A Quarter

By Duncan MacLeod

The only thing worse than being mentally ill is being mentally ill and strung out on dope. This fourth and final installment in the Psychotic Break Series sees Ethan struggling to rejoin society as drugs take center stage in his life. Home from Mexico with a shampoo bottle full of paregoric, Ethan drifts from job to job and house to house, unable to get his footing. The only thing that remains constant in his life is the relief heroin provides. The drug takes hold in tiny steps. He doesn't become a junkie overnight; he knows he is playing with fire.
The novel showcases San Francisco at the end of the 1980's. It was a period of upheavals everywhere - the Berlin Wall fell; San Francisco shook, and Microsoft took over the world. It was the last days of analog, when phone booths were more common than cell phones, snail mail and typewriters were still favored over word processors. A Quarter describes a San Francisco that vanished.
New Version Edited by Maya Nayak

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan MacLeod
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463620113

Duncan MacLeod

I write adventure, magical realism, humor, LGBTQ and medical fiction to comfort the broken-hearted and help them laugh in the face of adversity.I’m the author of the Psychotic Break Series and the Agnes Series. I live in Southern California with my husband and our dog, Pepper.

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Acknowledgements

At the time of this book’s publication, I have built a tiny but loyal group of readers. I dedicate this fourth and final book in the series to you. It is your kind words and comments that have given me the strength to empty my soul out on paper.

There is a place in San Francisco which has rescued countless lives from the deadly path of addiction. The Haight Ashbury Free Clinic is a model for what the very best drug treatment can be. They do it right. The counselors, pharmacists, doctors and clients all work together to lift lost lives out of the darkness and point them to the path of light. It is doubtful this book would exist were it not for the Clinic.

CHAPTER ONE - BACK

On the other side of the barrier, my drugs smuggled, I believe in God. My mother stares at me. She is psychic; there’s no hiding from her.

Ethan, what did you do?

Nothing. I’m just glad to be home.

Bullshit. What did you do?

Can we talk about it in the car?

I spend the ten-minute walk to the car trying to figure out a story that she’ll buy. Nothing sticks.

Okay, she glares at me, what was all that back there?

I roll my eyes.

I accidentally smuggled marijuana. The truth. It sounds like a lie.

You WHAT?!!?

I found weed in my duffel bag right when we were landing.

I suppose you’re going to tell me you don’t know how it got there.

I made a poor choice of friends, and he hid it there without telling me.

I’m telling the truth. I just need to stick with it. I’m leaving out the Head & Shoulders shampoo bottle full of children’s morphine, true, but that wasn’t such a risk.

You’re right. That is NOT a friend Ethan.

True. He only seemed like a friend.

She relaxes.

Where is the grass? Let’s throw it out!

No, now that it’s here, can I give it to Sue and Wanda? They’ll appreciate it.

My mother throws her hands in the air, and the car veers momentarily into the adjoining lane. She retakes the wheel.

Mom! You could have killed us!

Don’t change the subject. I don’t give a fuck what you do with your drugs, just don’t bring them to my place or involve me in your shit. Now, where should I drop you?

Can I stay with you?

You know, I thought you might ask that. I went ahead and bought a futon. You can sleep in the kitchen. But if I find drugs in the house, you’re out.

Okay, so to get rid of it, can we stop by the Lower Haight? I’ll let Sue have the weed.

I’m conspiring to commit a felony, Ethan. But okay, anything to get it away from you...and me.

Is it a felony if I give it away for free?

* * *

Laussat street is too narrow for double parking. My mother will have to circle the block.

I’m driving around twice. If you’re not ready the second time, you can take the bus.

Sue answers on the first knock. Wanda is at work at BUSTCo.

Ethan, darling, come in.

Sorry, I can’t. Mom is circling the block. And indeed, her car roars past on the first go around. She’s speeding! God, she can be such a dick.

Well what is it?

Here. I hand the envelope full of weed to Sue. I got you this in Veracruz. She smells it like it’s a bouquet of daffodils.

You are too kind. Will you stay and smoke some with me?

Mom’s Honda turns the corner a second time.

I can’t-gotta go. Plus, I don’t like weed. Talk to you soon! Mom honks impatiently.

