Ted Thomas - The Swan Song of Dame Horse.pdf - Ted Thomas - widez2

Angie Grecca was a quick-thinking man who believed in planning ahead. When he made a buy, he

made it well in advance. He wanted none of the urgency that drove the users who waited until the last

minute. With his bags safely in his pocket he always had a steady hand. He could even bargain with the

pusher and make his buys at a better price. Angie Grecca planned ahead, and that way he always had

everything under control.

He glanced at his watch and knew it was almost time for a fix; he did it by the clock rather than by

his loins. He yawned and walked up the stairs to his room and laid out his stuff. Angie Grecca was proud

of the fact he made his own equipment. But unlike the equipment of the others, his was always sterile. No

hepatitis, or tetanus, for Angie Grecca, no abcesses on the arm. He carefully selected a well-boiled

needle and an eyedropper, being careful not to touch them where it mattered. He assembled them with

the sterile rubber components, and laid the outfit down on a Kleenex. He emptied the contents of a bag

into the bowl of the spoon and added a bit of sterile water. He watched the horse dissolve as he warmed

the mixture over his alcohol flame. His movements were slow and steady, another advantage of always

planning ahead! Never wait until the hands begin to shake.

It took Angie Grecca ten minutes to get ready, and he loved every minute of it. He wrapped his belt

around his upper left arm, twice, slipped the end through the buckle, and gripped the end between his

teeth. With both hands free he drew the broth up into the eyedropper, tested its temperature with his

finger, and slipped the needle into a distended vein. There were other marks on his arm, but they were all

small and well healed; Angie Grecca used nothing but the sharpest needles.

He settled back in his chair, squeezed the rubber bulb a bit, and then drew some blood back up into

the glass tube. He liked to delay it, play it a little. He waited for the feeling of gentle lassitude to begin. It

did not, so he worked more fluid back and forth into the vein, and waited. Nothing happened. He sat up

and shot it all in. There was no result.

Angie Grecca did not panic; he had another bag, and he immediately began to work on it. He moved

more quickly, but carefully still, his thoughts on Vince Corda, the pusher who had sold him the horse,

sold him a blank bag, all milk sugar. When Angie Grecca took the belt in his teeth this time, he bit down

on it hard, thinking of Corda. Nobody ever played Angie Grecca for a sucker, and Corda was going to

be one sorry slob.

Angie shot half the bag in one squeeze, waited for the feeling that did not come, and shot the rest.

Nothing, and that was all he had. Angie took the time to rinse the equipment and wrap it in the cloth and

drop it in a pocket. He went out and walked the two blocks to Washington Square and went in to

Podlofski's Mod Shop and said, "I need a buy, Pod. Now." His voice was raspy.

Podlofski looked at him with a practiced eye and said, "You in bad shape Angie. I dunno that I can

do anything for you. You see if—"

Angie managed a smile and said, "I got one pusher on my list right now, Pod, that just sold me a

coupla blanks. He's gonna get his, quick. Don't make me add you to my list, so stop playing around.

Now." He wiped away perspiration.

Podlofski dipped his head quickly and pulled a bag out from a pile of women's underwear beneath

the counter. He handed it to Angie and said, "Ten dollars."

Angie's smile showed more teeth, but he handed over the ten and said, "I'll take the use of your john

for a few minutes for that money." And he walked around the counter, pushed aside the protesting

Podlofski, and went into the bathroom and laid out his paraphernalia. In a minute and a half he shot the

bag. Nothing happened, and he slowly dropped his paraphernalia, one item at a time, into the

wastebasket and went out to the front of the store. Podlofski started to say something, but Angie picked

up a large incense burner and smashed it into his face. Podlofski crumpled to the floor, and Angie stood

over him and said hoarsely, "I don't know what you guys are up to, but you don't pull none of it on Angie

Grecca." Podlofski was unconscious.

His right triceps was twitching as Angie got out to the street. A block away he walked into the station

and up to the desk sergeant and said, "My name is Angie Grecca and I got some trouble."

"Yeah, Angie. I see you do. We'll send you over to the hospital."

"Before you do, I wanta blow the whistle on a couple guys. Vince Corda, Podlofski. Pushers. I'll

testify against them. You pick them up, I'll testify, anytime, anywhere. You understand? They cheated

me. I'll testify."

The sergeant made notes, and another junkie walked in, perspiring, nose running, gasping. While he

was blurting out his story, a third walked in. The sergeant sent them all over together in the same wagon,

and when they were herded into Admissions they found six more junkies in more or less advanced stages

of withdrawal symptoms. Even the police officers were astonished. "What the hell's going on? We got

half the users in the Thirty-fourth Precinct here. Somebody send in a bad shipment?"

Angie heard him and began to wonder. The doctors were making quick checks and segregating them

into groups and arranging for the guards to stand by. It was going to be a bad few days for everybody.

