DWT 4-19 Processing-Flashback:Raids, Entrapment and the Cab Driver with the Pistol

I didn’t see any arrests concerning drugs but I heard about them and knew people who’d been arrested. The man who told Will I might be with the FBI was one of them. A serious dealer, he’d be at the baths for days on end, was always online and regularly doing G every other hour.

During the raid on his condo, a member of the law enforcement unit put a gun to the dealer’s dog, threatening to shoot it in the head if he didn’t tell them where the drugs were, at least that’s what I was told. The stories going around Chicago during this time were horrific, and the person in charge of this unit widely known for such tactics.

Will almost bailed the dealer out, but the guy’s family eventually did, so I later asked Will, “If you’d posted bail, would he have gone into rehab, or right back to the drugs?”

Will replied, “Well, he’d head to the drugs,” which is what happened, and in a few months he was arrested for dealing again, this time placed under house arrest. Temporarily staying with Will, a monitor was wrapped around his ankle in case he left the building. When Chris and I came over once to go to dinner with Will, the guy was outside, riding his bike up and down the street, high, swearing undercover Meth units had a car in the alley waiting for him. Odd he’d tell this to a member of the FBI, but oh well.

During my TINA period, weird things were going on at the baths also. One guy I’d see would walk around early in the mornings with a cell phone, yelling very loudly. Obviously a dealer, he’d talk about drug runs.

“I said, don’t fuck with me, Man! I can take you down if that shit doesn’t come through!” he’d scream into the phone. Strange, someone would be so loud about it in a public place, but he must’ve had a lot of power.

Another time, Eric and I were there in a room, using, and once we opened the door, a guy named J.B. stuck his head in and said hi. Cute, he had a baseball cap on, and was fully dressed. First of all, you don’t walk around the baths dressed, you wear a towel. Talking to us for thirty seconds, when nobody extended an invitation, he moved on.

Later, while I was walking around, he approached me again and I could tell he wasn’t really interested, he just kept looking at my eyes as if searching for something, asking a lot of forward questions, like, “Do you party?” or with no hello or how are you first, “You know where I can buy some stuff?”

I’m not stupid and once I said no, he quickly headed the other way. Within fifteen minutes, three people warned me he was a NARC who’d been arrested and that part of his agreement with law enforcement officials was turning people in, his behavior seemed to confirm it to me.

Eventually, I went back to the room to check on Eric, and when he opened the door, who was sitting in there with him, but J.B., I was surprised Eric let him in.

Within two minutes, J.B. left, and I whispered to Eric, “You need to be careful,” telling him what I’d heard about the guy. Claiming he hadn’t mentioned drugs, Eric also said J.B. wouldn’t do anything sexual.

“Keep clear of him,” I continued, leaving again to do some more cruising, but in another hour, when I returned, the same thing happened. J.B. cleared out of the room once more after seeing me.

Why would Eric take the chance hanging out with him in a potentially set-up situation? After I asked, he replied, “You know me, I like guys with a dangerous edge. I want to push it to see how far I can go.”

“Well, push it when I’m not around, I don’t want any part of him. Maybe you want to take chances, but I don’t.”

Eric and I eventually did hook up with someone, but we didn’t do Meth with the new guy. I don’t even know if it was brought up, but I assume it was. The encounter didn’t last long and after it was over, I didn’t think anything more about him.

Until, a couple weeks later, when I went to the baths by myself, getting another room. J.B. was there in his usual get up, so I ignored him, especially after he stopped me, saying, “How’s it going? Are you okay? Your eyes look red.”

The man Eric and I hooked up with two weeks before walked by. He smiled, but that was it, so I returned to my room and shut the door, needing a break from the guys staring in, a really rough crowd.

Putting my hand on the knob, ready to head back into the fray, I heard someone say, “That’s the one,” and when I opened the door, the guy who smiled was right there, pointing at my room to one of the fully clothed men walking around the club. I stared directly at him as he finished the sentence and he gave an embarrassed, sheepish smile, moving on. No drugs were on me, so I was in no danger of arrest, but still, it creeped me out.

