Chapter 8

By the time Joe arrived at Joanne’s house, it was late. After setting his bags in his room, he checked on Joanne. His best friend slept with her. A tangled sheet covered her waist and only one leg of Eddie. Joe couldn’t help glancing at Eddie’s penis, looking a little crusty and tired, the way he felt.

Joe sighed. It seemed to awaken Joanne, even though he’d kept it quiet. She smiled at him. He watched her beautiful mature body carefully rise off the bed. She put on a white terry cloth robe stolen from some Hilton hotel and came to him, kissing him lightly and steering him out of her room.

“I missed you,” she whispered. An ironic statement, but he could tell she meant it.

“Me too,” he smiled tiredly.

“Hungry?”

“Always.”

She chuckled. She gestured for him to sit at the kitchen table. “Drink?” she asked.

“A Coke?” he shrugged.

“Too late for that. Maybe some chamomile tea?”

“Sounds good.”

She brought out eggs, bacon and cheese, the makings of an omelet, and popped a couple pieces of bread in the toaster.

“You don’t have to go to all that effort,” he said.

“I want to talk,” she answered. “How was the workshop?”

“Inspiring.”

She nodded. “And Chicago?”

“Fun.”

“I’m glad. I thought it made sense to take a side trip.”

“It did.”

They kept quiet while she worked. The teapot whistled. She poured water into two mugs, followed by tea bags. And finished preparing his late night breakfast.

Once done, she sat across from him, sipping her tea and watching him gobble up the omelet and toast.

“I’m worried about Eddie,” she finally said.

“Didn’t the recording go well?”

“Extremely well actually. They’ll be a single in a couple weeks. The album should come out the beginning of September.”

“Cool,” he said. “Perfect timing. You’ll be sending it to college radio stations.”

“Of course. Every one of them.”

“And the sound?”

“Rough, even with the excellent studio.”

“It’s punk. It’s supposed to be rough.”

“Eddie isn’t just some punk. He’s so much better than that.”

“And not being punk would get him on the radio. And not just colleges.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. He thought about FOP, Moe’s ex band. How, except for Moe’s terrible drumming they had the four-four sound of disco, and without her he imagined them heading that way, only with her weird lyrics, though maybe losing them, the best part of their sound he thought. And Eddie becoming radio friendly. The whole thing about losing integrity. Selling out. Except he figured Eddie had the talent not to have to. Then he remembered the women in Eddie’s life. Sam. Now Joanne. And how passive he seemed to be with them. How controlling he let them be. Joe hoped it didn’t get down to having him sing some insipid song to get into the top forty or something. He didn’t need that, and it would be destructive in the long run. Singing some crap over and over again because his audience would expect it. No fucking way.

“What?” Joanne asked Joe.

“Nothing. So what’s wrong?”

This time Joanne sighed. “I’m worried about him living with Stephan.” She referred to the new bass player. The junky.

“What happened?”

“I think Stephan had him try heroin.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“And did Eddie like it?”

Joanne shrugged.

“Did you notice any scar where he might have injected it?”

“No. Just ... I saw him spacey and nodding off. His eyes were pinned.”

“Pinned?” Joe knew nothing about heroin at that point. He would soon learn.

“His pupils were tiny. It’s a reaction. A proof. That and an itchy nose.”

“Was his nose ... itchy?”

“More sore I think. I think he might have snorted it. Do you know if he’s scared of needles?”

“I remember him crying when we all got shots. That was years ago. When we were children. We made fun of him.”

“Maybe it continues. But it won’t. He’ll try it.”

“You’ve been around junkies.”

“Unfortunately. When I attended Northwestern. I got to know rockers.”

“You were a groupie?”

“No. A friend was. I would hang out with her. I wanted to meet these famous people. I was star struck like a lot of teenagers. But the way they expected it. Used it just to get off, like our mouths would be their receptacles. Human tissue paper. Maybe I did want it. Sucking the great Johnny Rocker’s cock. Much more memorable than getting his signature, if not as long lasting. Except for the memory. But I freaked out. Maybe because it did seem cruel. Nothing like the intimacy I expected before getting to that point with a man. Where I pleased him because he pleased me. Or maybe he did please me, being this fabulous presence. Like I already knew him even if he never met me.”

“But you did seem to have gotten to know these rockers. Around enough to see their junky nature.”

