[UA] Alphabet City

[Gaston Phillips]

[This is a work of fiction.[

It's four in the afternoon.  I'm in the passenger seat of a Honda Civic with
no muffler.  The engine's sound is making my eardrums flinch every time the
driver hits the accelerator.  I can actually feel my eardrums, it's like the
muffler is bouncing pebbles off them.  Repeatedly.   And we're in stop and
go traffic so the roar of the muffler and its percussing on my eardrums give
my headache the kind of backbeat you get in a really fast metal tune.

I have the window rolled up because I hope the raindrops will hide me from
the other cars.  I'm trying to juggle a spoon, a lighter, a film canister
full of water, and a syringe that I'm worried is too dull to hit a vein.  My
arm's got purple dots in two parallel lines from the elbow to the edge of my
tattoo - you ever see the Monad of John Dee?  The Hieroglyph that contains
within it all the wisdom of the universe?

I got one inked on my forearm last summer when I was on a bender.  God knows
why, but my friend and I, leaving the bar to grab pizza, got tattoed
instead.

There's a raised patch of skin the size of a half dollar, pink and puffy
like hives, from where I missed the vein and skin-popped a shot.
Intramuscular injections work, don't get me wrong.  They just sting like
hell and come on so slow you might as well have just snorted the shit.
Usually, IM shots go in the bicep and you do thm with ketamine.  The cat
tranquilizer.

My friend jake didn't sleep last night.  He's in his last semester of
college.  Not because he's graduating, but because he's dropping out.  We
started doing little burglaries part time on the weekends to make some
scratch for drugs and cigarettes and bar money.  Jake got in tight with the
guy running the jobs, and so he's dropping out to make a go at it full time.
Me, I've been in school for, like, seven years and show no plans of
graduating anytime soon.

So Jake was up all night doing coke at some club and so at two in the
afternoon he's banging on my door and waking me up 'cause he needs to cop
some dope to stop the shakes.  Doesn't even give me time to shower before
we're in the car and heading for the city.  At least it's raining.
Hangovers make the sun look like a bully's grin.

I called Israel on jake's cellphone when we went over the 59th street
bridge.  Traffic on teh FDR looked OK, so I told him half an hour.   Here's
the conversation:

"Yo, E, what up, man?"  Israel likes me to call him 'E' over cellphones.
Don't know why, unless he spells it Esrael or something.

"Who is this?"

"It's Gaston.  What's going on?"

"Oh, hey.  Yo, man, what's up?"

"Nothing.  Yo, you gonna be around in, like, half an hour?"

"Yeah, that's cool.  What'chu come in for, man?"

"Uh.  Just one."

"One?"

"Yeah, just one."

Where you at?"

"I'm on the bridge.  Where you gonna be?"

"Come to the circle."  The circle's this traffic circle in the middle of the
projects where he lives.  It's one of the usual meeting spots.  That and the
Mobil Gas Station over on 2nd and C.

"Right on.  Be there in half an hour."

"Yo, peace."


He called back five minutes later.  Here's what I hear:

"Yo, Gaskin, what's up?"

"Hey, what up, E?"

(muffled voice)  "Yo, fuck that.  'srainin' and I got white sneakers"
(Israel to M.V.) "So drop me off, man.  Come on."
(More muffled conversation)

(Israel) "Yo, Gaskin.  Yo, meet me, um... at, like, the, umm... at the
Blimpies.  You know the one  On 14th and 1st?"

"Yeah, cool.  I'm around the corner.  I'll be right in."

"Cool.  What'chu come in for, again?"

"Just one."

"One... one whole one?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."


And so I go to Blimpies, but Israel's not there.  I get a vegetarian
sandwich for Jake, which seems to be oil and vinegar on a roll with
provelone cheese and sandwich toppings.  Like a sandwich without meat,
instead of, like, something in place of meat.  Seems like a rip off at seven
bucks for that and two drinks, but I'm not really here for the food.

I sit down and sip my soda.  I don't like the place.  There's two guys
behind the counter, and the shop's narrow and short and all the tables are
in plain sight.  This is a shitty place for a drug deal.  Struck with
inspiration, I take the sandwich and the other drink out of the paper bag
they came in, and subtly drop ninety dollars into the empty bag.   I'm just
getting annoyed with the wait (First thing you learn...) when Israel
swaggers in.  He's this short little Puerto Ricano guy who's always got a
long-brimmed baseball cap on.  He's wearing a white leather starter jacket
and new-looking timberlands.  He raises on ehand high as he comes in the
door, "Yo! Gaskin, man!  How /ARE/ you?"

I recognize what's going on, so I catch the hand in mine, down low, the slap
tuning into a handshake as my other arm comes around to lightly hug him.
The ten bags of heroin rolled up and held together by a rubber band, the
'bundle' is passed across.  Israel, it seems, understood that 'one whole
one' meant 'one bundle'.  I'm happy.

He goes to buy a soda but the cashier doesn't have change for a twenty.  So
I buy it for him instead - fuck, he gives me enough deals and breaks to
deserve it.

"Yo, you want a bag for that?"  I point to the bag on my table.  "Take the
bag, man."

Israel looks over, looks to me, then takes the bag, tilting it towars him
with one finger.  He grins.

"Catch you later, E."  And I'm out the door.



_______________________________________________
UA mailing list
UA at lists.uchicago.edu
http://lists.uchicago.edu/mailman/listinfo/ua