I’d been clean about a week, yet why were these guys casing me out while three or four serious tweakers ran around downstairs like chickens with their heads cut off? After another quick walk around, I once again returned to the room, only this time a man in clothes was at one end of the hallway, another at the opposite, staring at me.

Forget this, I thought, it’s supposed to be about sex and fun, not underworld cover-ups. Getting dressed, I turned in my towel and got the hell out of there.

On the way home in a cab, I called Will and my conversation would’ve clued the driver I was obviously gay. About four blocks from my home, stopped at a red light, I suddenly heard the sound of metal on metal. Having enough experience with firearms as a farm boy, I knew what those sounds were. I looked over the back seat, and the driver was loading bullets into a revolver.

I bolted out of that cab, thinking this would be some hate crime in tomorrow’s paper and immediately assuming due to my phone call to Will, the driver was going to use the gun. I was not high, but stone cold sober. What would you do? Just ask, “Hi, and oh, by the way, what is that, a revolver?”

Running into the nearest condo building, I told the guard, who refused to call the cops. Pretty soon, the cab drove up and the driver walked in.

“Where’s my money?” he asked.

“Where’s your gun?”

“What gun? I want my money,” he replied, cocky and angry.

“Don’t give me that shit, you were loading bullets into a pistol, I saw you.”

“For your information, all cab drivers in Chicago carry guns.”

“Here’s your fucking money,” I said, throwing a ten dollar bill at him, “Get the hell away from me,” I told the guard again to call the cops, but he still wouldn’t do it.

Just then, another driver walked in, the first had obviously made a call. He took one look at me and said, “Oh, yeah, I know him.”

“Know me? You’ve never seen me before in your life! What the hell is going on?”

After narrowing their eyes and a quick threatening tip of their heads, they both walked out and drove away. When I asked the guard why the hell he wouldn’t call the cops, he replied, “I can’t be bothered with a cab dispute.”

“He was loading a revolver! It isn’t a fucking cab dispute!” and I took the name of the management company of the building. The next day I called to complain about the doorman, but who knows if anything was done, so much for human kindness in the big city.

As I walked the four blocks home, a cab appeared, slowly following me, obviously on purpose. Luckily, there was only another block to go and once inside my apartment, relief hit. What the hell was happening? I was sober! Perhaps I was over-reacting, but have you often seen drivers loading bullets into a revolver while on duty? I felt I’d perhaps saved my ass. The driver was probably just trying to scare me by following, and if so, it worked.

The next morning Will told me that a Chicago cab driver had been allegedly murdered by a gay man just a few days before. The cops arrested the man immediately, so I don’t know what they were scared of me for. I wasn’t a killer, and I wasn’t a dealer, why was this shit following me around? Thus ended my hardcore bathhouse days, it was back to the perfume counter for me.

DWT 4-18 Processing-Dealing with HIV and my calming relationship with Chris

What was it Irving Berlin sang? Oh, How I Hate To Get Up in the Morning?

It was five a.m. and I had to take Eric to the doctor again around eight. If I was going to get any writing done that morning I had to do it then. Looking over at Chris, he was sound asleep, so calm and stable, so good to me, and more than that, good for me.

And to think it almost didn't happen. The misunderstanding about Rudy, my distrust of men in general, the fact I'd been exploring a community that doesn't exactly breed centered people with their feet on the ground.

I realized our relationship was just beginning and all couples move to different levels as time goes by. Past the courtship stage, we could now joke about each other's quirks.

Both of us loved learning new things and I always applauded his tenacity whenever he tried to read aloud, since he was dyslexic, struggling with the words. An I.Q. one point below genius, due to his learning disability he had to wade slowly through a book, but kept at it. A calm man with strong convictions, I felt safe, yet wanted to take care of him at the same time.

Chris had a far worse time with HIV than I and wasn't one hundred percent sure where he contracted it, but he also took responsibility he didn't have safe sex, so it was still his own fault. So many people want to blame others for their own recklessness, I however, am not one of them, and neither was Chris.