“Yeah. It fascinated me and scared me, the whole backstage thing. Or the hotel party scene. So I used it. Used my friend. But wouldn’t put out. Told them I wanted to talk. A surprising number of them wanted that. Talking to a pretty girl instead of fucking her mouth or cunt. Sometimes I was with them, him and his groupie. Sometimes I even spent the night. Never naked, though we sometimes hugged. So, yeah, I was around some who would shoot up. Saw the consequences. Heard the regrets. The stories. Overdoses. Friends dying. I even got instructed how to handle an overdose to keep someone alive. Even got offered to be shot up, but that scared me, too. Some regretted the offer. Almost all of them actually. Sullying this innocent girl. But I actually used those experiences. Studied sociology. Wrote a paper. Told some of them I would, promising to never name names.”

“You know I’m writing about the rock scene,” he said.

“I’ll see if I can find the paper.”

“So in Eddie...” he started.

“I’m not a groupie,” she insisted.

“You could be with him when his music and presence inflamed you.”

“But ... he never used me.”

“Didn’t he?”

“Fuck you, Joe.”

She didn’t leave. Instead they stared at each other. Maybe saw each other’s anger. It didn’t help him when she told him she loved Eddie. Because it made him think of Sam. Of the dynamics of Eddie’s sustained relationships. Only two so far really, at that level. Both women controlling him.

“This probably isn’t the best time to tell you, but I invited Eddie to stay with me,” she said.

“No it’s not,” he replied. He did the standing and leaving.

“I still want you to stay and watch my kids,” she said while he retreated.

He wanted to tell her to fuck herself, or at least flash her the finger. He didn’t. Maybe because he liked doing that for her. Being a resident daddy, even if Mommy might not be as available for matrimonial bliss.

He called Moe from his extension in his room. It was late, but he knew Moe lived a vampire’s life.

“Hey,” she said after he told her who he was.

“Hi,” he said back.

“What’s wrong?”

She actually laughed when he told her. “You’re complaining to your lover about your lover?” she explained.

He laughed too. Because he didn’t love Joanne. He loved Moe.

They talked until his ear ached having the phone against it for so long. They talked about junk. How pervasive it was in the rock scene. How she had avoided it. Avoided it like she avoided meat. She would smoke, but somehow that was more natural, like cannabis. No powder, like cocaine which she said needed something chemical to be broken down. No speed. No heroin. She tried hallucinogens only when they looked like vegetation. Peyote. Mushrooms.

Before he told her his adventures in Chicago, he insisted she tell him about her couple days back in New York. “I’ve been stricken off the record,” she said.

“Meaning no more of your songs.”

“Only a couple that please the crowd, or the few fans who see all our shows. It seems they were prepared to get rid of me. My ex had already written lyrics. My so called best friend made them songs. They hired some guy who plays synth drums like you said. Inspired by Kraftwerk supposedly, but I’m thinking Giorgio Moroder.”

“So you still stay in contact?”

“My girlfriend told me my ex’s lyrics pretty much suck, but I think just to make me feel better. It doesn’t. I asked why she sticks with them. She didn’t answer. I have a feeling they suck in a good way.”

“I understand,” he said. Selling out.

“I’m writing a lot,” she said.

He understood that too. She was lonely.

“I’ll come visit you.”

“I can pay,” she said.

“I think I can make it a business expense,” he returned.

“You can save Joanne money staying with me.”

“Of course.”

“I live with my parents.”

“I know.”

“They won’t care.”

“Good.”

They continued, talking about him. His experience in Chicago. All of it. She liked hearing about him fucking. Even being fucked. It became phone sex, which put them both to sleep. He barely cradled the phone when he told her he loved her and goodbye.

He awoke late morning feeling rested. Eddie waited for him at the kitchen table. He looked a little green. The kids occupied themselves in the living room. Their rambunctiousness completely ignored by Eddie. He dumped the coffee. Made a new batch. “Want some?” he asked Eddie.

“I should go,” Eddie said. “Just waiting for you to awake.”

“We need to talk.”

“I need to meet with the band.”

“This early? You mean meeting Stephan. Have him come here.”

“I don’t think Joanne likes him.”

“She’s not here.”

“Okay.”

