When Tone was close enough to sneak a peek inside, he carefully raised his head until his eyes were clear of the windowsill.
From his vantage point, he could barely see inside. A thick film of grease and dirt covered the windowpane of the scarcely furnished kitchen. Everything was blurry. He couldn’t see much in terms of facial recognition. What he did see were two men standing next to each other, in stark physical contrast of one another. One was fat, with a big belly, which Tone knew to be Sykes. The other person was skinny and frail in appearance. This person’s identity was unknown to him.
Tone continued to look in the window with great interest, waiting for the precise moment to strike. He had shadowed Sykes from the time he was released from jail to the house where he went to cop his dope, to this house, where he was about to shoot his dope. It was safe to say that Tone didn’t come this far to stop right here. If need be, he’d shoot or kill the other person too. As far as Tone was concerned, the man was in the way. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“C’mon yo. Gimme a lil sumthin’,” the man pleaded with Sykes. “I’m lettin’ you shoot up in my house. This late at night man, I usually don’t even open the door. I only did it cause it’s you.”
“Damn, I hate a whinin’ ass nigga, yo,” Sykes snapped. “That’s all you do.”
Now the man was having second thoughts about letting Sykes into his home. Sykes was trouble. He was known for not giving anyone a fair shake, especially when it came to sharing dope. With Sykes, the man felt he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Had he not opened the door for Sykes, tomorrow, the next day or whenever they saw each other again, Sykes would lay hands on him, humiliating the man wherever he saw him.
“Huh!” Sykes exclaimed, throwing a bag of dope on the kitchen table. “You and yo bitch better be happy wit’ that, cause that’s all the fuck you gettin’ from me, yo.”
Hurriedly the man snatched the bag of dope up off the table before Sykes could change his mind and take it back. He gripped the bag in the palm of his hand as if his life depended on it.
Sykes continued, “I need a set of works. You gotta extra set?”
“Yeah,” the man replied. “Follow me upstairs.”
Obediently Sykes followed the man as he exited the kitchen. Patiently, Tone waited in the darkness. Silently he debated in his mind when and where to make his move. He knew timing was everything. He decided to keep a close watch.. Tone felt now wasn’t the time to strike. He’d let Sykes get high first before he decided to do anything. Then Sykes wouldn’t know what hit him.
Soon Sykes returned to the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table and prepared himself to shoot heroin. He laid his hypodermic needle on the table next to a few bags of dope, a cigarette lighter, blood stained cottons balls, a soda bottle filled with water and a large silver spoon. Tone spied through the window as Sykes tied his belt around his arm in an effort to locate a good vein. Eventually, he found a vein that was suitable enough to use.
For the next few seconds, Tone watched and waited, praying no one would enter or exit the house until he was ready to spring into action. He reminded himself how easy Sykes would be to kill once he got high. His mind would be in a stupor and his reaction time would be slow at best. Tone clutched his pistol harder, just thinking that his target lay just beyond the cloudy glass. He lay in wait, watching for the precise time to attack.
Just as Tone raised his pistol and prepared to make a move for the backdoor, a large rat scampered across his foot. The rodent startled Tone, causing him to knock over a nearby trashcan. The noise from the alley attracted Sykes’ attention. He got up and made his way over to the window to take a look. Quickly Tone pressed himself flat against the row house in an effort to conceal himself.
Sykes squinted his eyes in an effort to see through the dirty windowpane, but his vision was obstructed by the filth on the glass. He looked around in the darkness briefly before chalking the noise up to a stray alley cat.
Tone exhaled slowly when he saw Sykes’ shadow suddenly disappear from the window. He knew he had blown a chance to shoot Sykes, but Tone would rather look Sykes in the eye, man to man, so he could know who did this to him and why. Once the shooting began, he wasn’t worried about Sykes or anyone else seeing his face, because it would be the last face they would ever see.
Sykes busied himself, carefully dumping the brown contents of the pill into a spoon, along with a few drops of water. He grabbed the lighter and put the flame to the bottom of the spoon. Quickly, the brown powder and the water merged to form a dark, gooey substance. Sykes watched as the dope began to boil and bubble, dissolving the cutting agents. Satisfied it was ready, Sykes turned