Sero-converting around 1992, he grew progressively more ill. His job moved him to easier tasks, but finally, when his hips gave out and one was replaced, they had to let him go. One of a hundred cases in America whose joints reacted negatively to a particular HIV medication, it destroyed much of the cartilage and he almost died after the operation, taking months to recover.

While waiting in his condo for social security disability to begin, he slowly ran through savings and eventually could barely afford food, let alone medication. He made the decision, "Well, if I'm going to die, I'm going to die. I can either sell the condo and hope I survive or live fully with whatever time I have left, dying in my own home."

He fully believed it was going to happen. Luckily, for me, it didn't, since he's the only man I've met with whom emotional contentment lasted long past the "skipping in like a schoolgirl" stage, fading to the "finishing each other's sentences" section.

SSI disability took affect two full years after he first applied, welcome to the kindness of bureaucracy.

But Chris wasn't bitter about it. I sometimes think he doesn't get bitter about anything. Taking life as it comes, that's another reason I'm lucky to be with him. I don't get as much rehearsal time trying to win the Academy Award for drama…but in the end, I embrace the calmness of our relationship.

Years ago, I never thought I'd be dating somebody with HIV or that I'd have it either. It's been tough over the years dealing with his in and out illnesses, the hospital visits, watching someone you care about in pain, etc., but I wouldn't trade our time together for the world. A word of advice, all you have is now, don't avoid the possibility of a good relationship just because someone has HIV. I've had more life with Chris than any of my other relationships combined.

While he wasn't a Valentine's Day type of guy, Chris was solid and didn't believe it necessary to go overboard on sentiment, feeling if you care, you care, you don't have to dress it all up like an overdone Mardi Gras float. Prove it, rather than talk about it.

Usually, when we'd get in an argument and I'd be pissed off he wouldn't back down on an opinion, he'd give me a kiss, saying he loved me.

I'd give a quick kiss back but mutter, "Then admit you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong, I know I love you."

Calling him an asshole I'd roll over, slightly stifling a chuckle.

I believe it's not the romance part that makes a relationship last, it's mixing in a lot of other things, mainly respect, compatibility and the acceptance the other person makes just as many mistakes as you do.

My standards had certainly changed as I moved further from co-dependency, wanting another white knight, but one who wore tennis shoes. He couldn't do drugs, absolutely not, and he couldn't be a complete slut, yet I didn't want him to be a complete prude. Forget about having a boyfriend who'd refuse to talk to me for an entire day if I looked at a handsome man who smiled at me, or I at him, since I don't feel there's anything wrong with that and this isn't the fifties.

Considering the circles I'd been traveling in, I'd never have found the person I wanted there. But within weeks of stepping out of those circles I started dating Chris, who was very much "what you get is what you see."

Although choosing a boyfriend isn't like picking out china, Chris did meet all my requirements. This china had been circulated a bit, but was still in good emotional condition and even came with a little tart plate, yet hadn't been a china service for everyone in the city. I'd been on more dinner tables than him.

I knew what I wanted and dreamed about. I also realized what I now had and was emotionally content. Although I dislike the phrase, "Til death do us part" as being overly romanticized, years later, I still feel our relationship is strong enough to make those words a reality.

That morning, I didn't care what was going on at five a.m. in the Chicago PnP world, and, twenty-four hours a day, a party was always going on, somewhere.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I woke up with a cup of coffee, "Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning" faded into another song, one written by Kander and Ebb.

"It's A Quiet Thing."

DWT Part 4-17 Processing-More Discussions with Eric

Keep in mind, everything in this book is my side of the story. There are two sides to everything, hell, there's a hundred sides to everything, any number of ways to look at a situation. Many of my adventures of that year I really don't know the truth behind. They all happened, but the reasons they occurred are still a bit fuzzy. In the end, I realized some of the men I write about would read these words and say, "That's not what happened, it's a lie, he's full of shit."

All I know is what I heard and saw. Nobody sat me down and said, "The week Kurt broke up with you this is what happened," "The time so and so came over and acted incredibly weird and wouldn't touch you, yet didn't want to leave, well, this is the reason that happened."