Eddie called. Joe made enough coffee for two. Joe looked at Joanne’s list of things to do. More than usual because of his absence. It could wait.

“He’ll be here in an hour,” said Eddie. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You going to take Joanne’s offer to stay here?”

“It’s a lot nicer then Stephan’s.”

“But... ?”

“It’s ... just...”

“Best friends?” he offered.

“I don’t want to impinge.”

“On her?”

“On you.”

“She loves you. I make her cum and look after her kids.”

“I love her, too.”

“But... ?”

“But nothing. I love her.”

“And yet you make excuses not to live here.”

“Sometimes I wish she wouldn’t love me.”

“And you didn’t love her.”

“Yeah.”

“Because it’s confining.”

“She’s okay with me fucking around.”

“Maybe because of me.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s more she understands the rocker lifestyle. The temptation. She doesn’t want to be a grasping bitch.”

“What do you love about her?”

“Her body? Her skills?”

“More than that.”

“Her wisdom. Her guidance.”

“Because you need that from her.”

“It shows me she cares.”

“It’s what you need.”

Eddie gazed at Joe. Joe hoped he might get it. But didn’t think he did. “I like a strong woman,” Eddie said.

The rambunctiousness of kids escalated. “Let’s take this to the backyard.” Joe said, walking into the living room. “You guys want to play outside?” he asked the tow headed devils.

“I’m hungry,” said the youngest.

“Me too,” the lovely girl agreed.

“I’ll make sandwiches,” he said. “We’ll have a picnic.”

“At the lake?” the girl asked hopefully. Lake of the Isles, a lovely lake, sat only a couple blocks away.

“I have to stay here, but we’ll head there after. Okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

They followed him into the kitchen where he made four chicken salad sandwiches. Poured three lemonades. Eddie didn’t want any. He said so before leaving Joe and the kids, taking his coffee mug. Not the most fatherly type.

“Esther,” he said to the girl. “Do you know where the big blanket is?”

“In the mudroom,” she said proudly. “Next to the picnic basket,” she added suggestively.

He chuckled. “Can you lay it on the grass in the backyard?”

“Sure. Come on, brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” her brother frowned but followed her.

He put the plates and the glasses on a tray and headed their way. Essie, what everyone but Joe called her, actually kept the door open for him. Clever, sweet girl.

The big, old Kenwood house rested one house down from the corner. No fences impinged on the sight lines to the street that crossed the street which bestowed the house its address. The backyard had to be the busiest with a square of sand to play in, and swings and a low balance bar. Essie had dreams of being a gymnast. Her father could never say no to her. Luckily he wasn’t a constant presence for spoiling. More like a visiting grandparent, especially when Joanne essentially kicked him out of her life, at least as far as him ever staying there. She still worked with or for him. And he could visit his kids or come by to borrow them so his wife could love them in their country mansion.

Anyway, with the view to the street, Eddie stood watching obviously for Stephan.

“Sit,” Joe said. “Eat.”

Eddie joined the picnic, with frequent glances.

“You jonesing already?” Joe asked at one point. “You said he’d be an hour.”

“What did Joanne tell you?” Eddie practically spat.

Sighing about his big mouth, Joe decided to be honest. “She’s worried about you.”

“Is that why she wants me to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck her,” Eddie grumbled and threatened to stand.

“Children,” Joe reminded him. The two cuties looked up, then returned to eating. Parents sought to spare innocent ears, but words get said. Probably more frequently than they should. But maybe it’s like drinking. Making it special by announcing its forbiddances probably escalated the problem, especially when the rebellious teen years took them over. “And don’t go running off.”

“Whatever,” Eddie grumped, but remained sitting. “Dad.”

“At least there’s someone there to tell you no.”

“My mom cares about you more than she ever does me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You remember Simone?”

“How can I forget,” Joe chuckled.

“Fuck you. Mom was more concerned about her stealing you from Freddy than her stealing me from Sam. In fact she let the ... girl sleep in the next room.”

“Your parents love you.”

“They barely notice me.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“How would you know?”

Joe could only shrug. “About Stephan,” he changed subjects.

“What about him?” Eddie asked defensively.

“I want to try it.”

“Try what?”

“You know. You just snort it?”

“Yeah. It fucking hurts. But ... Stephan only has one ... works. He thought sharing would be a bad idea. And needles...”

