"'Nail it,' I say to him. 'Go.' So the lunatic steps on the gas, but he doesn't downshift and we sort of chug away. Meanwhile, the cop is chasing after us, on foot. And we're in a mess of traffic. I look back–the cop has his gun out–he's waving cars to stop.

"I look over at Easy Eddie. He's pulling bags of dope out of every pocket. Ripping open the bags, throwing the powder into the air. The cop grabs a cab from somewhere, comes screaming after us, cuts us off. Sights right down the pistol at us.

"I get out of the car. Easy Eddie just sits there. We're both covered with heroin. Like we had the world's worst case of dandruff. The cop is out of his mind. He says to Eddie, 'I told you to stop!'

"Eddie just looks up at him. 'Oh, man,' he says, 'I thought you were just saying hello.'

"I go over to the cop, brushing the junk off my coat, pulling out these papers I had. Department of Social Services. I tell the cop that I'm Eddie's caseworker. I'm taking him back–he was on a supervised day-pass from Pilgrim State. The looney bin. Sorry about the whole thing. Blah, blah.

"The cop looks at the papers, looks at me. Then he gets a thought. He's a psychiatric patient–you're a social worker, right? Right. So how come he's driving?

"I tell the cop it's all part of our advanced rehabilitation program. So the patient gradually reenters society under supervision. I see the look on the cop's face and I immediately agree with him–this guy is not ready for discharge.

"The cop's acting reasonable about this and Easy Eddie's keeping his mouth shut. I think I have it locked. Then the stupid cop decides he's going to make a point. Asks Easy Eddie if he thought he could outrun a bullet. Easy Eddie sits there, like he's considering the whole thing. Then he asks the cop, how much of a head start would he get?

"I thought the cop was going to start whaling on him right there, but I kept talking to him, saying Eddie wasn't being a wise guy–he's just nuts.

"Finally, the cop pulls off in the cab. I get behind the wheel and take off. I'm not even in second gear when Easy Eddie bails out over the side. By the time I turn around to pick him up, find out what's going on…he's down there in the street, trying to scrape the heroin off the concrete with a piece of cardboard."

She knew there was a point to the story and she was trying to keep a straight face, but her whole upper body was quivering. Finally she gave it up. "Oh, God! You're standing knee-deep in smack and the cop's got an attitude about going through this stupid signal…."

"Pretty funny story, huh'' I asked her.

She caught my tone. "Well, it is. I mean…"

"Girl, everything Easy Eddie said was true. We had come up together. We were as close as brothers. He was a stand-up guy. He didn't mean any harm–never thought about getting me in trouble. If we'd gone down for the dope, he would have taken the whole weight."

"So?"

"So he was really sorry about what happened. And I never rode with him again."

CROSS

Bandit

The Group Home was a garbage can. It wasn't as bad as the Institution, that part was true. We lived in rooms, not dorms. And the bathrooms were like real ones, in houses. The windows didn't have bars, and the fence around the house was nothing–just wood, with no razor wire on top. But it was a garbage can anyway…a place where you throw things away.

It was a mix inside. Not like the Institution, that was a mix too, but at least everyone in there was bad. In the Group Home, you had bad kids like me, on the way out from the Institution. You had to stay there for a few months before they let you go for real. But they also had other kids, kids who never did nothing, but they locked them up anyway because nobody wanted them.

That was Rodney. He was smaller than most of the kids, although he wasn't the littlest. Rodney had a bad leg, from where his mother's boyfriend beat on him. He had to drag that bad leg behind him when he walked, and he couldn't run at all.

A big black guy ran the place. He was the Director. That's what they call them in the Group Homes, not Superintendent, what they call them in the Institutions. Mr. Allen, that was his name.

When I got there, he told me it was a place where kids got ready to go out on their own. A Halfway House, he called it. Halfass was more like it–just like the joint, only there was more talking.

We mostly talked in Group. We would all sit in this circle and talk. About our feelings. Mr. Allen, he said that was important. To express your feelings.

I never did that lame stuff. You talk about your feelings, people think you're weak.

Mr. Allen, he wasn't weak. He was an ex-con, a big guy with a hard face and heavy muscles. I want to look like him–it's a good way to look when you're inside. He did State time, years ago. Now he works for the State.

Rodney lived in my room. Just the two of us–the room was real small. I didn't have much stuff, but I had a radio. One day, when I was out looking for a part-time job, three guys from upstairs came into the room after my radio. Rodney walked in while they were doing it. They told him to mind his own business, but he tried to stop them. They rat-packed him, stomped him good. But they left the radio, because they knew from how he fought that he would tell me.

They took Rodney to the hospital. That night, Mr. Allen came into my room. He asked me how come I wasn't playing my radio. I told him I wanted to read. He went over to the radio, turned it on. Nothing happened.

"Where are they?" he asked me.

I gave him the Institution look, but Mr. Allen stared me right back.

"Give it up," he said.

I reached under my bed and gave him one of my thick white socks. Full of batteries from the radio.

"Going for some payback, Marlon?"

I didn't say anything.

"That's not the way it works in here," he said. "I'll take care of it."

The next morning, they shipped the three guys out. Back to the Institution.

When Rodney came back, Mr. Allen told us in Group that the three guys couldn't live by the rules of the Community, so they were expelled.

Everybody nodded, like that was righteous. I could feel Mr. Allen watching me, but I didn't look at him.

One day, in Group, Rodney said he wanted a puppy. He even had a picture of the one he wanted. A black and white puppy. "I would call him Bandit," Rodney said.

Mr. Allen said maybe someday he could have one, if he would take care of it. Rodney got all excited. One of the guys whispered "punk" real quiet, but I heard him. I said I wanted a puppy too, looking the guy in the face. He didn't say anything to me.

Mr. Allen took me aside later. He told me it was good that I watched out for my partner, but not to be stupid.

Rodney cried every night, but I never said anything.

Nobody ever visited him.

Nobody ever visited me either, but that was different. I knew nobody would come, but Rodney, he always thought his mother would come.

The lock on the back door of the pet shop was nothing. I went in like I learned in the Institution.

Rodney cried when I showed him the puppy. "Bandit!" he said. The puppy slept on his bed.

They came for me the next morning. Mr. Allen took me in his office. The cops said it was okay, but they left the handcuffs on.

"Will you let Rodney keep the puppy?" I asked him.

He said he would. His face was sad. "I'll pay for the dog, Marion," he said. "You pay me back when you can."