* * *

The futon is too big for the kitchen floor. The dining room table is in the way.

Years ago, Grandma mailed me a ditto made on a spirit duplicator. It was a list of absurd laws. In Ogden, Utah, you aren’t permitted to carry an ice cream cone in your back pocket. In Maryland, you can’t take a lion to the movie theater. In California, it’s illegal to sleep in the kitchen, but it’s legal to cook in the bedroom. The futon drives this point home. If I lay it out all the way, it will sit against the stove and could catch fire. Each night I will have to put the chairs on the table and drag it into a corner and put it back each morning. I don’t have a dresser, so I have to live out of my duffel. I’m used to that, at least.

I need you up early in case I want to use the table to eat breakfast. You can check the want ads and go job hunting. If I catch you doing anything else, you’re out of here. Mom is now a warden in ‘Scared Straight.’

She makes a can of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for late lunch. We add milk to the tomato soup to make it creamy and dunk our sandwiches. We eat in silence. When we’re finished, I wash the dishes and put them away.

Mom, can I make a phone call?

To whom?

Michael G. Page. A good friend.

Is it long distance?

No, he’s here in town.

* * *

It’s Ethan.

Ethan, precious, how was Mexico? Are you and Chance going steady now?

We broke up. I don’t want to explain the truth.

Oh, how sad. Where are you, dollface?

I’m at my mom’s place on Linda Street in the Mission.

Linda Street? Why does that sound so familiar?

I don’t know.

Sh. Let me think. Is that near Lapidge?

Uh, yeah, it’s about a block from here.

Oh, I know a crazy bunch of people on Lapidge. You’ll have to meet them. One of them is my ex-boyfriend!

You two still talk?

It was a friendly breakup. They’re forever up to no good, but they’re creative and artistic. I’ll introduce you. Ignore the drugs.

I lower my voice. My mom says I have to look for a job.

Ew, yuck. Does she have a tracking device?

No.

Then you can spend a few minutes to meet Tom and Geraldo, and whoever else they have living up in that drug den of an apartment on Lapidge. I guarantee you’ll love it.

We make plans to meet tomorrow. Mom is working part time as a tech writer for the Post Office, so she won’t be around tomorrow.

As the evening shades appear, I grow weak and clammy. I know the remedy is in my shampoo bottle. I can’t take a swig in front of my mother. She’s got pork chops in the broiler now. The cheap fatty kind with the bone. And a big jar of applesauce to put on top. Blech.

After dinner, Mom takes a shower. I drag out the bottle and wipe the cold sweat from my brow. I take a swig. There’s just enough left for a few more days. I don’t know what it will be like without it, but it won’t be pleasant. I make a decision to only have it every other day for the rest of this week, then every three days next week. Easy. I’ll be off the monkey juice in no time.

CHAPTER TWO - TWEAK

Michael stops by at noon. I present him with his mule tooth necklace.

For me!? Oh, she pees rainbows. This is great!

I fasten the clasp in back. It looks very ‘witch doctor’ on Michael. He doesn’t evoke a surfer vibe like Cory.

I absolutely adore it!

I’m supposed to be out pounding the pavement looking for gainful employment. Instead, Michael shepherds me to the household on Lapidge.

Tom! Michael bangs on the front window. A handsome boy with a bad haircut (short on top, long in back) peeks through the shades. He holds up an index finger.

Why don’t you ring the doorbell?

Because they don’t have a phone. It only works when you have a phone.

Tom lets us in, muttering. Michael Michael Michael, what are you doing here? Oh, nice necklace!

Tom, meet the gorgeous, intelligent Ethan Lloyd. Ethan, meet Tom Cornish.

We shake. His hands are sweatier than mine. He’s big and squishy.

He-hello. Tom makes an involuntary popping sound with his tongue and palate.

From deep inside the apartment I hear a cranky old man shout, Tom, what did I tell you about fucking visitors? No fucking visitors! They could be narcs.

Michael laughs. Shut up you goddamn bag of bones. It’s me!

Michael?

Yes, Geraldo. It’s the neighborhood welcoming committee. We brought you a handsome casserole.

What?

