to be facetious, honestly, its just that the two of you always seem to be in different places at the same time. Arnold sat a little straighter, Well, actually theres no mystery about that. I didn't mean about the children, Marion was smiling, I do know about that. Why do you ask these questions, its very curious. What, exactly, do you mean by all this? Marion shrugged and finished chewing her escargot, Nothing other than what I said. Im curious. Marion sipped a bit of the white bordeaux he had ordered as he scrutinized her, O, this is marvelous. She took another sip then went back to her escargot. Arnold was still frowning slightly, When people reach a particular point in life, when they have attained a certain degree of success... a substantial degree, their interests broaden and their perspective widens. I imagine with Anita its an inner need for fulfillment, her civic work, a need to find her own identity. But what really interests me is why you should be asking a question like that. Its so obvious that you are trying to vicariously fulfill the lack in your life by playing a substitute role, substituting yourself in the role as my wife. O Arnold, dont be gauche. She finished her wine and immediately the waiter was there to refill her glass. Arnold nodded politely at him. And anyway, Im not in the least worried about my identity, she smiled at him and patted his hand, really Im not. She had finished her escargot and dabbed at the garlic butter with a piece of roll. Ive started painting again and I feel marvelous. You have? She had finished and the waiter took the empty plates and she sat back and smiled at Arnold. Thats right. I havent actually finished any canvases yet, but Im working. I can feel the paintings just welling up within me, begging to come out. Well ... I would very much like to see your work. It would give me, I feel, a tremendous insight into your subconscious. I should think that you would be familiar enough with that by now. Well, its not exactly a stranger to me, but this would be approaching it from a different angle, a different point of view so to speak. You see here most of your defenses would not only be down, but the symbols would be far more obvious than in the dreams and it would give wonderful corroboration to the conclusions formed from analyzing the free association. Well, maybe sometime I'll invite you up to see my etchings, and Marion chuckled, but not too loudly, as she forked a little meat off her frogs legs. After the concert they stopped in for a nightcap. Arnold didnt drink his scotch with any particular interest, but Marion loved to roll the chartreuse around in her mouth before swallowing it. That was a marvelous concert, just marvelous, and she had a reflective look on her face as if she were still hearing the music, especially the Mahler. Whenever I hear his Resurrection Symphony, more than any other, I start to understand why they say he took romanticism to its ultimate in music. I feel all welled up inside like Ive just run up a flower covered hillside and the breeze is blowing my hair in the wind and Im whirling around and the sunlight is glancing off the wings of birds and the leaves of trees, and Marion closed her eyes and sighed. I agree, it was a definitive performance. I think he really got to the heart of Mahlers ambivalence and understands how he unconsciously projected it into his music. Marion frowned, What ambivalence? The basic conflicts in his life. His compromise with his Jewish heritage and his willingness to renounce it to further his career. His constant conflict as a conductor when he wanted to compose, but needing the money to live. Its obvious the manner in which he changes keys that he was unaware that these conflicts were responsible for those changes. Just as they were responsible for his changes in attitude toward God. But that was over by the time he wrote the second symphony. Ostensibly, but I have listened very carefully to his music, and analyzed it thoroughly, and there is no doubt that though he may have said certain things, and perhaps even believed them in his conscious mind, that his subconscious had not as yet resolved the conflict. Arnold breathed deeply, Mahlers music is extremely interesting from an analytical point of view. I find it very stimulating. Marion smiled and put her empty glass on the table, Well, I still love his music. It sort of makes me happy to be sad. She sighed and smiled again, I really have to be going Arnold. I have been very busy lately and am tired. Fine. He drove her home and before she got out of the car he smilingly