Read The Big Fix for Free Online Page A

me back down.
    â€œNo!” he told me. “You have done quite enough.”
    If I wasn’t still so drunk, I would be more afraid.
    â€œSeriously,” I said. “Let me help.”
    Then I saw it. That look in his face. He picked up a pair of broken scissors and put them up against my face. A theft had turned into a hostage situation. I wasn’t going anywhere, I wasn’t doing anything, until he let me go. I instantly felt sober. He was angry and he was desperate. This made a person dangerous.
    I would see that look again. I would see it in the face of a rapist, hopeless addicts, and abusive boyfriends. It was a look that I had never seen growing up in suburban Ohio. This look was one of terror. It was my face reflected in his eyes—I say “reflected” because when he looked at me, I saw nothing but a frenzied stare. No emotion but anger, all of it directed at me.
    â€œIf I don’t find this money, I am going to kill you, bitch,” he told me.
    He pushed the scissors toward my face again.
    â€œIn fact, I am not going to kill you,” he continued. He was so angry spit was starting to come out of his mouth.
    â€œI am going to put your eyes out so you have to live the rest of your life this way.” I believed him. In my gut I knew these were facts he was giving me, not idle threats.
    As he tore apart every inch of my apartment, I sat frozen. He explained to me that these were the type of people who would not forgive him for not having the money. He dragged me around the city in the dark, fruitlessly trying to find my houseguest. It wasn’t the fact that it was my houseguest who had stolen this man’s money. What mattered to me was that he didn’t believe me. When he finally decided to abandon me, I formulated an idea about how to get enough money to escape the city. It would take a few days. I would have my college tuition check refunded to me. It was break time between quarters. It would take a while before my parents would realize what had happened. I had to find some way to fix the situation. More importantly, I had to find a way to get out of his reach—NOW. There was once a time when I was innocent, when I believed the world was a good place full of good people. That time was over.
    Within a few days, I was on a Greyhound with $900 and no idea what I was going to do with myself. I just knew that I had to get away from immediate danger.
    In my mind, there were two junkie choices: New York and San Francisco. If I was going to take a “vacation,” I certainly wanted it to involve drugs. The incident in my apartment had me looking over my shoulder in fear for my life. I needed an escape. I needed it now. I certainly intended to return when things calmed down. How long would it take this person to realize I didn’t take his money? If I was going to hide out for a few weeks, I figured I might as well enjoy my time. Hell, I thought, I might even be able to bring back a few bags and double my money. People I knew did this all the time. I could get back the $900 and go back to school. The plan was slowly taking shape. I knew people in both SF and NYC, places I was sure I could get heroin. New York didn’t seem that appealing. I had been there in 1988 with a few friends. We had slept in our car at Tompkins Square Park. We drank blackberry-flavored brandy to stay warm in the cold city air. That was the first time I saw a dead person on the street. His body was blocking my path. I asked my friend, “What do I do?” He said, “This is New York, step over him.” We had gotten loaded on something or other, but I never got the hang of navigating the dope spots. I decided I would try my hand at San Francisco. The warm California sun would do wonders for my mood while I worked to straighten out my life back in Cincinnati.
    I contacted a friend from high school. He was attending the University of San Francisco. He agreed to let me stay in his