"Hey, D!" a wiry teenager called carefully through the squalor of the abandoned building they called home. Warily, the dirty-faced boy checked the lumps of sleepers crashed in different corners of the building. All were familiar, all seemed safe. Still, his possessions weren't for the group today. Perking his ears, he waited for a response.

"Here," came the shaky reply. David tried to stand, in vain. His empty stomach raged with jagged fury against his balance. But hunger for food was a transparent need in comparison to the pins and needles signaling his looming demon's arrival. His knees were trembling and every muscle ached with compulsion. It had been eight hours since his last hit. Clawing one filthy hand out to tangle with the rancid reality of his environment and grasping the edge of a molded sofa, David Griffin hauled himself to his feet. Sinking down into the fantasy comfort of worn springs, David swam inside his clothing for warmth and waited for Jamie to join him.

Jamie made his way through the rat-infested hellhole to sit by his jittery friend. He felt the bite himself. He could see it burning in his fellow addict's eyes. "Look what I got, man!" Jamie reached beneath his threadbare jacket and pulled out a paper bag.

"McDonald's??!!" David snatched the paper bag and shredded it, the smell of cooked food nearly overwhelming him. Before he grabbed the Big Mac and inhaled it, he looked pleadingly at his friend. He'd known him for two months, ever since his escape from that middle-class hell of Aunt Helen's. Jamie had been there one month earlier and welcomed the 'virgin' to be his friend. In the midst of the hardened and frightening old-timers, the two boys clung to each other for survival.

"Go ahead, D," Jamie directed, "I ate mine the minute I got it." Smiling like he was playing Santa Claus, the boy pulled a can from his pocket. "Here's a Coke, too." Not offended as David snatched the can and drained it, Jamie leaned back into the shelter of the couch and watched. He knew how great it felt to eat and drink something good. Jamie smiled as the nearly skeletal boy ate, oblivious to the stares as he swallowed his rare morsel in three bites and gulped his soda like tap water. He could read the experience in David's features.

The food was golden and nauseating at the same time. He'd forgotten what it was like to be full. <Please God, don't let me throw up.>

It was getting colder every day here. Without a jacket, David spent most of his time shivering inside a foul blanket, a constant reminder of his first day initiation -- having the crap beaten out of him and his leather bomber jacket ripped off his back. The jacket had been a present from Kermit that arrived with an Italian postmark and some phony "How's it goin', Squirt?" note inside. He had tossed the note into the fireplace. Pride hadn't been strong enough to toss the jacket, though. He had liked that jacket. Now, he had little left that someone would want; sneakers held together with tape; jeans so stiff with crud they could stand by themselves. No money. No hope. All that he was revolved around that incessant clawing in his gut for another hit; all else faded in the face of that need.

"D!" David looked up as Jamie called softly, waggling a twisted baggy holding two dirty brown chunks of smack close to his chest. "Look what else I got?" His face nearly glowed with childlike glee as he teased his friend with his acquisition. "Your in luck, man. If I hadn't bummed a joint this mornin' to mellow out, I woulda' jammed both of these in my arm already!"

Grabbing Jamie's dirty wrist, David tugged him down to the floor behind the couch, shielding them from any stranger who might select this particular place to flop for the night. With the precision of a diamond cutter, the two boys set to work. David held the supplies: a prized Bic lighter, a jagged tin bottom ripped from a soda can, a bottle of dirty water, and one thin hypodermic needle. With a shaking hand, David thumped one of the dingy blocks of heroin into the can bottom. Drooling at the sight of his prize.

"Hey! Be careful! Don't spill it!" Jamie snapped as David used the syringe to suck up a few cc's of water and add it to the mix. Stirring with the plunger from his hypo, David answered with a touch of annoyance. "Do I ever spill it?! No! So shut up!"

