Anton Chekhov said about penning plays “If in the 1st act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired.” A rule known as ‘Chekhov’s Gun’. I’m no playwright. Haven’t read plays in years. No reason other than I don’t do a lot of things I used to do. Like, for instance, heroin. Here’s a tale of 2 junkies who found themselves in a drama of the noir variety. I approximate dialogue because this was smack dab in those lost years. Or lost dab in those smack years.

A friend had dubbed Kim & I ‘Thing 1 & Thing 2’. That’s pretty accurate. Our dealer MJ was not the fun, mischievous Cat in the Hat though. She was a more seasoned addict, harder than us 2 clowns. She had a soft spot for us anyway; Kim’s charm & my…well, I don’t know what she saw in me. She often let us slide on payment. Till one day she said “My place is too hot, think it’s being watched. Since you owe me, can I deal out of your apartment for awhile? Payment in daily product?”

We didn’t want a parade of dope fiends through our home. Even acknowledging one’s own societal status as scum, one likes to think they’re better than the average scum. Like criminals with a code, as opposed to the entirely unethical criminals. In the parlance of [screen] crime, MJ made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.

The setting: The Morris, rear of the 1st floor. A 1-bedroom in, if not the swankiest building, not the scuzziest either. Our view looked out over Olive Way. When large trucks idled at the traffic light our window panes rattled seismically. The city was so flush with black tar then you couldn’t toss a needle without hitting an addict. A couple fellow junkies, S & L, lived right across the street.

We’d furnished with a few 2nd hand cozy, overstuffed chairs. A breakfast table with matching chairs (that couldn’t fit in the tiny kitchen) were in the corner of the living room. It was comfortable to hang out in this room with ample seating. I don’t know how long MJ had been selling from our home, but it was a matter of weeks not months when it came to an abrupt halt.

Our one rule: No shooting gallery. Her customers would buy their drugs then scram. We weren’t going to risk someone else ODing in our place. From previous experience all 3 of us knew that’s how a lease gets terminated. It’s the reason Kim & I were in this building now, instead of The Glengarry where we’d lived before.

Scene: Evening in the apartment, coming up on the end of business hours. ‘Drug dealers have hours?’ you might ask. Doesn’t everyone deserve downtime? I am putting a much-needed sticky crumb in a spoon, adding water, looking for a lighter when the phone rings.

MJ: Yeah? [listens] I don’t sell to anyone I don’t know. [listens] I’m just across the street. How sick can you be? [more listening] Fine. Send him over. Just him. We won’t let anyone else in. [she hangs up]

MJ: [to us] Some friend of S & L is coming over. He just got out of prison, brought a couple of guys with a bunch of cash. They’re both dopesick, so they asked if he could come over for them. Normally I’d say no, but they want to buy a lot.

Kim: An ex-con? Oh great! Really, MJ?

MJ: It’s cool. After this I can re-up (dealer talk for ‘buy more’).

The buzzer to our unit was malfunctioning (typical). It would beep & you could talk on the intercom, but you couldn’t buzz people in. You had to walk to the front of the building’s security door & open it. When it sounded moments later, Kim left to let the caller in. I had finished melting & filtering my dose & was drawing it up in the syringe at the table. Fully loaded & ready to inject, Kim is thrust through the door, the ex-con’s hand on her arm as he pulls out a pistol. (!!!)

MJ sighs with the boredom of someone who’s seen this B movie before. I look from the gun to the syringe & back to the gun, trying to gauge which is more dire. There was suddenly too much adrenaline coursing through me to determine.

Ex-con: Gimme everything you got.

MJ: [stands defiant, arms crossed] Fuck off.

Me: Can I just do this quick? [I hold up the needle]

Ex-con: No. All of you over there [he points with the gun, releasing Kim].

We freeze where we are, not complying. Can I stab the needle in before he shoots me? I think it far better to be dosed with painkiller before bullets fly. Finally MJ picks up her jacket & throws some bills at him. I’m still holding the syringe as Kim inches toward the bedroom & he scrambles to pick up cash from the floor. He gives up, grabs at MJ but only snags her jacket. Thus commences a tug-of-war. Gun hand is waving around, Kim & I wildly bobbing & weaving, a couple of cartoon pugilists dodging the pistol. At some point I put down the syringe, don’t remember when.

Finally MJ yanks her jacket from his hand, breezes out & through the back door of the building. Ex-con, trying to let his cronies in, actually asks us how the buzzer works! “It’s broken,” we say. He runs out to get his backup. As soon as he’s gone Kim & I exit the way MJ did, leaving our door wide open, poised to hear cracks of gunshot. & me without shoes on. As soon as I’m on the street I have the thought ‘My socks will get filthy!’

MJ nowhere to be seen, possibly 3 goons hunting us down. We crouch behind parked cars, peering around for her or them, when Kim says “We should drive around & look for her.” Then realizes she left her keys in the apartment. One of the scariest things we’d ever do was go back in there. But car keys had to be retrieved. & I needed shoes. & possibly new socks.

We didn’t see the ex-con or his friends. Our sole mission was to find MJ…& get our payment. Priorities.

Rather than Chekhov’s, I much prefer Alfred Hitchcock’s gun: “There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.” Our payment was an antidote to the adrenaline of terror. Just sayin’.