CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HENRY HAD BLACKED OUT in the hall. He woke up, feverish and covered with sweat. His body was racked with pain. Sandy lifted his head.
“I told you to stay put! Can’t guys ever do what they’re told?” she griped.
She stroked his hair for a minute.
“Can you get up? If I help you?”
Henry just moaned in pain.
“Okay. Just lie still,” Sandy said.
She set his head back down gently. He wasn’t sure what she was doing. He felt a constriction around his arm, and then coldness. There was a needle prick, followed by a rush of warmth. Henry’s head started to spin. For a few minutes, he was lost in a whirlpool of nausea and pain, and then slowly the pain receded. He started to drift off to sleep, finally comfortable. Sandy roused him.
“That taking? You’re looking a bit better.”
“Yeah. What was it?” Henry questioned.
“Morphine.”
“Wow.”
“Let’s get you up and into your bed.”
“Okay.”
She helped him to his feet and steadied him as he swayed. She walked him back to the bedroom and laid him down again.
“You’re a good nurse,” he told Sandy. She looked surprised, and laughed.
“A nurse, right.”
“You are. You’re great.”
“You’re off your head. You just go to sleep now. I’ll sleep on the couch in case you or Bobby need something.”
“Okay.”
Henry closed his eyes and quickly swirled down through the darkness into sleep.
When he awoke in the morning, Sandy sat on the side of the bed and gave him another shot. This time he was aware enough to watch her put an efficient tourniquet on his arm, swab his skin, and inject the morphine. She watched his face for changes, and stroked his hair comfortingly.
“What’s broken, other than your nose?” she demanded.
“Ribs, a hairline fracture in my arm. They said it didn’t need to be set. That’s all they said.”
“You have at least three broken bones and they sent you home without codeine?”
“Yeah.”
“And they wonder why poor slobs go to street drugs. How long were you in hospital?”
“Two days.”
“And they released you ‘cause you got no insurance.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She swore and shook her head.
“I gotta go take care of some business. You know how to do this?” she gestured to the syringes on the table.
“I’ve never done it…” Henry trailed off uncertainly.
“It isn’t hard,” she said with a shrug. “You’ll do it if you need it.”
“How often can I take it?”
“Whenever you need it.”
Henry nodded, wondering whether he would be able to inject himself. He wasn’t real fond of needles.
“Thanks for coming last night,” he told her. “I really needed help.”
She seemed embarrassed by his thanks.
“No sweat. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
Henry waited until the pain got bad again, but not so long that his hands wouldn’t be steady. Sandy was right about him learning pretty quickly to do it by himself. It was just a question of need. The pain of the jabs wasn’t nearly as bad as the pain if he didn’t take it. It wasn’t long before he could hit the vein on the first try just about every time. Sandy checked in on him each night. He wondered how she could spend so much time at his place without her business suffering.
“I thought I wasn’t your type,” he reminded her one day, when he was feeling good, after a shot.
She eyed him.
“You’re not. But if John’s gang is that upset with you, ya can’t be all bad.” She gave him a wry smile.
“Did he say anything to you about me?” Henry questioned.
“John? He doesn’t talk to me.”
“Oh. He hasn’t called me the last little while. Since—you know.”
“Maybe he won’t.”
“What do the cops think about Richie? Are they going to arrest Hans?” Henry realized that he was chattering on. But Sandy didn’t seem to mind.
“I dunno. Last I heard they were investigating him and Katya,” she said.
“Katya?”
“A girl Richie saw that day. They think maybe her and Hans were in on it together.”
“What do you think?” he questioned.
“I don’t really care. The guy was a leech, the neighborhood is better off without him.”
Henry nodded thoughtfully.
“You should be weaning yourself off the morphine,” Sandy commented. “You’re healing up.”
“I am,” Henry protested. “I’m not taking it very often.”
“You’re high right now.”
Henry was startled. He hadn’t shot up in front of her in days. He didn’t think anyone could tell. It was only morphine; it didn’t make him behave any differently.
“You think that I haven’t seen enough junkies to be able to tell?” Sandy challenged. “You’re not hiding it from anyone who has any experience.”
“How can you tell?” Henry questioned.
“Your eyes. The expression on your face.”
“I just took a little, to settle the pain.”
“You’re hooked. If you don’t quit now, you’re going to be in trouble.”
