Monday, 16 February 2026

Aspects of Dracula


 

 

 

Dracula (1992) ... Van Helsing - Vampires Do Exist ( Scene )

 

Mina Harker’s Journal.

30 September.—When we met in Dr. Seward’s study two hours after dinner, which had been at six o’clock, we unconsciously formed a sort of board or committee. Professor Van Helsing took the head of the table, to which Dr. Seward motioned him as he came into the room. He made me sit next to him on his right, and asked me to act as Secretary; Jonathan sat next to me. Opposite us were Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, and Mr. Morris—Lord Godalming being next the Professor, and Dr. Seward in the centre. The Professor said:—

“I may, I suppose, take it that we are all acquainted with the facts that are in these papers.” We all expressed assent, and he went on:—

“Then it were, I think good that I tell you something of the kind of enemy with which we have to deal. I shall then make known to you something of the history of this man, which has been ascertained for me. So we then can discuss how we shall act, and can take our measure according.

“There are such beings as vampires; some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane peoples. I admit that at the first I was sceptic. Were it not that through long years I have train myself to keep an open mind, I could not have believe until such time as that fact thunder on my ear. ‘See! see! I prove; I prove.’ Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know—nay, had I even guess at him—one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her. But that is gone; and we must so work, that other poor souls perish not, whilst we can save. The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear at will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he can, within his range, direct the elements; the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the bat—the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. How then are we to begin our strike to destroy him? How shall we find his where; and having found it, how can we destroy? My friends, this is much; it is a terrible task that we undertake, and there may be consequence to make the brave shudder. For if we fail in this our fight he must surely win; and then where end we? Life is nothings; I heed him not. But to fail here, is not mere life or death. It is that we become as him; that we henceforward become foul things of the night like him—without heart or conscience, preying on the bodies and the souls of those we love best. To us for ever are the gates of heaven shut; for who shall open them to us again? We go on for all time abhorred by all; a blot on the face of God’s sunshine; an arrow in the side of Him who died for man. But we are face to face with duty; and in such case must we shrink? For me, I say, no; but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow; but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?”

Whilst he was speaking, Jonathan had taken my hand. I feared, oh so much, that the appalling nature of our danger was overcoming him when I saw his hand stretch out; but it was life to me to feel its touch—so strong, so self-reliant, so resolute. A brave man’s hand can speak for itself; it does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music.

When the Professor had done speaking my husband looked in my eyes, and I in his; there was no need for speaking between us.

“I answer for Mina and myself,” he said.

“Count me in, Professor,” said Mr. Quincey Morris, laconically as usual.

“I am with you,” said Lord Godalming, “for Lucy’s sake, if for no other reason.”

Dr. Seward simply nodded. The Professor stood up and, after laying his golden crucifix on the table, held out his hand on either side. I took his right hand, and Lord Godalming his left; Jonathan held my right with his left and stretched across to Mr. Morris. So as we all took hands our solemn compact was made. I felt my heart icy cold, but it did not even occur to me to draw back. We resumed our places, and Dr. Van Helsing went on with a sort of cheerfulness which showed that the serious work had begun. It was to be taken as gravely, and in as businesslike a way, as any other transaction of life:—

“Well, you know what we have to contend against; but we, too, are not without strength. We have on our side power of combination—a power denied to the vampire kind; we have sources of science; We are Free to act and think; and the hours of the day and the night are ours equally. In fact, so far as our powers extend, they are unfettered, and we are free to use them. We have self-devotion in a cause, and an end to achieve which is not a selfish one. These things are much.

“Now let us see how far the general powers arrayed against us are restrict, and how the individual cannot. In fine, let us consider the limitations of the vampire in general, and of this one in particular.

“All we have to go upon are traditions and superstitions. These do not at the first appear much, when the matter is one of life and death—nay of more than either life or death. Yet must we be satisfied; in the first place because we have to be—no other means is at our control—and secondly, because, after all, these things—tradition and superstition—are everything. Does not the belief in vampires rest for others—though not, alas! for us—on them? A year ago which of us would have received such a possibility, in the midst of our scientific, sceptical, matter-of-fact nineteenth century? We even scouted a belief that we saw justified under our very eyes. Take it, then, that the vampire, and the belief in his limitations and his cure, rest for the moment on the same base. 