Two weeks after that last encounter, Eric asked if I could drive him to a couple of Dr's appointments. The infection in his system so long was now affecting his eyesight and he couldn't see to drive. He looked awful, the skin abrasions pronounced, his left eyelid so swollen, it hurt the second light came near.

The drive to the clinic gave me another opportunity to talk to him about my self-therapy project. By now, my therapist had suggested sharing it with others once I finished, perhaps I could help them.

I asked, "Now, when I write these things down I'm simply going to state what I believe happened and that I don't know the answers behind some of the weirdness."

"Being around weirdness is the price you pay for doing drugs."

"I know that, but I'm just saying, even though I'm changing names, people will figure out who they are in my story and I know there'll be conflicting thoughts on what happened. Is there anything you need to tell me before I finish this piece?"

"What do you mean?"

Well, without really coming out and saying it, I was referring to his relationship with Kurt, if there was anything about it that interacted with my past, this was his chance to fill me in. Kurt must have told him his side of our break-up? It's not that I cared at this point, but I didn't want to say something false.

To this day I still don't know the depth or timeline of Eric and Kurt's friendship, not on a detailed level, nor do I care. As far as Eric and I went, it didn't matter, it was a long time ago. If Eric knew what I was talking about, and I'm sure he did, he didn't refer to it.

All he said was, "Do you remember what I told you about the first time we met?"

I replied I vaguely remembered some of it.

"You called me on time, you showed up on time, you were polite and did what you said you were going to do, which is rare in the online world. You walked in with an air of confidence, friendliness and a subtle, attractive sexuality. That's what I want you to write down."

Okay, that was it, my thoughts and speculations run as is, to be honest, I was relieved. No sense digging up old bones, in my mind everything had fallen into place and thankfully the puzzle didn't need reshaping again.

I made a comment about loving three ways and groups as a fantasy, or if they worked out absolutely perfect, but one on one was all that really did it for me, and then only if there was connection.

Eric interrupted, "You're a blast in bed, even with groups."

Smiling, I was a little stunned, he'd said it before, but I'd gone through so many negative hookups some of the good moments were forgotten. "You're full of shit, but thank you."

After a pause, he commented, "You never understood your own worth, you know, once you'd let go."

By now, I'd gotten so into our conversation I missed the turn to the clinic. Making a right turn, backtracking, I said, "Sorry about that, once I get going on something I lose sight of all else. Now we'll have to go back four blocks."

"See, that's exactly what I mean, when you focus, you put all your attention on one thing and lose the rest. You commit yourself and all that other baggage disappears. You were fine with groups."

I thanked him for the compliment but to me his analogy just meant I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time.

"Do you think that by arresting all these dealers, it's doing any good? I know it gets rid of those particular dealers, but don't more just pop up in their place?"

"Absolutely," he replied, "the dealers will always be there, arresting everyone isn't going to stop this. It's all about supply and demand, economics, it's about the money. As long as there are people who want TINA there'll be dealers willing to take the chance of supplying them. You have to educate users on what they're putting into their bodies in order to get them to quit. That, and educating people to not even want to start. Hunting people down with arrests isn't going to help. It also doesn't help to vilify Meth, by making it the 'devil drug' they're just pushing addicts deeper into the hole by making them scared to come out publicly."

"But don't you think it should be vilified? It is extremely addictive and you and I have both seen lives destroyed by it. It's fun, no doubt about that, but you have to make TINA unattractive to the average gay man so we don't have a whole new crop of users."

Eric's voice got stronger, "It's not the devil drug! They can't keep telling decent human beings who get caught in it they're evil!"

Ok, it was time to drop it, he was getting defensive and I could tell his comment about calling other people evil meant he himself was feeling like one of those people.

"I've lost a lot of friends lately. They pull away and I don't know why," he said.

"Then they weren't really much in the way of friends, were they?"

"Absolutely," was his reply, this time a little firmer than the last.

At the clinic, he sat in an easy chair for a half-hour, an IV slowly dripping anti-biotics into his system. The third of a four-day consecutive treatment, he said it was a super anti-biotic because the infection had progressed rapidly.