Jamie complied and watched the meticulous preparation, mouth watering in anticipation. With single-minded obsession, David held the lighter flame beneath the makeshift bowl to cook the powder into a pale brown liquid. Jamie, working in concert, drew the molten death into the needle and thumped the tip with surgical skill to remove the air bubbles. The full syringe nearly glittered in the dusty light of the warehouse. David found it strange that this was beautiful. Even as he was enraptured by the relief soon to be his, he couldn't dispel the question. "How'd you get it, Jamie? What'd you steal, man?" Stealing had become breathing. Little things lifted from stores and car seats without violence, just petty theft that didn't attract much attention.

"I sold something." Jamie wrapped a tattered piece of rubber hose around his upper arm and slapped for a vein. Avoiding eye contact he focused on the job.

"What?" David asked but immediately found the answer within the haunted stare of the other boy. "No...did you really do it?"

"So what, D?! It only took a couple of minutes and the guy was done!" Jamie shoved the needle into his vein and hit the plunger. "It's nothing...man...nothing...."

He wanted to cry. Or scream. Or vomit. Watching the tension fade as the heroin rolled through Jamie's body, David tried to comfort or advise. "Jamie...those assholes will kill you! Remember that boy last week? Went with some john for twenty bucks and the bastard strangled him, man. Dead, remember?!"

David's words bounced back against Jamie's heroin-induced void. The window of lucid thought slammed shut as he lay back in a haze of synthetic peace, smiling up at nothing and not hearing David's warning.

Concern for Jamie was soon forgotten. The hunger reasserted itself over David Griffin. It overshadowed his broken heart and any shred of reason he had left. Ripping the tubing from his friend's arm and snatching the shared needle, David cooked another hit through his blurred vision. He would get to the same point someday. They all did when body and shame meant nothing and became a tool for survival, a conduit to another hit.

