My side is screaming. But what really sucks, is that for the first time in days my feet hurt.

The building I live in is no palace, but when I first moved in it was inreally sorry fucking shape. A few years back, when the real estate boom finally reached Alphabet City, my landlord decided to spruce up a bit so he could jack up the rents on new tenants. For the purpose of making these improvements, he hired a group of retards who I’m sure were quite affordable. The way it worked out, this crew of mongoloids went through the building destroying all that came within their grasp, while Carlos, the building super, followed them around and redid all they had undone. I needed a few bucks and Carlos needed an extra pair of hands, so I helped him with some things, including tarring and papering the roof. This is how I came to have roof access in the building when no other tenants do.

I’m standing in the hall on the top floor and I can hear the guys outside my door as clear as day. That is, I can hear that they have stopped knocking on my door and now there is only some shuffling and whispering. And then I hear what sounds like a door opening and more shuffling and a door closing and total silence. And I think,I really do, that those fuckers are in my apartment. What I want to do is,I want to call the cops. In this situation, there is no reason not to call the cops. People break into your apartment,people who seem to be associated with people who beat you bloody a few nights ago break into your apartment, and there is just no good reason not to call the cops.

No reason except for the huge bag of grass sitting on my coffee table and all the paraphernalia it’s hanging out with.

The door to the roof has a combination lock. I know the combination. I climb the half flight of steps to the roof door, work the lock and step outside. I finally put down the laundry bag because it’s really fucking killing me. I have to leave the door just a bit ajar, otherwise it will latch and if I open it, I’ll trigger the fire bar and set off the alarm for the whole building. I did this once when I was working up here with Carlos. He spewed out every curse word he knows in English and Spanish and a few inTagalog that he’d gotten from his Filipino wife. Afterwards, I bought him a beer or three and he forgave me, but it was a pain in the ass. Fire trucks, tenants in the street, traffic jammed up and all because I needed to go inside to use the john.

So I leave the door a little ajar.

I have no plan. I can still call the cops, but I figure the pot is a good enough reason to take a wait-and-see approach, at least for the moment. Especially since I have no clue what these guys are doing. I do not have nice things. There is some cash in my place and a couple standard appliances, but other than that, the weed is probably the most valuable thing I own right now. So I’m on the roof and I have no plan.

I walk to the front of the building and, when I get close to the edge, I go down on my hands and knees and peek over. Good call. Black tracksuit and white tracksuit have moved across the street. They are standing in front of the tattoo parlor there and doing the “look how damn inconspicuous we are” thing. One is talking on a cell phone and the other is drinking a bottle of Yoo-hoo through a straw. They are both avoiding looking at my building. I have entered new territory. These guys are looking for me. I feel confident that they have my place staked out and are looking for me, acting as lookouts for the guys in my apartment. This has never happened to me before and I’m at a bit of a loss for the next move. And that is when I realize that it’s time to cut the crap because this is potentially a very dangerous situation and I should just call the damn cops. I creep back from the edge of the building, stand up and head for the door, which the nice fall breeze has apparently blown shut.

For a moment, I think about just opening the door. Trigger the alarm and that would surely bring this whole thing to a swift conclusion. Bad guys dash out, fire trucks and cops show up, I tell the simple truth and, if I get snagged on the pot, well, so be it. Sometimes you just have to be a grown-up and bite the bullet. Instead, I turn into Spy Boy and decide to climb down the fire escape to get a closer look.

I used to break into houses. I was seventeen and couldn’t play ball anymore. My leg was so messed up I couldn’t play anything for a while. In gym I rode the bench with the burnouts and watched my jock friends play and thought about how I’d like to beat the shit out of their healthy bodies. After about a week, I started sneaking off with the burners to get baked behind the equipment shed. That’s how I met Wade, Steve, and Rich.

Breaking into a house in the suburbs is easy. Unlocked doors are common and unlocked windows are universal. No one had an alarm back then. Rich and Steve only did houses they knew were empty. That was fun. You hop a fence and usually just go in the back door. You run the house quick, looking for cash or jewelry or drugs, just what fits in your pockets,then you get out. Wade liked to hit houses when the people were home. I liked it too.

You pick a house. What you’re looking for is no lights at all or lights in one room only. A house where all the people are sleeping is a charge, but a house where someone is awake is unreal. You test the side garage door and go in there. Once in the garage, you can get a feel for what’s going on in the house. Andno one locks the house door to the garage. You slip into the house and listen for the TV. Thursday night in the eighties and everyone in America is watchingThe Cosby Show,Family Ties,Cheers,Night Court, andHill Street Blues. For those three hours you could do whatever you wanted. Walking past the open door of the family room, you peek in and see Mom, Dad, and the kids grouped around the set. Even if you asked directions to the bathroom no one would look up. Sometimes it was too easy.

I was at it for a few months until I got busted. The cops stopped me and Wade after we did a house. All they were looking to do was hassle us for being out after curfew, but we smarted off and they got us with cash, a bottle of Valium and some lady’s engagement ring. I quit after that. My folks picked me up at the station and I quit. They looked so disappointed. I didn’t see much of Wade and Steve after that, but I stayed close to Rich.

The fire escape for my apartment is at the back of the building. I move down it quick and easy, or as quick and easy as I can with the pain in my side. I stop when I get to the floor above mine. The fire escape extends down at a sharp angle, half ladder/half staircase, and dumps you about a foot to the left of my bedroom window. Unless one of these guys is standing right at the window, I should be able to creep down and press myself against the bricks between my place and Russ’s. From there I can listen and decide if I can afford to take a peek or if I should just get the hell out.

I relax. I am ready to start down the steps. And the dog in the apartment I am outside of starts to bark bloody murder.

I don’t think. I fly down the steps and flatten myself against the bricks. The only way I can be seen now is if someone sticks their head out the window. I wait while I catch my breath and the dog winds down. No one opens my window. I am calm. I settle against the bricks and listen. They are in there. I can hear low voices and what seems to be a great deal of rummaging and low-key destruction. The sound is a bit faint and does not seem to be coming directly from my bedroom just inside the window. I decide to take a peek. I turn so that I face the bricks, inch over to the window and dart my right eye out and back as quickly as possible. And I see nothing. I breathe. Slowly this time, I poke my head out enough to see a wide swath of the bedroom and living area and I see nothing. No people, no signs of search or forced entry. I see only Bud sitting on my bed where he is not allowed and looking at me with an expression that clearly says: “What the fuck are you doing?” Yes, the searching sounds are in fact coming from behind me in Russ’s apartment.