“I remember.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry. I could get some.”

“From your mom?”

“Yeah. She’s got a stash at home, I’m sure. When she visits, for emergencies.”

“When?” he asked.

“Later. When their mom gets home.”

He nodded. “Then why invite Stephan here?”

“I wanted to talk to him. About using. Maybe he’ll give us some caution. And I’ll give him some money.”

“I guess I should too.”

“You don’t pay for it?”

“He doesn’t give me much.”

“Enough to make you look a bit green this morning.”

“That’s the wine,” Eddie insisted. “Me and Joanne got a little fucked up last night.”

“Whatever you say.”

He rubbed his nose and glanced at the street.

“Your mom will be home,” he reminded Joe.

“We’ll pick up Belle. She’ll distract her.”

“We want her out of her bedroom.”

“Fuck you.”

They laughed.

“And your dad?” Eddie asked.

“He’ll be with his chippie.”

“Every weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucked.”

“Fuck him.”

“Yeah. Your mom’s hot. He’s an idiot.”

“No argument here. But we men seem to like strange.”

“I guess we do. Speaking of which.”

“Yeah.”

“In fucking Iowa?”

“Chicago too.”

“No shit.”

“But...”

“What?”

“I fell in love. Unfortunately its long distance now.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t say anything to Joanne.”

“Why would I?”

Joe shrugged. “I’m going to visit her. She lives in Manhattan. Born and bred.”

“Sounds cool.”

“The coolest.”

“When?”

“I think when your single gets released. And maybe I’ll get a tape of the album.”

“It’ll be a business trip.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re a genius.”

“I hope so. I think I need to be.”

“Yeah. Can I come?”

“Sure. Although I don’t know if she can expense you.”

“My parents might not love me, but they have no problems giving me money.”

“Maybe you can stay in the hotel room I won’t need.”

“Cool.”

They watched the kids play. Essie showed off her balancing. Actually Joe mostly watched. Eddie kept looking for Stephan.

When he finally arrived, a big presence, dark matted hair, dark eyes and pale skin, wearing long sleeves despite the heat, Eddie waved him across the neighbor’s back yard.

“Mind if I use Joanne’s toilet?” he asked immediately.

“Can I join you?” asked Eddie.

“Sure.”

Joe could see the difference after. Softened expressions. Heavy lids. The itching, at least for Stephan. Eddie sniffled and rubbed his nose. And Joe saw the pinned pupils.

“We’re headed to the lake,” he told them when they returned.

“Yay!” Essie exclaimed. She grabbed the blanket as soon as he removed the dishes.

“Help her with it,” he said to Eddie. He seemed reluctant. Not the dad type.

Inside Joe scribed a brief note. Joanne knew where they went when they visited the lake.

In a grass field beside a stream just off the lake, where they could still see the lake and its picturesque islands, the stream leading to another lake, Cedar, where, supposedly, some nude beach resides, but that might be a myth, and where the kids and he visited because it had a regular public beach, which Lake of the Isles didn’t, the little group settled down. At least the adults did. The kids played imaginative games. Joe sat with Stephan. Eddie sat away from them, writing in his notebook. At one point, he asked if he could grab his guitar from Joanne’s house. Joe handed him the keys. Joanne hadn’t quite trusted Eddie yet with them.

“Tell me,” he said to Stephan after a long silence, “How strung out are you?”

“I manage,” he said.

“Because it costs too much.”

“Maybe.”

“How strung out is Eddie?”

Stephan laughed. “He snorts the shit. There’s only so much a nostril can take.”

“He seemed needy today.”

“Did he?”

“Is that what you want? A buddy to get high with? Or maybe a source of money?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just curious. I want some.”

“Make up your mind.”

“My mom’s a nurse. I can get syringes.”

“I’m listening.”

“I get you some money. Enough to get four people high.”

“Who else?”

“Belle.”

He nodded. “I want money for ten packets. Cheaper that way.”

“More for you.”

“How else can you get any?”

“You could introduce me to your supplier.”

“Not going to happen.”

“And when Joanne has Eddie kick you out of the band?”

“To let you back in?”

“Let me remind you there’s a thriving punk scene in Minneapolis.”

“No one better than me.”

“Believe what you want.”

“So this is some kind of blackmail?”

“You got it all wrong. I wish I could kill him after killing you for trying to get Eddie strung out.”