“I’m not hooked,” he immediately protested. “Once my bones finish mending—”
“You’re hooked. Admit it and deal with it. I’m not bringing you any more,” she said flatly.
Henry swallowed. No more? That was it? She was just going to cut him off like that, without any warning? He would have stockpiled it a bit, had he known, so that he could wean himself off slowly.
“Fine,” he agreed, with a shrug. “I can probably dial back to Tylenol now.”
“Yeah. OTC’s now. You’re getting better.”
Henry wasn’t paying enough attention to his surrounding, and didn’t see Hans until the boy stepped right in front of him. It was too late to cross the street or avoid him. Henry just stopped and stood there, his heart sinking, wondering what fresh torture he was in for now.
“Hey, Specs,” Hans said coolly, looking him up and down.
Henry licked dry lips. His heart raced. He didn’t know what to do.
“Hey,” he said weakly.
“You know, I been meaning to come see you.”
“I didn’t say anything to anyone—”
Hans waved his hand.
“No, no. Not that. Those last pictures you took, they weren’t half bad. I got some more for you to do.”
He looked at Henry expectantly.
“I don’t want any more jobs like that,” Henry growled.
“I ain’t asking, just like Richie didn’t ask. You’ll do the jobs I give you.”
Henry gritted his teeth and didn’t argue further. He swallowed and took a deep breath, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I need something…”
“What do I care what you need?” Hans questioned.
“I just thought you might know where…” Henry couldn’t go on. He stopped, swallowing.
“What do you want?” Hans asked.
“Some morphine.”
Hans laughed.
“Morphine! I don’t think so. You don’t get pure morphine on the street. Maybe something else cut with morphine. Coke or heroine.”
“I don’t want coke, just morphine. For pain.”
“I’ll see what I can find you, buddy-boy. But I can’t guarantee purity.”
Henry nodded.
“Soon?”
“Soon as you get me some pictures.”
Hans gave Henry the directions for the next shoot.
Henry hung the prints up shakily, and looked at his watch. He had already called Hans looking for his morphine. He was in terrible pain, sweating and shaking, hardly able to catch his breath. There was a knock on the do
or and Henry ran to answer it. It was Hans, and someone else from the gang that Henry didn’t know. Henry paid him no attention.
“Did you get it?” Henry questioned.
“Sure,” Hans assured him calmly. “Where’s the pics?”
“In the darkroom, just drying.”
Hans took his time checking them out. Henry pushed the negatives at him, sweating heavily. Hans delved into his pocket and pulled out the drugs.
“Don’t take too much,” he advised. “You can always take more after, but if you OD on this, you’re toast.”
Henry steadied his hands and gave himself a shot. The shakes started to calm, and warmth and well-being flooded over him. He let his breath out in a long sigh. Once he started to relax, he noticed that he felt different than he usually did when he took morphine. He felt… good. Pumped. Energized. He grinned, his anxieties about Hans and his buddy being in the apartment disappearing.
“What’s in that?” he questioned.
Hans shrugged.
“Bit of this, bit of that. Mostly heroin.”
“Really? I thought heroin made you feel bad.”
“Would people take it if it made you feel bad? You take it because it makes you feel good,” Hans pointed out.
“Well, I’m just taking it for the pain. When my bones are healed, that’s it.”
Hans chuckled.
“Yeah. Sure, Specs.”
“How much…?” Henry was embarrassed to ask. “How much does this cost?”
“I’ll give it to you for the cost of the photo job. The pictures for the drugs.”
“Okay.”
That was easy enough. The shoot only took an hour, and he had enough of the narcotics for a few days. If he still needed more after that, one more photo shoot would cover him until he was healed.
< < <
Henry had missed a lot of school. He felt awkward going back there and sitting at his desk as if nothing had happened. He sat down, trying to look cool and unconcerned, while inside his heart pounded. Mrs. Clark came over to him.
“Hi, Henry. How’re you doing?” she questioned sympathetically.
“Still a little rough,” Henry admitted.
“You don’t look too good.”
“Yeah. But I can’t miss too much.”
“We’re glad to have you back. But take it easy. Okay?”
Henry nodded.
“I will.”
He had a pretty tough time making it through the day. At lunchtime, he went into the restroom and shot up. He sat on the can, breathing deeply and feeling the pain wash away. Someone else came in, so Henry quickly flushed the toilet and left.