An entirely gay clinic, when one of the doctors came in wearing a muscle daddy t-shirt I was tempted to switch insurance carriers. Eric asked more about my writing so we discussed the research I'd been doing and I read aloud a couple of articles from tweaker.org, the best website I'd found yet. Non-judgmental, full of worthwhile information, it was both pro and anti-Meth, if that makes sense, perhaps "non-judgmental" is a better word. Also the most brutal with its "true stories" section, there was none of this "pussy-footing" around bullshit that had more to do with morals and politics than helping people.

About that time, Eric's phone rang, and when he picked up I heard the loud voice of a child, "Hi, Daddy!"

His face lit up, "Well, hello! What are you doing right now?" happiness radiating in his expression.

The conversation lasted several minutes and I could hear the child's excitement from four feet away. I could see Eric's right in front of me. To myself, I thought, "Shouldn't that be enough to let TINA go?"

DWT Part 4-16 Processing-Talking with Eric about Meth abuse

The next day, which was a Monday, I checked out the website for the Crystalbreaks group. Three of its nine sections were still "Under Construction" and while it told some interesting facts, there wasn't much. I emailed asking for information about the drug, offering to volunteer also if they needed.

Two days later, I got this reply, "Dear Terry, Please check out our web site," and they gave me the address, "Thank you."

Well, that was a hell of a lot of help. A huge issue needs informative outreach, yet all I saw were dog tags and stickers? It also bothered me they didn't acknowledge my offer to volunteer.

Now, I was just someone pro-actively looking for concrete information on TINA. If I didn't get it from them I could get it somewhere else, be it another internet site, a doctor's office or by interviewing people I'd known and on the street. But what if I'd been a hard-core user looking for help?

Most drug users have an enormously hard time asking for help. They need to be handled with kid gloves. You don't need to coddle them, but you do need to make them feel welcome and that everything will be all right, if they're willing to break free of the addiction. They need to be handled in a positive manner. If you start off your relationship with them in a cold, bureaucratic way, you're gonna lose them. It's hard enough to admit you have a problem in the first place. If an addict feels put down or ignored he'll say, "Fuck you," get defensive, and the fear will drive him back to the drug or other users for comfort, (I guess that bug wasn't quite all the way out yet.)

A few days later, I had dinner with Eric, who again told me, "I've never been pathetic before. I'm losing control!" His tears made me feel powerless.

"I don't know how to help you, Eric. I want to, but I don't know how. I've told you to stop hanging around these people, to stop going on-line, it just breeds PnP and it's too much of a temptation."

Apparently, that weekend he'd gone to an outdoor sex party in Michigan that was at somebody's farm, I'd heard about it for years, it was an annual thing. Some guy he'd met the day before on Manhunt invited him, they stayed at the house of another stranger Eric met on-line many months ago, and at the party, hooked up with someone new.

When all of them went to breakfast the next day, they had "the most soul-searching, deep conversation. It was such a wonderful release and whole new worlds of possibilities opened up."

First of all, they were most likely still high, Eric hadn't talked to any of them since that time, and now he was saying great emotional moments were unleashed in a diner among total strangers. Wake up.

"Eric, those people are not your friends. They don't know you and you don't know them. It's about PnP, period."

"I know, but all my friends have been pulling away, one by one."

"Eric those aren't your friends either, they're fuck buddies. It's a fantasy world and they're not the people who will stand by you. They don't really care." It was hard to fathom I was saying this to Eric, he'd told me these same statements dozens of times in the last year.

"I know they're not. My life is a wreck."

"I don't know what to tell you, buddy."

"You don't have to tell me anything. It's enough that you just listen."

Mentioning the Crystalbreaks unveiling that weekend, interested in his point of view, I was calm and left out my own disappointment, but Eric almost hit the ceiling, raising his voice defensively.

"God Damn them! You can't stop this thing by making everyone who uses it evil! These assholes think they're helping but they aren't!" He was getting pretty heated and I knew it was his own self-defense. Soon, I felt uncomfortable for mentioning it, but then I got fed up.

