Tyrone sat in the corner of the cell watching Harry pace and thinking of the old time dope fien he was locked up with, who cooked up his shoulder pads. They didnt have nothin. Just themselves and their habits. A million miles away from the neighborhood. What the fuck was he doin here? It was that goddamn Harry. Him and his mutha fuckin ideas. Lets follow the fuckin connections. Lets go to Miami. Cop a nice tase and cool it until the weather gets warm. Even if they giveim a phone call, who he goin to call? Mutha fuck that Harry! Got me all fucked up down here in some funky ass town. Sheeit! He watched Harry holding his arm and trying to sit. A couple of drunks were sprawled on the floor. The shitter in the corner was covered with puke. It stank. Sheeit! Friday. Wont be shit before Monday. We/ll fuckin die before then. Tyrone hung his head between his knees and wrapped his arms around it. What happened man? What the fuck happened?
Harry rocked back and forth with his pain. It had been a couple of hours since their last fix and that was it. If only he had known that was going to be his last fix. He wouldve dumped a couple of bags in the cooker and got wasted. If he just had a fuckin cotton. Balls! His body strained from the more than twenty four hours without sleep and the combination of uppers and dope and the overwhelming pain in his arm. Now that he knew he couldnt get any more dope the junk sick descended rapidly. He stared at the steel walls until his eyes burned and started to close, but they quickly opened as nightmares started even before he was asleep. His head burned. His tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried to stand to keep pacing, but his head was woozy and his knees buckled. He leaned against the side of the cell and slowly slid to the floor and sat with his head between his knees, rolling back and forth, his eyes burning and closing and opening, closing and opening, his gangrenish arm swinging in front of him like a pendulum.
From time to time a drunk was thrown in the tank, but Harry and Tyrone stayed alone in the small cell, wrapped in their separateness and pain, Harry slowly, but progressively, going deeper and deeper into delirium, Tyrone trying to warm the coldness within him with his anger. A couple of drunks fought over the toilet, one hanging his head in the bowl, puking, the other one puking all over him, the both of them eventually passing out and lying in their own and each others puke. The stench filled the cell. Harry and Tyrone stayed wrapped in their separateness and pain. Tyrone started to get stomach cramps and diarrhea and he tried to clean up the gahddamn shitter enough to use it, but as he wiped the fuckin thang with toilet paper the stench got him so sick he started puking and as soon as he stopped he had to turn around, almost sliding in the slimy puke on the floor, and stand over the fuckin bowl and let the foul smelling liquid pour out of his cramping body, and even as he stood, bent, he started to feel the nausea rising and he had to clamp his mouth closed as his body contorted with spasm. Eventually he finished for a while and he staggered back to his spot on the floor and leaned against the cold steel, bone cracking chills going through his body, and then he would double with cramps and sweat oozed then poured from his pore… burning his nose with the smell that comes only from long use of dope, a sick smell that clouded his head with the feeling of death.
Harry tried to huddle within himself, clutching his legs, but he could only hug himself with one arm and as the sweat from the dope and his fever poured from his body he shivered and shook with uncontrollable chills and agonizing pain. From time to time the pain became so bad that he passed out for a while and then his body and mind would drag him, reluctantly, back to consciousness and he would huddle in a ball, trying to force some warmth into his body, desperately trying to find something to do with his arm so the pain would stop, and the fever would burn and chill him and he would go into the relief of deliriums.
Sometime Monday morning the cell was cleaned out. The drunks went first, Harry and Tyrone last. Harrys arm was starting to turn green and smell. The guard grabbed him by his bad arm and spun him around to cuff him and Harry screamed out with pain and passed out and slumped to his knees, the guard continuing to twist his arm until he had cuffed Harrys hands behind his back. When Harry screamed Tyrone reached to grab him and one of the other guards hit him on the head with a small club then kicked him in the ribs and stomach as he lay on the floor, Dont you ever raise yoe hands to me, nigga. They cuffed his hands behind his back and dragged him to his feet and stuck a patch on his head before they took him and Harry to the court. They were shoved into chairs and Harry continued to moan and fall forward and the cop told him to shut up and slammed him back in the chair. A guy dressed in a suit sat next to Tyrone and started to explain that he was appointed by the court to represent them and read off the numbers of the charges and Tyrones body continued to spasm with pain and nausea and cramps and the sweat stung his eyes and he tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes with his shoulder, but every time he moved the guard smacked him on the side of the head and Tyrones vision blurred and his head hung forward and this guy told him if he would plead guilty to vagrancy that he would only have to serve a few weeks on the work gang. When you get out theyll give you a bus ticket back to New York. Where our money? Did you have any? Tyrone looked at him for a moment, blinking his eyes, trying to see him clearly, We had over a thousan dollars jim. Not according to this report. Tyrone stared for another moment then inwardly shrugged. What about Harry? He sick. O, youll both be examined by the doctor before you are sent to the camp. O sheeit, how he wished it was las summer. No fuckin hassles. Things be goin smooth an every day be like a holiday. Sheeit!