smirked, I'll give you a call in a couple of weeks. That should be about right. He kissed her and she kissed him back and left the car. He waited until she was in the building before driving away. Marion lit a joint as soon as she got in the apartment, then changed her clothes, then put Mahlers Kindertotenlieder on the phonograph and sat on the couch with her sketch pad and pencils. She continually adjusted the pad on her lap, taking another poke of the joint until it was half gone then put it out, and tried to work up some sort of image to transfer onto the sketch pad. That should be easy enough to do. Mahler . . . good pot ... it should all come together. She realized she was pushing too hard and so she just sat back and relaxed and waited for it to come. Still it was a blank. If only she had a model. Thats what was needed. A model. She could feel the drawing begging to come out, her need to express herself giving her energy, but she couldnt seem to unloose the gates and organize that energy. She jumped up and grabbed a couple of womens magazines from the table and started rapidly thumbing through them marking all the ads and articles with pictures of babies and mothers and, finding a few that suited her, tore them out and used them as models and started sketching, at first tentatively, then with increasing speed and assurance. The mothers and babies were placed in various positions and juxtapositions, with varying expressions, the expressions becoming more and more melancholy. She very rapidly did a sketch of a child in a contorted position, a look of silent pain on its face, and the mothers expression quickly began to look like the man in the Edvard Munch woodcut and Marion looked at the sketch very carefully from every angle and felt excited and inspired by it as she felt a deep identification with both figures. She looked very carefully at the babys pained face then drew another baby next to it, about a year older, yet the expression remained the same. She continued to draw the child, in each drawing the child was a year older and as she progressed the drawings became more skillful, more lifelike, more filled with emotion and she began to sketch little birthday candles under the drawings showing the age of the child and then the features became more distinct and the hair long and black, the same silent pain on her face, and then she started to blossom and become a woman and she was slowly transformed from a pretty child to a lovely girl and then a beautiful woman but always that haunted and pained expression on her face, and then she stopped drawing and looked at the beautiful woman on the pad looking back at her, a woman of long flowing lines and curves, classic features, dark shining hair, her inner pain reflected in her dark and penetrating e
yes, and then she left a wide space and sketched another figure, a figure of uncertain age, but certainly much older than the last figure, but the lines and curves the same, the body the same, the features of the face the same until it suddenly turned into the anguished expression of the Munch figure. Marion stared at the figure and suddenly became aware of the silence. She got up and played the record again, then sat back on the couch and looked at her drawings. They excited her.
When the time came for Harry and Tyrone to stop working and collect their money they were in such a habit of popping the dexies and making it through the night, then crashing behind the downers, that they felt they could work forever, but they had too much sense to allow that feeling to become a thought no less a reality. Because of their energy, and the compulsive need to work that the dexedrine generated, they had put in a few hours overtime, wanting to make as much as possible in as short a time as possible. They had declared twenty-five dependents so their checks were for the maximum amount. They cashed them in the bar across from the plant, had a few beers as they counted the money a few times, grinning and slapping each other on the palm, Sheeit, aint that some pretty lookin braid? and Tyrone fanned the bills and waved them back and forth. Harry punched him on the arm, We did it man, we fuckin did it. We got the bread for a piece. You fuckin well right, baby, sos lets not sit in no bar with it. Lets take care a business. Right on man, and they gave each other five again and split. They stopped at a phone booth on the corner and Tyrone called Brody. Harry leaned against the booth, smoking and watching the smoke being absorbed by the air, humming an up tempo tune, nodding his head and snapping