The Heroine Dealer

The Heroine Dealer

Sam Weller sat reclining in his leather buttoned swivel chair with his feet kicked up on his desk, reading the newspaper. Wearing Oxford brogues, brown woolen trousers, a cotton dress shirt, brown waistcoat and a tie, he cut a sharp if somewhat anachronistic figure.

The hard, cheerful chime of his front door bell interrupted his perusal of the day’s obituaries. He casually folded the paper and set it down neatly beside his glass of whisky, its ice-cube long-ago melted beneath the hot blades of light shooting through his office’s honey-stained louvered window shades. He considered his over-warm high-ball glass longingly for a moment before flicking his attention to his long duster — his piece sitting pretty in its tooled leather holster he’d had custom sewn into the lining just below the right breast — that lay carefully draped over the arm of his green Chesterfield sofa, before finally bringing his attention to whoever it was that had just strode into his 2nd-floor office. Looking up he saw the shambles of a man standing before him with an agued look about his features and the snivel-y nervous twitches of a crack addict. Wearing a fagged out pair of pants of indefinite color, the rags of a cotton jacket and a plain white tee, the stains upon which could only be described as unsettling, Sam took in the visuals of the man while unenthusiastically entertaining the prospect of having to parlay with such a client as this so early in the morning.  A rash of such riff-raff had been finding their way to his door over the last few days to his endless consternation and confusion. It had all started after he had posted an ad in the local newspaper announcing the change of his company’s name and had called for a man to come over in order to do the same for the titling on his office door. 

Scuttling about uncertainly on his stoop, these creatures, with the willowy appearance of wraiths, could often be seen peeking through his door nervously like underfed rats before making their way down the stairs and back to their shadowy alleyway hovels. This guy, however, had had the bravado to see himself in.

The young — or old, it was impossible to tell — gentleman had a wild look about his eyes. His hair had the texture and color of straw, askew in some places while in others sweatily plastered to the side of his head. The stink of his person was like that of a meat that had grown overripe beneath a hot sun. It billowed off of him in waves, bringing a fetid knot of nausea to Sam’s throat.

Sam casually got up from his chair and began walking around his office while pulling up the shades and throwing wide each one of its windows. He stuck his head clear out of the last one and sucked in as much clean air as his breast would allow before dipping his head back into his office.

“Now Sir, what is it that I could do you for?” Sam asked as he settled back into his leather swivel and gently pointed for the man to sit down at his leisure.

“I come for what you be advertising on your door,” the man, slumping down into the chair, said as he drew a stained sleeve across his runny nose. Sam took notice of the heavy bob in the man’s left breast pocket.

“Oh, so you are here to enlist the aid of one of my heroines, then is it? What, pray tell, is the particularity of your predicament?” Sam drew open one of his desk drawers while continuing to talk, startling the man whose eyes grew wild for a moment before noticing the paid of paper in Sam’s hand.

“Look man, I don’t know what you’re going on about, I’m just here to get my fix.”

“Fix for what, exactly? Are you in some type of jam, because rest assured, my heroines are up to whatever ‘fix’ that needs doing? But I’m going to need some information first before we can figure out how to proceed. For starters, I’m going to need your name,” Sam said as he picked up his fountain pen and bent his eyes to his pad while awaiting an answer from the man.

“Man, there ain’t no need to go into all that. I just need a little something to get me by. I got the money for it right here in my pocket,” he said, while patting his left breast pocket.

“We will definitely be going into the specifics of payment in due time,” Sam said, belaboring his point by speaking slowly and steadily, “but I’m still going to need some information from you first so that my office can reach you, should you have need of our services again in the future.” As the man slowly nodded and pawed the back of his head, a low dim light of understanding seemed to bloom in his eyes. 

“As a man of your acumen, I am sure you can understand how important it is for a business such as mine to maintain a steady clientele. To do so, I first require a bit of information from each of my clients, if for nothing else than to act as an ice-breaker, to see how I can best serve you as a client,” Sam said, pausing between his words for emphasis.