He hadn’t brought lunch and he had no appetite. He went into the library instead of the cafeteria, and looked for something to occupy his mind. He found a book, but couldn’t concentrate on it. He was hyped up, his mind going a mile a minute. He needed to walk, run, something. He was too jumped up to sit still and think.
“Henry—”
Henry just about jumped out of his skin at the hand on his shoulder.
“What?”
He turned and saw Cherie, one of the girls in his class smiling expectantly at him.
“Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Cherie apologized.
Henry laughed, putting his hand over his racing heart.
“It’s okay, I’m all right. You scared the wits out of me!”
She was mortified.
“I’m so sorry- I know you got mugged and all. I should have been more careful.”
Henry took a deep breath and gave her a little hug.
“It’s okay. Really. I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s go for a walk.”
Cherie looked surprised.
“Umm—sure.”
They left the school and struck off towards the mall.
“So how are you doing?” Cherie questioned.
“Rough. I just took a painkiller, so I’m okay for a while.”
“You poor guy. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been.”
Henry nodded.
“It wasn’t fun,” he agreed.
“You gotta move out of that neighborhood. It’s too dangerous.”
“There’s nowhere else that I can afford,” Henry pointed out, “it’s subsidized.”
“They won’t move you when you get mugged and beaten?”
“There was even a murder in my building. The cops came and questioned me!”
“No way. You gotta get yourself out of there.”
“Yeah,” Henry agreed.
“I’d be scared to leave my apartment, even in the daytime.”
“You can’t think about it. The gangs, drugs, muggings, murders—you can’t spend your time thinking about all that.”
“How can you be mugged yourself and not think about it?”
Henry shrugged.
“I don’t know. I have to think about school, and Bobby, and take care of us.”
“Wow.”
“Let’s talk about something else. What’s been going on while I was gone?”
Cherie considered, and then went into a narrative of what had happened lately. They didn’t go back to classes in the afternoon.
“Are you doing all right?” the daycare teacher asked Henry. “They said you missed classes this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Henry avoided meeting Cherie’s eyes. “I had to go lie down.”
Of course, lying down at Cherie’s place had nothing to do with his not feeling well.
“You take care of yourself. This little sweetie depends on you.”
“Was he good?” Henry questioned. “I didn’t know how he’d be, after being away for so long.”
“A little fussy,” she assured him. “I’m sure he’ll settle right back in.”
“Yeah. Good.”
They took Bobby out into the hallway, and Cherie giggled.
“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” she laughed.
“I’m not in trouble, don’t worry about it.”
Henry was surprised to find Sandy in his apartment.
“Sandy? What are you doing here?”
“Better question—where have you been the past three days?” she countered.
Henry shrugged.
“Out. But what are you doing here?” he persisted.
“Worrying about what happened to you! You disappear without a word to anyone, I don’t know if you’ve run into Hans or John or something—”
“John?” Henry repeated. “Marty?”
“Yeah, Marty,” she said impatiently. “How was anyone supposed to know where you were?”
“When did Marty get out? How did he get out so soon?” Henry demanded, his heart racing as he thought of running into Marty again. This was not good.
“I don’t know the details,” Sandy said coolly.
“I was just with a friend,” Henry said finally. “Nothing happened to me.”
“Nice of you to let someone know what was going on,” she sneered sarcastically.
“I didn’t know I had to report to you.”
They faced off against each other, both self-righteous and defensive.
“How did you get in here?” Henry demanded.
Sandy hesitated for a moment.
“I copied your key when I borrowed it,” she admitted, “in case…”
“You copied my key without asking?” Henry’s voice rose several notes. “Took advantage because I was sick? I want it back.”
Sandy took out her key chain and removed a key from it, tossing it onto the table.
“Fine. There you go. Don’t expect any help from me if something happens to you.”
Sandy tossed her long red hair and stormed out. Henry watched her go, frowning. He should probably call her back. Apologize. But he was so angry about her demanding to know where he was and breaking into his apartment. That was wrong. She shouldn’t have done that.
He was also embarrassed to adm
it that he’d been at another girl’s house. He had a feeling that in spite of what Sandy said about him not being her type, she had feelings for him. Maybe just motherly feelings because she’d nursed him when she was sick, but you just didn’t tell a girl who liked you that you were spending a few nights with another girl.
But as he cooled down, he realized after a few minutes that he had bigger problems to worry about. Marty was out of prison. How did he get out so soon after staging a prison uprising? Didn’t that get a few years added to his sentence? Maybe he’d escaped. In that case, all Henry had to do was call the cops. But if he was out legitimately… then what was Henry going to do then?