"Then do something about it rather than talking to me! I can't do anything, I don't even know what to do or how this situation should be handled. All I see are decent people going to shit and whining about it, but the minute a hookup possibility arises and there's some Meth involved, they can't turn it down! You're wiser than me, put your money where your mouth is, write down your viewpoints on these campaigns and what you think should be done!" I offered to include it in my writing, unedited.

"I'll need some prompting to do it."

"Prompting?! I can't hold your hand and force you to do things. You either want to help or you don't, and if you'd rather go online and smoke a bowl, then it means you don't. Do it and I'll include it, no questions asked."

Walking back to his car, there was awkward silence. I felt I should say something, but knew everything would come out cheesy. Hell, I'd already said the typical "Betty Ford" thing, "You either want to help or you don't."

As much as people like to bitch, "Don't use bumper sticker clichés," screw 'em, clichés usually contain truth, but Meth was so damn complicated I couldn't fathom step one on helping a user. I just knew what I was all about, not anyone else.

Finally at his parked car, I gave him a hug, "You'll be alright, Eric."

Without looking me in the eye, he replied, "I hope so."

I walked back to my apartment with a mixture of sadness, anger and helplessness.

DWT Part 4-15 Processing-Planting Seeds, Cornering somebody on their problems…

Remember that old adage, "Opinions are like assholes, everyone's got one"? Well, I must have about five assholes and there's a giant bug up one of them. I have never considered myself an activist about drugs. I have firm opinions about my past behavior, for myself, but I refuse to judge others because the minute you judge a user, you're gonna lose them, since oftentimes they'll feel embarrassed, defensive, angry. They'll run to the people they can be honest with, in many cases, other users, which won't be much help at all to them.

However, there is one thing I'm completely militant about, and again, it's my opinion, but if you have someone in your life you're worried about…say something.

Just because someone says they care, it doesn't mean they care for the right reasons. Actions speak louder than words…as do non-actions. Some people ignore the issue and many families and friends who have a loved one with an addiction, be it drugs, alcohol, gambling, food, whatever…are afraid to say anything. That's dangerous, it's not fair to the loved one and it isn't fair to you.

I'm not talking about having an intervention or nagging the person to the point they rebel, I'm just saying to quietly and delicately express how you feel, how much you care, then let it go.

Yes, the person will likely deny things, I certainly did at first with David Kinser, but it wasn't a violent, angry denial. It was just a "you don't know what you're talking about" type of thing. But, I'll tell you one thing, because I cared about David, it planted a seed.

Many drug users know what they're doing isn't good for them, they aren't stupid. Once people got comfortable with me and would open up, most of them told me they wished they could stop the Meth abuse. They knew it was messing up their lives, they just didn't know how to go about entering recovery. I didn't either, so all I could do was listen and show compassion, but still, most people I met were aware.

But, at the same time, if somebody doesn't point out things are being noticed or questioned regarding the users behavior, the user is going to assume they're getting away with it. I personally thought, "Well, guess it can't be that bad if nobody's said anything."

If a user's told by someone they love or respect that they're disappointing them, I'd think it would make some type of impression, deep inside. And someday that seed could possibly bear fruit. To be told you've let someone you love down is a serious thing, the guilt may not show, although with me, it was there.

But many times, people won't say anything at all, yet cry over the coffin weeping and wailing, "What happened? Oh, my God, if only I could have done something?!" when they never even tried.

When loved ones really care, they look out for each other, they don't just pull away like a coward because they're afraid of conflict, I see it all the time when people do this with others regarding alcohol, behavioral patterns, infidelity, weight, whatever. To me it just shows they love to gossip, ("Oh, this is just between you and me and I'm not one to talk, however…wish there was something we could do," but not actually step up to the plate with a suggestion showing they're putting their money where their mouth is.

A few years later, when I thanked David regarding what he'd done for me, he replied, "Shit, it wasn't nothing you wouldn't have done for me if I had a problem, right?"

I told him, "Absolutely," and took the beer he was holding out of his hand, dumping it in the trashcan.

"Hey!" he yelled, "What'd you do that for?"

"Just helping you out by not being an enabler."

"But, I don't have a problem!"

"Still denying it, huh?" I smiled back.

He kicked me right in the butt.

Whew, that bug is much happier now that I've let it out.