his fingers in time to the music, occasionally mumbling, Yeah baby, go, but be cool an— Sheeit! Aint that a mutha fuckin shame!!! Whats happenin man? He say a piece of good shit gonna be about five bills. Balls! That means we need about another hundred. Thas right jim. He say maybe four fifty, but, and Tyrone shrugged. Well man, lets not panic. We can always scrounge up a hundred bucks. We've been around long enough for that. Yeah, but you knows what happens when you picks up a buck here and a buck there. The first one gone by the time you gets the second. Harry nodded his head and agreed. An Brody say they got some fine shit now too jim. Real fine. Fuck! and Harry flipped his cigarette out onto the street, then jerked his head back for a moment, Hey, whats the matta with me fa krists sake? I know where we can get the bread, Marion. You think she give us the braid? Sure. No sweat. An we'll be able to pay her back by tonight anyway, right? Right on baby, and they gave each other five. Lets go. They went to Marions pad and Harry quickly ran down what had happened. So all we need is another hundred and we're in business baby, and by this time tonight we'll not only pay you back, but we'll be on our way to that coffee house. Marion smiled, Im sure my broker would say that it is a good investment. Now that Im working again I need a gallery. I'll cash a check in the market. Groovy baby. Ahll call Brody an tell him wes on our way. No, not from here Ty. Lets wait till we get to a phone booth. Tyrone shrugged, Okay jim. Marion left and was back in about fifteen minutes with the money. Harry hugged and kissed her, See you later baby, after everythings straight. I dont want to come around here carrying any weight. I dont want your place to be hot. You sure as hell doan feel that way bout mah pad. Hey man, you are not Marion. Ah know, she even paler than you. Krist, I have to hear this for the rest of the day. Marion laughed, Hes as bad as you. They all laughed, I thought you were on my side. Marion kissed him on the cheek, Next week is love your buddy week, remember? Hey baby, lez go: Okay, okay. Harry kissed Marion and he and Tyrone split. Tyrone went downtown to Brodys while Harry bought a supply of glassine bags and milk sugar and went to Tyrones pad to wait. This was just the beginning.
The refrigerator snickered as Sara spread a large piece of cream cheese on the bottom half of the bagel. Go ahead and laugh Mr. Smarty Pants. We'll see who laughs last. She stuck her tongue out at the refrigerator and took a large, slow, very slow, bite out of the bagel so richly smothered with cream cheese, and smacked her lips and licked them, And Im telling you something else Mr. Chuckles, for lunch I'll eat the herring, and maybe I wont eat it all, but save some for a nosh. Sara hummed out loud as she lovingly spread cream cheese on the other half of the bagel and raised her eyebrows and looked disdainfully at the refrigerator who was still smirking, thinking he had won the contest, that he had defeated Sara Gold-farb in the war of the calories, but Sara just shook her head, A poo, poo on you Mr. c. i.a. You think maybe you won a war but I outfoxed you Mr. Know It All. The refrigerator laughed and told her he was too old to believe her con job and Sara dismissed his words with a wave of her hand, I know youre old, I hear you grind and grunt and groan all the time, but youre not such a big shot you think you are. The refrigerator laughed out loud as Sara dunked a corner of her cheese danish and carefully placed it in her mouth so as not to drip any coffee on the table, That doesnt look like an egg or grapefruit to me, and he laughed even louder. So enjoy, enjoy, Mr. Empty Head. I'll finish my breakfast and then I'll go out to my public. Maybe youd better sew the seams on your dress, theyre splitting, hahahaha. So haha to you. When Im zophtic and on the television I wont even talk to you. I'll have someone else throw you out with the junk. I wont dirty my hands. Huh, and she tossed her head and went back to humming as she finished her danish then washed the dish and cup and got ready to join the ladies on the street getting the sun. She passed by the refrigerator, who was abashed by her last remark, in triumph. The other ladies were waiting for Sara and when she arrived they gave her the special place, the place where the sun shone the longest. Sara sat and immediately the speculation about what show she would be on continued as they all anxiously waited for the mailman to see if today would be the day she would get something in the mail.
