a few trays of badly flavored soy, because they all stay put.
As I walk up the stairs to the front door of our apartment building, I remember the gun on my hip.
There’s one more thing left to do this evening.
“How much ammo do you have for this thing?”
“Eight factory rounds, and twenty-seven home-rolled,” I say.
Eddie opens the cylinder and then spins it, something he has done three times already during our negotiation. It’s almost painful to see my gun in the hands of someone else. I know that I’ll never hold it again if the deal goes through.
“You’re tossing that in, of course,” he says.
“Of course. What am I going to do with the bullets without the gun?”
“Thirty-eight Specials are common on the street,” Eddie says. “You could sell the ammo to someone else.”
“I’m joining the service tomorrow. No time to go shopping around. Call it a package deal.”
“A package deal,” Eddie repeats. “Okay.”
He looks the gun over again, and nods to himself.
“Two commissary vouchers, and two ounces of Canada Dry. Last you for a week or more if you don’t run around and share.”
I shake my head.
“No go on the dope. If I test positive, they’ll kick me out. Four commissary vouchers.”
Eddie pinches his chin with thumb and forefinger in thought. I know he made up his mind on my offer the second it was on the table, but I let him go through the ritual anyway.
“Three vouchers, ten pills, regular meds, your pick of house stock.”
I pretend to think about it.
“Three vouchers, fifteen pills,” I say.
“Deal.”
Eddie holds out his hand. We shake on the transaction, and my revolver disappears underneath one of the many layers of Eddie’s clothing. We’re in a dirty alley between two residence towers. Eddie buys and sells almost anything of value--guns, drugs, vouchers for the food stores outside of the PRC, and fake ID cards that sometimes hold up to inspection.
“What kind of pills do you have?”
“Let’s see,” he says. “Pain killers, antibiotics, blood pressure stuff, uppers, a few downers.”
“How good are the pain killers?”
“Headaches and stuff, not ‘getting shot’ kind of pain.”
“Good enough,” I say. “Let me have those.”
Eddie reaches into his coat, gets out a tube of pills, and counts fifteen into my hand.
“These better be real,” I say as I tuck the pain meds into my pocket.
“Of course they are,” Eddie replies, mild offense in his voice. “I have a reputation, you know. People end up with fakes, they’ll never buy from me again.”
He reaches into one of his pockets again, and presents three commissary vouchers with a flourish, like a winning hand of cards.
“Appreciate the business,” he says as I take the vouchers.
“I’ll see you around, Eddie,” I say, and know without a doubt that I won’t.
Mom looks up from her Network show when I walk back into the apartment.
“How was it?”
“Pointless,” I say.
I walk over to the living room table and drop the handful of pills onto it. Mom eyes the meds, and raises an eyebrow.
“Nothing illegal,” I say. “Just some pain meds. I figured you could use ‘em, with your toothaches.”
She leans forward and scoops up the pills.
“Where did you get those, Andrew?”
“I traded some stuff.”
I pull the commissary vouchers out of my pocket and place them on the table in front of Mom. She leans forward to inspect them, and claps her hands together in front of her mouth.
“Andrew! How did you get those?”
“I traded some stuff, Mom,” I repeat.
She picks up the vouchers carefully, as if they are made of brittle paper. Each of those vouchers entitles the bearer to a hundred new dollars in goods at a food store outside of the PRC. The government issues vouchers every month, and they hand them out from the safety of a concrete booth near the Public Transit Station on a lottery basis.
“Use ‘em, or trade for something,” I say. “Just don’t let anyone cheat you out of those.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Mom says as she stacks up the vouchers and slips them into a pocket. “It’s been a year and a half since we got a voucher. I’m dying for some bread and cheese.”
I was fully prepared to feed my mother some nonsense about the stuff I traded for those vouchers, but she’s so excited that she doesn’t bother to dig any further.
“Good night,” I say, and walk over to the door of my room. Mom smiles at me, and turns her attention back to the plasma panel on the wall, where some inane Network show