by Tom Nelson
“What’s so funny?” Tom asks.
“Oh,” she chuckles a little more, “I know someone who cooks meth and is a shermhead too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she goes on, still chuckling slightly. “He cooks meth for money but doesn’t use it. He smokes PCP, though, a lot of it, when he’s not cooking.”
“Hmmm. I’ve been thinking about trying to move a little meth,” Tom tells Red. “Can you introduce me to your cook friend? I’ll take care of you if you can.”
“I’ll ask,” Red replies. The two play around some more, then drift off to sleep.
~~~
Tom and Red are standing on the front porch of a very nondescript little house typical of the Silver Lake area in LA. The front door is solid halfway up and has stained-glass designs on the upper half. It’s pretty, Tom thinks. Pretty fucking flimsy! He looks around the porch and sees a couple of chaise longues and a small steel table that has an ashtray that is overflowing with cigarette butts.
The door opens and a guy is standing in front of them wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. He is Caucasian with a head covered in curly, reddish-brown hair. He has glasses that remind Tom of singer Elvis Costello.
“Hey, Red,” the guy says and opens his arms for a hug. Red reluctantly goes along with it.
“Danny, this is my friend Tom that I told you about,” Red says in a rush of words.
“Hey, Tom,” Danny says to Tom with the same greeting he has for Red. A hug, which Tom also reluctantly goes along with. Apparently, Danny is a hugger. Red had failed to mention that detail to Tom. He gives Red a stern look as he is being pulled closer to his new acquaintance.
“Hi, Danny,” Tom says as he is being hugged. “Good to meet you.”
Danny seems pleased that neither of the two ran away when he hugged them and he leads them into the house. Tom is taking in the surroundings as they move through the entrance hallway into the den. The furniture in here is sparse, old, and worn. It’s nothing special or fancy. But, on one side of the room is an enormous fish tank that dominates the space. It has to be at least 150 gallons, Tom calculates, and it is filled with a variety of fish of all shapes, sizes, and colors. It is very beautiful, but also very large.
“It’s two hundred gallons,” Danny states proudly as Tom admires the fish tank. “I really enjoy nature and stuff, but I don’t get out as much as I’d like, so I thought I’d bring a little bit of it to me.”
“It’s very nice,” Tom genuinely compliments him. “I really like the way it’s backlit to show the fish everywhere in the tank. Very nice.”
“Yeah,” Red says.
“Thanks,” Danny says with pride. “I really enjoy watching the fish swim. It’s relaxing.” A brief pause and then Danny gets right to business, which Tom likes. “Well, Tom, Red says you’re interested in some crystal.” The smell of chemicals and cigarettes permeate the house. A mix of acetone, tobacco, and something Tom isn’t quite familiar with fills the air with some rather interesting odors. Tom figures Danny has been smoking PCP in between cooking batches of methamphetamine, as Red mentioned.
“Yeah,” Tom replies. “I’d like to start out with a half-pound.”
“A half-pound?!” Danny asks with surprise. “You don’t fuck around, do you? You go straight for the big stuff.”
“Well, I figure if I’m gonna move it, I should have enough to keep me busy.” The amount doesn’t seem that big to Tom, considering the volume of cocaine he is moving.
“Makes sense,” Danny says laughing. “I guess.” He gives them a mock puzzled look.
The two men talk about quantity, price, and when Danny will have another batch of crystal finished and ready for pick-up. “What’s today?” Danny asks.
“Thursday,” Tom informs the other man.
“Five days,” Danny says. “I don’t like to talk on the phone or anything, so just come over in five days. At eight P.M.”
“Okay,” Tom says, drawing the word out, “so, I’ll see you Tuesday at eight.” That seems a little weird to Tom, but he is dealing with a shermhead meth cook, after all, so he agrees. Danny confirms five days, and Tom and Red make their way to the front door to leave. This has been an odd experience, Tom thinks.
