(2011) The Gift of Death (8 page)

‘
It’s good, yeah?’ said the man opposite, running his hand through his long, black hair.

‘
Yeah, real good,’ he said, pretending to inhale. Drugs were for the weak of will, the inadequates of this world.

‘
But what’s with the gloves, man?’

‘
What a drag,’ he said. ‘Doctor says I’ve got eczema. Got to keep these goddamn things on. It’s been getting me down. The gloves, creams, medication, you know. Another reason why tonight I really want to go for it, if you know what I mean. Try something a bit more far out.’

‘
I’m sure that can be arranged,’ said the man, smiling. ‘If you got the dough, I can get you whatever you want. They don’t call me Friendly Phil for nothing, man.’

He had been watching Phil for the best part of four months, tracking his every move, his every drop-off. He’d got his number from one of the punks on the street. He’d made contact by ringing his cell. He’d paid him for some grass, a few lines of coke, buying more and more over the course of the last few weeks. He’d always been careful to do business often at night and in out of the way locations like under the freeway interchanges or in the dark shadows of Elysian Park. Finally, after gaining his trust, Phil had invited him to his house in the hills on the wrong side of Silver Lake. Earlier that night he had followed Phil in his car, off Riverside Drive, by the dry Los Angeles River, on to Allesandro Street, and sharp left onto Sunflower. The road snaked up the hill until it finally turned into a dirt track, at the end of which lay Phil’s old, wooden house. As he had got out of his car he could hear the constant thrum of the Golden State Freeway below. He didn’t expect Phil to cry out, but if he did the noise of the traffic would probably drown out the sounds.

‘
You’re turning into one of my best customers, do you know that, Jim?’

He had quite enjoyed pretending to be Jim, but he realised it couldn’t go on forever. He would have to finish him off just as he was going to kill Phil.

‘
Yeah, and I’m pleased to do business with you too, man,’ he said. ‘Times must be booming for you, right?’

‘
I can’t complain,’ said Phil. ‘But I can’t keep in this line of work forever. Got to move on. Find something else.’

‘
Getting bored?’

‘
No, far from it, man,’ said Phil. ‘Just that sooner or later the cops get onto you. That or the gangs. I give it another six months, a year, and I’m out of it. By that time I should have enough dough to go straight. Set up my own business selling reconditioned guitars down in Santa Monica. Got it all planned.’

Should he give him a chance to get out? Clean himself up so he could go straight?

No way. How many times had he heard that before? Dealers were always promising themselves that they were going to go legit. But, in reality, they were just as addicted to making money as their clients were to the drugs.

But he would give him the opportunity anyway. One question. How he answered it would determine his fate. It was only right, after all.

‘
Does it ever get to you?’ he asked. ‘What you do?’

‘
What do you mean?’

‘
You know, dealing to kids, like.’

‘
What, do you mean do I ever feel guilty?’

‘
Yeah.’

‘
No way, man. As I see it I’m just a provider. There’s a demand out there that needs to be met, whatever. If I didn’t do it, sure as hell somebody would.’

‘
So you don’t look back and think – I don’t know – if only –‘

‘
Fuck that, man. Never look back, that’s my philosophy. Got to live in the present. The here and now.’

‘
So there’s nobody that you wish you –‘

‘
That I’d not dealt to?’

‘
Yeah.’

‘
Fuck off, man. Haven’t got time to think of that shit.’

So now he had his answer.

‘
What’s with the questions, man? Sounds like you need – hey, I got just the thing.’

Phil got up from his chair and walked across the room. He stopped by the top of the range sound system and put on another CD, something that sounded like an electronic reworking of dolphins singing.

‘
Just make yourself comfortable,’ he said, shouting through the music and going into the kitchen.

The guy, he thought, was a walking cliché. A tall, skinny, ageing hippy with a pony tail and a penchant for ambient music. One individual the world would not miss. As he waited for Phil to return, he got himself ready. He was sure he was doing the right thing, so he didn’t have to worry about battling with his conscience. That had all been settled. And, after all, he had even given him one last chance. All he had to do now was check he had everything he needed to do the job smoothly, cleanly, with the minimum amount of fuss.

He bent down and took hold of his rucksack, slowly unzipping it, feeling around for the syringe. The needle was still protected by its cover – he didn’t want to go and accidentally inject himself with this kind of stuff, he thought – but with the flick of his finger he would remove the sheath and it would be ready. He heard Phil’s footsteps as he walked across the wooden floor and then the sound of a drawer opening.

‘
You won’t believe this stuff,’ shouted Phil. ‘It doesn’t get any better than this.’

‘
Yeah, can’t wait,’ he replied, smiling to himself.

‘
It’s weird shit, though,’ said Phil, as he came out of the kitchen. ‘Too much and you’ve had it. So you’ve got to watch it, man. I’m serious. Don’t laugh, man.’

Phil sat down and started to open the pill box. He unscrewed the lid slowly, carefully, and took out one of the blue tablets, cradling the drug in the palm of his hand.

‘
Can I see?’ he said, getting up from his chair.

‘
Sure.’

‘
So what is it?’

‘
You don’t want to know, man,’ said Phil. ‘But I can guarantee that it’s the closest thing to paradise I’ve found. Really far out trip.’

‘
But not too much? What no more than two tabs, right?’