Harry knew that Tyrone would be a few hours so he settled down with a couple of joints, cigarettes, and the rinkydink radio Tyrone had on the table. He sure as hell didnt dig being away from the action for so long, but he knew he couldnt wait in the coffee shop that long. He was too conspicuous. He carefully placed the envelopes and sugar on the table then frowned and thought for a moment about what would happen if the man came in and saw the "paraphinalia" and looked around for some place to stash it, but gave up in a couple of minutes because there just didnt seem to be a good place and then it all seemed unnecessary, And what the hells the big deal, ya cant get busted for having a pound of milk sugar and some stamp envelopes. He took a few pokes of a joint then put it out, lit a cigarette then sat back to listen to the music. After a few minutes the music didnt sound as fuzzy as it had, and the longer he listened to that radio, and the more pot he smoked, the better the music sounded. As a matter of fact it wasnt half bad. Well . . . half of what? When somethings as bad as that sonofabitch, any improvement is something. Half bad of that is terrible, but, Harry shrugged, eh, its somethin. I guess its better than nothin. Anyway, itll help pass the time. Wont be long Tyll be back and we'll be baggin the shit and rakin in the dough and we'll have a couple guys peddlin the shit for us and then we can go for weight . . . yeah, a pound of pure right from the italians and we can have some fuckin operation goin man, GOLDFARB & LOVE INCORPORATED, none a that Inc. shit, and we'll have everything in black and white, hahahaha, an equal opportunity employer. Shit, who knows how far we'll be able to go. We'll be cool and stay straight and we'll have it knocked. In no time we'll be coppin that pound of pure. . . .
Harry had just finished counting the money and Tyrone double checked him, R.ight on baby, seventy-five Gs. Good. I sure as hell dont want to make any mistakes with those cats man. They dont believe in honest mistakes. Not less theys their own. They can get very bugged. Okay, lets get it packed. I gotta get goin. I dont wanta be late. They packed it neatly in an attache case, locked it, and Harry put on a light brown top coat and a dark brown hat, See ya later man. Okay baby, be cool. Harry locked the car doors and made sure the windows were closed before starting the drive to Kennedy. He kept the music low so it wouldnt be distracting, and glanced at the briefcase beside hi
m with the seventy-five grand, smiling smugly and shrugging slightly in his tan top coat, wondering if the people on the streets and in the other cars were looking at him and wondering who he was and what he was up to, and then he realized that they didnt pay too much attention to him because he was being so cool he just melted into the traffic unnoticed. That was the way it should be. Never be noticed. Thats why he was driving a Chevy instead of a Mercedes. Thats why he made the contacts with the white guys and Tyrone made them with the black guys. Always blending in. Thats why they were successful. Thats why they were on the top and would never get busted. The man didnt know them from any other dude walking the streets. He drove cautiously but not overcautiously. He didnt believe in playing scared pool. Thats when you really get them down on you. No, you just move along with traffic and dont do nothin to attract attention. He merged easily with the traffic, looking from time to time at the people in the cars around him, wondering what the people would do if they knew he was Harry Goldfarb, one of the big drug distributors in the city, and that he had an attache case with seventy-five grand in it on the seat beside him and he was going to pick up a pound of pure???? Theyd shit a brick. Thats what theyd do, theyd shit a brick. Probably wouldnt believe it. Bet they think Im just another successful business man. Maybe a stock broker ... an investments counselor. Yeah, thats what I am . . . sort of, an investments counselor. I bet I could go up to anybody on the streets and tell them Im a big time drug distributor and theyd laugh and say, Yeah, and Im Al Capone, hahaha. Yeah, bet I could go into a police station with the pound of pure and hang around and ask some questions about something and theyd never flash to what I was or what I was holding. Maybe I'll go into the station house and ask them if they have much of a problem with drug addicts in the neighborhood . . . that might be a good way to find out about some new neighborhoods, let the man tell me where they are, as if you couldnt smell them a mile away. Might be a gas. He slowed for the toll booth then accelerated and watched the sunlight bounce off the cables of the bridge, fascinated by the brightness thinking that they were a thousand spotlights and that he was the star. He eased into the traffic for the parkway and