To celebrate (or perhaps humiliate) our editor Tom Pitts on his Knuckleball release day, we dug way back in the FFO archives, way way back to April, 2012, before Joe and Tom took the editorial helm.
It's a gentle reminder that, even when you're down in the Gutter, life still manages to throw you loving little surprises.
It's a gentle reminder that, even when you're down in the Gutter, life still manages to throw you loving little surprises.
Dealer Sets Price by Tom Pitts
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“I’m telling you, when he’s
out, he’s out cold. All we gotta do is get someone to buzz us inside the
building.”
“It’ll never work.”
“It’ll work, I’m telling you.
He keeps his shit in that little plastic box with his scale.” Jeff envisioned
it, a fat sticky lump of Mexican heroin. Enough to keep him, Ricky, and Crystal
high for days.
“What if the door is locked?”
“I have the goddamn key to the
front door. I made a copy last week when he sent me out to the store for
cigarettes. Fucking asshole, making me fetch him shit like some kind of gopher.
Serves him right.”
“I mean, what if there’s a
deadbolt or chain or something on the door?”
“So what? Then we walk away.
He’s not gonna wake up, that’s for sure. That prick sleeps like he’s dead.”
“What if he’s not alone?”
“He’s alone. Who the fuck in
their right mind would sleep with that arrogant piece of shit?”
“I dunno, man. Sounds risky.”
“Risky? Ricky, are you kidding
me? Fuck this asshole, he takes our goddamn money everyday, makes us wait
forever, treats us like children. Do you wanna get well or not? I got Crystal
waiting for me at home and she’s gonna wake up sick and I’m not coming back to
my baby empty-handed.”
“Yeah.” Ricky’s tone was
sheepish.
“All right then.”
The two junkies walked up the marble
steps and studied the intercom bank for a button to push.
“Pick one on the third floor.”
“What if they walk down to
check?”
“Just fuckin’ pick one and stop
being such a chicken-shit.”
Ricky hit a random button on
the third floor. No response. He hit another. Same. Jeff reached past him and,
using all four fingers, hit four at once. The front door buzzed. They were
in.
They walked down the first-floor
hallway, light on their feet. They could hear sounds of life from the other
apartments. TV, dishes clamoring, a small dog yelping. The apartment they
wanted was toward the back of the building.
They came to the door. Jeff
turned toward Ricky and whispered, “I work too hard hustling all day to keep
giving this prick my money for those tiny slivers of dope. He might as well
just factor my goddamn dignity into the price.” From his pocket he pulled out a
single bronze key. He slid the key into the lock and turned the knob. They were
met with stale cigarette smoke, body odor, and darkness.
With a plastic disposable
lighter for a torch, they entered the dealer’s apartment. Jeff knew right where
the dope was stashed, beside the computer monitor in a pale green plastic box.
He put away the lighter and picked up the box. He opened it up, felt inside for
the lump of dope, and found it. Ecstatic, his heart skipped a beat. The lid to
the box fell loudly onto the keyboard in front of the monitor. The blank screen
flashed on brightly, illuminating their horrified faces.
“Shit,” mouthed Ricky.
“Hello?” They heard a voice
say. A female voice. “Hello, is there anyone there?”
The two junkies froze.
The bare lightbulb above their
heads flared and they stood looking at a woman with a small silver handgun
pointed toward them. She was in one of the dealer’s ugly paisley dress shirts,
unbuttoned, no bra, no panties.
“Jeff?”
“Crystal?” said Jeff. It was
his girlfriend, fiancé in fact. It wasn’t registering, his mind raced to find a
reason for her to be there. Maybe she was doing what he was doing—working hard
to bring home some dope so the both of them could have wake-ups tomorrow.
Working hard—with no panties.
“What the fuck?”
She said nothing.
The two junkies knew at once they
weren’t going to be shot. But it didn’t matter. Jeff looked like he’d already
been shot.
“C’mon!” said Ricky. The two fiends ran out the front door of the
apartment, down the hallway, and out into the cool night air. It was blocks
before they slowed down to a walk.
Ricky finally said it.
“You’re right, Jeff, dignity is factored into the price.”