Jamming the needle into his flesh, David gasped at the first rush released by snapping the tourniquet from his arm. Warmth, blindness to hurt and cold and hunger spilled over as his mind exploded in orgasmic sensation. Color and happiness and love and relief blanketed him. He was the center of the universe, strong and powerful. Comfort blew over his body and soothed the aching muscles and confusion, shutting out the harsh reality that would be waiting later for his return.

~~~

As promised, Kermit Griffin returned. This time he not only had a purpose, he had a plan.

Working from the inside had become his specialty over the years. Lying was second nature; lying to the enemy; lying to anyone who got too close. He'd been so many people in the space of one mixed-up patch of life that it was hard to keep track. Even the role of husband had found its way into his repertoire.

Turning the large steering wheel of his new rental, Kermit couldn't help but laugh at that one. What a fiasco that had been, with broken hearts all around and a little boy with his face being raised by strangers. <At least that kid might be safe from me.>

Turning down the depressing city streets he'd roamed the night before, he felt struck by the contrast. The teaming humanity present in the darkness gave way to stillness and quiet in the morning. Kermit estimated that he had until noon before all the night people would be waking up and start scavenging for the day. He would be waiting for them.

Stopping at a red light, Kermit took a look at himself in the rearview mirror. <Look like a sleaze. Be a sleaze.> The reflection that met him was nearly comical...to him at least. Black silk jacket with bright red silk shirt open at the collar, standard trash chic gold chains, hair slick, and black patent leather boots completed the dress code of the typical drug dealer. <Look like you just dropped out of some bad movie, Griffin.>

No one would dare come near him last night. Military precision suited him well in his other life, but here it branded him an outsider at best and a narc at worst. Always one for a uniform, Kermit had constructed several of his own since leaving the service. Lately, he feltcomfortable in jeans and boots with a black turtleneck under his favorite scraped leather jacket. The green shades were a given. But this was an assignment. He had to become one of the vermin to find his brother. Kermit had shed the sedate airport rental and selected a flashy red Cadillac, long and adorned with enough chrome to blind at a glance.

He had a plan now, something he lacked before. He would make the scum work for him to his advantage. Turn your worst disadvantage into your best advantage was just one of many lessons that had served him well.

Pulling the gaudy vehicle into a space in front of a bar just waking up for its morning customers, he climbed out and leaned on the hood. A slow-moving black and white cruised by and gave him the obligatory once-over. He smiled to himself as they scowled a warning look at him. <Looks real enough to them.>

The pedestrian traffic was beginning to pick up and the number of young faces was increasing. One young boy caught his eye. "Wanna make some money, kid?" he asked.

The boy eyed him cautiously. Shaggy, unwashed blonde hair framed an ancient face.
"I don't have all day, brat," he quipped as the boy carefully appraised him.

Jamie stood back for a few more seconds sizing up the man in front of him. He had the look of the rest of the bottom feeders. Pimp. Pusher. All the same. Around here, it paid to be on their good side. The cash >from the day before was history as were the dinner and the dope. David had scored three radios early this morning but they wouldn't pull in much.

"How much and for what?" Jamie tried to toughen up. This guy was a heavyweight -- heavyweight dangerous like the rest of them.

Kermit held up a fifty dollar bill. "Watch my car." Waiting until the boy was within arm's length, he shot out a hand to grab the boy's tattered denim jacket. Yanking him nose to nose, he growled, "One scratch. One hand on my shit and you're dead. Got it?"

"G-g-g-got it, man," Jamie stuttered, then breathed a sigh of relief as the man let him go and allowed him to step back a few feet. "Don't worry, man. I'll keep an eye on it. Swear." Snatching the money and cramming it into his pants, Jamie nearly drooled over the luxurious interior. Feeling a touch bolder with the man's hands off of him, Jamie
asked, "Uh...can I...uh...would ya' mind...uh...."

"Spit it out, brat!" Kermit straightened his slippery lapel.

"Can I sit inside, man? I won't touch nothin'. I swear." Jamie pulled his jacket closed. It was cold. That was only part of the reason for the shakes.

Peering over his dark green glasses, Kermit covered up the pang of sympathy he felt. He didn't have time for it. "No." Orders presented, the pseudo-dealer strolled into the bar to fish and wait.

Blowing out a pent-up breath, Jamie lounged carefully back on the car, the fifty dollars burning a hole in his pocket. Along with the stuff they had to hock this afternoon, he and David would be set for a week. They could eat AND get high. Rarely did they have the luxury of both at the same time. He could score if he could get to the alley off Jack