Among the doctors was a little man in a jacket and baggy slacks. He looked very much out of place.

Even through his increasing nausea Angie noticed him—funny little guy with a button of a nose, not old,

kept his head tilted back as though he were looking down his nose, even though he didn't have one.

They took Angie to one side and the intern said to the nurse, "I want this one on methadone for a few

days; he's going to testify." She nodded and quickly came back with the pill. Angie gratefully popped it

down with a little water. His nausea grew. The intern nodded to the nurse, and she got another. Angie

took it, waited a few moments, and threw up the water. He began to shiver, and his back hurt, and the

stomach cramps came on. The intern, a puzzled look on his face, went over him again. When the hot

flash came, Angie saw the little man with no nose watching him closely. The intern spoke quietly to the

little man and sent for a hypo with something and shot it into the muscle on Angie's upper left arm. It did

nothing, nothing at all. The little man spoke to the intern and left, and the intern watched Angie with wide

eyes. Through his cramps and spasms Angie knew that in some way he was a special case.

The next four days were bad ones for Angie. His habit was one of long standing, and the spasms that

wracked him, the diarrhea and vomiting, the chills and fever, the screaming need for horse made him wish

he were dead. For four days he wished he were dead, although they kept telling him, "Stay with it, Angie.

Nobody ever dies of heroin cold turkey in a hospital. Stay with it, boy. Another day or two."

When the worst was over the police took Angie's statement about Vince Corda and Podlofski. In

another few days he was well enough to leave. He walked out the door and headed back to his flat, eight

pounds lighter than when he went in. A block from his flat a car pulled up to the curb and a husky man in

a tight suit and a cauliflower ear hustled him into the back seat. Another man waited in the back seat

looking, acting and talking much like George Raft in the old movies.

He said, "Angie, I want to ask you. Why did you blow the whistle on Vince Corda and Podlofski?

They were good boys, hard working. Now, why did you do that?"

Angie Grecca stood by his principles, and though his stomach crawled within him, he said defiantly,

"They sold me bad goods, plain sugar, after I paid them good money, too. Nobody cheats Angie

Grecca. Nobody."

The George Raft type said, "Angie, that ain't true, it just ain't true. I happen to . . ."

"Don't tell me. I shot three bags in the space of half an hour. I know sugar when I get it. It was

nothing. Them guys is robbers."

"I happen to know that shipment was better than anything we ever had. Biggest one we ever had,

too. We was all surprised at how much got through, good pure stuff. And here you go and blow the

whistle on two good boys. Angie, we got to take you down to the river. Sorry, but we just got to do it."

He waved to the driver to move off.

Angie's stomach twisted into a very small, very hard knot, but he never lost his cool. He said, "You're

making a mistake. That stuff was no good, I tell you." He had a thought.

"How come all them other guys was in the hospital with me if that stuff was good? I never seen so

many guys in cold turkey before." He caught a quick glance between George Raft and the triggerman,

and knew he was on to something. "I saw something else funny at the hospital, too. I think you guys've

been had by the Feds." He stopped talking.

George Raft waited a decent interval, then said, "What else did you see at the hospital, Angie?"

"I want out of here if I tell you. Now wait." The triggerman had turned toward him and had reached

for his neck. "Wait. I'm telling you your stuff was no good. All the guys with the habit will tell you. Me

being at the bottom of the river won't change that. You must a lost more than Corda and Podlofski. Now

let's just talk about it like gentlemen, and forget about the river. O.K.?"

George Raft thought about it, and then waved the driver over to the side of the street. Angie could

see the river two blocks away. When the car stopped Angie said, "There was a strange guy there at the

hospital, little guy, about thirty-five, no nose, and he had Fed written all over him. He was watching us,

giving orders to the docs. He knew what was going on all the time. You find that little guy and ask him a

few things. He knows what's going on."

George Raft thought, a long time this time, then he said, "All right, Angie. We'll let you go this time,

but I want you to find out who that little guy is and what he's doing. You do that, and you won't have to

go to the river for now. But you blow this, and in you go."

"But I don't know nothing about these things. How am I gonna find out who he is, and all like that."

George Raft waved at the driver who put the car in gear, but Angie said, "Wait a minute, wait. All

right. I'll do it." He began to think. "Look, this is going to be a big deal. I'm gonna have to hire me some

private eyes, and like that. Where do I get the money?"

"I'll give you all you need. But Angie, you won't fool around none, will you? Because if you do, we'll

find you, and when we get done with you you'll wish you had gone right to the river this morning. You

understand, Angie?"

Angie nodded, and George Raft handed him a large roll of bills and said, "As of right now, Angie,

you're working for me. You do good, and you'll be all right. You blow this—"

Angie nodded, and hopped out of the car, and walked back to the hospital. Might just as well get

started right away. The intern said to him, "Didn't expect to see you back here so soon. You need

detoxification already?"

