Post by Jshub1988 on Apr 5, 2004 20:57:19 GMT -5
IT WAS Christmas Day and Danny the Car Wiper hit the street junksick and broke after seventy-two hours in the precinct jail. It was a clear bright day, but there was warmth in the sun. Danny shivered with an inner cold. He turned up the collar of his worn, greasy black overcoat.
This beat benny wouldn't pawn for a deuce, he thought.
He was in the West Nineties. A long block of brownstone rooming houses. Here and there a holy wreath in a clean black window. Danny's senses registered everything sharp and clear, with the painful intensity of junk sickness. The light hurt his dilated eyes.
He walked past a car, darting his pale blue eyes sideways in quick appraisal. There was a package on the seat and one of the ventilator windows was unlocked.
Danny walked on ten feet. No one in sight. He snapped his fingers and went through a pantomime of remembering something, and wheeled around. No one.
A bad setup, he decided. The street being empty like this, I stand out conspicuous. Gotta make it fast.
He reached for the ventilator window. A door opened behind him. Danny whipped out a rag and began polishing the car windows. He could feel the man standing behind him.
"What're yuh doin'?"
Danny turned as if surprised. "Just thought your car windows needed polishing, mister."
The man had a frog face and a Deep South accent. He was wearing a camel's-hair overcoat.
"My caah don't need polishin' or nothing stole out of it neither."
Danny slid sideways as the man grabbed for him. "I wasn't lookin' to steal nothing, mister. I'm from the South too. Florida - "
"Goddammed sneakin' thief!"
Danny walked away fast and turned a corner.
Better get out of the neighborhood. That hick is likely to call the law.
He walked fifteen blocks. Sweat ran down his body. There was an ache in his lungs. His lips drew back off his yellow teeth in a snarl of desperation.
I gotta score somehow. If I had some decent clothes...
Danny saw a suitcase standing in a doorway. Good leather. He stopped and pretended to look for a cigarette.
Funny, he thought. No one around. Inside maybe, phoning for a cab.
The corner was only a few houses. Danny took a deep breath and picked up the suitcase. He made the corner. Another block, another corner. The case was heavy.
I got a score here all night, he thought. Maybe enough for a sixteenth and a room. Danny shivered and twitched, feeling a warm room and heroin emptying into his vein. Let's have a quick look.
He opened the suitcase. Two long packages in brown wrapping paper. He took one out. It felt like meat. He tore the package open at one end, revealing a woman's naked foot. The toenails were painted with purple-red polish. He dropped the leg with a sneer of disgust.
"Holy Jesus!" he exclaimed. "The routines people put down these days. Legs! Well I got a case anyway." He dumped the other leg out. No bloodstains. He snapped the case shut and walked away.
"Legs!" he muttered.
HE FOUND the Buyer sitting at a table in Jarrow's Cafeteria.
"Thought you might be taking the day off." Danny said, putting the case down.
The Buyer shook his head sadly. "I got nobody. So what's Christmas to me?" His eyes traveled over the case, poking, testing, looking for flaws. "What was in it?"
"Nothing."
"What's the matter? I don't pay enough?"
" I tell you there wasn't nothing in it."
"Okay. So somebody travels with an empty suitcase. Okay." He held up three fingers.
"For Christ's sake, Gimpy, give me a nickel."
"You got somebody else. Why don't he give you a nickel ?"
"It's like I say, the case was empty."
Gimpy kicked at the case disparingly. "It's all nicked up and kinda dirty- looking." He sniffed suspiciously. "How come it stink like that? Mexican leather?"
"So am I in the leather business?"
Gimpy shrugged- "Could be." He pulled out a roll of bills and peeled off three ones, dropping them on the table behind the napkin dispenser. "You want?"
"Okay." Danny picked up the money. "You see George the Greek?" he asked.
"Where you been? He got busted two days ago."
" Oh ...That's bad."