 

For, let me tell you, he is known everywhere that men have been. In old Greece, in old Rome; he flourish in Germany all over, in France, in India, even in the Chernosese; and in China, so far from us in all ways, there even is he, and the peoples fear him at this day. He have follow the wake of the berserker Icelander, the devil-begotten Hun, the Slav, the Saxon, the Magyar. 

 

So far, then, we have all we may act upon; and let me tell you that very much of the beliefs are justified by what we have seen in our own so unhappy experience. The vampire live on, and cannot die by mere passing of the time; he can flourish when that he can fatten on the blood of the living. Even more, we have seen amongst us that he can even grow younger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. 

 

But he cannot flourish without this diet; he eat not as others. Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never! He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand—witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create—that noble ship’s captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust—as again Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small—we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door. He can, when once he find his way, come out from anything or into anything, no matter how close it be bound or even fused up with fire—solder you call it. He can see in the dark—no small power this, in a world which is one half shut from the light. 

 

Ah, but hear me through. He can do all these things, yet he is not free. Nay; he is even more prisoner than the slave of the galley, than the madman in his cell. He cannot go where he lists; he who is not of nature has yet to obey some of nature’s laws—why we know not. He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come; though afterwards he can come as he please. His power ceases, as does that of all evil things, at the coming of the day. Only at certain times can he have limited freedom. If he be not at the place whither he is bound, he can only change himself at noon or at exact sunrise or sunset. 

These things are we told, and in this record of ours we have proof by inference. Thus, whereas he can do as he will within his limit, when he have his earth-home, his coffin-home, his hell-home, the place unhallowed, as we saw when he went to the grave of the suicide at Whitby; still at other time he can only change when the time come. 

It is said, too, that he can only pass running water at the slack or the flood of the tide. Then there are things which so afflict him that he has no power, as the garlic that we know of; and as for things sacred, as this symbol, my crucifix, that was amongst us even now when we resolve, to them he is nothing, but in their presence he take his place far off and silent with respect. 

There are others, too, which I shall tell you of, lest in our seeking we may need them. The branch of wild rose on his coffin keep him that he move not from it; a sacred bullet fired into the coffin kill him so that he be true dead; and as for the stake through him, we know already of its peace; or the cut-off head that giveth rest. We have seen it with our eyes.

“Thus when we find the habitation of this man-that-was, we can confine him to his coffin and destroy him, if we obey what we know. But he is clever. I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. 

He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the ‘land beyond the forest.’ That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now arrayed against us. 

The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as ‘stregoica’—witch, ‘ordog,’ and ‘pokol’—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as ‘wampyr,’ which we all understand too well. 

There have been from the loins of this very one great men and good women, and their graves make sacred the earth where alone this foulness can dwell. For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is rooted deep in all good; in soil barren of holy memories it cannot rest.”

Whilst they were talking Mr. Morris was looking steadily at the window, and he now got up quietly, and went out of the room. There was a little pause, and then the Professor went on:—

“And now we must settle what we do. We have here much data, and we must proceed to lay out our campaign. We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace——”

Here we were interrupted in a very startling way. Outside the house came the sound of a pistol-shot; the glass of the window was shattered with a bullet, which, ricochetting from the top of the embrasure, struck the far wall of the room. I am afraid I am at heart a coward, for I shrieked out. The men all jumped to their feet; Lord Godalming flew over to the window and threw up the sash. As he did so we heard Mr. Morris’s voice without:—

“Sorry! I fear I have alarmed you. I shall come in and tell you about it.” A minute later he came in and said:—

“It was an idiotic thing of me to do, and I ask your pardon, Mrs. Harker, most sincerely; I fear I must have frightened you terribly. But the fact is that whilst the Professor was talking there came a big bat and sat on the window-sill. I have got such a horror of the damned brutes from recent events that I cannot stand them, and I went out to have a shot, as I have been doing of late of evenings, whenever I have seen one. You used to laugh at me for it then, Art.”

