Chapter 2 or something

I ran off while the cops were there. I didn't want to have anything to do with the drugs they were gonna find. It was Clacks and Jaba. Clacks was probably dead by now, I couldn't be sure, and Jaba was probably hoping to get back to sleep. I slipped the note to the chick cop. She read it and nodded.

Ten minutes later Jaba was being marched out in cuffs. I kept doing blockies in my little blue Datsun 1200. Sometimes I wished I smoked or I did drugs or something that would kill me sooner. I didn't want to know what was going to happen to Jaba. In some ways I want to bad to live on the edge, in others, crap, I don't want to live at all.

I drove past the bottle-o and forked out thirty bucks for a cube of red bitters and pulled up at the beach. The road ran parallel to the beach for about a k. Opening my first tinnie, I leant my seat back and drained the first and the second and the third. Three in ten. It'd hit soon and I'd pass out. I sank another and swore at the dog as it had a leak on the side of my car. I got out to chase and stumbled. That was it. Two in the afternoon and already gone.

I awoke covered in glass. It was a starry night. Fish was standing above me with a foot and a half of brass tubing. I was on the bitumen, next to my car. My head hurt like hell and blood seemed to be everywhere. Tampa was standing behind, as if he were the ringleader. But there was only the two of them.

"You wanna pay for the gear?"
Kick in the guts.
"Five grand."
Shoulder.
"Now."
Arm.
"Jaba owes us."
"I'm not Jaba."
"You live with him."
"Not any more."
Kick in the guts again and brass tubing to the head.

I awoke and it was morning. The sheets were white. The tubes were clear. The nurses were too busy to be pretty.