~~~
Tom and Red are in the car driving back toward where Tom is to drop her off. She works the streets in order to pay her rent and, of course, support her many drug habits. Tom has given Red $500 for connecting him with Danny, the shermhead meth cook, but her habits are very costly. Heroin and cocaine are Red’s drugs of choice. Heroin is something Tom has experimented with, but never gets heavily into, and he never tries selling it. The Mexicans around LA have that market sewn up! Up till now, Tom has only been moving cocaine and marijuana. Now, of course, he is moving into an entirely new world as a drug dealer.
They talk a little bit about the whole Danny experience, of course, but make casual conversation as they drive past Hollywood shops and make their way toward Red’s apartment. She will try to pull a quick trick on her two-block stroll home from where Tom drops her off. Most hookers become attached to a corner or an area because they feel comfortable there or make more money there. Tom drops Red off at the corner of Sunset and Vine, then heads west on Sunset Boulevard.
~~~
Tom is alone in the car after dropping Red off. It’s a nice day, Tom begins to think, then he spots Swann walking west down Sunset Boulevard with his head down and hands in his pockets, probably pondering where his next hit of crack is going to come from. Tom drives a couple of blocks ahead of Swann and pulls over on a small side street. He parks, reaches under the car for his 9mm, and gets out. He walks casually to the corner where he knows Swann will appear in a moment and waits. There is a large shrub on the corner, which blocks most of the view of the corner from the street, so Tom positions himself where he can see between the building and the shrub that adorns it. Here Swann comes.
Swann is passing the shrub with his attention still diverted. He is still looking at the ground when Tom reaches out and grabs him by the front of his shirt with one hand and swings him around the corner onto the side street. Swann slams up against the brick wall of the building. It’s still daylight. Tom doesn’t want to be right out on Sunset Boulevard holding a gun on someone. That’s too risky, even for Tom.
Swann is so surprised by Tom’s sudden, aggressive move that he has no time to try to stop what is happening to him and barely manages to let out a little squeal.
Swann’s head bangs against the brick wall as Tom slings him around, and he is dazed for a second. When he regains his senses, Swann is once again looking down the barrel of Tom’s 9mm. All color and expression instantly leave his face.
“Hi, Swann!”
“Oh, shit!” he says in response.
“Do you have my money today?”
“Noooo,” the other man starts to whine already. He knows what’s in store for him: either run naked down Sunset Boulevard or get shot, because he certainly doesn’t have Tom’s money!
“No?!” Tom asks in a mock-incredulous voice. “I thought for sure you were gonna tell me you’re headed over to my place to pay me right now.”
“I don’t have it, Tom, I really don’t,” his voice is pleading.
“Really?”
“Really!” Swann begins to cry.
“Then, you know the fucking drill,” Tom says as he loads a round into the chamber of the pistol and points it at Swann’s crotch. “Get naked, motherfucker, or I’ll shoot you in the dick!” Tom shouts.
A few passersby walking on Sunset overhear and look, surprised by what they see, then look away as though they haven’t seen anything. No one wants to get involved in a robbery or a shooting. A taxi pulls away from the curb a little way up the block. A siren wails far in the distance. Across Sunset Boulevard, people are leaving a restaurant, laughing as they make their way back to their cars.
“Noooo . . .” comes Swann’s wail. “Please, Tom—”
“I said get naked, you stupid little son of a bitch!” Tom’s look must have said to Swann that he would shoot him because the kid starts taking off his clothes. “I tried to give you a fucking eight ball, you stupid little bastard, but you wanted more. This is what you get for being greedy, Swann!” Tom waves the gun a little for emphasis.
“Tom, please—” Swann’s words are cut short by Tom smacking him in the head with his free hand while still holding the gun on the stupid little punk.
“Get naked now!” Tom is getting impatient. He waves the gun at Swann again.
“Let me keep my shoes, Tom, please, let me keep my shoes,” Swann begs. “I cut my foot really bad last time!”
“Okay,” Tom says in a growl as Swann’s underwear hits the sidewalk and he is naked except for socks and tennis shoes. Tom is barely able to stifle his laughter as Swann complies to his demands. “Run, motherfucker! RUN!” Tom waves the gun a little more aggressively this time and, once again, Swann doesn’t wait around for Tom to tell him again. He turns and runs as fast as he can east down Sunset Boulevard in broad daylight!
