“Junkies took my brother away.  Every time I got him clean, one of you bastards shot him up again.  He wasn’t the smartest kid in the world.  You knew he’d OD sooner or later.  Well, you won.”

“Did you ...?”  I ask, not wanting to know.

“Everyone who was here.  They don’t even know the difference, man.  They were almost dead when I got here.  Nobody protested.  They just stared at me as I pulled the trigger.”

“So why did you want to come here with me?”

“Because you turned him on to this shit.  I came here looking for you.”

I reach for the gun he gave me.  Ricky watches me squeeze the trigger.  I could’ve had more effect with a cap gun.  He pulls out his .38.  I’m at the mercy of a vindictive, cold-blooded killer.  The perfect Enforcer.

I don’t know if it’s the smell or the realization that I’m trapped, but I retch.  Ricky laughs as gallons of bile erupt from my mouth.

Furious, my mind is clear as I concoct a plan.  Standing straight, I whip the revolver at his face and hit him in the eye.  I run at the man and, jumping, land my foot in his chest and knock him down the stairs.  He falls in slow motion, fingers grasping for a handhold, but his hands find nothing to stop his fall.

Retrieving the revolver, I descend.  Ricky lies motionless on the floor but I see in his good eye that he is terrified.  I wipe the revolver clean and close Ricky’s fingers around it.  I pull the .38 out of his waistband and remove my shirt.  Wrapping it around the barrel, I aim at Ricky’s chest and fire twice.  He expels one final breath as his heart stops pumping anguish through his veins.

Walking outside, I’m nine blocks away from the lake where I can dispose of the gun and clean myself off.  Worse still, I’m bare-chested, making the handle visible above my jeans, and the shirt I carry screams guilt.

I think of Ricky’s pain over losing his kid brother.  What it drove him to do.  Two things hit me simultaneously: My father might get that upset over me, and I’m no longer jonesing.

Standing next to Lake Michigan watching the waves, I throw the gun into the forgiving sea and dive in.  The shock of the cold water catapults me into full consciousness and I realize what has just happened, accepting the consequences of guilt and loss.  Not only am I a murderer but I’ve killed the only brother I’ll ever have.  It was in self-defense but, had the decisions I made in the past been more intelligent, this never would have happened.  Ricky never passed judgment on what I did.  He loved me despite what I did and I never saw that.  He loved me until his little brother died from doing the same shit that had overtaken both our lives; his in protecting the distributor and mine in being a hopeless addict.

My body passes through the yielding liquid and I rise to the surface, my eyes are closed but my mind is open.  A myriad of thoughts and images race around my head and are replaced by the face of one man.  It is to him that I owe my life and a rapidly approaching death through my own choice of destruction.  My father does what he does through his own sense of right.  My acceptance of his actions makes them right.  My rebellion has been painfully long and enormously expensive.

I emerge from the placid water and see the city staring at me from behind a thousand windows.  I’m a soaking wet, skinny man with clear eyes and a new purpose.

I rip my shirt into shreds and leave the pieces in a garbage can.  A few blocks later, my shoes stop squishing and my pants are dry.  It’s ten miles to my father’s house and I have no idea what time it is.