Now, I know it was fate.
I turned down the street I used to sit on for hours and stared at the two-story home with black shutters. I parked my bike across the street from the house and killed my engine. I could still see the newspaper headlines so vividly as if they were in front of me for the first time. I remember seeing the photos of the two boys that overdosed in the obituaries.
Both boys were waked at Scarpaci Funeral Home on Hylan Boulevard, on the same night and buried in Resurrection Cemetery on the same day.
I never told a soul, but I went to each of those boys wakes.
I sat in the back of the chapel and watched their mothers cry over their bodies as a priest ask God to forgive them and welcome both children into the gates of heaven.
Heavenly Father, please protect Alex Rossi.
Dear God, watch over Peter Corona.
I’ll never forget the names of the boys whose lives I robbed.
I’ll never forget their mothers.
And when I start to, I come here and wait for Mrs. Rossi to come home from work. I look at her, years later, and see how she never healed from the loss of her son.
Then, I drive to Resurrection Cemetery and pay my respects to Peter Corona, and the grave next to his where his mother was laid to rest a week after she buried her boy.
She committed suicide, left a note behind saying, she needed to be with her son.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone as I glanced into the side-view mirror of my bike and saw Mrs. Rossi’s car turn onto the street.
I’m sorry.
So, fucking sorry.
I made the call.
A half hour later I was driving away from the projects.
I turned into a real pussy, shocking the hell out of my dealer when I passed up the heroin and opted for the eight ball of coke.
But as much as I wanted to bring myself to hell.
I couldn’t bring myself to forget her.
And if shooting up risked that, risked robbing me of the memory of her pretty face I wouldn’t mark my arms.
Only to save the memory of Lace.
Look at that, even in the end she wound up being the one who saved me.
When I got back to the clubhouse I went straight for the bathroom, lined up two lines of coke and snorted them with a rolled up twenty-dollar bill.
I lifted my head as I braced my hands on the counter and peered at the devil in the mirror.
My name is Blackie and I am an addict.
That was my destiny.
I felt the burn of the powder in my nostrils and sniffled until it passed before I wiped the counter clean. I knotted the tip of the bag and shoved the remaining coke into my pocket before leaving the bathroom and headed straight for the bar.
I pulled the half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker off the shelf and took a seat at the bar.
It was the wrong move because the minute I sat down the door opened and for a minute I imagined Lacey walking through it, just as she did that first night.
I knocked back a shot, blinked and saw Riggs.
I turned around, hoping he wouldn’t cut me any slack, but he didn’t even seem to notice I was clutching the bottle like it was my salvation and poured myself a refill.
He was too wrapped up in his own hell to notice I was reliving mine.
“Tell me I did the right thing,” Riggs demanded, as he filled his glass again.
“I don’t even know what you did,” I muttered, watching as he placed the bottle down and stared at his glass.
“It don’t matter, just tell me what I need to hear,” he said, downing another shot.
“You did the right thing,” I muttered, not giving two fucks about this kid’s problems—drowning in a sea of my own.
Still, he’s been the only man in my corner with this shit with Lacey. He’s had my back and hers when no one else would’ve given me that respect.
I owed him the same.
Not to mention it wasn’t that long ago that he saved my life by shooting me with the Naloxone trying to reverse everything Jimmy Gold did to me.
He saved my life.
He gave me a chance to be with Lace.
Yeah, Riggs deserved my respect.
“You looking to forget? That shit won’t do it,” I told him, swapping the bottle of tequila he was nursing with the bottle of Black.
“I’m sorry,” he grunted as I took a swig of his tequila.
“You have a fight with your ol’ lady?” I questioned.
“I don’t have one of those,” he replied.
I let him believe the lie because every now and then we needed to escape reality.
“Right, the baby mama then,” I corrected.
Riggs liked herb, and I had just swiped some when I grabbed the coke. I pulled it from my pocket and broke up the pot on top of the bar.
I leaned over the bar and grabbed the rolling papers from behind it before I sat back down and rolled a perfectly tight joint.
“What was that shit with the cops earlier?” he asked.