“Did you hit it?” asked Dr. Van Helsing.

“I don’t know; I fancy not, for it flew away into the wood.” Without saying any more he took his seat, and the Professor began to resume his statement:—

“We must trace each of these boxes; and when we are ready, we must either capture or kill this monster in his lair; or we must, so to speak, sterilise the earth, so that no more he can seek safety in it. Thus in the end we may find him in his form of man between the hours of noon and sunset, and so engage with him when he is at his most weak.

“And now for you, Madam Mina, this night is the end until all be well. You are too precious to us to have such risk. When we part to-night, you no more must question. We shall tell you all in good time. We are men and are able to bear; but you must be our star and our hope, and we shall act all the more free that you are not in the danger, such as we are.”

All the men, even Jonathan, seemed relieved; but it did not seem to me good that they should brave danger and, perhaps, lessen their safety—strength being the best safety—through care of me; but their minds were made up, and, though it was a bitter pill for me to swallow, I could say nothing, save to accept their chivalrous care of me.

Mr. Morris resumed the discussion:—

“As there is no time to lose, I vote we have a look at his house right now. Time is everything with him; and swift action on our part may save another victim.”

I own that my heart began to fail me when the time for action came so close, but I did not say anything, for I had a greater fear that if I appeared as a drag or a hindrance to their work, they might even leave me out of their counsels altogether. They have now gone off to Carfax, with means to get into the house.

Manlike, they had told me to go to bed and sleep; as if a woman can sleep when those she loves are in danger! I shall lie down and pretend to sleep, lest Jonathan have added anxiety about me when he returns.

Dreams are A Haven where We Sin without Consequence --



[ Harker seems confused, losing track of 
Their Conversation, of the intent laying behind Van Helsings' relentless sharp and probing Questions, and The Reasons for them -- 
"Why is she asking me that and how can she know that which was in My Mind on that night all those weeks ago now, previously, that which I myself I forgoten until just now at that very instant..!? What else can or could she know of Me or of the contents of my own person or of my character, up to and including all that now weighs most heavily upon my very own Damned & Wretched, Wicked Outlaw Soul...?

Van Helsing :
-- You longed for her.

Harker : 
....One longs for 
The Solace of Home.

Van Helsing :
One longs, certainly.
Tell Me more 
about Your Dream.

HARKER:
......It is private.

Van Helsing :
Your ache for her.
You were together 
in Your Dream.

HARKER:
I-I don't...
This is not...

GASPS

HISSES

Sexual GASPS AND PANTS


Van Helsing :
There is no Shame in it....
Dreams are A Haven where 
We Sin without Consequence --

Believe ME, I know --
Some mornings, I can hardly 
Look Sister Rosa in The Face --

(He doesn't rise to take The Bait;
He remains only very Dimly and 
quite Dunning-Krugerishly-unaware
that Bait of any sort is even there, 
on the premises of Van Helsing's Convent,
much less on offer to him, right here, right now 
in this very exact precise present-Moment --)

HARKER :
.....What You asked 
before, if I'd...

Van Helsing :
....if You'd ever had 
sexual intercourse
with Count Dracula.

HARKER:
-- Mm. Why 
Did You ASK that?

Van Helsing :
Clearly, You have 
been contaminated 
with something;

Any Contact 
You've had with
Count Dracula,
sexual or otherwise,
is therefore relevant.

BREATHES UNSTEADILY

Continue.

Sunday, 15 February 2026

Wife-in-Laws





While in The City I looked up Sweet. 


I was careful because all the heat in the neighborhood knew me. Sweet insisted I give him all the details of My Escape. He shook his skull in awe when he heard them. 


Miss Peaches had died of old age. His eyes were sad when he told me about it. Glass Top was still out West in Seattle. Patch Eye did a little bookie business for him. Sweet had lost His Glory. He looked a hundred years old. His backbone was the old white broad who owned the building. 