‘
Fuck off, man. Two tabs and you’d be fucking freakin’. One is the max. I told you, stop laughing. What’s so funny Jim? Shut the f-‘

At that moment he took out the needle he had been hiding up his sleeve and plunged it into the back of Phil’s neck. He stepped back, out of the way. As Phil whipped around, his arms flailing, the pill box fell to the floor, the tablets moving along the floor like strange, alien insects.

‘
Fuck –‘ he said, as he tried to stand up. But in that instant his body was consumed by paralysis. He slid back down in his chair like an overgrown rag doll.

‘
It’s not pleasant, is it Phil,’ he said, as he bent down and started to pick up the blue tablets, dropping them back into the small plastic container. ‘Drugs are strangely unpredictable things, aren’t they? Dangerous. Fatal even.’

He propped him back in his chair, rearranging his disordered limbs just like a funeral director would tidy up the body of a messy corpse.

‘
Don’t worry, this won’t kill you, well not in the dose I’ve given you,’ he said. ‘Just a very effective paralyser. Damn sight safer than some of the shit you peddle, Phil.’

He looked at the blue pills in the box and then passed them in front of Phil’s face.

‘
Now, what were you saying about these little things? A one way ticket to paradise, was it? Well, we’ll soon see, I suppose. But before then I just wanted to remind you of a couple of your customers, or should I say former customers? I suppose I should since neither of them are still with us, unfortunately.

‘
Yelena Graham? Recognise the name? No, guess you wouldn’t. A young girl who came to you – oh, six months ago now – who wanted some coke. She was a student at UCLA, had her whole future ahead of her. Sure you supplied her, why not? There’s a demand, right? But Yelena kept coming back and back and soon, after the cocaine, she started to ask you for crack and then heroin. Again, you didn’t have a problem. She had the money – gee, her parents were rich – and so you gave her as much as she wanted. But one night, Yelena – already loaded on booze, pills and god knows what else – took just too much. Found by her room-mate when she came back after the weekend.

‘
You didn’t know? Well, how about that. And what about Duane Rogers? Don’t remember him either? That’s too bad. Young black guy from Inglewood way. Heard about your so-called miracle pills, thought he’d try them out. But the trip to paradise you promised him turned into his last journey. On a night out with his friends – in one of those joints on Melrose – he started to hyperventilate. His buddies thought it was hilarious – they had all taken something or other, but poor Duane took one pill too many. He started to vomit, then he lost consciousness. One of his friends got him outside, where he called 911. But by the time paramedics arrived he had slipped into a coma. He lived – if you can call it that – in a vegetative state for a few weeks before his parents finally made the decision to switch off the life support.’

He stared down at Phil. His skin had turned pale, and the life had started to ebb away from his eyes.

‘
I know you might feel like you want to die, but sorry to say that’s not an option for the moment,’ he said. ‘That will come in due time, but first I want you to know what it was like for Yelena, for Duane. For all those poor fuckers out there who you’ve sold to. Call it empathy, if you like. Do you know what that means?’ He pretended to hear Phil’s answer. ‘That’s right. Imagining what it is like to see the world from another’s perspective, to feel their feelings, understand their thoughts. An aspect of emotional intelligence that is one of the keys to a successful life. You see, Phil, I do empathy big time. One of my greatest assets, but of course one of my greatest weaknesses, too. You see, it’s easy for me to take on the problems of the world, and each problem hurts me a little more. I feel every little sting, every little insult, every little oversight. It’s a cruel world, Phil. But it’s my job to make it a little nicer, a little more bearable. You do understand, don’t you?’

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he took on the pose of a waiter in a restaurant, with one arm behind his back.

‘
So, what’s on the menu tonight? Just a moment, sir. I’ll ask the chef and then I’ll be right back. If you wouldn’t mind remaining seated, sir. Thank you.’

He turned on his heels, enjoying the theatricality of the performance, and walked into the kitchen. The pine surfaces were cluttered with unwashed plates and old food lay smeared in pans on the stove. Dirty dishes filled the double sink, from which he could smell something stagnating. Another example, he thought, of how filth bred more filth. What hope had the world if it was full of the unclean, the morally corrupt, the degenerate?

Still wearing his gloves he started to search the cupboards, rifling through old cassette tapes, broken guitar strings, stained scraps of musical scores, until he found a cabinet full of small, plastic packets. He took out a few at random, and held them up to the light. Some of the packages contained a dark, seaweed-brown substance, while others were packed full of white powder. There were clusters of red, white and purple pills, some of which had been branded with various symbols: an erect phallus, an open vagina, an exploding head, a volcano, a paradisal beach. He shoved a selection in his pocket and headed back to Phil.

‘
Sorry for the slight delay, sir,’ he said, continuing the game. ‘I’m sorry to say I couldn’t locate the chef, so I have taken the liberty of preparing – what should I say? – the degustation menu for you. A selection of signature dishes, which I hope you will enjoy. What was that, sir?,’ he said pretending to hear a voice. ‘You’re ravenous? Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve got a large appetite. And we may as well begin with the hors d’oeuvres.’

He took hold of Phil’s head with the delicacy of a top-dollar dentist and moved him back in the chair. He opened his mouth and slowly poured in the contents of one of the packets of cocaine he had found in the kitchen.