“Then why... ?”

“I’m a writer. A writer needs experience. Especially since I’m writing about this. The punk scene. The junk. So you’ll get us some?”

“When?”

“This evening if you can. When Joanne gets home.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Can you give me a ride?”

“So I do get to meet the man.”

“The lady actually. Why not. She’s cool. Her kid even plays with Johnny Thunders.”

“Who?”

“You really are a country bumpkin. You heard of the New York Dolls?”

“Yeah. I actually saw them at the State Fair as a kid.”

“Me too. That was awesome. Changed my life.”

“I preferred seeing Muddy Waters,” Joe said.

“You didn’t get it.”

“No. I get it now. Which one is he?”

“The lead guitarist with the crazy long hair.”

“Okay.” Joe realized it was that Johnny Thunders. The one that had changed Eddie’s life.

Stephan laughed. “She’ll show you, I bet. She loves showing off her son playing with Johnny.”

“Johnny’s a junkie?”

“Famously.”

“So that works for him. Having the son of a dealer play with him.”

“Yeah.” Stephan shook his head, not sure how to respond.

Not the sharpest tack, Stephan had presence on stage and played a strong bass. But seeing Joanne looking at him with distaste when she arrived, Joe knew his days were numbered. Joe would be assuring that, and, knowing Eddie, he’d bow to Joanne’s decision.

Visiting Stephan’s supplier proved much more interesting than he thought it would be. And not the least bit intimidating which he feared it might. She was a small, spry woman with long black messy hair and a sallow skin tone. She took a liking to him immediately, flirting with him. He flirted back. Purely in play. He had no interest in her sexually. Though pretty in a sort of wizened way, and petite the way he liked his women, or maybe used to, she had an unhealthy, unhygienic quality. But the house, small and cozy, in Northeast Minneapolis, right on the corner of Broadway and Washington and thus surprisingly public for a dealer, had a homespun comfort to it. As did she. They entered with a video playing. “Look what I found in the fucking remainder videos at Target,” she said, showing them the box. “The Punk Rock Movie.” “Check this out.” She rewinded it. Her son, with similar features, though not as sallow in his paleness, a young, quiet man, chuckled. “She memorized the place,” he said.

She pressed play. Joe saw and heard an iconic British punk rock girl proclaim, “At last, decent fucking music.” And then Johnny Thunders played. The Heartbreakers. He recognized the name. It had been listed in the infamous and collapsed Anarchy Tour. He knew the other bands. The Clash. The Damned. The Sex Pistols. But the American one he had known nothing about. Until that moment. They rocked. Really simple shit. Catchy tunes. Definite presence. More rock and roll than punk, both too straight ahead and too polished, albeit in a messy way, but with an attitude that pushed them to that world. An attitude that would never get heard on commercial radio. Making it much better in his view of things then.

“You can have this one,” she said as they left. She apparently bought every copy she could find in the store. “And this is Johnny playing live with my son.” Another tape.

When they got into the car, Eddie realized something. “You got a copy of our video?” he asked Joe.

He realized, just as Joe did, that since Stephan wasn’t on it, it would be unlikely Stephan would be handing it out. Joe always seemed to have one in his bag, as if the bag was a horn of plenty. Joe took it to the house. She opened the door when he knocked. “This is Eddie’s band,” he told her. “I’m playing bass.”

She pulled him down for a kiss. Cigarettes and something else. “Come by anytime,” she whispered into his ear.

“Okay,” he lied. He never planned to see her again. Even if he liked her. Definitely not in that way.

They dropped off Stephan. He kept seven of the ten glacine packets he had bought. They planned to come back so he could show them how to shoot up. But Joe didn’t trust him. And they headed to Belle’s apartment. And then to his home. His old home. Joanne’s had more and more felt like home to him.

Belle did her job, distracting Joe’s mom downstairs. Joe pretended to be looking for some old writing. He slipped into his parents’ room, found the hidden place his mom stashed drugs and paraphernalia. He had known about it for years. Sampled some of the drugs. Uppers. Downers. Opiates. But minimally. He didn’t want it to be obvious. Nor did he want to be into any of the drugs. She had packets of syringes. She dealt with homebound diabetics and emergencies. He didn’t think she inventoried them. He’d tell her if she figured it out. This was a one-time thing. Hopefully.