Danny walked out. Now where can I score? he thought. George the Greek had lasted so long, Danny thought of him as permanent. It was good H too, and no short counts.
Danny went up to 103rd and Broadway. Nobody in Jarrow's. Nobody in the Automat.
"Yeah, " he snarled. "All the pushers off on the nod someplace. What they care about anybody else? So long as they get in the vein. What they care about a sick junky?"
He wiped his nose with one finger, looking around furtively.
No use hitting those jigs in Harlem. Like as not get beat for my money or they slip me rat poison. Might find Pantapon Rose at Eighth and 23rd.
There was no one he knew in the 23rd Street Thompson's.
Jesus, he thought. Where is Everybody?
He clutched his coat collar together with one hand, looking up and down the street. There's Joey from Brooklyn. I'd know that hat anywhere.
Joey was walking away, with his back to Danny. He turned around. His face was sunken, skull-like. The gray eyes glittered under a greasy felt hat. Joey was sniffing at regular intervals and his eyes were watering.
No use asking him, Danny thought. They looked at each other with the hatred of disappointment.
"Guess you heard about George the Greek," Danny said.
"Yeah. I heard. You been up to 103rd?"
" Yeah. Just came from there. Nobody around."
"Nobody around anyplace," Joey said. "I can't even score for goofballs."
"Well, Merry Christmas, Joey. See you."
"Yeah. See you."
DANNY WAS walking fast. He had remembered a croaker on 18th Street. Of course the croaker had told him not to come back. Still, it was worth trying.
A brownstone house with a card in the window: P. H. Zunniga, M.D. Danny rang the bell. He heard slow steps. The door opened, and the doctor looked at Danny with bloodshot brown eyes. He was weaving slightly and supported his plumb body against the doorjamb. His face was smooth, Latin, the little red mouth slack. He said nothing. He just leaned there, looking at Danny.
Goddammed alcoholic, Danny thought. He smiled.
"Merry Christmas, Doctor."
The doctor did not reply.
"You remember me, Doctor." Danny tried to edge past the doctor, into the house.
"I'm sorry to trouble you on Christmas Day, but I've suffered another attack."
"Attack?"
This beat benny wouldn't pawn for a deuce, he thought.
He was in the West Nineties. A long block of brownstone rooming houses. Here and there a holy wreath in a clean black window. Danny's senses registered everything sharp and clear, with the painful intensity of junk sickness. The light hurt his dilated eyes.
He walked past a car, darting his pale blue eyes sideways in quick appraisal. There was a package on the seat and one of the ventilator windows was unlocked.
Danny walked on ten feet. No one in sight. He snapped his fingers and went through a pantomime of remembering something, and wheeled around. No one.
A bad setup, he decided. The street being empty like this, I stand out conspicuous. Gotta make it fast.
He reached for the ventilator window. A door opened behind him. Danny whipped out a rag and began polishing the car windows. He could feel the man standing behind him.
"What're yuh doin'?"
Danny turned as if surprised. "Just thought your car windows needed polishing, mister."
The man had a frog face and a Deep South accent. He was wearing a camel's-hair overcoat.
"My caah don't need polishin' or nothing stole out of it neither."
Danny slid sideways as the man grabbed for him. "I wasn't lookin' to steal nothing, mister. I'm from the South too. Florida - "
"Goddammed sneakin' thief!"
Danny walked away fast and turned a corner.
Better get out of the neighborhood. That hick is likely to call the law.
He walked fifteen blocks. Sweat ran down his body. There was an ache in his lungs. His lips drew back off his yellow teeth in a snarl of desperation.
I gotta score somehow. If I had some decent clothes...
Danny saw a suitcase standing in a doorway. Good leather. He stopped and pretended to look for a cigarette.
Funny, he thought. No one around. Inside maybe, phoning for a cab.
The corner was only a few houses. Danny took a deep breath and picked up the suitcase. He made the corner. Another block, another corner. The case was heavy.
