Junkie Love by Phil Shoenfelt

Author:Phil Shoenfelt [Shoenfelt, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781446407318
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2010-12-14T11:00:00+00:00

Somerstown Sammy was a friend of Cissy’s, a rat-faced little street junkie with a speech impediment and an ingratiating manner that annoyed the hell out of me. Also known as “Whisper”, because of the virtually sub-audible way in which he spoke, he was basically one of her disciples, and was content to worship her from afar whenever he came around to score. He had pale, grey eyes, and his blotchy, freckled skin was drawn tight across the bones of his face, so that in certain lights, and from certain angles, he seemed to be translucent, as if the light passed right through him. His personality, too, was somehow vaporous and ill-defined, so that if I tried to recall his appearance in detail, or his manner, when he was not actually sitting in the room right there in front of me, I found that I could not. He had a thin, wispy beard, pointed and flecked with grey, which he nervously tugged at whenever he spoke, and he always wore grey, even in the summer: a grey bomber jacket and flannel trousers when it was hot; a long, grey overcoat when it was cold. He was able to make himself invisible in a crowd, to pass amongst people unseen and unheeded, and because of this talent he was an expert thief. Quite simply, people just didn’t notice him, and he was able to glide up and down the aisles of large department stores unmolested by detectives and security guards, slipping valuable objects into the specially-sewn linings of his jackets and coats. Vapid and diminutive as he was, he would be out of the door and onto the street again before his presence had even registered in the consciousness of those employed to watch.

Knowing him like this, I was dubious, to put it mildly, when Cissy came up with the idea of asking him to score for us while we were laid up in bed. I didn’t trust or particularly like Sammy, and while it was true that, in terms of his knowledge of the network of heroin dealers around King’s Cross and Camden, he was probably the most qualified of our acquaintances, I was also aware of the dangers of placing all our capital in the hands of such a shifty character. Cissy was convinced he was the man for the job, though, and used all her powers of persuasion to get me to agree.

“Really, babe, he’s okay, believe me, an’ he knows the scene better than anyone else — he’s been around for years, an’ he won’t buy shit or anything that’s cut too bad. An’ you know how he worships me — he wouldn’t dream of rippin’ us off.”

“I don’t know … I just don’t like the idea of giving all our money to somebody who basically makes a living from thievin’, even if he is a friend of yours. It’s too dangerous — if anything goes wrong, we’re gonna be up Shit Creek without a paddle … no money, no gear, and both of us laid up like cripples in bed.

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