CHAPTER 10

The door to a suburban apartment opens, and a man in his early thirties walks in, seemingly worn out from a day of work. He puts his coat up, and turns on the light.

He screams briefly, surprised to see a man in all black with a hood covering his face sitting on his couch late at night.

I can tell he's terrified. Good.

"Who…. who are you?!" he screams, panicked. "How did you get in here?!"

"Who supplied you with heroin?" I ask, keeping a lower, quiet tone.

"I will call the police if you don't tell me who you are!" he says. "I have a gun in the house!"

"Just answer my question. Who supplied you with it?" I ask calmly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about! Get out right now, or you'll regret coming in here!" His voice is shaky, and I can see him sweating from the stress. "Did you hear me? Get out right now!"

Why do these guys always have to be so difficult?

"I know you've been dealing heroin in the streets a few blocks down from here. The people you sold these drugs to told politely told me where you lived, so please don't lie to me. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, and I don't recommend the hard way. So please tell me: who supplied you?" I say, not making a single movement on the couch.

"Don't make me get my gun!" he screams. "I'll kill you! Get out of my apartment!"

"I'm not here to hurt you. I just need you to answer my question."

"Who told you I was here?" he asks, anger in his voice now. "Who told you?"

"For their best interest, I've elected not to tell. Now, who supplied you?"

"What happens after I tell you? Are you going to turn me in?" he asks.

"I would much prefer that to the alternative. But you need to work with me here. So please don't be difficult when I ask: who supplied you with heroin?"

He stands there still, trembling a little. "You're insane," he says.

Believe me, I know.

"Just tell me their name, and we can pretend this never happened," I say.

I see him tremble, on the verge of telling me. I lean forward on the couch, ready to listen.

He shakes. "I got them from…." he stops. "HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE-"

I lunge at him, and cover his mouth so he can't scream. He struggles as I firmly hold his body down.

"I'll give you one last chance: tell me their name. And I'll let you go," I softly say.

He doesn't, and continues his struggle as he tries even harder to get his scream out..

I suppose he wants to do it the hard way.

I will not go into the details of what happened next. But needless to say, I got what I needed, with minimal damage. (To me, anyway. I can't really speak for him.)

Walking into my house, I take off my jacket. I look around my "home," though it really doesn't feel like it. It's a nice size, but I wish it were a bit smaller.

I walk into my bedroom, and cross another name off the list.

Admittedly, I might have not been telling that man the entire truth back there. Part of me wanted to just get the information without much trouble, but part of me likes it when these people are difficult. It causes a good shakeup in the story, and keeps things interesting. I always like an occasional good bit of action. If only that were enough to keep me fully satisfied.

I would never tell anybody this, though.

I sprawl myself on my bed, attempting to fall asleep. But my logic from all these years back still applies: the worst way to fall asleep is to actually try to fall asleep. And I'd say this logic applies to many other things besides just sleep.

It's funny to think that I've been around for twenty-three years, and this is where I am in my life. A good part of me feels a lot older than I really am, like I grew up too fast and realized what the world really was too soon. But there's another part of me still feels like a little kid.

For my entire life I've been preparing for the eventual prime of my life, and then when the realization comes that I'm now in that prime, I feel nothing. (Come to think of it, this would be a great conversation to have with Caroline in the future.)

On impulse, I get up and grab a telephone. I dial a number, hoping it still works.

Someone picks up.

"Hello?" I hear the signature British accent from the other side of the phone.

"Hello, Alfred." I say.

"I honestly expected the second coming of Christ before you called me again," he jokes.

"Yeah, I know it's been awhile. I just was wondering if you wanted meet up again sometime."