“For me?” she said, looking like a little girl who’d just been given a surprise present as I handed her the vial of marijuana that I’d put a small red ribbon on. “You are the best!”
Carrie, I soon found out, really liked to get high. We’d retire to her room where she’d put on an old Fleetwood Mac CD. She’d bring out her purple bong, fill up the bowl, light the match, inhale slowly like a pearl diver taking a big breath before diving down deep, then she’d move her thumb off the hole and the smoky cloud would zoom up into her lungs. She’d smile at me with slanted peaceful eyes, and then slowly exhale out her nose, large walrus tusks of smoke.
The girl was a pothead. When she’d drink, all her insecurities came out, but when we smoked pot together, she was relaxed and loved nothing more than to light candles and let me massage her with oil. After we’d make love, we’d watch a late-night movie or play video games and eat chips, popcorn, brownies and tubs of ice cream. I’ll admit it, I liked to get high too. Life was great!
Unfortunately, our supply dwindled quickly.
“We’re getting down to seeds and stems,” she said one night. “You think you get us some more from your source?”
“Of course I can,” I lied.
***
I turned to Fred, and for a month, he kept me in supply, selling me skinny joints for five dollars each.
“Can you get me a larger amount?” I asked Fred at the bar.
“Dude, why don’t you show some initiative and get some of your own? The city is your garden.”
“Huh?”
“Just steal it. Don’t tell me you haven’t been on calls where it’s just lying there for the taking. All the ODs we go to, it’s not like they always hide their stash before they hit up.”
“I don’t want heroin.”
“Where there’s heroin, there’s dope, just like where there’s alcohol, there’s dope. The President’s right—it’s the gateway drug.”
“But I smoke and I’d never do heroin.”
“You’re still a young man. I wouldn’t be surprised to see you, standing on the corner, strung out, your life belonging to the needle. I think you’ve got that kind of addictive personality. I mean look at you with your girl. She’s got you by the balls. Someday heroin’s going to get you the same way. Mark my words.”
“I don’t want heroin, just a little marijuana.”
“You should be getting some for yourself. It’s all over the place. You got to learn to pat down your patients. That’s where all my dope comes from. Why buy what you can get free?”
“Stealing?” I said.
“It’s not stealing, it’s asset forfeiture. Finder’s keepers. Possession of the law is 9/10s. It’s a well documented legal principle. If the shit wasn’t illegal in the first place, you’d win in court, and because the shit is illegal, they can’t take you to court. It’s just like why we’re going to war in the desert. We’re not going there to save the towel-heads, we’re going for the oil and the plunder. It’s there for the taking. It’s the American Way. Christopher Columbus did it. The old guy Roosevelt in the wheelchair did it. Bush is doing it. No reason we can’t. It’s an American tradition going back to the days of Genghis Khan.”
“I don’t know about stealing.”
“It’s getting you laid, isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell me Carrie doesn’t like the weed. How do you like her big bong?”
“How did you know about that?”
He looked at me like he often did—like I was an innocent just off a boat. “Jimmie Winslow told me. He used to supply her. The man had his sources, if you know what I mean. I think that was the only reason she put up with him as long as she did.”
“So can you get me some?”
He reached in his pocket and just like that handed me three joints. “These are only because you’re my friend, but I want to see you out there getting your own. Give a man a fish and you’ve fed him for a day, teach him to fish and you’ve fed him forever. Besides, you’re soon to be on your own. I’m going to be leaving for more lucrative pastures.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pointed to the TV where the newscaster was speculating about when the country was going to invade Iraq. “I’m thinking about enlisting.”
“Enlisting?”
“Yeah, my brother’s in the service. Since 9/11, a man in a uniform is a pussy magnet. You think medics are pussy magnets? Army Ranger, it’s a whole other exponential power there.”
“But they’d be shooting at you.”
“Comes with the territory. Besides, there’s treasure there—treasure for the taking.”
“Oil?”
“Gold—that’s what my brother says. This is not going to be desert fighting; we’re going into Baghdad. We’re going to be occupiers. We’re going to be rich, and I intend to take my game to a bigger scale.”
I didn’t know what to say. I thought he was crazy. I knew one thing: I wasn’t one to put myself in harm’s way any more than I could help.
“Gold and pussy,” Fred said, “makes the world go round. Now cough up the fifteen dollars you owe me.”