Sweet had just beat a murder rap. He had killed some pretty jerk from St Louis who had insulted him in the Roost. The poor chump had called Sweet an ugly, gray-ass bastard. 


Sweet had drawn his pistol on him. He prodded him into an alley. He made him kneel and then he pissed on him. This was too much to take, so The Kid lost his temper. Sweet shot him through the top of the head. Sweet was laughing, in a good mood as he told me about it. It had cost him five grand to beat it. He told me he got a wire that Red Eye got life for croaking a whore in Pittsburgh. Sweet had a complete answer to my problem. He said that since Serena hadn’t beefed I should go back into Ohio. No state was better at the time for house or street. 


Before I left I went to his john. 

The door had a padlock on the outside


He looked at me grinned, 

and said, ‛Pal, my crapper is out of order.’ 


I went downstairs to the john in the bookie joint. 

On the way out I asked Patch Eye why 

Sweet didn’t get his toilet fixed. 


The old ex-pimp, without looking up answered, 

‛Shit, ain’t nothing wrong with the crapper. 


That cold bastard has his two whores 

locked in there for fucking with his scratch. 


They been in there three days.’ 



I walked toward my car. I wondered how long Sweet would keep them there and how long the whores could live with just water. I got back from The City. I stopped downtown at Rachel’s suite. I stayed for the night. I outlined The Move. 


The next morning I was looking out the window down on The Street. There was a stooped white-haired joker dumping barrels of hotel garbage into a huge truck. It was Steve. I’d know him in hell! 


A hot-flash shot through me. I don’t know what happened after that. Rachel told me I snatched my thirty-two from my coat pocket in the closet. I ran to the service elevator in my pajamas. She followed me all the way to The Street. I didn’t say a word. The truck had pulled away when we reached the sidewalk. She got me back upstairs. 


It had been A Sucker Play for A Fugitive. Lucky for me no rollers showed on the scene. I dressed and told Rachel I’d be back later and I wanted the rest of The Stable in her joint. 


I stopped at a leather-goods shop and bought a small valise. It was about the size that A Doctor carries. I stopped at several banks and cracked some of my big bills into enough singles to fill the bag. 


I went to Mama’s to prepare The Flash. I filled it almost to the brim with singles. I put the remaining big bills on top


I was getting ready to ship My Stable. 

With my plan I could ship them without a strong fix. 


Even new whores Think twice before leaving A Rich Pimp. That afternoon they were all in Rachel’s plush suite. She was The Boss bitch. They had twenty-five dollar a day, neat rooms on the same floor. I walked in. They were smoking gangster and eager for My Speech. They were anxious to get back on The Track


I had loosened the catch on The Bag. I casually hurled it onto The Table before them. A bale of hundred-dollar bills jumped from the bag. Reefer enhances what you see. I saw on those whores’ faces that they were seeing every dollar of the mountain of greenbacks they had given me for the years I had been Their Man. Confidence flooded their eyes. I finished My Briefing and My Instructions. I had built my shining castles in the air. Brother, I could have sent those whores to Siberia, in bikinis, in The Wintertime


Keeping her wife-in-laws and my scratch straight up there in Toledo was the first acid test for Rachel as a Bottom-Woman


I stayed around Mama’s for a week. She was bugging me to embrace The Holy Ghost and The Fire. She begged me to square up and repent my sins. No, it was a little late for that. I moved on to Ohio again. Cleveland was only a short hop to Toledo. I set up a mad apartment in the larger city. Cleveland was jumping. I was ready for the best pimping of my career. Kim ran off with a wealthy white trick. I didn’t miss her. Both towns were crawling with young fine whores. The name of the game was still cop and blow. Within four months I had the three girls in Toledo and five in Cleveland. I was pimping good. I had a connection for stuff. All was perfect except for one thing. Rachel’s Name was ringing. Every pimp, con man and rich dope-peddler was shooting for her. They offered soft, irresistible propositions. Her head was getting as big as a pumpkin. 


I didn’t want to lose her. I had another more serious reason for wanting to hold her. If I blew her, she might pull a Runt on me and Go to The FBI


I got it through the wire that a slick con-man out of New York was using his beautiful jasper white girl as bait to cop Rachel. The same wire said that Rachel was getting weak for The Broad. I went to Toledo one early morning to Rachel’s. Sure enough there they were, the three of them in Rachel’s bed. Believe me they hadn’t gotten in there to recite bedtime stories. 


I was cool, icy as always. I let her con me that it was A Party, all business of course. That wire had described that bastard con player and his freak woman. 


I was in Trouble. If it had been any other bitch in the stable except Rachel it wouldn’t have been worth a fleeting thought. I couldn’t lose Rachel, my bottom woman, in this shitty fashion to some ass-hole con player. It could kill my career as a pimp. The news would flash in a dozen states. No, I couldn’t afford to lose her. I still had that expensive friend riding with me, that monkey on my back. Sweet would have had The Solution to this tough problem right off the top of his head. 


Sweet, the week before, had shot himself in the temple. 


He left a bitter note, ‛Good-bye squares! Kiss my pimping ass!’ 


I felt nothing when I got the wire

I left her apartment and drove out into the country. 

I spun The Wheels in My Skull. 


I got The Key to The Riddle. 


It was cruel but perfect

If it worked I’d never have to worry 

that she’d blow or cross me with The FBI. 


Rachel called me the next day. She told me she had just sent me three bills. She got them for The Party I had crashed. When she cracked, I knew I had to go through with The Cross. The three bills she was sending had to be scratch she had been holding out. That con bastard was too pretty and slick to spend three fat-ones with a whore. I had to make an honest whore of her from now on


I faked excitement when I told her about a sucker who was visiting Akron. It’s a small town, thirty miles from Cleveland. 


I told her I got a wire that The Sucker had hit The Numbers for twenty Gs. He had it all with him in his hotel room. 


I sold her that she could take it off Smooth and Easy. 

She said she would be down the next day to get briefed in detail


I had already driven to Akron and set The Stage for her. I had rented a hotel room in a fair hotel. I contacted a dignified looking old ex-slum hustler down on his luck. He spruced up a wino friend of his for The Play. 


The whole arrangement – clothes, room, and a bill apiece for the actors – came to a half-grand


The slum hustler was to wait in a pool room 

nearby for my call. Rachel got to my apartment at three P.M. 

We got to Akron around six. I told her one of the bellhops had told the sucker she would be there before seven. He was waiting for her. I slipped a small vial of mineral oil into her palm. 


I told her it was Chloral Hydrate.

Only two drops would knock The Sucker out


I told her I would be waiting in the hotel bar for her. She stopped at the desk. Sure enough he was expecting her. She went up. She came down within an hour nervous and jumpy. The sucker was out cold. She had searched the room. She couldn’t find the scratch. I went back to the room with her. 


I went through another search. 

The wino was lying there motionless. We gave up searching. 


We moved toward the door. I looked back at the wino. 

I said, ‛Say Baby, he looks bad to me.’ 


I knelt beside him blocking her view with My Back. I wiped My Brow and turned My Face toward her. My eyes were wide in alarm. I said, ‛Baby, He’s Dead I think.’ 


Most women, even whores, are terrified of dead bodies. She stood there paralysed


I said, ‛Don’t get panicky. Shut that door. I’ve got it! 


I know an underworld croaker here in town. Maybe he can bring him to. I know he will keep Hisouth shut for A  Price, even if.’ 


She knew we couldn’t leave a murdered man here. She had stopped at The Desk first before coming up. She was painfully aware of the big gap between Theft and Murder. I picked up the phone and got the pool room. 


I gave the fake doctor the hotel and room number. He came within five minutes carrying his empty bag. She couldn’t see into it. I had told her to Hide in The Closet. Too many people had seen her already. 


He stooped down beside the wino. He fumbled with his pulse, his eyelids. 


Finally he stood up and said, ‛He’s Dead. I can’t help him. 


I’ll have to call The Police.’ I could almost hear Rachel’s heart booming in The Closet. We haggled for her benefit for ten minutes. Finally we had A Deal. For five bills, he would keep his mouth shut. He would also contact a hoodlum who would get the body out of there and dispose of it. He left. Rachel and I got out of there fast. 


Driving back to Cleveland, Rachel was in a trance. She squeezed tightly against me. I kept telling her she had nothing to worry about. 


After all we were together for life and Her Secret would always be safe with Me


She found out about The Hoax years later. 


Rachel straightened up with that Murder pressure on her. Toledo was on fire and in one month my three girls got nine cases between them. I pulled them out into Cleveland. Cleveland was lousy with pimps and whores and boosters from all over the country. The mob of hustlers set the torch to Cleveland. 


By nineteen fifty-three the streets were so hot a whore was lucky to stand up a week between falls. I was a fugitive. For almost a year I never left my apartment. I couldn’t risk arrest and a fingerprint check. I was down to four girls. That year in The Apartment was cramping My Style. 


Mama had hit a romantic and financial jack-pot. She had moved to Los Angeles. She called me every week pleading with me to visit her. She wanted me to meet my new stepfather, and stay for a while. 


I kept stalling her. I had heard that the smack in California was only six percent. The Pimps out there were only half serious. This makes for bad pimping conditions. Several Eastern pimps had gone to The Coast in good shape. They had returned torn down


They said The Western whores were lazy and were satisfied with making chump change. The Western pimps had spoiled them. I gave myself logical arguments against the move to California. Why should I expose my well-trained whores to that dangerous half-ass scene out West?


What if I blew My Family out there in the hinterlands? 


I was thirty-four now. In any square profession I would have been in My Prime. As a pimp I was getting elderly. I was stern and strict on My Women. 


Rachel wired me that a stud with a stable of boosters was in town with a load of wild Lilli Anne suits and Petrocelli vines at twenty percent of retail. She got me his number the next day. 


I called him and got an appointment to look his stock over. I only left the apartment for important reasons. I decided I would cop a piece of stuff and a fresh outfit before seeing him. He was staying at a crummy hotel on the East Side. He let me into a cracker-box three-room apartment. He sounded me down to make sure of my pedigree. ‛So, you’re Iceberg, huh? I was in your town not long ago. Philly sure is hot.’ 


He knew me by reputation and that I was from Chicago. I said, ‛Yes, I’m Iceberg from the Windy.’ 


He said, ‛Say Jim, how ’bout old Red Eye? I saw him in New York last month. He’s pimping a zillion. Surely you know him.


I gave him that look, like I had caught him frenching a sissy. 


I said, ‛Listen carefully, Jack. I don’t have time for bull-shit. I knew Red Eye. 


You saw him last month, Jack? You better see a head-shrinker. You’re flipping your top. 


Red Eye caught the big one in Pittsburgh five years ago. He’s doing it all.’ 


He gave me a grin like he had swallowed a bottle of snot. 


He got the sizes from me. He said to cool it in his pad. He had to go to his stash across the street to get the merchandise. I glanced into the tiny bedroom. There was a naked broad lying on the bed. I said to myself, ‛I wonder what kind of dog that is.’ 


I went to the bed and looked down at her. She was drunk, stoned. It looked like The Runt. This broad was buxom, almost fat. I knew one way to be sure. I had lashed the blood out of her with that hanger whipping years ago. She would still have the scars. I flipped her over on her belly. They were there. I stood there looking down at her. I remembered that tough bit in Leavenworth. 


Here at my mercy was that stinking bitch, Phyllis. Just the sight of her made me crazy. I grabbed a cologne bottle off the dresser. I jerked the big top off. I got My Bag out. I dumped enough of the twenty percent stuff into the top to croak a sick junkie. She was clean. I spotted a bottle of mixer water on the floor. I filled the top and struck a match. I held it beneath the top. I rammed my gun into it. I drew up her reckoning. I stabbed the outfit into a vein just back of her knees. Her red blood streaked up into the joint. 


I was just about to press the pacifier bulb. I looked out the window. I caught a glimpse of The Joker darting across the street. He had a steamer trunk headed toward the front door of The Hotel. I froze, jerked the spike out of her. I thrust the loaded outfit inside my shoe underneath my instep. I pinned the bag to my shorts between my legs. 


I collapsed into the living-room chair just as he came through the door. I was sweating like hell. He was suspicious. He kept looking from the corner of his eye at his broad. He thought I had been riding her in his absence. I wondered how long he’d had her. 


He was a wrongdoer. He’d cut her loose when he got hip to what he had. Sooner or later someone would pull his coat. He’d find out The Runt had sent me to The Joint. I was getting what I wanted from the merchandise. 


He slipped into the bedroom and checked her cat out. I left with the dozen items I had bought. I knew I had bought going-to-California clothes. I had quizzed him about his plans. He was going to stay in Cleveland for weeks. I had to leave town. Now. Phyllis was sure to get the wire from him that I was in town. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to drop a dime in the phone to The Heat. She had to know about The Escape. I drove away. I tried to picture the expression on her face when her man cracked to her that Iceberg had been up there alone with her while she was stoned. 


I got a flight that night for L.A. It’s fabulous when a pimp’s bottom girl can be trusted to handle his scratch and his whores. She was welded to Me by that Murder Cross. The stable would drive out later in the Hog. 


Mama was radiantly happy out there and my stepfather was a wonderful square. They lived in a big house. L.A. was worse than the reports I had gotten. I got around in Mama’s Coupe de Ville. After the second night I went into the whore and pimp stomping grounds. 


I stayed around Mama for another week then went up to Seattle. Glass Top’s name wasn’t ringing. In fact he was almost unknown. One stud told me Glass Top had croaked. 


I copped a gorgeous hash-slinger up there. I turned her out that week. Lucky I did. I lost a girl back in Cleveland. Her appendix burst. I pulled the three left into Seattle. 


After I had been in town six months, Fate dealt me one off the top for a change. My bag was empty and the stuff in town was around six percent. I had to shoot three spoons to stay well. The girls were humping up a storm, I was getting no inside grief. 


I was sitting in the Hog one day. An old withered stud walked past me. He came back and stooped down looking at me. He shouted, ‛Ice, my old pimping buddy.’ 


I took a close look. It was Glass Top. He got in. He patted the scraggly processed hair on his nearly-bald head. He’d done a long bit in the state joint. He wasn’t pimping. An old square broad was feeding him. He was a drunk. Until I left town I bought him bottles and rapped with him. 


He croaked two days after I left town. 


I ran into the croaker who aborted Helen. He had lost his license and done a short bit back East for an abortion. We started rapping a lot to each other. He knew most of the hustlers I knew so we had much in common. 


He kept telling me how bad I looked. He told me how handsome I’d been when I brought Helen to him. He needled me. He expressed doubt that I had the guts to kick


He was Game to help me kick if I was Game to kick. I decided to let him help me. He warned me I would have to follow his every instruction. He had a house in town. He still took a fast buck from his old hustle. Rachel was the only girl in The Family who knew I was hooked. None of the rest knew. I was going to stay at the Doc’s to kick. They thought I was out of town. 


He used the system of reduction. We reached the tearing, puking, none-at-all stage. Let me tell you that beautiful croaker bastard was immune and rock-hard. I tried the raving, crying con on him. He would jab a needle into me to tranquilize me, so he couldn’t hear my bleating. 


I tell you, if you have ever had the flu real bad, just multiply the misery, the aching torture by a thousand. That’s what it’s like to kick a habit. It took two weeks. I was weak, but with an appetite like a horse. In another two weeks I was Stronger than I’d been in years


The Doc will always be My Man. If he hadn’t come to My Rescue, and I had kept that habit until nineteen sixty, I would have been a corpse within a week in that steel casket waiting for me.