though there was a lot of traffic it moved freely and smoothly and he relaxed behind the wheel keeping his eyes on the road and glancing from time to time at the attache case and then looking at the people in the cars around him from the corner of his eye, knowing they were either going to or coming from some job, trapped in some box in the suburbs or rat trap in the city, never knowing what was going on and never knowing what its like to be free, free man, and go where you want when you want and to have an out of sight old lady on your arm so when you walk into those uptown joints all the dudes dig your action and wish they were you . . . yeah, they wish they was in my shoes. . . . Look at them the poor bastards. Twelve o'clock and theyre beat already. He felt like lowering the window and yelling out to them to hang loose. From time to time he glanced, quickly, at the gulls gliding over the water and the sunlight twinkling on the rippled surface. It looked gray and cold, but that didn't phase him. Nothing did. Everything in his life was going great. He and Marion were grooving together. The coffe house was going great, his legitimate investments were doing great, and a few more deals like this and he would retire and just spend his time taking care of his business interests and traveling. He and Marion hadnt had a chance to do the traveling they had planned, except for a few brief trips to the Bahamas, and with all the bread he had here, and in Switzerland, he wouldnt need this anymore and he would cut it loose before it soured out. He wasnt going to be like those other guys who stayed in the business too long and got busted for heavy time or ended up in somebodys way and got burned. No, not me man. We're going to make it. Lay on the beach on the Riviera for a while, then sit around those caf& in Paris and Rome, and then good old Istanbul and if Turhan Bey gets in the way thats just too bad. Hey, thats a great tune, man. He started nodding his head in time to the music and started singing, If Turhan Bey gets in the way, it's just too bad. If Turhan Bey gets in the way, its just too bad. He smiled and chuckled inwardly, Not bad. Maybe I should become a song writer in my spare time. He exited from the parkway and joined the slow and heavy traffic to the airport. He glanced at his watch and smiled as he realized he had plenty of time and there was no need to rush around finding a parking space. Thats why he always left early so he wouldnt have to worry in case he got tied up in traffic or somethin. Sometimes some poor sucker gets a flat or his car conks out and it ties up traffic for a while and he never wanted to blow more than half a million dollars on some jerks flat tire ... or worse that that. Those peope dont take too kindly to being hung up with a pound of pure out there in the wide open spaces like that and then having to schlep it back. Harry always planned ahead. Thats one of the secrets of success, careful and meticulous planning. He parked the car and leisurely walked to the terminal. He had some time so he stopped in the coffee shop and had a cup of coffee and a piece of pie ala mode. He kept the attache case on his lap as he ate, smiling smugly to himself thinking of how the people around him would shit if they knew he had 7sGs in the case. He paid the check and walked, slowly, to the cocktail lounge and sat at the far end near the large windows overlooking the field. He put the case on the floor, a few inches from his left foot, and toyed with his drink, sipping it from time to time, and watching the planes take off and land, then taxi to the ramps. He continued to watch the planes as a guy dressed in the same style and color top coat and hat and suit sat on the stool to Harrys left. He had an attach^ case just like Harrys and he put it on the floor a few inches from his right foot. He ordered a drink and finished it before Harry finished his. He put his empty glass on the bar and picked up Harrys attache case and left. Harry continued to toy with, and sip, his drink, and watch the planes on the field. Ten minutes later he picked up the attach^ case and left. He walked directly, but unhurriedly, out of the terminal and to his car. He didnt bother looking around to check people out to be sure the man wasnt somewhere, he knew everything was cool. He trusted that gut feeling and it said swing baby. He opened the door of the car and tossed the case inside, almost laughing, and got in and locked the door behind him. That was it man. The last pick up. The last pound of pure he would ever cop. When he and Ty finished running this down to the streets they were closing up shop and kissing the streets goodbye but for good. The traffic out of the airport, and almost all of the way back, was clogged and slow, the same old stop and start, but he was used to it and he just sat back in the seat, vaguely aware of the music, his mind alert and on