“Now, I definitely respect a man who wishes to retain his privacy, and I can definitely see how cagey you are about divulging the particulars of your situation. There is no doubt in my mind that something or someone has you in their grip. So for the nought,” Sam said, picking up the pad for emphasis and placing it back in the drawer, “I will only ask to have the pleasure of the name of the man I am currently speaking with.” Leaning over and setting his elbows on his desk while knitting together the fingers of his hands, Sam patiently awaited the man’s answer.

“T-To-Tom,” the man said haltingly.

“Yes, and can I have the pleasure of knowing your surname Tom?” Sam asked pleasantly.

“My sur-what?” the man responded in alarm and confusion.

“Forgive my pretension. Your family name or your last name.”

“Man, I already told you there ain’t no need to go into all that. I just came in to pick up a bit of product and to go about my day. I saw your ad. It said you was a heroine dealer. There ain’t no need for none of this other bullshit.”

Nervous tremors could be seen running up and down the course of the man’s loose frame as his right hand began to fidget about wildly with a mind of its own. Sam needed to find a way to reign the man back in.

“Then I am truly sorry Sir, because I simply cannot allow any heroine of mine to be used by a person that can’t even show the modicum of decency necessary to tell me their name.” Sam briefly paused his lecture for effect. 

“Now, if you are at all entertaining the notion that any of my heroines are of inferior quality, then let me disabuse you of that notion right this minute. I only deal in the finest of heroines, suitable, how did you say before, ah, yes, to fulfill any ‘fix’ you have need of, and let me assure you, I maintain the utmost discretion in my dealings with my clients. This means that you will receive no harassment from, nor will you have to deal with any other kind of authority aside from the one person who is now speaking to you. Now, I will ask you once and only once more, what is your name good Sir — your full name that is?” Sam asked in a steely calm tone of voice.

“Tom…Perreta.” Sam received these words with a noticeable sigh of relief.

“Thank you my good Sir, thank you,” Sam boisterously responded as he leaned back in his chair with his palms laced together behind his head, “now I do believe we can get down to brass tacks. What is it that I can do you for?”

“Man, we already fucking went over this. I’m about tired of this shit, I just want to get my shit and go. In fact,” Tom said, pulling a gun from his left breast coat pocket, “I’m gonna take what I wanna get right this second or else I’m gonna start filling you with holes.”

Sam slowly sat up and raised his hands high above his head. “Now Tom, let’s not act rash here. I think I know which heroine it is that will fit exactly what it is you want and need. No need to belabor your patience any further with my tiresome prattle. Let’s see about fixing you up, shall we?”

“Before we doing anything, however, I’m going to need to phone my secretary in the office below,” Sam cooly stated, “so I’m going to stand up slow-like and hit the intercom. I’ll put her on speaker to let you know that I’m not getting up to any shenaningans. You dig it?” Sam calmly and carefully stood up from his chair with his hands still upraised and walked around to the front-left side of his desk where his office phone was, which was as close as he could comfortably get to Tom without alerting his suspicion. The barrel of Tom’s gun followed him tremulously the whole while as he feverishly chewed at the fingernails of his left hand — his left leg hopping like mad the whole while.

Standing before his office phone, Sam slowly brought his hands down and pensively stared at the phone.

“Well get fucking to it, then,” Tom menacingly said, while flicking his eyes and the barrel of the gun at the phone.

Sam hit the button for his secretary.

“Yes, boss.”

“Nicky, I was wondering if you could be so polite as to bring me up a cup of coffee?” Sam requested.

“Sure thing boss. How would you like it?”

“As tarry black and strong as you can make it.”

“No problem, just give me a moment and I will bring it up to you. You want anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

Sam put down the receiver and shifted the phone towards the far right-side of his desk.

