That Arab is gone, Frank said. Disappeared like a ghost. I walked by there today; nothing.

They must’ve picked him up, Ben said as he lit up the tin foil. Funny. How’d they know where to look? There’s no traffic back there. Just garbage men.

They had to see him. Laying there. Next to the dumpster. Probably called it in, Frank took the pipe from Ben.

Of course they did. We’re not thinking. Everything has been unclear since that night. We should’ve thought this out better, Ben looked at Frank and Meg. Never. Never have I ever thought I’d be part of something like this. Not right. Jesus Meg. Why did you have to kill him?

I told you I didn’t. He just died. High as a kite while he was fucking me. His dick didn’t even work. Had to work like hell to get him hard.

Crack dick, Frank said. Happens.

You didn’t choke him? Ben asked. Meg shook her head. Kick him?

I just laid there while he did what he did. Smoked a little and fucked.

Right. Well. The cops will come here soon. We gotta find a place to go. How much money you two got? They emptied their pockets. Fifty bucks between them both.  OK, Ben said. Looks like we gotta separate for a while. Frank, you’re on your own. I’ll take care of Meg. Both nodded.  We’ll meet at McDonald’s next Saturday night. Late. Around two in the morning.  Pack your bags. We’re out of here.

At a payphone, around 24th and 8th, as people walk by at midnight, Ben and Meg share a slice of cheese pizza. Ben takes the bigger portion.

Get lost for a while. Come back here in a half hour.

Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?

You’re a crack whore. Figure it out. Meg walks down the street quietly.  She’s fidgety and wants to score. Ben picks up the phone and places his bet.

Hello.

Hey.

Sorry. Did I wake you? Ben asked.

No. The operator did. Asking if I’d accept the charges.

Sorry about that.

What do you want, Ben? Jamie asked.

I’m in a jam.

You’re always in a jam. What is it this time? Where are you?

I’m in New York. Still.

I see.

I hate to ask you this.

Then don’t.

Have to. Got no choice.

Meg ran water into a coffee maker. Lit a cigarette. Dished Folgers into a filter. You want money. Right?

I’m sorry. 

You leave me, and then you ask for money. What the fuck Ben?

I just need to tie me over till next week. I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it.

You never pay me back.

It’s been rough. I don’t know what to say.

How much?

Fifty?

What will that get you?

Food.

I see.

Sorry.

I’m a fool, Ben. A fucking fool.

No, you’re not. You gotta good heart.

Right. I’ll wire it to you.

I can’t thank you enough.

Am I ever going to see you again?

You wouldn’t want to.