"Wise guy," said Angie. "I wanna find out something. Who's the little guy who was hanging around

here while I was in cold turkey. All you guys was talking to him all the time, doing what he said. Who

was he?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"He seemed like a good guy, like he knows what it's all about."

"Yes," said the intern. "He knows. That was Dr. Linden Grey, out of the Alexandra Research Center,

up in Stamford. He's a chemist."

"You mean he's not a regular doctor?"

"That's right. He knows a lot about medicine, but he's not a regular doctor. He's a Ph.D., a chemist."

"In Stamford, you say? In Connecticut?"

"Yes. High Ridge Road. He's interested in narcotics users. Why don't you stop out and see him?"

Angie Grecca nodded and walked out up to Grand Central and caught the next train for Stamford.

He was surprised at how close Stamford was. He caught a taxi out to the Research Center, and walked

in the front door. The receptionist looked at his wrinkled clothes and his pallor and his generally seedy

appearance and said, "The employment office is just down the hall. Go right on in."

Angie Grecca was used to going along with events to see what developed. The employment girl said

to him as he came in the door, "The only thing open is a bottle washer. We call it a glassware

maintenance engineer. You interested?"

Angie nodded, and she filled out the papers, and he signed them. An hour after he got off the train at

Stamford, Angie Grecca was an employee of the Alexandra Research Center, washing laboratory

glassware just down the hall from the laboratory of Dr. Linden Grey. In the hour or two left in the

afternoon Angie learned about caustic solutions, rubber aprons, ultrasonic cleaners, chromate solutions,

and hot water, especially hot water. He found a room in town that evening and blackened his moustache

and shaved off his eyebrows and bleached his hair. When he saw Dr. Linden Grey the next morning, the

doctor did not recognize him.

"What kinda work you do, Doc?" Angie believed in the direct approach.

Dr. Linden Grey looked down his nose that wasn't there, his head tilted back, looking with bright

blue eyes at Angie. "Little of this, little of that," he said. "You new around here?"

"Yeah."

"My name's Linden Grey. Friends call me Lindy." He stuck out a hand.

Angie shook it, thinking what a friendly little cuss he was. Angie said, "My friends call me Angie,

Lindy. What do you mean, 'little of this, little of that'? Don't you got a line of some kind?"

Grey's bright eyes sparkled, and he turned and tilted his head at a large, white oven-like affair in the

laboratory. "I'm a chemist most of the time. And watch yourself with the glassware from this lab, Angie.

Don't ever cut yourself with it. We try to clean it up before we let it out of here, but you know how it is.

We miss a few."

"What's on it?"

"Well, maybe some poisonous stuff. Nothing too bad though."

Two bright-looking young people came into the laboratory. One of them was a blond girl, and her

voice bubbled as she called out to Dr. Linden Grey, "Well, Nobby, in early again I see. Trying for

another one, are you?"

"Yeah," said her companion, "let's get the last one wrapped up before we launch into another one.

How're you this morning, Nob?"

Angie Grecca was a bit annoyed at the interruption; he had hoped to learn more from Dr. Linden

Grey. But he responded politely when Grey introduced the bouncy couple as his associates. Grey used

the title "glassware maintenance engineer" to describe Angie's job, but Angie quickly said, "C'mon, Doc.

I'm a bottle washer." And as he shook hands, Angie could tell that the bouncy couple liked what he said.

Angie said, "I thought your name was 'Lindy'. These people call you Nob. Am I in the right house?"

They all smiled, and the blond girl said, "Private joke, Angie. Lindy here is going to win the Nobel

Prize before too long. We just call him `Nob' while we can."

Angie shrugged. "Don't know what the Nobel Prize is, but it must be good. Got work to do. See you

around." He went over to the counter near the sink and began to transfer glassware from the wire holder

to his cart. He moved quietly, making little clatter, and he got his reward. He heard Grey say to the

others, "The slides came back, the ones from Turkey and Marseille. Come on over tonight, about seven,

and I'll show them."

There was some quiet, close talk that Angie could not hear, but he was not concerned. In

midmorning he found time to go to a telephone book and locate Dr. Linden Grey's home address. Right

after work that evening he went to the Stamford Library. The Reference Room librarian turned out to be

a stoutish, youngish woman who quickly made Angie feel that the most important part of her day was to

supply him with the information he needed. He quickly learned much more about Nobel Prizes than he

really wanted to know, but when he walked out, he was impressed. Angie felt that the bouncy couple

had not really been kidding about Dr. Linden Grey and the Nobel Prize.

