Someone steps out of the shadows behind Hurley.

– Since I took over security.

I look him up and down.

– Evening, Tom. See you finally got that promotion you been bucking for.

– It wasn’t a promotion, asshole. The Society isn’t a fucking corporation, it’s a collective. I was elected to the post by my peers.

– Yeah, sure. Anything you say. I’m sure Terry backing you had nothing to do with it.

He starts to come outside, but stops himself.

– OK. OK. You know, you can say whatever you want, Pitt. Doesn’t matter to me. Know why?

– No. Tell me, please.

– ’Cuz you’re just a slob on the outside who’s trying to get inside, and all I have to do to get rid of you is this.

And he slams the door in my face.

Well, shit, I’m a bigger pain in the ass than that.

I cover all the buttons on the intercom panel, push them down and hold them there. It takes about a minute for him to open back up.

– Knock that shit off, Pitt!

I take my hands off the buttons.

– Hey, Tom. Terry around?

– You don’t have a fucking appointment. No appointment, no Terry.

He slams the door. I hit the buttons. He opens the door.

– Hey, Tom. Terry around?

– Hurley, get rid of this guy.

Hurley comes out onto the porch.

– Time fer ya ta go, Joe.

– Hey, Hurl, that rhymes.

He points at the steps.

– Ya want ta walk down ’em, or ya want ta fall down ’em?

I stand on my tiptoes and look over his shoulder at Tom.

– So if a guy wanted to make an appointment, how would he go about it?

Tom smiles.

– A guy like you? An old friend of Terry’s?

– Yeah, a guy like me.

– Well, I’d say all a guy like you has to do is pencil something in for a week past fucking never.

– That’s a long time.

– Hurley.

Hurley turns around and looks past Tom.

– Yeah, Terry?

– What’s the hassle about?

– Joe here wanted ta come in.

– Well, why’s the man standing out there?

– Didn’t have no appointment.

– That’s cool. Let him in.

Tom spins, dreadlocks flying.

– What the fuck? He’s got no appointment.

– No problem, Tom. I’m not really busy right now. Just taking it easy.

– That doesn’t matter. I’m supposed to be clearing people in advance.

– Sure, but we got to stay flexible, too.

– But security.

– Sure, sure, we want to be safe. But that’s Joe. We all know Joe.

I hold my hand up.

– Hey, Terry, I don’t want to cause trouble. I can make an appointment. No problem.

– No, man, no. Come on in.

– You sure?

I take a step toward the door. Hurley moves to the side, but Tom steps in front of me.

– Security is supposed to be my job. And this asshole hasn’t been cleared by security.

Terry takes off his Lennon glasses and wipes them on his Monterey Pop Festival T-shirt.

– Yeah, man, you’re security and all, but we got to remember this is a community organization. You know, it’s all well and good for us to be safe, but we have to be able to respond to the needs of the community. Otherwise, man, what’s the point? And Joe here, he’s a member of the community. So let’s, you know, let’s just bend a point here and let the man in.

– Fucking. I was duly elected and I’m taking this shit seriously. I’m drawing a line. No appointment, no meeting. Especially for a security threat like this guy.

Terry puts his glasses back on.

– A line. Uh-huh. A line. OK. OK. I get it. You and Joe have history. Some, you know, some difficult history. Some unresolved conflicts. That’s cool. So I tell you what, why don’t you and Hurley go do a perimeter check?

– What?

– You know, go, like, check the perimeter. Make sure it’s secure or whatever.

– My post is-

– Tom, really, go check the damn perimeter and stop acting like a storm trooper.

Tom opens and closes his mouth a couple times, looks at me, looks back at Terry, looks at me again.

– This goes on the list, Pitt. Right near the top.

And he storms down the steps, making sure to hit me with his shoulder on the way.

– What list is that, Tom?

– Fuck you, cocksucker. Come on, Hurley.

– The list of times you’ve made an ass of yourself?

– FUCK YOU!

He walks away down the sidewalk, Hurley a few steps behind him.

I turn to Terry.

– It really safe letting him walk around with Hurley?

– He’s an OK guy, Joe. Good at his job. Pretty mellow most of the time. It’s only when he’s around you that he loses his cool.

– Well, that’s the only time I see him.

– Think there’s a connection there?

– Got me.

He smiles.

– Uh-huh. So. Something you wanted to see me about?

– Yeah.

– Well, come on in, my friend. I’m just brewing up some chai.

– Lucky me.

– The thing is, Joe, the thing is, I really thought I’d be seeing more of you. After the last, you know, realignment, I thought we had gotten back some of that trust, some of those good vibes we used to share.

– Thought it’d be just like old times?

He takes a big whiff of the branches and dirt brewing on the stove.

– Well, old times. You can never get those back. But I thought we’d reached an accord, an understanding. Something to build on. But you haven’t really been around. Why do you suppose that is?

– Got me, Terry. Maybe because I don’t like you?

He laughs as he pours the mess in the pan through a strainer and into a cup.

– Well, yeah, I guess that’d explain it. Sure I can’t interest you in some of this? It’ll mellow you right out, put you in a good frame for conversation.

– I don’t like to be mellow.

– And that, Joe, that is too bad. Too bad.

He picks up his cup, walks across the dingy kitchen and takes the chair next to mine.

– Well then, what is it, my man, what’s on your mind?

– A job. I need a job.

You could say Terry saved my life.

You could also say that over two decades back he found me on the bathroom floor at CBGB, bleeding my life away through a hole that had been chewed in my neck. The guy who put the hole in me must have had a real taste for that shit, a real yen for the old-school style. That kind of thing ain’t easy, a person’s got to be desperate-hungry, or just be the sort who enjoys it. This guy, he’d taken his time with me, buttered me up, picked me out of the crowd as an easy mark. He was right. Nineteen seventy-eight: me, seventeen and living on the street, a hard-ass punk looking for cash, looking to score. He offered me a twenty to suck me off. No brainer at the time. Terry found me right after. Scooped me off the floor and took me to a Society safe house. Not like this deal they got now, but one of the holes they used to skulk around in before they had fully secured their turf. I ran with him for a few years, learned the ropes, saw how some things got done.

Salad days, those.

– Not to make light, Joe, but we’re not really an employment agency.

– No shit, Terry. I don’t need a career, I need a gig. I need to beef up my stash and make some money.

He shrugs.

– I don’t really see where we can help. Now, don’t get me wrong; you’re hard up, we can, you know, front you a little something to get you by. But our resources are limited. You know that.

– Sure.

– What we do have, we need to use it to help support the cause. World’s not gonna change on its own.

– Sure.

– The Society is always looking for opportunities to reach outside, to aid anyone afflicted with the Vyrus, but the pledged membership, the people doing the actual dirty work of trying to integrate the infected population into the noninfected, they have to come first.

– Right.

He takes a big sip of his gunk, ponders a moment, then lays it out.