As soon as we landed, I went to investigate what had happened to Neal.
He giggled at me. 'I couldn't get it together,' he said. 'First I couldn't find my passport, then I didn't have the right clothes, then I misplaced the passport again, then it was too Tate. I knew you could do it on your own. You're a big girl.'
I didn't answer. What could I say? I was still furious that he'd taken command of my scam and ignored my proposals. He'd burdened me with Nikki and cost me a fortune. Now he was calling me a big girl.
I gave him half the stash as promised and left. I deposited four ounces in my safety deposit box, bought a couple of grams of coke from the unctuous Indian, Rachid, and flew to Goa.
I couldn't wait to see Bach. Within minutes of arriving at the house, I heard him bark at the door.
'Bach!'
Apparently he'd run away from Laura at the first opportunity and had been waiting by the house for my return. The maid and her family had kept him fed, and for entertainment he'd joined a gang of strays on the beach. Bach—oh, Bach! I hugged him as he slurped my face.
By now the new season was well under way, the paddy field crispy brown once again. The beach parties stamped and stamped every night. Goa Freaks crowded Joe Banana's porch all day. They packed into Gregory's restaurant at mealtimes. I timed dinner so the sun would be setting as I crossed the paddy field on the way back.
'Look, Bach. Look at the sky! That orange. This is my home yours too now. Our home.'
After a few weeks of visiting, I resumed the routine of sitting locked in the house. I had my stash and my Bach and didn't have the desire to party or meet people. I could hear music blasting from the beach, and if there was a tune I really loved. I'd dance by myself. And sing a bit, like to Steve Miller's 'Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin, slippin, slippin in to the FUture . . . dit, dit, ditte . . .'
When I went out, it was to buy coke.
I snorted mountains of coke. All my cash went for coke. I didn't have money to pay Lino's rent for the year. On the rare occasion when I sold a gram of smack, I bought coke with the profit. In no time I ran out of dope and had to return to Bombay to the stash in the safety deposit box. This time I brought Bach with me so I could take him to the animal hospital there. He still had trouble with diarrhoea and vomiting. Poor little thing.
He barked at people at the airport and ran up and down the aisle of the plane. Fortunately Air India didn't insist that dogs ride in boxes though I'm sure my fellow passengers weren't enthralled with Bach's antics.
In Bombay I snuck him into the President Hotel, where he had his diarrhoea and puked all over their carpet. At first I covered his messes by moving the furniture around. Alas, though, Bach never liked having his diarrhoea in exactly the same spot twice. Eventually I kept the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door so the maid wouldn't go into coronary arrest when she came to tidy up.
At Dipti's I ran into Rachid, who seemed to be popping up everywhere lately. When I bought coke from him, he suggested I sell for him in Goa.
'Darling, since you're already selling your heroin, why don't you sell my cocaine at the same time? This way you won't have to buy it, and you can make a barrel of money.'
Sounded like a good idea. I did have to start selling my dope. I needed rent money for Lino and cash to see me through the season. Maybe could make enough to finance a scam next monsoon. I'd do it! As soon as I returned to Goa, I'd turn my house into a dope den. Hey—might be fun.
I visited Neal. Though still angry at him, I loved him. He was my best friend in the world. I was horrified by what I found.
Eve and Ha had returned to Poona, and Neal was living alone in a slummy room at Bentley's Hotel on Marine Drive. Emaciated, he could hardly lift himself from the bed. Ribs poked through his shirt, and the skin on his neck was baggy.
'Got any coke?' were his first words.
'Yeah, sure, but what's the matter with you?'
'I've been sick. I have to stop taking these drugs. Maybe next week. I'll stop next week. Can you leave me a stash for tomorrow?'
'Sure. Have you been to a doctor?'
'I checked into the Breach Candy hospital but left to score coke and . . . you know how it is. I never went back.' He stood unsteadily and snorted. He wavered and seemed about to fall over. 'I better he down,' he said, supporting himself against the wall as he returned to bed. 'You can move those things and sit,' he added, pointing to a chair.
'No, that's okay. I can't stay long. I'm taking the Goa boat in the morning.'
In the taxi to my hotel, the thought hit Neal's going to the. He can't five long like that. He'd Bone way past a temporary bout of Coke Amuck. Why hadn't I recognized that before? This was a more serious Coke Amuck—like Gigi's, who'd died shortly after her marriage to Marco. A Coke Amuck that wouldn't wear off in a few hours. A Coke Amuck that went on and on, until the person burned out completely. Instead of resenting Neal for hampering my scam, I should have worried over my friend's deterioration.
I had to get Neal to a hospital. But how to keep him in a hospital long enough to get him well? As soon as the urge for coke hit him, he'd bolt like a mosquito in a typhoon. What could I do?
I formed a plan. I knew if you were in jail and sick, you were transferred to a hospital and kept under guard. It would be impossible to leave under the eye of a twenty-four-hour police watch. If I could have Neal arrested, I could see to it that he be put under a doctor's care.
In a flash of inspiration, I knew whom to ask for assistance — Inspector Navelcar! He would know police officers in Bombay and could have Neal both arrested and hospitalized. I'd go to Goa to arrange the plan with Inspector Navelcar and then return to Bombay to make sure Neal was being treated. A little
Problem—the police needed a reason to arrest Neal. I should return to Neal's room and hide some dope— then I could tell Inspector Navelcar where to find it. Good idea. I should return right now. I should tell the driver to turn round and go back to Neal's hotel.
But I didn't do it then, either.
When I checked out of the President Hotel, the deck clerk was surprised to see Bach.
Back at Anjuna Beach, I opened my dope den. I called it Anjuna Drugoona Saloona and tacked handwritten advertisements throughout the beach.
ANJUNA DRUGOONA SALOONA: Two-Story House Near Apolon's
It went well. Better than well. Within a week I was dealing four or five grams of smack every day, along with four or five grams of Rachid's I sold the coke in smaller and smaller quantities, until lines for ten rupees each. People sat around all day buying one line at a time. The profit grew as the quantities shrunk. I imagined myself a tycoon.
For publicity I held a raffle. With each packet I made I included a Raffle ticket said Anjuna Drugoona Saloona and had a number. The drawing take place at the end of December, with a Genuine. American Dildo Vibrator as first prize, a Champion Frisbee as second, and a brown stash bottle with attached spoon as third. It took me forever to write all slips of paper.
People came and went every hour of the day or night. Around 10 A.M., when the last person had left and I'd think I could finally sleep—BAM, BAM? somebody would be pounding on the door. Someone was always running out of something. Always. If I didn't answer one door, they'd hammer on another. I had four doors, and they'd pound on each one in turn, relentlessly, until I opened up.
I did go to inspector Navelcar.
'Please,' told him, 'my friend is sick. If he doesn't get medical care, and you have him arrested, and then have him locked in a hospital? He wouldn’t go otherwise, and he's dying, really. Please? You must know people in Bombay.'