Surprise jostled his entire body when Patty saw him leave the master bedroom. He thought she might be out like she usually was. “What are you doing?” she asked. His hand was in his shoulder bag. He released the package of syringes before pulling it out.

“I was looking for some old poetry of mine,” he lied. “Mom had asked me if she could read some.”

“I have them,” she smirked. “I wanted to give my friends a laugh.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head. Looked surprisingly serious. Maybe even a little ashamed. “Lois has way too much of a crush on you. I’ll go grab them.” She darted back into her room, returning quickly holding a couple of his blank books. Well, no longer blank.

He had typed some out, dreaming of a book of his poetry, but never sent it or any of his poems anywhere. Almost all of his writing, at least the poems, remained written in long hand in those blank books.

“What you want them for?” she asked him.

“Joanne thought I should be published. A start to my career. So you liked them?”

She shrugged. “Some, maybe. Some were pretty goofy.”

“I guess I should try to weed out the goofy ones,” he said, making her laugh.

She returned to her room. He went back into his. Actually grabbed a couple more books and the sheaf of paper that contained his hoped for published book. Joanne never insisted, especially when he told her having his words spoken by actors was more satisfying, but she did bring home a book that listed magazines that published poetry and short stories.

A disturbing scene appeared when he entered the kitchen. His mother crying and Belle sitting in front of her holding her hands. “You okay?” he asked idiotically.

“Yes,” His mom sniffled and chuckled. “I just miss Belle.”

“I told her she can come to the apartment anytime,” said Belle. He didn’t know how to respond to that, and Belle made it clear she didn’t want any response.

“We should head back,” he said.

“You sure?” His mom asked. “I could make something.”

“We ate on the way,” he told her. He had a feeling Belle already had.

“You just got here.”

“Eddie needed some things, and I just came by for the writing.”

“Why won’t that boy get a car? It’s not like the Golds can’t afford it.”

He shrugged. Unlike most boys their age, Eddie never wanted to drive. He preferred being ferried around. At first it had been the twins’ car. The two brothers in the band had an old pick-up truck that Belle helped keep running. Stephan’s car barely functioned as transport. Belle couldn’t afford a car yet, though she told him her cousin who she worked for at the garage had just given her a junker that if she could make it run it would be hers. But at that point he was Eddie’s chauffeur often enough. Sometimes his brother brought him home. Probably to supply some grass or whatever to a dealer or two selling to the local heads.

Belle hugged his mother. He hugged her, too. Both releases seemed reluctant on his mother’s part. Did she miss them that much? Was she that lonely, with her and his father all but separated, if not physically?

“You should come to town sometimes,” he decided to say when the hug ended.

She smiled sadly and nodded. “Perhaps I could deliver some care packages. I suppose, with Joanne, you don’t need any. But Belle...”

“I’d love that,” Belle smiled.

They picked up Eddie, who immediately pulled out a tin with some well-rolled joints and lit one. “My brother was home,” he smiled.

“I actually grabbed my writing,” Joe told him. “You?”

He had a similar excuse, old tapes instead of old words. Even though his parents were so hands off, and he didn’t really need any.

“Yeah. Maybe there’s a lost gem.”

“Doubtful,” Joe chuckled, coughing. He had just taken in some of Eddie’s brother’s powerful smoke.

“Yeah. But we did do some cool covers along the way.”

“True.”

When they arrived at Stephan’s place, a basement rented from whoever lived above him—Joe never met the family or couple or whatever—it didn’t surprise him that Stephan was nodding off. He did have enough consciousness to show them the way to prepare and shoot heroin. The spoon slightly bent to rest without the cup of it tilting. A glass of water. Burning the bottom of the spoon with a lighter until the little bit of water extracted with the use of the new needle boiled and the heroin dissolved. Adding a small piece of cotton ball. Extracting the liquid with the syringe filtered by the cotton.

“Eddie can handle a full dose I think,” said Stephan, tapping at the side of the syringe and carefully squeezing the plunger until a tiny bit of liquid squirted out. “You two should take half.”

He gave Eddie a thin belt and Eddie used it to tie off his upper arm. Stephan found a vein just below his elbow hollow. Pulling back, Joe saw a swirl of blood enter the tube. Stephan pushed in the plunger.