know if I can count on you cats to deal wit’ me. I got a good play from the boats, so you won’ be cheated. How much you want, and how often?’
‘We'll deal with you,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow night, not much. My boys iz primarily git-high-on-the-weekend men, you know. But the las day a school is tomorrow, so after that we'll be tightnin’ up regular . . . What time on Friday, an’ where?’
‘Early Friday. ‘Bout five meet me here. I'm havin’ a l'il gig Friday night. You invited.’
‘Bring about ten nickels for smoke, ten red devils or purple hearts. Thass a hundred right there.’
‘I'll have some smoke tomorra. Cheebo an’ Panam Red. Treys, if you want.’
‘You already sound like a goddamn commercial, man.’ I laughed.
‘Whut you say?’
‘I'm tight till Friday . . . Hey, wait!’ I called Lee back as he drifted across the park. ‘How you know Seedy been buntin’ my boys?’
‘Aw, he wuz high a night or two ago an’ started runnin’ off at the mouth about blowin’ yawl's mind wit’ weak shit an’ that all yawl had wuz psychological highs.’
‘When does he ship?’ I asked.
‘His shipments hit on Sundays,’ Lee said. ‘Somewhere near Eleventh Avenue and the pier. Maybe 9th Street.’
‘How much?’
‘He pulls off about sixteen hundred dollars a week raw,’ John said. ‘Including the coke an’ heroin.’
‘He ain’ pullin’ nuthin’ this Sunday, ‘cause we gonna hit him for alla his shit,’ I said.
‘You got a buyer if you come up with it.’ Lee smiled.
I didn't say anything else. Lee waddled off across thepark, and I tried to figure out ways to catch Isidro on Sunday night.
‘Hey!’ I said suddenly. ‘Where's Ricky Manning?’ In exploring the faces of the group, I had somehow gotten lost in thought. I suddenly realized that someone was missing.
‘He's wit’ I.Q.,’ Cooly reported.
‘I.Q. iz aroun'?’
‘Yeah. He wuz stannin’ by the bar, but you wuz probably too busy to notice when you went by.’ Everybody laughed again.
Lee had been true to his word. Friday afternoon we met him in the park at five, and as far as I could see, the pills and the smoke were both good. I ended up with some reefer.
Everything had been running smoothly for three weeks, until tonight. Lee would show up on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We met him at a table in the park and got our stuff. Then it was every man for himself.
Tonight when Lee showed up, there was almost an omen of bad luck in the air. There were too many new cats in the way – guys from Chelsea Houses and other men I didn't know. Before anyone could get together and buy their stuff, everything was interrupted by the arrival of the Man, live and in living color from the Tenth Precinet. The prowl car hit the brakes on the corner of 13th Street and Ninth Avenue. The two cops hit the sidewalk, and everybody who had congregated to buy a high found running more interesting. The group meeting broke up and turned into a track meet, with John Lee, bag of dope in hand, leading in the hundred-yard dash. Several of us who hadn't heard the opening gun were caught in the rear of the pack. We ran behind the park maintenance house and back through the same entrance the cops used. When I arrived at the corner where the idling patrol car sat, I turned and saw the two cops directing each other in terms of who they should try to catch. They were at the other end of the softball field withtheir backs away from me. Parked directly in front of their wagon was a New York City Housing Authority maintenance truck with what looked like the day's refuse from some set of apartments. On the tailgate was a can of gasoline that was leaking onto the street. I pulled the can out and dumped the gas into the front seat of the copmobile, backed off, and lit a match. I heard the dispatcher's voice reach out for me as I threw the match and fled toward the docks. The car ignited with a roar and a lot of crackling like a dead Christmas tree. Just
‘We'll deal with you,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow night, not much. My boys iz primarily git-high-on-the-weekend men, you know. But the las day a school is tomorrow, so after that we'll be tightnin’ up regular . . . What time on Friday, an’ where?’
‘Early Friday. ‘Bout five meet me here. I'm havin’ a l'il gig Friday night. You invited.’
‘Bring about ten nickels for smoke, ten red devils or purple hearts. Thass a hundred right there.’
‘I'll have some smoke tomorra. Cheebo an’ Panam Red. Treys, if you want.’
‘You already sound like a goddamn commercial, man.’ I laughed.
‘Whut you say?’
‘I'm tight till Friday . . . Hey, wait!’ I called Lee back as he drifted across the park. ‘How you know Seedy been buntin’ my boys?’
‘Aw, he wuz high a night or two ago an’ started runnin’ off at the mouth about blowin’ yawl's mind wit’ weak shit an’ that all yawl had wuz psychological highs.’
‘When does he ship?’ I asked.
‘His shipments hit on Sundays,’ Lee said. ‘Somewhere near Eleventh Avenue and the pier. Maybe 9th Street.’
‘How much?’
‘He pulls off about sixteen hundred dollars a week raw,’ John said. ‘Including the coke an’ heroin.’
‘He ain’ pullin’ nuthin’ this Sunday, ‘cause we gonna hit him for alla his shit,’ I said.
‘You got a buyer if you come up with it.’ Lee smiled.
I didn't say anything else. Lee waddled off across thepark, and I tried to figure out ways to catch Isidro on Sunday night.
‘Hey!’ I said suddenly. ‘Where's Ricky Manning?’ In exploring the faces of the group, I had somehow gotten lost in thought. I suddenly realized that someone was missing.
‘He's wit’ I.Q.,’ Cooly reported.
‘I.Q. iz aroun'?’
‘Yeah. He wuz stannin’ by the bar, but you wuz probably too busy to notice when you went by.’ Everybody laughed again.
Lee had been true to his word. Friday afternoon we met him in the park at five, and as far as I could see, the pills and the smoke were both good. I ended up with some reefer.
Everything had been running smoothly for three weeks, until tonight. Lee would show up on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We met him at a table in the park and got our stuff. Then it was every man for himself.
Tonight when Lee showed up, there was almost an omen of bad luck in the air. There were too many new cats in the way – guys from Chelsea Houses and other men I didn't know. Before anyone could get together and buy their stuff, everything was interrupted by the arrival of the Man, live and in living color from the Tenth Precinet. The prowl car hit the brakes on the corner of 13th Street and Ninth Avenue. The two cops hit the sidewalk, and everybody who had congregated to buy a high found running more interesting. The group meeting broke up and turned into a track meet, with John Lee, bag of dope in hand, leading in the hundred-yard dash. Several of us who hadn't heard the opening gun were caught in the rear of the pack. We ran behind the park maintenance house and back through the same entrance the cops used. When I arrived at the corner where the idling patrol car sat, I turned and saw the two cops directing each other in terms of who they should try to catch. They were at the other end of the softball field withtheir backs away from me. Parked directly in front of their wagon was a New York City Housing Authority maintenance truck with what looked like the day's refuse from some set of apartments. On the tailgate was a can of gasoline that was leaking onto the street. I pulled the can out and dumped the gas into the front seat of the copmobile, backed off, and lit a match. I heard the dispatcher's voice reach out for me as I threw the match and fled toward the docks. The car ignited with a roar and a lot of crackling like a dead Christmas tree. Just
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