Street. <I'll be knee deep in dope for days!>

Too fidgety to stay still for any length of time, Jamie began to circle the car. <Bet you have to go to the airport to turn it around.> Jamie pondered over the vehicle, rubbing a careful hand over the neon bright paint job. An icy breeze made him shiver as he reached the driver's side. <Just five minutes. He won't care as long as nobody touches his rod. > Courting death, Jamie slid inside the luxuriously-appointed vehicle.

Soaking up the warmth still lingering from the heater, Jamie closed his eyes. <Just for a minute.> After a few seconds of rest, the boy began to greedily inspect the dashboard. <Four hundred dollar Pioneer tape deck with speakers to match. > The quaking in his knees began to scream louder than his fear. He needed a hit. He needed money. Those two things ruled all. Mechanically, Jamie dug his hand under the dash to yank wires and twist the small screws out with his trusty screwdriver.

"All right, baby!" the jubilant youngster crowed as the stereo spit out into his hand. "Beat my own record!" Quickly, he pushed the door open to escape.

Ice cold steel pressed against his temple. "You're dead." The tone was hard as nails and the intent clear. Kermit held his victim frozen by fear.

"I-I-I'm sorry, man...uh...don't kill me...please....I'll put it back...please don't...." Jamie was crying and begging and cursing his own stupidity.

Kermit Griffin let the boy's own sweat soak him through before reacting, observing a more than pregnant pause. "Move over." Using his newly-acquired weapon, a shiny black Desert Eagle lifted from a dead Soviet, he shoved the boy over to the passenger side. "Don't even think about touching that door." Kermit got in himself, maintaining a scathing glare at the boy. "Now, tell me why I shouldn't kill you?" Kermit cranked the motor and turned on the heat, glaring straight ahead.

"Uh...maybe...." Jamie fought to think of a reason to spare his own life. "Maybe I could do somethin' for ya', man."

Kermit jacked the car into gear and pulled out into traffic. "So, you think you've got something I want, huh? Be specific."

Jamie fell silent. <So that's what it is. Another one.>That shield of numbness he'd used the day before dropped down over his disgust. <It's nothin', man. Over in a few minutes.> In robot fashion, he answered, "Just park around the corner, man. I don't do hotel rooms or nothin'."

Kermit wanted to scream...or throw up. This boy who could be his brother had reduced himself to a piece of meat. And David was out there somewhere.

"Don't like boys, brat!" Kermit spat with righteous indignation as he stopped the car in an alleyway. "But," he oozed at the quivering, pathetic boy, "maybe there is something you could do for me."

"Name it, man! Whatever you say!" Jamie responded to the opportunity to barter.

"Be cool! You're givin' me a headache!" As the boy flinched back against the door, Kermit pulled out a picture of David. "I fronted this kid twenty-five dime bags three weeks ago. I never got my dope or my money. Now, I want his ass. Get him."

"Man...." Jamie gasped at the photo. "You're wrong about him...I mean...if he'd had that stuff, I'd know. I know this dude and--"

"You callin' me a liar?!" Kermit grabbed him by the shirtfront and dragged him into the barrel of his gun once again. "You filthy little piece a shit!"

"Nonononono...." Jamie babbled again, voice full of fear and pain.

"Good," the aggressor replied, smiling unkindly. "Since it's clear you know the little worm, get him and I'll let you live." The man pulled out two hundred dollar bills. "And since I'm such a nice guy, bring 'im to me and I'll part with these." Mockingly smoothing the boy's threadbare shirt back into place, Kermit added, "My good deed for the day."

"Can I have it now?" Jamie's mind was a tumble of bad options. <How can we both get away and still get the money?>

Slapping the boy across the cheek, 'the dealer' spat, "No fuckin' way. Get out and bring me that boy!"

Kermit watched the stumbling mass of youth running down the street. Never one to leave the success of a mission to chance, he holstered his weapon and followed.

The boy was panicked and still half-high on his last hit. It was no contest as Kermit followed the boy, completely unseen, through an intricate maze of alleyways and burned-out buildings. Finally, the boy led him past a wooden fence to another decrepit building, zoned for demolition.

The boy ran inside, stumbling on the rubble. Kermit got to the door in plenty of time and hesitated, listening to the rapid-fire warning the boy was laying out to another kid.

"D!!! We gotta get outta here, man! Some dealer's gonna kill us both!!!" You screwed him over and he's pissed! Offered me TWO HUNDRED BUCKS to bring you in!" Jamie knew going back to the dealer would be a death sentence for both of them. Guys like that didn't leave loose ends.

Kermit gasped silently as he felt something clutch at his heart. Not twenty feet away was his brother, the brother he had failed and had to save now. The clutching got worse as David spoke, verifying his identity.