Tom takes my hand and leads me down a long hall to the living room. He makes that weird popping sound again.

Seated on a tattered sofa is a man in his forties with curly dyed black hair. This is Geraldo.

Hi. We’re watching Yo! MTV Raps. Have a seat, won’t you?

We watch MC Hammer jump around and shout like a diamond encrusted James Brown in baby pajamas. It’s Hammer Time. Oaktown 3-5-7 assures us Yeah, Oh Yeah. Sir Mix-A-Lot’s posse’s on Broadway. And Eazy E is hitching a ride in Mike Jones’ 6-4.

Every chance I get, I sneak a glance at Tom. His eyes are sky blue. He’s chubby and cute. I wonder what his deal is with Geraldo. Are they an item or just roommates?

The front door opens with a bang, and a near five-foot tall blonde marches into the living room, standing in front of the TV.

Clarissa, Geraldo asks, Did you bring me anything?

The old buzzard is dying of cancer, and she won’t take a fucking aspirin. She’s Christian Science. It was a total bust. Hi, I’m Clarissa.

She extends a hand, and we shake. Ethan.

Where did you find this tasty morsel, Michael?

Buzz off, Clarissa, he’s on my team.

She frowns.

I need a new patient,

Geraldo leans in to explain, "Clarissa is a private nurse. Normally she can snag some Dilaudid or Vicodin from her cancer patients, but we’ve hit a dry spell.

Clarissa continues, She’s right here on Lapidge, too. It would have been so perfect. Christian Science? Isn’t that an oxymoron?

Why don’t you call her doctor and tell him she changed her mind and now she wants Dilaudid?

Geraldo are you fucking crazy? If she talks to him, I’m through! License revoked, scam over.

Tom jumps in. How are you gonna get out of it?

Clarissa snorts. She’s a fussy bitch. I’ll just do a million tiny things that annoy her until she asks for a new nurse.

That should be very easy for you. Geraldo’s insult doesn’t faze Clarissa. She stomps off to her bedroom and slams the door. Then she opens it for a split second, Ethan, so nice to meet you.

Taking in the whole living room, I notice the walls are covered with childish framed paintings. They look like finger paintings by Kenny Scharf.

You like my paintings, Ethan? My spine tingles when Tom uses my name.

They’re...so creative.

He hates them. Tom hangs his head.

For Christ’s sake, Tom, he said they were creative! Michael advocates for me.

It was the way he said it.

I go for the save, They remind me of Jean Michel Basquiat.

Tom lights up. Are you serious? I love you!

He plants a warm kiss on my lips. I melt inside.

I gotta warn you, Michael says, He’s a Pisces. Tom draws back as if I were brandishing a knife. But he’s the sweetest little fish I’ve ever met.

Geraldo leans in. This is a Scorpio household. Don’t mind Tom. Everyone knows that water signs are compatible.

So why do you hate Pisces, Tom? I frown.

I had a couple of bad experiences. Pisces are dangerous. They can stab you in the back without a knife. Pisces are so passive; you never realize until it’s too late; they were running the show the whole time.

This is all true. I shrug it off.

Yeah, we got a bad reputation for some reason. If it’s any comfort, many of my closest friends are Scorpios.

Geraldo interrupts our flirtation. So, who wants to do some speed?

Michael stands up. That’s my cue to leave. You coming, Ethan?

Tom grabs my arm. I don’t want to corrupt you, Ethan. But it would be so fun to tweak with you.

I’m supposed to be job hunting. I want to stay and get high.

Michael stands in the hallway. Ethan, you can stay. Me and Tom are ancient history.

Michael! Tom casts him an evil glare.

Geraldo already has lines laid out on a mirror. He rolls a dollar bill and sniffs.

I can’t watch you guys fry your brains. Michael leaves.

Clarissa re-appears magically. Are we doing speed?

Geraldo hands her the mirror.

Now it’s my turn. I tried speed before. It’s no big deal. Sniff. Burn. Nothing. I hand the mirror to Tom, who has transformed into a porn star with a purple aura.

Tom snorts his line. He makes the funny popping sound. His smile is lemon flavored. I keep tasting his mouth.

Get a room! Geraldo laughs.