Henry tried not to be in the neighborhood too much, hoping to avoid running into Marty. He knew it was an exercise in futility, but he had to at least try to protect himself. He didn’t want another encounter with the gang. But Marty caught him on the street one day in front of his building.
“Well hey, Specs,” he said cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
Henry’s heart pounded. He tried to swallow.
“M-marty.”
“How’re you doing, kid? Saw old Sandy the other day, and she was pretty steamed at you.”
“We had a disagreement.”
Mary chuckled.
“Yeah, I figured. What was going on between you? You getting a little action there?”
Henry felt himself flush, and Marty laughed.
“I hope you were careful, man. You never know where that one’s been!”
Henry’s face burned like it was on fire. He was sweating heavily.
“How did you get out so fast?” he questioned.
“There’s ways and means you’ll never know of,” Marty said mysteriously.
“Oh.”
“Say, I heard what happened with you and my gang a while back,” Marty said. “These boys tend to be all brawn and no brain, you know what I mean? They just don’t think things through.”
Henry nodded wordlessly.
“I hope there’s no hard feelings. I figure it was probably the girl Richie got himself tangled up with. We’ll keep an eye on her.”
Henry tried to figure out how to disengage from the conversation. He was relieved to be told there were no more hard feelings. But he still felt uncomfortable talking to Marty.
“We got more photo jobs for you,” Marty said easily. “You up for it?”
“Yeah, sure,” Henry agreed. There was no arguing over the jobs any more. They were his source for a fix, and he still needed the drugs to get past the pain of his injuries.
“Good. I’ve been looking at your later work. Not bad.”
Henry was fast learning how to get the pictures that Marty wanted quickly and efficiently, even from shy or reluctant models. He still hated the work, and hardly even looked at the photos when he developed them. But he was just a little proud of his growing expertise. He shrugged at Marty’s compliment.
“I’ll see you around,” Marty said, walking away. Henry leaned against the wall, his heart pounding. The pain in his broken bones was suddenly intense. He went back upstairs to shoot up.
Cherie rolled her eyes when Henry picked up his camera.
“No more pictures, Henry,” she protested.
“Come on, just a couple,” Henry coaxed, snapping one as she looked coyly up at him.
“What’s the thing with you and cameras?” Cherie questioned.
She wasn’t mad, though. She always fussed, but still let him take them.
“I like taking pictures, and I like the way you look.”
He changed his angle as she stretched lazily. She smiled at him.
“You’re always taking pictures, but never the kind I thought you would…”
Henry shrugged. He took enough of the other kind elsewhere. He liked Cherie’s body, but had no desire to take nude pictures of her. Sometimes, like with Adrienne, he followed her unawares and took candid pictures of her. He wasn’t as infatuated with Cherie as he had been with Adrienne. Not yet, anyway.
“A couple more,” he breathed, admiring the red sweater that clung snugly to her perfect curves. Cherie struck a couple of poses for him, and he obligingly snapped them, but he knew that the pictures he kept would be the ones where she relaxed and looked away from the camera.
Henry was watching Bobby playing in the playground. He had his camera around his neck and was wondering how soon he could convince Bobby to go home. He saw Sandy down by the street, and for a joke raised his camera and snapped a picture of her. Sandy saw him and scowled. Henry snapped another shot. Sandy walked over.
“You want me to expose your film?” she threatened.
“No.”
“Then don’t take pictures of me.”
“I didn’t,” he lied. “I was just joking.”
“You better not. You keep away from me with your camera.”
Henry shrugged.
“Listen,” he said uncertainly, “I’m sorry… about blowing up at you before. I just… I was just surprised to find you in my place.”
“I was worried about you. Really worried. You never disappeared like that before.”
“I know. I should have said thank you, not kicked you out like that. You can have the key back, if you want.” She shook her head. “If something ever did happen, I’d want someone to know. I’d want someone to come.”
She shrugged, looking down.
“I dunno. If you want.”
“I do. Is that okay? I’m really sorry.”
“Okay. Don’t keep going on about it. It wasn’t that big a deal.”
Henry nodded.
Sandy took out a package of cigarettes and lit one, offering him the package with a small motion.
“No thanks. That’s really not good for you,” he commented.
Sandy looked at him, brows raised.
