"And ye will soon know who it is that is in
THE MAIN MAN
Squatman, eyes to binoculars, scans the scene on
which he focuses:
leading down from street level
to a flat-black, nondescript door
through which, thus far, no one has exited
three gone in:
young, indigenous to The Haight (the 'Lower Haight' to be precise)
each dressed in counter-cultural acting-out attire; each looking to
Were drugs essential in explaining the "A-rab's" long-drawn
piles of empty pizza boxes signifying patience...
as he scouted out new territory?
Drummed up customers?
Why else wait?
Why spend a week or more holed up in some unspeakably foul hotel to
watch the humdrum comings and goings of juvenile delinquents?
Why 'off' Joleena?
Why sell hash on another man's turf?
And why allow a mortal enemy (which the A-rab made of Squatman when
their paths and purposes jointly crossed) to survive?
It is this last irregularity that has hijacked
Squatman's thoughts, his soul held hostage by an act of 'mercy'
loathsome to recall:
had the gun misfired just once,
he might have chalked it up to Chance.
To bite the bullet twice and still exist suggested Fate; and it is
Squatman's to avenge this two-fold insult.
His cellphone cackling with a heads-up from the
lobby, Willie tenses. Vindication in the offing, he resolves to
persevere. If it means dying in the line of duty, death will be his
ally, death the proof that he is worthy, death promoting him to
FRIEND instead of LACKEY, GOFER, YES-MAN—roles devoid of
self-esteem, the major factor in protracting his good-for-nothing
status. This time will be different; no more cowardice; no more
ducking. He will lead the charge himself, ignore the A-rab's fickle
firearm, get there first to whip his ass and serve it up on a silver
tray, then be invited—as an equal—to share the spoils.