He's got a screwdriver in one hand and a roll of electrical tape in the other. "I finally got some stuff done last night. Usually I'll start something but, for some reason," he's shaking his head, looking perplexed,  "I don't get it quite finished. . .or can't remember what exactly it was that I started."

I pat my back pocket—the notebook's still there. I pull it out and uncap my pen. "But how long does crank keep you awake for?" I ask. "Surely you can't remain high for days at a time?"

"You're right, bro! You're right! A line gets me spinning for over eight hours—a rail and I'm spun about twice that."

"I haven't seen you do any crank. Where do you do it?"

"Shh, bro!" he whispers sharply. "I keep it in a small closet I made in the attic. It's safe from the rat though."

"Huh?"

"You know—the attic." He motions to the top of the house. There's a gaping hole cut into the downward slope of the roof which I'm sure wasn't there yesterday. A stack of wood and black shingles lays nearby.

"What's that?" is all I can think to ask.

"The attic."

"No. . .the hole. . .Why is there a hole in your roof?"

"Oh that," he says, grinning. "What do you think? I made it last night after you guys conked out."

The annoying sounds of construction I heard before I'd fallen asleep suddenly come to mind. "Why—I mean—what's it for?"

An eery, puzzled expression passes over him. "I think it's a sunroof."

I turn my attention back to Lee's Woody and the fact that all four wheels have been taken off. "What are you doing to your car?"

"I'm re-wiring my stereo."

A few moments later Joel's standing next to me. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. After Lee convinces me that he'll be at home this coming evening, I decide I can return home for a few hours, eat, wash up, and change into some clean clothing. Joel's more than happy to do the same.

Startled suddenly, I glance back at the two stacks of wheels. Eight of them. Eight wheels. The Woody only has four. Oh shit!

Slowly, nervously, my stomach turning, I approach to where my Ferrari's parked on the far side of the Woody in the driveway apparently shared by Lee and his neighbor. My deepest fears are revealed.

My Ferrari's up on blocks.



IT'S late in the afternoon and I'm going over the four pages of notes I've so far gathered. It's a start, but I know that it's not quite enough information to put together a good report. I feel there remains some subjects yet to cover. Especially if I'm supposed to link Lee's drug activities with a political group. So with the report on my project due tomorrow, it's with worry that I remind myself that this is the last evening with the crank addict.