Eddie Martino smoked his last crumpled butt that he had found on the street. It had a few puffs left to it. He needed it to calm his jangling nerves. Geraldo hadn’t gotten him his fix, said he owed B.B. too much, so Eddie had to somehow scrounge up the money for himself. Fuck Geraldo. He was going to get five hits and do ’em all, and fuck Geraldo and his goddamn Praise-God! girlfriend who was so fucking high maintenance that she needed a whole dime of her own.
Eddie rearranged hisYankees baseball cap to just the right degree of swagger. He had a thin line of hair that went along his jaw, and an equally thin mustache. He had lighter skin than most of his Puerto Rican brethren, because he spent most of his time indoors shooting up, riding the high, and coming down. He came out at night, when the hookers and the dealers were out. He took out his phone and put the camera on to look at himself, to make sure he didn’t look too hungry or desperate. He wasn’t a junkie. He could walk away from the shit whenever he wanted. He just didn’t want to right now.
He called Jiffy, one of his dealers.and was heading the three blocks to get the hit, when he felt someone following him. He turned around to see a man, a huge man, following him. Eddie crossed the street. The man followed. Eddie wished he’d brought his pistol. Eddie ducked into an alcove. The man walked by him. Eddie stepped out of the alcove, and then he saw blackness. Someone slipped a hood over his head.
Eddie kicked and lashed out, connecting with someone who grunted. The hood was drawn tightly over his face, tight around his neck. His hands flew to his throat to try and pull the hood away from his throat. It was like a chain, digging into his windpipe. He tried to hook his fingers around the chain, but he couldn’t. He felt himself being dragged backwards, then he was thrown down.
He pulled the hood off. He was in a dingy cellar, on a concrete floor. Two men stood over him: One, the huge man who had walked bhind him, and another a smaller, thinner light-skinned blond. He nodded to the big man. The big man flicked his hands, and a chain, long and thick, flowed from his hand to the floor. It glowed green. He whipped it at Eddie, and the chain wrapped around him. The man held onto the end of the chain as Eddie tried to back away.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
The blond man said, “Where did you get the gold ring from that you brought to Empire Pawn Shop?”
“What gold ring?”
The blond man hauled off and punched Eddie solidly in the nose. Blood erupted from the punch, going all over the blond’s sleeve and down Eddie’s face. “Mother fucker!”
“This gold ring!” the blond said, showing him his fist. He saw a gold ring around the man’s ring finger. “It’s my wedding ring. Who gave it to you?”
“I fuckin’ found it.”
“Steel,” said the blond, stepping aside.
The big man did nothing but grip the chain. It suddenly felt like he was wrapped not in chains, but in barbed wire that sawed at his flesh. He struggled and screamed, but the chain dug in more.
“Enough,” said the blond. “Where did you find it?”
Eddie tried to bend over, but the chain was so tight around him that he couldn’t bend. He was afraid if he did, the barbs would dig in even more. “By Tantrick. The club. Seventy-third Street.”
“You’re going to get us in that club,” said the blond. “Or I’ll kill you.”
The chains loosened, the bars pulling out of his skin. His shirt was covered in blood. The blond man touched his collar, making him flinch. The blood and holes disappeared.
“How did you–”
“Ancient Chinese secret.”
