It had been two days since waking from my near death overdose and I was being much more careful about dope, but little else. I was pretty much consumed with two things. First, making scratch for dope, second, finding and killing �Sundance�.

With my new found vocation of hustling, and the occasional robbery, I figured my cash problems could be managed. Revenge however, was a different matter. Now, evidently �Sundance knew I was alive, and as a result had become very scarce. I made no bones about my intentions towards him. What I needed was a gun, so I started asking around.
With 75 dollars I made from selling my food stamps, I bought one.

My new gun was small and shiny, very used, and probably of poor quality. It didn�t really matter as it only needed to work one time, and then I planned on throwing it into the Puget Sound.

For the next few days I had a pretty easy time of things. I had run into �Earl� again, and had a few bucks in my pocket. It seemed the sex was secondary to him, although he was definitely into getting what he paid for. It was kind of too bad really. If we had just met some other way, we may have been friends for real.

An additional reason for the ease of recent days was the gun. Its weight in my pocket, the feel of it, warm and oily smooth to my touch. It brought me a strange feeling of calm, security, and purpose. Like a secret super power.

I had been making a habit of going to Pioneer Square, the oldest part of downtown Seattle, daily. I would buy a few chicken wings and two little bottles of Lucky Lager and go to the waterfront to eat, drink, and people watch. Mostly the people I watched were crackheads.

The waterfront nearest Pioneer Square was a bit seedy, and home to the �Crack Pier�.
The pier was actually a floating public dock sometimes used for short term mooring by visitors with small boats. No one really ever tied up there, because, you know, crackheads. Tied off maybe, but never tied up.

The dock was short, maybe 40 feet long, and kind of narrow. It sat right on the water, floating actually, rising and falling by sliding up and down the pilings it was attached to.

But it was the depth of the water under the dock which really made this place popular with crack smokers. It was at least 50 feet deep at high tide, and if the cops did come, one quick toss would get rid of felony evidence. As a result, there were usually at least a few people smoking there, and an untold number of crack pipes below, in Davy Jones�s locker. It was kind of fun watching the crackheads here, like watching sea lions. I even thought about bringing some crack rocks with me to toss at them like fish.

As time went on, my preoccupation with dope and day to day living seemed to allow me to forget a bit about my vendetta on �Sundance�. It wasn�t that I had forgiven him or anything; it was just that I was too lazy to maintain the kind of burning rage that is essential for a proper revenge killing. It was just easier not to think about it, at least till I saw him.

I had just settled down on my usual bench overlooking the �crack pier� and was starting to enjoy my wings and beer when I saw him sitting at the end of the dock. I actually heard him first. He had a bit of an annoying chortle, sort of like a chocking sea gull. Ka caw haw haw hawwww.

I was strangely calm. I actually had to work up some anger. As I got up and walked down the ramp to the dock I imagined some sort of Tarentino / Reservoir Dogs type scene in my head. I think I was even smiling...

As I walked toward him I called out �Yo Sunny!� He looked up, eyes wide, still holding his crack pipe. The crowd, well, three other people, around him quickly left the scene. Must have been the gun I was holding. �Sundance� started to get up, and to him I said, �no, not you Sunny�, pointing the gun at him. He stood up anyway, stammering something like �whoa man, like I�m sorry dude�. This really pissed me off. I wanted him to be a lot more frightened, so I fired the gun. I wasn�t really thinking about it, or aiming really, it just sort of happened, and my shot missed him, but not by much. The bullet hit the dock like a few feet from his foot and �Sundance� nearly jumped off the dock. The shot was pretty loud and my ears were ringing, but at least now I had his attention.

It occurred to me that the police might soon be involved in our intimate little scene soon, so I thought it best now to hurry. I noticed that �Sundance� still had his pipe in his hand, so I told him to toss it into the water, which he did. This gave me an idea. As I wasn�t so sure about shooting him now, I said to him �now go in after it Sonny�. He was hesitant till I leveled the gun to his face. Before he jumped in I had him take off his coat, in case he was holding any dope. I mean, you got to have priorities, right?

All of this was happening in the cool, crisp days of autumn, and it was probably 50 degrees out, and the sound was a lot colder. �Sundance� was freezing his ass off in the water and tried to get out and up on the dock. I discouraged this by kicking him gently in the head. It began to occur to me about then that the police were not in fact going to show, something that I am sure also occurred to �Sundance� as well. Maybe the shot wasn�t so loud after all. I decided that a longer swim would do us both good, with me acting as lifeguard, and �Sundance� as the drowning rat�.

After some time had passed, I am not sure how long; I decided that it was enough. I pointed the gun at him and told him that if I ever saw him again I would in fact kill him. I think he believed me. I grabbed his coat, which was better than mine anyway, and walked off the dock. When I got to the top I looked around, still no cops, then down at �Sundance� who was sitting on the dock, shivering and looking at the water. I thought to myself �how�s it feel motherfucker�. I put on his coat and felt through the pockets. Low and behold! He WAS holding! Only a little dope, but it was something. I threw the gun into the water and walked away to find a place to fix. It turned out to be a pretty good day after all.

End of part 2, stay tuned for part 3, �fake dope gets you stabbed in the ass