Angie had time to rent a car before seven o'clock, and it was while he was waiting for the papers to

be filled out that he had the call. Just standing there, waiting for a form to be filled out, when the yearning

unexpectedly swept over him. The longing, the need, the feeling in his loins that he needed Dame Horse,

needed her bad. It was not the same as when he had the sweats. No goose flesh, no backaches, no

chills. Just a longing, strong, imperative. He struggled, and thought about the bottom of the river, and in a

moment he began to push it away from him. But the yearning stayed with him until the girl laid out the

papers for him to sign. With other things on his mind, the power of the call faded, and by the time he had

driven to Grey's neighborhood and parked the car a block away, he was in control again.

It was dusk as Angie strolled around the corner, looking everywhere except at Grey's house,

blending in with one or two other strollers. He slipped into a stand of arborvitae and watched a car pull

into Grey's driveway. As the bouncy couple went around to the front door to be let in, Angie went

around to the back and quickly found himself a hiding place in the bushes near an open window.

He listened to the three of them chat as Grey set up a projector and screen. Then Grey went to the

kitchen to get some beer before they settled down to watch the slides. Their conversation made more

than enough noise to cover the sounds Angie made when he took up a position from which he could see

the screen and hear plainly everything that was said.

A colored slide of an airplane sitting in an airport came on the screen, and Grey said, "There's my

luggage going aboard—two suitcases, and the ten cylinders at twenty pounds each, right out in the open.

We classified it simply as 'liquid fertilizer', and nobody asked any questions. Flew right to Ankara, got in

at night the way we'd planned. Here's a shot of the lights of Ankara at night as we came in. And this one I

made as Ambassador Oliphant and one of the Turkish ministers of health came out to meet the airplane.

Dr. Linden Grey shook hands with United States Ambassador Oliphant at the bottom of the stairs.

The ambassador said, "Dr. Grey, I'd like you to meet the Turkish Minister of Health, Mr. Bayar. He has

assured us of full cooperation in this matter. In fact we would all like to meet right now to iron out the last

details, if you're not too tired."

"I'm fine," said Grey, "and I would like to meet now, too. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll get

results." He shook hands with the minister, and the three of them watched while the ten cylinders were

placed in the trunk of the ambassador's car. They drove to the United States Embassy and sat down

around a table in a comfortable meeting room.

Mr. Bayar said, "I can't tell you, Dr. Grey, how vital to human welfare my government considers your

work. We are all overwhelmed by the scope and sweep of your intellect. Your name will go down in

history as the man who has done more for mankind than any other. We cannot tell . . ."

Grey held up his hand, in deep embarrassment, and said, "Please, Mr. Bayar. First, it was largely

luck on my part, and second, it is really a mixed blessing, like almost everything else in this life. Morphine

has been a very useful drug when handled right, and men will now have to get along without it. This is a

high price to pay."

Bayar waved a deprecating hand. "There are substitutes, plenty of synthetic substitutes, and the good

far, far outweighs the price. No, Dr. Grey. This is a towering accomplishment."

The ambassador saw how Grey felt, and so he said, "Well, shall we make our plans? Mr. Bayar, will

you tell Dr. Grey how you feel this should be handled?"

"Yes, certainly. Dr. Grey, we will take up a rather large airplane to spray the fields in Turkey. Fifteen

of our people will go with you on the first trip to observe what you do. Once they've learned, we can

dispatch smaller airplanes to spray the rest of the fields and to seed the air currents we've plotted to

reach the critical regions of China, India and Pakistan. In a week, the virus ought to be everywhere we

want."

Grey held up a hand. "Please, Mr. Bayar. Do not call it a virus; the name is too menacing. People

may panic when the information is released later if they think they've been exposed to some sort of hostile

virus. It isn't really a virus anyway. The name for it is `pseudovirion.' "

"Oh. I thought it was a virus." "No. It really is a gene wrapped in a virus-like coat. That's why it's so

small, about one millimicron in diameter. No extraction processes will remove it, but it's not a virus. We

call it PV, the abbreviation for pseudovirion. We think it's important not to use the name virus."

"Very well, Doctor. PV it is, from now on. All our airplanes are equipped to discharge the trickles of

liquid in the form of aerosols having the stated diameter you specified. Why that exact diameter?"

Grey said, "So the droplet will fall to the ground in a reasonable period of time without spreading

over too wide an area."

Bayar nodded and said, "I see. One more question, although I only ask it because the prime minister

wanted me to make one last check. You are certain, are you not, that the material is harmless to human

beings? I must make assurances again. Oh, I begin to see the importance of not calling it a virus. That

must have been what worried the prime minister despite all the assurances from you and your

government."

Grey nodded. "Many of us have been exposed to the pseudovirion. We know exactly what the

effects are, and they are totally harmless."

"Good. I will relay that information, along with the fact that the material is not a virus. That should do

it. Now, will you be ready to start in the morning?"

Ted Thomas - The Swan Song of Dame Horse.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: