“I’ll make this as plain as I can,” he said. “I’m going back to bed now, and if I’m awakened one more time by your friends and their stereo, I’m going to get dressed and go to the station. And if I go to the station, I’m taking people with me. Is that clear?”

His mouth didn’t appear to be moving much, and his voice sounded as if it were coming from a distant P.A. system. He was a robot, maybe—something out of Westworld. I nodded yes.

“You might want to pass on the good word.”

“I’ll do that.”

He winked. “Night, Jack.”

“Good night,” I said, and continued walking until I got to McGarry Hall.

Early the next afternoon, I called Frankie.

“What happened to you?” he asked, as soon as he heard my voice. “You left without saying goodbye.”

“Poison happened to me.” My hand was shaking around the phone receiver. “I haven’t even closed my eyes. How do you take that stuff?”

“I told you last night, I have taken it. I don’t take it.”

“Well, I want you to stop. I mean, having anything to do with it. And whatever that was I saw you snorting up your nose, I want you to quit that, too.”

“What, poppers? That’s not exactly cocaine. Jeez, you really haven’t slept, have you?”

I was pacing as much as the three-foot phone cord would allow. “I want you to stop carrying this shit around in your pocket at these fucking parties.”

“Really? Too bad.”

“I’m not kidding about this, Frankie.”

“Neither am I. You know, you’re the one who wanted it. I said no, and you just … took it from me. You haven’t even come down from it yet, and you’re lecturing me.”

“Because if anybody knows how nasty this stuff is, it’s me. The last fourteen hours have been hell.” Actually, there had been three pretty great ones in between the walk home and trying to sleep, but I didn’t want to tell him that. “If you owe Chip money, we’ll take care of it. You don’t have to work for a creep like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s there now, isn’t he?”

“No. Listen, I’m not working for Chip.”

“You’re dealing for him. That’s working.”

“I’m not dealing. I’m helping him out. I don’t see what the big commotion is. Chip got into a little trouble last year, and he doesn’t want to get busted again, that’s all.”

“Again?” I barked like a mother into the phone, “You could go to jail, Frankie.”

“No one’s going to jail! Technically, he’s not selling anything. People just come up to him and give him money.”

“And you’re, what, the pickup window at the pharmacy?”