Needle (26 page)

“You guys wanna get high?” he asked.

Matt may have typically been a selfish junky, but with 25 bags of dope to spare I suppose he felt he could afford to be generous. Then again, with the enormity of his habit, that amounted to no more than a week’s supply.

I grabbed a needle and tapped my own vein. The heroin was strong. In fact, it was clearly the most potent strain I’d had to date, so when Matt started opening another bag I had no choice but to smack him in his face.

“Leave me alone, asshole—I know what I’m doing!” he said, which would have been more believable had we not been sitting in what was now
PERRY’S
car.

“Matt, you’re gonna overdose and when you do, I swear to God I’ll leave you lying in a puddle of your own piss,” I warned him.

“Go fuck yourself. I can handle twice as much dope as you two pussies combined,” he said as if that was something to brag about, which, I suppose on some twisted level it was because that was a shitload of dope. Regardless, however, Matt ignored my threat and proceeded to go back for seconds. As he plunged the needle into his arm for the second time in two minutes, I could see his eyes roll back once more.

And then he was unconscious.

“Watch,” I said to Perry. “I’ll bet you 20 bucks his heart stops.”

“Ten,” he countered, as apparently Matt’s heartbeat wasn’t quite worth twenty. Perry then jumped in the backseat and felt for a pulse as he monitored a clock on the dashboard.

Ten seconds passed.

“Anything?” I asked, not entirely sure of what to hope for.

“I can’t tell yet. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.”

Twenty seconds passed.

“How about now?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Perry said as he put an ear to Matt’s chest.

“Maybe we should take him to the hospital,” I told him. “But first—
pay the fuck up!”

“Wow. I really don’t think I hear anything,” Perry said again, ignoring my demand as 30 seconds had now elapsed.

“OH FUCK!!!” I screamed in horror as I finally realized what was happening. “You spent all your fucking money on the car—and you already owe me two bucks!”

“Holy shit, Craig! His heart really isn’t beating!”

“Don’t worry about it. You can just pay me twelve when you get it.”

Suddenly, with his head against Matt’s chest, Perry’s eyes lit up at the 40-second mark.

“I’ve got a heartbeat!” he said triumphantly.

“Liar!!!”

“No really,” Perry protested. “I
definitely
have a heartbeat…Come listen.”

I jumped into the backseat and it was clear that not only was Matt’s heart beating, but he was breathing as well.

“Fuck!” I said as I handed Perry his winnings, but not before rummaging through Matt’s pockets to recoup any losses resulting from his pesky heartbeat. After a lengthy search I eventually found one of his bundles and extracted a bag to enjoy later in retribution.

“We should probably walk him around some,” Perry suggested.

We dragged Matt’s worthless and seemingly lifeless body out of the car for a stroll along Houston Street. After about five minutes he returned to consciousness, though just long enough to angrily push us away and then pass out in a mountain of garbage on the corner of First Avenue.

“Come on, douche bag,” I said as I tried to return Matt to his feet.

“Get off,” he slurred.

“Matt! You’re lying in a pile of garbage.”

“I don’t care. Leave me alone.”

Perry bent over to help and once again an attempt was made to bring Matt to his feet.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” he slurred, and then passed out
once more.

“Man, I could really go for a pastrami on rye,” I said, changing the subject as I noticed Katz’s Delicatessen almost directly across the street from where Matt was relaxing in the refuse.

“Yeah, me too,” Perry agreed.

“Then you watch stupid while I get the sandwiches.”

I went to the deli and bought two sandwiches and two cans of Pepsi. When I returned, Matt was still lying in garbage as Perry sat and waited on the steps of a nearby building.

I took a seat next to him and we ate. For about fifteen minutes we tried to enjoy the pastrami, while intermittently chasing pigeons and curious school children away from Matt’s body.

“Is he dead?” a little boy asked, as he poked and prodded Matt with a stick.

“Yeah, he’s dead. Now get the fuck away from him you little shit,” Perry said.

“How’d he die?” the little shit asked as he pinched Matt’s nostrils to see if he was faking.

“He died from AIDS,” Perry said. “So you better get outta here before you catch it.”