“Now we gonna see what we gonna see. You better come through with the stuff or I’m gonna have to put the both of you down, I can promise you that.” Sam could see the sickness of his withdrawal symptoms in the evil fire that was dancing in the feverish madness of his eyes and knew in that moment that he meant what he said.

Sam, still standing calmly in place, shifted his weight slightly to his left foot and listened to the muffled and almost entirely silent ascent of Nicky up the stairs. Knowing instinctively that she was now standing directly outside of the office door, unbeknownst to Tom.

“Yo, where the fuck be this bit…?” Before he could even complete his sentence, without warning the raucous ring of the phone suddenly broke the silence of the room, which immediately drew the frenzied attention of Tom away from Sam, allowing him to close a measure of the distance in the interim. Immediately thereafter, there was a harsh knock on the office door. As soon as Tom turned the barrel of the gun towards the door, Sam was upon him, using his left hand to grasp Tom’s right wrist, while using his right hand to grab the outside bent crook of his elbow, Sam quickly used both hands to wrench Tom’s right arm a full one-eighty. Sam could feel the shoulder dislocate and his tendons begin to shred with a barrage of pops and tears amidst blood-curdling screams of pain. For good measure, Sam snapped Tom’s right wrist, the thumbs of both his hands twisting the wrist viciously, thereby forcing the gun to clatter to the floor with a thud before laying him out cold with a vicious left cross. The whole scene was over in the blink of an eye.

A second knock, this time lighter could be heard on the office door.

“You can come in Nicky.”

As Nicky shuffled into the office wearing only socks on her feet, she could see Sam dragging an unconscious man over to the radiator and handcuffing his left wrist to the pipes. She could hear the man moan in his unconscious delirium through the bubbles of blood that were forming on his lips. His right arm appeared to hang useless, folded as it was at an unnatural angle beneath him.

Sam stood up flexing his left hand tenderly.

“Ah, just the heroine I needed,” Sam said grinning at Nicky as he took the steaming cup of joe she held out to him.

He took a long draft of the hot liquid. “Ah, good, strong and black, just how I like it.”

“You abusing the clients again boss?” Nicky coyly asked before elbowing him gently in the ribs. 

“Will you be needing anything else boss?” She asked, turning to leave.

“No, thank you Nicky. I think I have everything well in hand,” Sam said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and picked up Tom’s pistol before wrapping it up and gently placing it on his desk.

Sam called out to Nicky just as she was about to walk out of the office door. “Actually Nicky, can you do me a favor and call up that Detective, what-his-name?”

“Farns.” Nicky replied.

“That’s just the one. Tell him I have some trash that needs taking care of.”

“You think he’s going to be interested in cleaning up one of your messes?” Nicky said lightheartedly.

“I figure they’ll be able to do something with him.”

Sam moved around his desk and sat in his swivel chair, kicking up his feet on his desk before taking his newspaper in hand once more.

“Oh, and one more thing Nicky,” Sam said as he peeked his eyes above the paper.

“Yes, boss?”

“Have them take down that ad in the paper and tell that man who did the lettering on my door to come back around and do it up the way it was before.”

“Why the sudden change of heart boss? Is the heroine dealer business not working out the way you’d hoped?”

“Not as I would have liked, that’s for certain. It seems like it is apt to confuse some folks. God only knows what kids are learning in school these days. Seems like it will still be some time yet before women get their day in the sun. Until then, you’re all the heroine I’ll ever need.”

Right before Nicky could finish shutting the door, she couldn’t help but notice the headline emblazoned on the front of the paper: “Homicidal Heroin Addict Tom Perreta Adds Another Victim to His Tally.” Walking back up to his desk, she read the first few lines of the story — “Local Communities continue to be in fear for their lives as local police continue their search for the elusive suspect. A large reward is being offered…”

“You clever, clever bastard,” Nicky whispered under her breath as she walked out the door, pulling it softly to behind her.