when the junky cops and even the Commuter buzzes clogged lines of cholesterol for contact. Signal flares of orgasm burst over the world. A tea head leaps up screaming ” I got the fear!” and runs into Mexican night bringing down backbrains of the world. The Executioner shits in terror at sight of the condemmned man.
The Torturer screams in the ear of his implacable victim.
Knife fighters embrace in adrenalin. Cancer is at the door with a Singing Telegram. . .

HAUSER AND O’BRIEN

When they walked in on me that morning at 8 o’clock, I knew it was my last chance, my only chance. But they didn’t know. How could they? Just a routine pick-up- But not quite routine.
Hauser had been eating breakfast when the Lieutenant called: “I want you and your partner to pick up a man named Lee, William Lee, on your way downtown. He’s in the Hotel Lamprey. 103 just off B way.”
“Yeah I know where it is. I remember him too.”
“Good. Room 606. Just pick him up. Don’t take time to shake the place down. Except bring in all books, letters, manuscripts, Anything printed, typed or written. Ketch?”
“Ketch. But what’s the angle. . . Books. . .”
“Just do it.” The Lieutenant hung up.
Hauser and O’Brien. They had been on the City Narcotic Squad for 20 years. Oldtimers like me. I been on the junk for 16 years. They weren’t bad as laws go. At