the traffic, and relaxed. The traffic was one of the safeguards they had set up. They knew that no one would expect people to make a meet in the middle of the afternoon at a place like Kennedy. It was all wrong. Too public. Too open. Too many cops of all kinds checking people coming into the country. And if you get rousted where could you go? You couldnt run. You couldnt drive. You couldnt swim. Hahaha, shit, I cant make it across the pool for krists sake man and thats a big mother fuckin ocean. It was all wrong. Everything about it was wrong. Thats why it worked so good. But today the snarls in traffic were worse than usual. There seemed to be flat tires and tapped bumpers all over the parkway. It seemed like everywhere he looked: in front, behind, he saw those flashing red and yellow lights, but he was cool and didnt panic and realized it was either a tow truck or ambulance and it had nothing to do with him, even when he saw a cop waving traffic around an accident he stayed nice and calm—Shit! No man. Thats all bullshit. Who the fuck wants to go through all that. Even if the man dont getya the goddamn traffic will. Good old Bob Moses and his biggest parking lot in the world. The really cool thing, the really way out place for a meet thats so great it just tickles the shit outta me. Yeah. Nobody man, no fuckin body, would flash to Macys. Hey, I like that. Too fuckin much man. The toy department. . . Yeah ... By the trains. Maybe I'll pick up some when we're straight. Be a real fuckin groove to have a room all fixed up with those trains . . . houses, bridges, rivers, trees, cars, trucks, lights for day time and night t
ime, the whole fuckin megillah. Yeah, by the train display. Just hop in a cab and sit back while the cabbie fights with the traffic and bitches and moans about all the fuckin assholes drivin aroun the city and why dont they leave their cars at home and stop cloggin up the streets fa krists sake an looka that creep tryin ta cut me off, Hey, get back where ya belong ya fuckin ape bitch, and he turned to look at Harry, Must be onea those fuckin lezies the way she drives, and he suddenly swerved in the other lane and there was the screeching of brakes and screams and curses and he gave them all the finger out the window and continued to weave his way through the traffic, giving his perpetual finger to the horn blowers as he pounded his own, and yelling to them, What else ya get fa Christmas besides a new horn, harhar har, and Harry just sat back in the cab, smiling, chuckling, nonchalantly holding the case on his lap thinking it would be a gas to open the case and pour all that bread out on the seat and watch the cabbie shit a brick, but he was cool and nodded at the cabbie and handed him the fare when they stopped at Macys and told him to keep the change and waved to him as he walked away from the cab and into the department store. He was early so he stopped at the lingerie department and looked at something he thought Marion would like, but didnt buy anything, he always takes care of business first. You have to concentrate on what you are doing, thats how you beat the man and the world. Concentrate. He strolled through the ground floor and took the escalator up to the toy department, enjoying looking down at the floor below as the escalator ascended. The train display wasn't too tough, but they did have some nice trains on display, and then when it was exactly the time he moved in front of the display set up with a few accessories and a few trains constantly moving around, and put the case on the floor a few inches from his right foot and the guy came like before and they switched cases and all that and he strolled out of the store and took a cab uptown, walked a block, took another cab further uptown, another walk and then another cab a short distance downtown then walked a few blocks to the cutting room where Tyrone was waiting. Here it is baby, the last pound of pure we'll be messin with. Yeah, an its never been touched by human hands. Jesus, Ty, youre somethin else. Whatta you gonna do when we retire, just sit around and giggle all day? Sheeit. Not me man. Ahm gonna do a little scratchin too. They carefully cut the shit, and bagged it, then got it out to their people who took care of the street people. They didnt deal with anybody who used, anybody who wasnt cool. Tyrone took most of the stuff because he dealt with the blacks, and Harry took the remainder to the honkys. When the last of the shit was finally gone they celebrated. Harry and Tyrone took their old ladies not only out on the town, but all over the town and ended up riding around Central Park in hansom cabs and watching the sun come up. The next day Harry spent some time with his business manager discussing the acquisition of some additional income property and then made arrangements for he and Marion to start their trip around the world. Think we'd better stay