“You can’t catch AIDS that easily,” the fourth grader informed him.

“Yes you can.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes you
can.”

“No you can’t.”

“He died from
Junky
AIDS—not regular AIDS,” Perry clarified.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Oh
really
? You think I’m lying?!? Go home and tell your mother you caught AIDS from a dead junky and see what she says.”

“She’ll say you’re a liar,” the boy responded and we were beginning to think this kid wasn’t so cute.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!”
Perry roared as he finally lost all patience and threw what was left of his sandwich at the kid. Although the little pain in the ass finally left, the pigeons returned with a vengeance to claim pieces of pastrami that were now scattered around Matt.

We were beginning to attract attention and that was a bad thing, as I had a bag of dope in my pocket along with a set of works—which was everything a cop could ever hope for in a junky. Of course, Matt
still had over
20
bags of dope in his own possession—which might be enough for a distribution charge. Unfortunately, he concealed most of the heroin so well that it would take more than a few moments to locate and remove and now, with the neighborhood becoming aware of his condition, it just wasn’t worth the risk. I knew that with the increasing amount of attention a cop would be rolling by any minute, and if one or both of us were caught rifling through Matt’s pockets—we’d
all
be going to jail.

As three or four pigeons boarded Matt’s chest to gain better access to a few hunks of pastrami, we realized that we had no choice other than to step away from the spectacle and leave Matt to his fate. It was simply a matter of survival.

51

“Although the bicuspid aortic valve is the most common heart valve defect at birth, it is found in only 1.36% of the population. Although many people live a normal life without even being aware of this condition, bicuspid aortic valves are still more prone to disease than the normal three cusped valves. Over the years, conditions such as restricted blood flow to the aorta (aortic stenosis), backflow of blood from the aorta into the heart (aortic regurgitation) and valve infection
(endocarditis)
are often detected with associated symptoms during adulthood as progressive damage is done to the bicuspid aortic valve
.

Endocarditis
is an inflammation and deterioration of the inside lining of the heart chambers and heart valves (endocardium). Bacterial infection is its most common source as bacteria may deposit on the malformed bicuspid aortic valve, causing the condition. Recent dental surgery, prior valve surgery, and weakened valves are risk factors for developing endocarditis. A history of congenital heart disease, rheumatic fever, or
intravenous drug use raises the index of suspicion.”
*

*
Ahajournals.org

###

As Perry and I left Matt lying there in the interest of self preservation, the cops drove by and apparently, unable to distinguish his body from the pile of garbage—they kept right on driving. It was either that, or the fact that a dead or dying junky wasn’t nearly as much fun to bust. Regardless, an ambulance was there within minutes and Matt was once again whisked away to St. Vincent’s Hospital.

I’m sure that treating heroin overdoses was fairly commonplace in this West Village medical facility. Not surprisingly, however, administering to those that ended up on a pile of garbage was probably less routine, especially when that pile of garbage turns out not to be a pile of garbage but rather, a pile of garbage
bags
brimming with towels that had been soaked in bleach. As a result of Matt’s insistence to use them as a recliner, he suffered second degree burns to his hands, legs, and ass as the bleach soaked right through his Levis while he was too fucked up to notice or tell anyone.

He spent several days lying on his belly in the hospital, and though the dope was so well-concealed that Matt was able to hang on to it along with his freedom, The Good Detective had finally had enough and decided to kick his burnt ass out of the house. That night Matt ended up on my doorstep with a sob story and a rationalization. He said that everything had turned out for the best, as he could now be in Manhattan full-time and devote more of himself to the CD.

Hooray!

Unfortunately, being in Manhattan full-time apparently also meant becoming my roommate, and I wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Nonetheless, although his value to the band was rapidly diminishing, I just didn’t have the heart to send him away—especially now that he was officially homeless. To dramatize things further, that same evening Perry had become so ill that he left Gina’s and checked himself into Lenox Hill Hospital. At about 4 p.m. on the following day he called me at Serendipity.

“What’s up dude? I’m glad I caught you before you left,” he said.

“What’d the doctor say?”

“I have endocarditis. It’s no big deal.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a bacterial infection on my heart,” he explained.

“Are you gonna be OK?”