Tom takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. Every inch of wall is covered with his beautiful paintings. The designs shimmer and vibrate before they are blocked out by Tom’s soft mouth. He’s missing a lot of teeth for such a young guy.

I shiver and sweat. Tom stops kissing.

Ethan, are you okay?

I feel so good, but I’m dopesick.

You do heroin?

Um, no it’s some diarrhea medicine from Mexico. Morphine, basically.

Banana flavored?

How did you know?

Clarissa brought some home from a client once. She’s got Percocet if you want some.

Can I mix it with speed?

Tom laughs. Speed is like a Ritz cracker. It goes with everything.

He returns with a glass of water and two green pills that say Percocet 5.

I don’t remember taking them. I remember a constant euphoria wavering between a sneeze and an orgasm. I remember Tom’s lips and his popping and smacking noises. I remember Tom helping me out of my clothes. I remember Tom naked. I remember limp, flaccid sex without orgasm. I remember Tom’s taste changing from lemon to peanut butter. I remember getting dressed. I remember coming home to my mother meditating. I remember telling her a bunch of believable lies about applying at 24-hour diners. I remember not sleeping and now it’s morning; I’m dopesick and still tweaking.

Mom comes in the kitchen.

Ethan, what did I tell you about the kitchen in the morning?

I must look like a zombie. She rushes to my side and holds a hand to my forehead.

You’re cold and clammy.

Yeah. I feel like shit.

That’s what you get for staying out so late looking for work. I want you to find work, but please don’t kill yourself doing it!

She hands me two Tylenol and a glass of water.

Mom, I need to sleep this off.

Of course. I wouldn’t dream of sending you out in your condition. Get your rest. I can grab coffee near the Post Office.

Do you want me to make you some coffee, Mom?

No, no. Rest. Get well.

After she leaves, I assess my situation vis á vis my little opiate habit. I fish the shampoo bottle out of my bag and take a swig. Within five minutes, I return to normal. Well, normal plus crashing on speed. It’s not a Ritz cracker after all.

CHAPTER THREE – MARCELLO’S

I can’t stand how speed continues so long after you want it to stop. I just spent the past eight hours lying awake in my futon, trying to fall asleep. I have no energy, I’m dead tired, but my mind is racing and won’t stop for me to sleep. I’m sick again, too.

I dig the shampoo bottle out of the bag. I consider it. I should only take enough to feel well. I take a tiny sip and wait.

In five minutes, the chills are still there, but not as bad. I take another tiny sip. Much better. Morpheus escorts me through the horn and ivory gates.

* * *

My mother wakes me after a short nap.

You still look terrible. You’re not feverish.

I had trouble sleeping.

I’ll leave you alone, honey.

I fall asleep, waking before dawn. I take a teeny tiny sip of shampoo morphine.

It would be good to get an early start on the job hunt.

The hot shower is good. I wash layers of sweat and futon dust off my skin. I put on my best pair of jeans and a black turtleneck: my job-hunting clothes.

I’m unlocking new memories from the crazed speed storm. Tom used to work at Marcello’s Pizza. He said to ask for Bruce, the owner.

Marcello’s doesn’t open until noon, but I see lights on. I knock at the door. A thin, handsome man comes to the door.

Can I help you?

Yes, sir. I’m looking for Bruce.

What do you want with him?

Well, uh, my friend Tom Cornish said Bruce might be hiring.

Tom? That is the worst possible referral I can imagine. Anyone but Tom. Are you a speed freak?

No.

Well I’m Bruce.

Ethan.

Come in, Ethan and fill out an application.

* * *

I got the job! Bruce says I have balls to use Tom as a character reference. He says I start tonight at 7:00 pm. A guy named Bobby Dollar will train me on the registers.

A pretty face like yours shouldn’t be doing dishes.

I run home to tell mom the good news, but she’s at work. I call her at work.

Ethan, I told you not to call unless it’s an emergency!

Guess what?

Good news?

Yep. I got a job at Marcello’s on Castro.

The pizza there is good.

I’ll be on the registers. It pays $4.25! Plus tips, of course.

You say that like it’s a good thing. I’m making $80.00 an hour. You can do better.

Yeah, I can do better. I slam the