I got a score here all night, he thought. Maybe enough for a sixteenth and a room. Danny shivered and twitched, feeling a warm room and heroin emptying into his vein. Let's have a quick look.
He opened the suitcase. Two long packages in brown wrapping paper. He took one out. It felt like meat. He tore the package open at one end, revealing a woman's naked foot. The toenails were painted with purple-red polish. He dropped the leg with a sneer of disgust.
"Holy Jesus!" he exclaimed. "The routines people put down these days. Legs! Well I got a case anyway." He dumped the other leg out. No bloodstains. He snapped the case shut and walked away.
"Legs!" he muttered.
HE FOUND the Buyer sitting at a table in Jarrow's Cafeteria.
"Thought you might be taking the day off." Danny said, putting the case down.
The Buyer shook his head sadly. "I got nobody. So what's Christmas to me?" His eyes traveled over the case, poking, testing, looking for flaws. "What was in it?"
"Nothing."
"What's the matter? I don't pay enough?"
" I tell you there wasn't nothing in it."
"Okay. So somebody travels with an empty suitcase. Okay." He held up three fingers.
"For Christ's sake, Gimpy, give me a nickel."
"You got somebody else. Why don't he give you a nickel ?"
"It's like I say, the case was empty."
Gimpy kicked at the case disparingly. "It's all nicked up and kinda dirty- looking." He sniffed suspiciously. "How come it stink like that? Mexican leather?"
"So am I in the leather business?"
Gimpy shrugged- "Could be." He pulled out a roll of bills and peeled off three ones, dropping them on the table behind the napkin dispenser. "You want?"
"Okay." Danny picked up the money. "You see George the Greek?" he asked.
"Where you been? He got busted two days ago."
" Oh ...That's bad."
Danny walked out. Now where can I score? he thought. George the Greek had lasted so long, Danny thought of him as permanent. It was good H too, and no short counts.
Danny went up to 103rd and Broadway. Nobody in Jarrow's. Nobody in the Automat.
"Yeah, " he snarled. "All the pushers off on the nod someplace. What they care about anybody else? So long as they get in the vein. What they care about a sick junky?"
He wiped his nose with one finger, looking around furtively.
No use hitting those jigs in Harlem. Like as not get beat for my money or they slip me rat poison. Might find Pantapon Rose at Eighth and 23rd.
There was no one he knew in the 23rd Street Thompson's.
Jesus, he thought. Where is Everybody?
He clutched his coat collar together with one hand, looking up and down the street. There's Joey from Brooklyn. I'd know that hat anywhere.
Joey was walking away, with his back to Danny. He turned around. His face was sunken, skull-like. The gray eyes glittered under a greasy felt hat. Joey was sniffing at regular intervals and his eyes were watering.
No use asking him, Danny thought. They looked at each other with the hatred of disappointment.
"Guess you heard about George the Greek," Danny said.
"Yeah. I heard. You been up to 103rd?"
" Yeah. Just came from there. Nobody around."
"Nobody around anyplace," Joey said. "I can't even score for goofballs."
"Well, Merry Christmas, Joey. See you."
"Yeah. See you."
DANNY WAS walking fast. He had remembered a croaker on 18th Street. Of course the croaker had told him not to come back. Still, it was worth trying.
A brownstone house with a card in the window: P. H. Zunniga, M.D. Danny rang the bell. He heard slow steps. The door opened, and the doctor looked at Danny with bloodshot brown eyes. He was weaving slightly and supported his plumb body against the doorjamb. His face was smooth, Latin, the little red mouth slack. He said nothing. He just leaned there, looking at Danny.
Goddammed alcoholic, Danny thought. He smiled.
"Merry Christmas, Doctor."
The doctor did not reply.
"You remember me, Doctor." Danny tried to edge past the doctor, into the house.
"I'm sorry to trouble you on Christmas Day, but I've suffered another attack."
"Attack?"