away from Africa, doesnt seem to be too cool there. Except North Africa. Maybe start at Algiers, Casablanca, Yeah, play it again Sam. Then go east. See whats hapening in Cairo and some of those places and then good old Istanbul. Good old Istanbul—Jesus, with a passport in the name of Goldfarb? Maybe I should change my name to Smith or Turhan Bey, and Harry chuckled and leaned back in his chair and half listened to the music coming from Tys rinkydink radio and emptied the end of a cigarette and stuck the roach from the last joint in it and smoked it as he heard steps on the stairs, then a key in the lock, and Tyrone C. Love be-bopped into that two by four with a big ass shit eatin grin on his face and dropped a little package on the table. There it is baby and Brody say it be dynamite, that we'd betta cut it at lease, at lease, three times, an he say if we get off we betta just take a pinch. He wouldnt let you take a taste there? Not even a snort to check it out? Uh uh. He doan let no body get off in his pad. Noway. How can we tell if we're gettin burned? He doan burn nobody man. Thas why he still be alive an dealin. He say it dynamite, then its dynamite. Ah told him we wasnt goin to get into it anyway, that we goin to be cool and not fuck up. Yeah, but how can we tell what we have an how to cut it if we dont take a taste? Thas right, eh? Well, just a little tase aint gonna hurt nothin. Right. But we'll just take a pinch. We could jus horn it. Hey, if Im gonta get off Im gonta get off. Im not gonta waste no good dope by hornin it man. Or any other kinda dope. Harry chuckled and they got out their works. But lets really be cool man. Hey baby, ahs always cool. No, no, all shit aside, Ty, lets really be cool. This is our chance to make it big and I mean really big. We dont have to be dealin in no petty ass pieces all our lives. We play it right an we can get that pound of pure, but if we get wasted we'll fuck it up. Hey baby, ahm not jivin you. Ah doan want to be runnin no streets the res of mah life in no ripped sneakers, mah nose runnin down to mah chin. Groovy, and Harry held out his hand and Tyrone slapped the palm and Harry gave it back to him. Okay, lets just put a taste in. Harry tapped a small amount in the cooker, started to tap in some more, then stopped. Thats enough. Cant take care of business with our fingers up our nose. They got off and with the first wave from their gut up to the flushing of their faces they knew that Brody wasnt bullshittin them and they could cut the shit out of this stuff an still put a good bag on the streets. Sheeit, we be cutting this four times an still wont be nobody gettin on our case about burnin them. Yeah . . . this is too fuckin much man. He say there still some more a this aroun so we betta turn this ovah as fas as we can and get us some more jim cause this be out of sight. You know somethin man, we hustle our asses off and we can cop a couple a pieces tomorrow. Solid! and they gave each other five then got to work carefully mixing the heroin with the milk sugar, not smoking for fear of blowing some of the precious powder into the air or coughing or sneezing and blowing it into oblivion. They were aware that they were high so they concentrated very strongly on what they were doing, all their movements slow and precise. From time to time they took a break and moved away from the table to have a much needed cigarette. When they finished they each took fifty bags and went out to the streets. They didnt like the idea of walking the streets holding so much weight, but they had no choice. They had to let people know where they were at, and Tyrone didnt have a phone in his pad so the only way they could make any contact with the junkies was by going out there amongst them. Harry called Marion and told her everything went fine and what they were going to do and she told him that they could use her number for a while. You sure? Yes. Just use discretion. I mean dont give it to every junkie in the streets. You know, just people like Gogit. People you really know. An you can keep the stuff at Tys. Okay sweetheart, we'll do that. That sure as hell would make it a lot easier until we get set up with a pad and a phone. I just didnt want to get you involved, you know? I understand Harry, and appreciate your concern. But its alright. Great. Okay, I'll see you later. O Harry? Yeah? Save a little for us? Hey, dont worry. Im way ahead of you. Not much. You know. Right. We'll get straight later. Seeya. Bye. Harry hung up the phone and then told Tyrone that they could use Marions number for a while, We can take the calls there an then meet later with the stuff. We'll leave it at your pad, Thas great man. But be cool with the number man. I got it baby. Okay, seeya back here later. Yeah baby. They split, Harry going in one direction and Tyrone in the other, the operation being in black and white.
Requiem for a Dream Page 11