Tom laughs as he heads back to his car. That dumb bastard. All he has to do to make Tom stop is pay him, but any and all money Swann manages to beg, borrow, steal, or sell his ass for is going toward his crack habit. It is an epidemic, after all.
~~~
The two Hollywood police officers are in their patrol car heading west on Sunset Boulevard. Suddenly, Swann goes running past them in the opposite direction, butt naked except for shoes and socks.
“Is that the same motherfucker from the other night?!” the cop riding shotgun asks.
“Looks like it to me!” The driver of the car hits his overhead lights and turns at the next corner to go around the block. They will try to get ahead of the streaker in order to apprehend him. The car speeds through the small side streets of Hollywood as the officers make their way east.
The two cops come back out onto Sunset Boulevard two blocks ahead of where they anticipate Swann to be, only to realize the little bastard is running across Sunset. They speed across the wide boulevard with lights flashing and try to cut off Swann’s path, but the naked man just turns and starts running west on Sunset. As the two cops make their way back into traffic to continue their pursuit, Swann runs into a motel complex and manages to elude the two officers for the second time. He has now earned the nickname of Hollywood Streaker among the police and local news reporters.
~~~
At eight P.M. on the fifth day following their first meeting, Tom approaches the front door of Danny’s house. He can see light coming through the stained glass of the door. He knocks on the door a few times with a moderately loud rap. Nothing. He knocks again, louder this time. Nothing.
He tries the door and it opens right up. Now, his guard is up! Tom goes back to his car and puts away the envelope he is carrying, which contains $3,500 for a half-pound of meth. He exchanges it for his 9mm, which is magnetically secured beneath the driver’s side of his vehicle. He puts the heavy weapon in the back waistband of his jeans and covers it as best he can with his T-shirt. He walks back toward the house with every nerve in his body alive!
Tom makes his way across the front porch for the second time this evening and notices that one of the chaise longues from a few days ago is no longer there. He pushes the already slightly open front door a little wider and steps inside quietly. He pushes his back against the wall of the entrance hallway and sort of scoots along the wall with his gun in both hands, barrel pointed out in front of him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he doesn’t think it likely that Danny or Red will try to set him up for a measly $3,500. How many people know Danny will be finishing a batch of meth this week, Tom wonders.
Tom can see lights coming from the den of the house and recalls the enormous fish tank that Danny seemed so proud of. Some of the light must be coming from that. Tom peeks around the corner of the hallway leading to the den and sees what appears to be Danny lying upside down on the chaise missing from the front porch. The body is motionless, so Tom takes a moment to scan the rest of the room for an intruder. He isn’t sure if the guy is dead or alive yet. He doesn’t see any blood. All he can really see is the top of Danny’s head from a side angle, but he can tell it’s Danny from the reddish-brown mop of hair. He is hoping he hasn’t just walked into a murder-robbery scene!
The stench of urine and something rotting assaults Tom’s nostrils and lights his other senses right up! He looks around the room as best he can. Satisfied that the room is occupied only by the person on the chaise, Tom steps into the den and is completely shocked by what he sees!
Danny is lying upside down on the chaise longue with his head at the foot of the chair and his feet at the head. His head is cocked back slightly, eyes wide open. He is wearing the same shorts he had been wearing before, Tom notices, but what comes next blows Tom away!
Danny isn’t lying dead on his chaise. In fact, he is very much alive. Danny is wearing swimming fins, a scuba mask and snorkel and lying upside down on a chaise longue in the den of his house. The Hawaiian shirt has been carelessly discarded on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing, dude?!” Tom asks incredulously.
“Oh, hi, Tom,” comes the muffled voice of Danny as he speaks with the snorkel still in his mouth. “I’m just watching my fish.” Danny is obviously fucked-up as hell. Tom turns his attention to the fish tank and back to Danny, then does a doubletake on the fish tank. All of the fish in the tank are dead! Danny spits the snorkel’s mouthpiece out and explains, “I was lying here watching my fish and thought I could get more in the mood if I was wearing my snorkeling gear. Like I said, I don’t get out much. But, then, I was lying here and I noticed all my fish started swimming upside down, so I had to turn upside down to watch them.” Although he is talking crazy, Tom thinks, shaking his head, at least he remembered to spit out the mouthpiece of the snorkel this time.
