Michael Crichton - Dealing or The Berkeley-to-Boston Forty-Brick Lost-Bag Blues

“Yeah, she’ll do it.” I didn’t hesitate. I knew I could talk her into it—I’d almost done as much when the run wasn’t even a sure thing. It was a way to come out and she wouldn’t worry about it, if I said it was cool.

But I was interested in John’s change of mind, in his sudden acceptance of Sukie. Hell, last time I’d talked to him he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“What happened?” I said. “Couldn’t you find anyone else?”

John shrugged. “Well, let’s see. You can’t go because you fucked your exam. And everyone else’s wonking their ’nads off for exams.” He laughed. “Not doing a fucking thing, really, just sitting around chewing their nails. But if they’re going to worry, they’re going to do it here.” He shook his head pityingly, then looked up at me. “The other thing is that Musty called and said he was leaving town for a while. He said if I wanted anything more before July, I had to do it now. So here we are.” He smiled and took out another joint, lit it, passed it to me.

I took a long hit. “Musty’s leaving town fast, huh?”

“That’s the riff,” said John.

“Far out,” I said, and then laughed. Things had worked out better than I had hoped. I’d known that John would be pressed for a runner, but I didn’t think he’d offer to let Sukie do it. I thought I’d have to cudgel him into it—and then here he was asking me if I thought she could make it. I laughed again. “Yeah, she’ll do it.”

“Good enough,” said John. “Everything’s set up, you’ll send the money to Sukie and Musty’s got the bricks ready. So all you’ve got to do is call the chick and let her in on it.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you, John.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. But John didn’t take it that way. He waved the joint in my direction and said, “You were pretty sure of yourself, Peter.” I guessed that he’d been figuring things out with Musty, and laughed.

“Yeah, I guess I was. But what the hell. She’s coming. When will she fly in, anyway?”

“Saturday, around two.”

I thought that one over and then realized what he had said.

“Saturday, good God. Not Saturday. I’m supposed to go to the Piggy Picnic on Saturday.”

“Please. Garden Party.”

“Well, the hell with that. Annie Butler can blow her mind at me all she wants, I’m just not going to be able to make it. I’d better let her know as soon as I talk to Sukie—”

“Peter,” said John. Nothing more.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not going to tell Annie anything. I may have to let this chick make the run, but I don’t have to let you two lovebirds fuck things up by prancing around Logan together, for every one of Murphy’s pigs to see and admire.”

“What the hell—”

“Murphy busted you in Berkeley, with the chick in the same room, right? And I expect that your mugs are fairly well known by the vice-squad pigs by now.”

“Oh for Chrissake, get off it. Maybe my mug—maybe, if you really stretch it—but Sukie’s, never. I’m going to go down and pick her up, and Annie Butler can go to hell.”

John puffed slowly on what was by this time a dark roach. Finally he said, “This is my run and we’re going to do it my way or not at all. You can tell the chick on the phone why you’re not going to be there to meet her—but that’s all. I’m not going to have this thing fucked up just to please your absurd sense of decorum, and that’s all it is, Peter, so don’t go making those bullshit faces at me. When the chick lands in Boston you’re going to be having the time of your life at the Piggy Club Garden Party. Period. I will be down at Logan waiting for her, and she’ll be in the room about the time that you and Annie fondly bid each other farewell.” He paused and looked at me. “Understand?”

There was nothing to say. I left the room to find a pay phone.

A surprised voice answered, sounding very far-away. It was a lousy connection. “Peter?”

“Yeah. How you doing, baby.”

“Fine, just fine. Peter, God, it’s good to hear from you.”

I didn’t say anything for a minute, just got stoned out of my mind on her voice, on the sound, knowing that in a few days the sound would be next to me and not coming through a piece of plastic that demanded more money every three minutes. Then I said, “Listen, honey. I’ve just been talking to John.”

“John?”

“Yeah, you remember, my friend John back here, the guy I scored the bricks for when I was in Berkeley?”

“Oh.” It wasn’t noncommittal. It was just that she was beginning to understand. I had to keep it moving.

“Well, you remember that conversation we had, after my exam?”

“Yeah, I remember. Is this where John—”

“Just listen, honey, just let me finish. Things haven’t been going too well for me around here. I mean, I’ve been trying to get some bread together so I could come out and see you again, or so you could come out here—you know, like the summer’s getting here, and if we could get together we could do up the summer—”

“I’ll do it, Peter.” That was all she said.

“You don’t mind? I mean, you know what I’m talking about—”

“I’ll do it. I mind, but I’ll do it. I want to see you.”

I took a deep breath and it felt good. The chick was very, very together. “Okay, beautiful, honey, that’s beautiful. That’s so beautiful, I can’t even tell you. Listen, soon as you get here I’ll take care of things, you know, a place to stay and eat and that whole riff, you don’t worry about it, I’ll work it all out. And then if you dig it around here we can do up the summer, you know, and—”

“Don’t, Peter. You’re blowing my mind. Just don’t talk like that till I’m with you, okay?”

I knew what she was saying. “Okay, yeah, okay, you’re right. Well, listen, I’ll be sending the bread out to Musty tomorrow, and Musty’ll know the details so he’ll lay that end of it on you. The only other thing is that I won’t be able to meet you at the airport.” I had expected her to wonder about that, but all she said was, “That’s cool.”

“Out of sight. John’ll meet you, he doesn’t want me around ’cause of the bust but John’ll meet you, and as soon as you get back to Cambridge I’ll see you.”

“That’s cool.”

Suddenly I didn’t have anything more to say. I just wanted to see her, and talking business like this was only making it worse.

“Well—” I started to lay down something mindless, but she cut me off and said, “Peter. Take care of yourself.”

I laughed at that. “I will baby. You do the same.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “You just be good.” And then the operator was demanding more bread and she was saying goodbye and it was over.

As soon as I got back to the room I asked John where he’d put the dope.

“Gonna can the studying for a bit, Peter-old-boy?”

“Not can it, just enjoy myself before I get back on it.”

John laughed. “Enjoy yourself, huh? You already look like you’re enjoying yourself. You look like you just balled a nun, for Chrissake.”

I WAS BEING SHAKEN, QUITE hard, not a friendly shake at all. I opened my eyes and there was Annie Butler, all dressed up and looking very pretty except for her face, which was turned down.

“You’re late,” she said, as I opened my eyes.

“What?” I rubbed them.

“Late, you’re late.”

“What time is it?”

“One o’clock.”

“Christ.” I fell back in bed and groaned. I’d been up all night doing a paper and hadn’t gotten to bed until dawn. I was wrecked.

“What are you doing?” she said.