“Yeah. But I need to have heart surgery,” he said as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“WHAT?!?”

“They have to replace a valve.”

“Holy fucking shit!!!” I went on, still floored by the news.

“It’s from all the dope, but don’t worry about it. Right now I need a favor.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to get me some dope.”

“Are you fucking serious?!?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think that now’s a good time to quit,” I asked, “at least for a fucking day or two?!”

“I haven’t had any dope in almost a week. I’m not sick, I’m just bored. Please. Bring me a bag. Just one. It’ll help pass the time.”

“You just told me that you have to have heart surgery because you’re a dope fiend, and now you’re telling me to bring you dope. Seriously, Perry—you’re stupider than Matt.”

“Listen, it’s not
actually
because of the dope,” he said. “It’s because of the
impurities
in the dope and the dirty needles I’ve been reusing—so don’t worry about it. Besides, they’ve already got an IV pumping me full of antibiotics and antifungal medications to kill the infection. Trust me, I’m impenetrable. I couldn’t even catch a cold if I tried.”

“Fine,” I said with some disgust. “Give me an hour.”

I left Serendipity and caught the #6 train to 110
^th
Street, copped two bags of dope, and then headed back downtown to 77
^th
.

I entered the hospital and was eventually directed to Perry’s room, where I found him sitting up in bed and attached to an IV. Without a word I immediately handed over the heroin and a syringe. He then loaded the needle and after disconnecting the IV for a moment, injected its contents directly into a catheter that was, for the time being, a permanent and very convenient fixture in his arm.

“You should see if they’ll let you take that home with you,” I suggested.

“I actually thought about that.”

“So when’s the surgery?” I asked.

“In three weeks.”

“Three fucking weeks! Isn’t that right around the time we’re supposed to begin recording?”

“You don’t need me right now. Just get everyone together and start things off. You know how everything’s supposed to sound.”

That reminded me:

“By the way, Matt finally got kicked out of his house last night and showed up at the apartment with nowhere else to go.”

“Perfect!”

“Perfect?
Perfect for you, maybe! You don’t have to live with him,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I know. But we’re finally recording and now we’ll definitely be able to get a hold of him. Besides, I won’t be working for a while, and he can help pay rent until I’m back on my feet.”

“Do we really even need him anymore?” I asked. “He still can’t remember the riffs, and we’re probably gonna have to replace him anyway.”

“Yeah, but since I’m in here we can use him to lay rhythm tracks and keep things moving along.”

“Man, I
really
don’t want to deal with Matt. Why don’t you just schedule the surgery for earlier so you can be ready?”

“It wouldn’t matter because I’ll have to spend a month in here recovering and besides, they first have to kill the vegetation growing on my heart,” he said, which made me want to puke.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Then they go in and replace the valve, which is bicuspid and the reason I got sick in the first place…besides the heroin.”

Apparently, most people are born with a tricuspid valve, as a bicuspid malformation is an extremely rare defect. However, many of the afflicted never even become aware of the condition unless they happen to be an IV drug user, in which case there is a good probability of endocarditis developing on or around the faulty valve. Though I was sensitive to Perry’s plight, not to mention worried about him, I couldn’t help but resent the fact that I’d now have to manage the recording effort.

“Listen,” Perry said to me. “I know this isn’t supposed to be your job, but you’re gonna have to step up and rise to the occasion or else we might lose the opportunity.”

52

Matt became a fixture in my apartment and by December, was spending most of his days glued to the couch. Supposedly, the reason behind his continued presence was an early and extended faculty recess, as the Bronx high school that employed him was being renovated. As a result, while Matt sat around watching Ricki Lake, his students were temporarily farmed-out to other schools in order to ensure that construction efforts were completed before the winter semester commenced in January. Making matters worse, he also mentioned that he wouldn’t be receiving any paychecks until then. Predictably, when rent was due he asked for a loan. Although he promised to reimburse me in January when he was paid retroactively, the whole thing sounded a bit fishy. Regardless, the bottom line was that it would be
my
responsibility to cover
his
half of the rent. Unfortunately, I knew it would be impossible for me to pay the entire rent single-handedly while already supporting both of our drug habits.