“Danny,” Tom begins, literally laughing his ass off, “you do realize that all your fish are dead, right?”
“Nah, man, they’re still swimmin’.”
Tom just laughs. Red is gonna laugh her ass off when she hears about this!
“Okay, Danny, if you say so. How long have you been lying here like this?” The smell of dead fish and pee is assaulting Tom’s nostrils pretty hard.
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday,” Tom says.
“Uhhh, Tuesday,” Danny considers for a moment, “three days.” Tom is struggling to get his laughter under control but manages. The fucked-up bastard has been sitting here for three days. There’s no telling how long it has been since he fed the fish. And there is always a good possibility they died from chemical poisoning considering meth is cooked and sherm heavily smoked here. Tom can’t help laughing!
“Do you have the product?” Tom asks, finally able to shake the laughs. Although he wishes he had a video camera to document this event, he doesn’t want to stick around and watch it all day. He is here to make a dope deal after all, and who knows who else Danny is expecting this evening.
“Sure,” Danny replies. “It’s in an envelope on the kitchen table.”
“Okay,” Tom says a little suspiciously, “I’ll check it out and get you the money.”
“Sure,” is all Danny says. He is extremely fucked-up! A closer inspection of the den has disclosed several ashtrays overflowing with Kool cigarette butts and numerous empty packages crumpled up on the floor. Sherm smokers use Kool cigarettes to dip into the liquid PCP. The cigarette soaks up some of the fluid and is allowed to dry for a few minutes. It is then lit from another cigarette, not an open flame. It is too combustible for an open flame. Tom has never tried sherm but is certainly familiar with its effects on its users. It makes them comatose and stupid! “Just leave the money on the table.”
Tom walks into the kitchen and retrieves a manila envelope from the table. He peeks inside and, sure enough, there are a few large chunks of crystal meth. He puts his gun in the back
waistband of his pants again and carries the envelope as though it is an official document back to his car. Tom dumps the drugs and gun into the vehicle, grabs the envelope of cash, and returns to Danny’s kitchen. Tom takes the money in and places it on the table where he had found the drugs, then heads to the den. Danny is struggling to get up from the chaise, which Tom watches with a shake of his head.
“I’ll walk you to the—” Danny starts in his muffled snorkel voice, then remembers to spit out the mouthpiece he has put back in—“door. I’ll walk you to the door.” His eyes are wide and extremely dilated behind the scuba mask that still covers most of his face.
“Okay,” Tom says and starts toward the hallway. He turns around and sees Danny walking toward him with his swimming fins still on. He is walking like clowns might with the super-long shoes they wear. Tom can’t help laughing again. He likes Danny. The guy is completely nuts, but very likeable.
“You know,” Tom saves the other man from his clown walk, “I’ll just let myself out. When will you have another batch ready?” He also wants to avoid another hug from Danny, especially with the smell of urine and dead fish so strong in the air.
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday,” Tom says.
“Six days.” Danny seems to think for a moment, then repeats, “Six days. At eight.”
“Okay, Danny, take care. I’ll see ya next week. Monday. Eight P.M.” Tom laughs all the way to the car. He is still laughing as he returns the 9mm to its holster under the car and puts the meth in a secret compartment built into the center console. Tom laughs all the way home from Silver Lake. He wonders if Danny will purchase more fish.
Sure as shit, as Tom is driving home from Danny’s, he spots Swann walking around the corner of a building. Tom can see light flickering from behind the wall of the building. Swann is obviously taking a hit of crack while out selling his ass!
Tom pulls up to the corner where he first spotted Swann and rolls down the passenger window. Swann comes back from behind the building buzzing from the hit he has just taken. He doesn’t realize that it’s Tom in the car. He smiles as he approaches the car, hoping to pull a trick so he can pay for his next hit. Swann leans down to the open window and—all color leaves his face again.