"What dealer?? How???" David strained to understand as Jamie babbled on and on.

"Man, no time for that now! I got fifty bucks - we gotta skip the city! He'll have ever'body lookin' for ya! We'll go to New York - nobody'll ever find us there!"

The door suddenly flew off its hinges. "Thanks, brat!" A man David assumed was his enemy stormed in through the rubble, throwing two bills toward Jamie and coming straight toward him.

David's mouth gaped open like a fish out of water. He couldn't believe Jamie would betray him like this!!! His raw, watery eyes could barely make out the figure in black but he knew in a short time, he would be dead and Jamie would be richer by $200. <Don't know why I should be surprised.... >David braced for the inevitable bullet through the head. In a way, it was a screaming relief. He waited for the end to his misery.

Jamie was gaping similarly in shock that he'd actually been followed. With their madcap route, it never occurred to him that anybody could follow him. "David...man....I was tryin' to warn ya...." he babbled helplessly. Somehow, the opinion of his friend meant everything to him. Suddenly, he had a gun barrel pointed into his face.

"Get out," the deadly man ordered, sparing Jamie only a passing glance.

Jamie, frozen with fear and loyalty, stared at the man until he jerked Jamie off his feet, grabbing his arm. The man bent down to grab the bills, stuffed them in Jamie's pocket and literally threw him toward the door. The youth stumbled, just managing to catch himself, as the dealer turned toward David

The walls of defense came tumbling down at the sight of his brother. David was a ragged mess. His long, lean form resembled more of a skeleton than a human being; dull, lackluster eyes, long hair, body twitching in anticipation for his next hit. He was sitting on a nest of what appeared to be stolen radios as he waited, eyes closed.

Kermit glanced behind him; Jamie was gone. He sank to his knees in front of the boy, taking him in his hands. "David! Squirt...it's me. It's Kermit. I'm going to get you out of here. David!"

The junkie opened his eyes a peep...jaw tightening, he used the last remaining fraction of energy he possessed to launch himself at his brother. "YOU! You bastard!"

Kermit, taken by surprise, barely managed to block the boy's attack. "Dammit...David, it's me! It's Kermit! Stop this!!!" Then he realized the truth. David was attacking him because he DID know who Kermit was and still hated him. Kermit held the skinny arms back, trying to restrain him without hurting him, when something was flung through the window from the outside.

Kermit reflexively ducked, taking David with him as the boy continued to struggle. David took no note of the crashing sounds and then the sound of gunfire. He just kept hitting and kicking, trying to hurt the man who had destroyed him.

Kermit, for his part, was trying not to get killed from both sides of the room. While his brother was trying to kick the living crap out of him, two thugs had smashed their way into the house and had taken refuge while the cops outside riddled the house with bullets. "David!" Kermit hissed. "Stop it, Squirt!" The nickname seemed to only fuel David's anger and he struck at Kermit, putting his own body in the line of the gunfire. Kermit yanked him down behind the debris as one of the men took a bullet and was propelled backward ten feet.

David's arm yanked out again and swung, leaving Kermit no choice. "Damn it to HELL!" Kermit swore as he hit David himself. Darting forward as David slumped into unconsciousness, Kermit pulled a pair of handcuffs from his jacket -- one of many odd tools he carried for special occasions -- and tried not to notice how much he had to adjust the cuffs for David's hands not to slip out of them.

He needed a diversionary tactic. Kermit glanced around quickly, trying to figure out a way of escape. He found it. He reached for his lighter and set fire to a rag with oil stains. It went up like a torch. Kermit, using a steel rod nearby, flung it in the lap of the other remaining gunman.

The man screamed and danced around quite satisfactorily as Kermit took
his prized Desert Eagle and quickly made a hole in the back of the house. Dragging David through it, he hoisted his brother over his shoulder as the house went up in flames. Kermit only wished he could destroy his brother's junkie habit just as easily as he carried him off into the night.

He had just made it to the Cadillac when David stirred. Panicked, Kermit let adrenaline move his body to work as quickly as possible. David came to his senses just as Kermit was buckling him in. He jerked his body upward, causing Kermit to hit the car ceiling with the top of his skull. But his practiced hands finished the job. David was restrained.

Now, Kermit focused on getting David away from this hellhole. But how was he going to rid him of the filth coursing through his mind and veins? It wasn't going to be easy. He hated to admit that he was out of his league. This called for someone professional -- a different profession than his own. He knew who could handle it. He would call him later.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   

Back to author's index      Back to Story index