“Oh, it’s not good for me, huh? What about the stuff you’re shooting?”
“That’s just for…” he trailed off at the look in her eye. “Okay. I’m one to talk.”
She nodded.
“I told you that you were gonna get hooked, and you wouldn’t listen. You don’t think I’ve got the experience?”
“I know. I just… have a hard time admitting that you might know better. I mean, we’re the same age. I think you can’t know any better than me.”
Sandy pushed up her sleeve, showing off arms riddled with needle tracks.
“I know, okay? I try to stay away from the hard stuff now. Stick to rave drugs and cigarettes. But you can see what a good job I’m doing of that.”
Henry stared at the ugly marks, feeling apprehension about his drug use for the first time. If he kept shooting up, his arms were going to look like that. They would look like that, and he wouldn’t be able to stop. Sandy pulled her sleeve back down slowly.
“My life ain’t been like yours, Thomas.”
“Thomson,” Henry corrected automatically. He looked away from her. “What has your life been like? Marty says you usually live with your dad.”
“I have my own place now. I used to live with my dad.”
“Why not with your mom?”
“She didn’t want me,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Da did. I guess he saw opportunities for profit.”
“What do you mean?”
Bobby started crying, and Henry went and picked him up.
“Let’s go back to my place. He needs a nap.”
Sandy walked with him. When they got up to his apartment, she got a drink from the fridge and sat down.
“My dad’s a businessman,” she said, as if their conversation had not been interrupted ten minutes ago. “He looks for the profit in anything. Having a kid around, particularly a girl, most people wouldn’t see that as a money-making opportunity. He found ways.”
Henry tried to imagine what those ways would be. Some of them she had already hinted at or he knew about. The p-notes and prostitution. Who knew how young that had started. Maybe running drugs for him. The way she objected t
o Henry’s taking pictures, she’d probably done kiddie porn too. There were probably dozens of other things she had done that he couldn’t even imagine.
“Where is he now?”
“Prison. Where else?”
“What for?”
“Umm, bookmaking this time.”
“For how long?”
“About a year. Usually it’s just for a few months. Not usually so long.”
“You’re not staying with your mom while he’s there?”
“No. I just keep an eye on her, when everyone else is in the clink.”
“Was she married to your dad? They live together?”
“Not since I can remember. I’ve lived with her a few times, but we don’t really get along.”
Henry nodded.
“Do you get along with your dad? I mean, with all of the stuff he made you do?”
Sandy smoothed her hair back, and shrugged.
“We get along. I dunno, he got me into a lot of stuff, and I guess I was too young to be able to say if I wanted to or not, but mostly he was good to me. He looked after me, didn’t give me any trouble as long as I played it straight.” She grinned. “He taught me a trade, taught me how to take care of myself and make good money.”
Henry shook his head.
“I don’t know how you can joke about it.”
“You can’t take yourself seriously all the time,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah, but… it’s not funny,” Henry protested.
“Sure it is. Life’s funny. You telling me nothing about your life is funny?”
“No.”
Sandy shook her head.
“You’ll just end up in trouble if you can’t laugh about yourself now and then.”
Henry grunted. He looked at his watch.
“I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a second.”
He left her and went into the bathroom, where he quickly tied a tourniquet on his arm. The door opened, making him jump and try to hide it.
“What are you doing?” he protested, embarrassed at being caught by her.
“I thought you were going to stop,” she said, an eyebrow cocked questioningly.
Henry looked at his arm and at the syringe on the sink.
“I can’t,” he admitted.
“You have to stop. We gotta dry you out.”
“I can’t ask for help. They’ll take Bobby away.”
“Find someone to look after him, and check yourself in. That’s responsible. They won’t take him if you make proper arrangements.”
“I don’t know.”
Sandy pointed to the syringe.
“That or Bobby.”
Henry knew in his heart that it had to be Bobby, but his body craved the drugs. He needed them. He didn’t have to choose, not really. He’d wean himself off the heroine slowly. He’d look after Bobby. There was no need to tell anyone that he was taking heroine and take the chance of losing him. Henry reached for the syringe.
“I’ll cut down slowly,” he told her.
He intended to only take half of what was in the needle, but his thumb pushed the plunger in all the way. Sandy looked at him steadily.
“Do you disgust yourself?”
Henry felt the rush of the heroine.
“Yes,” he agreed, and just breathed, basking in the high.