Marion sat on her couch, alone, watching television. When the entertainment had finally finished and she was on her way home she had to fight hard to deny what she was feeling. She had been naive. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with the other girls. She knew what she was supposed to do with the men, but the girls came as a shock. She almost puked. But she knew why she was doing what she was doing and it made everything possible. It wasnt until after it had started that she remembered the little books she had read, and the photographs she had giggled over. It wasnt only what she had done that was disturbing her, but the ease with which she had done it. And when she got her share of the piece she knew it was all worth it. When she got home she got off and any disquieting feelings were immediately dissolved by the heroin and she didnt even bother bathing, that could wait until morning. She just stretched out on her couch, in front of her television, ignoring the smell from her body and lips, thinking over and over that Big Tim was right, this is good stuff. That taste will last a long time. She smiled to herself. And theres more where that came from, and no one to share it with. I can always have as much as I want. She hugged herself and smiled, I can always feel like this.
Harry and Tyrone were waiting on line with a dozen others in a back room of the jail. They had been given three months on the work gang instead of a few weeks. The bus to the work camp was parked outside the open door. The prisoners shuffled, one at a time, up to the guard, standing next to the doctor, holding a clipboard with a typewritten sheet of names. The doctor and the guards kidded each other and laughed and drank Coke as the prisoners shuffled along in their chains. They gave their name and number to the guard and he checked their name on the list and the doctor looked at them and asked them all the same question, Can you hear me? Can you see me? They nodded and the doctor slapped them on the back and okayed them for the work camp. As usual, Harry and Tyrone were last. Harry was in an almost constant state of delirium and kept stumbling and whenever Tyrone tried to support him he was hit or shoved. When Tyrone stood in front of the doctor the doctor looked at the bandage on his head, the lumps and discolorations, and smiled, Have a little trouble, boy? The guards laughed. Can you hear me, boy? Can you see me, boy? Tyrone nodded and the doctor slammed him on the face as a guard jabbed his stick in the small of his back, Say sir, nigga. These here New Yawk dope fien niggas aint got no manners. They laughed, We/ll learn him some soon enough. Tyrones body twisted with rage, frustration, as well as his junk sickness as he shuffled out to the waiting bus. He wanted to smash their mutha fuckin haids in, but he knew they were just waitin for him to try so they could hang his ass, an he didnt want to make it any worse than it was, wantin to do his time and get on home, and his junk sick made it easier to try nothin… he could hardly move.
Harry was held up in front of the doctor. This heres another New Yawk dope fien. Hes a nigga lover, ain yoe boy? Harry moaned and his legs started to buckle and the guard yanked him up, Say hes got somethin wrong with his arm. Yeah? The doctor yanked the sleeve of Harrys shirt up and Harry yelled and collapsed and they yanked him up again, Cant yawl at lease act lack a man an stan up? The doctor glanced at his arm then chuckled, Ah dont think yoe goin to be puttin any more dope in that arm, boy. He nodded toward the other guards, Looky here, aint that somethin? The guards looked and twisted their faces in disgust, Damn, it smell worse than he does. Yeah, he smell worse than a nigga, and they all laughed. Yawl better get him over to the hospital before he stink up your jail. More laughter. Ah dont expect he/ll live out the week. Any more? No, thats it doc. Good, Ah have to get ovah to mah office. See yawl next week.
Sara shuffled along the medication line with the others. She stood still for a moment, then shuffled forward a little, stood still for another moment, then shuffled forward again until she stood in front of the attendant who put the Thorazine in her mouth and watched her swallow it before letting her leave. She stood in the corner, her arms wrapped around her, watching the others shuffle up and get their tranquilizers. Then the area was cleared. Empty. She continued to stare in front of her, then slowly turned her head and looked in various directions, then she, too, left. She kept her arms wrapped around herself as she shuffled, in her paper slippers, into the television room. Some of the others were sitting with their chin on their chest, already feeling the effects of the medication. Some were laughing, some were crying. Sara stared at the screen.