Karma's Happenstance

Chinatown

Chinatown

"Shit… shit… Izz, man.’ Slash panics. ‘We gotta get you to a hospital."
 
He’s shuffling back and forth, grabbing at his head. He is totally fucking failing on the first aid thing here. Shouldn't we be applying pressure and trying to stop the bleeding? I'm trying but I'm now strong enough right now.

"No, man." I say writing in agony, cradling my torso. Bleeding like a stuck fucking hog. "They’re gonna ask questions. They'll know it's dope related and arrest us. Just get me home." I pant.
 
To this point I’m still sure this is something I could fix with some superglue and duct tape. I'm too out of it and in shock to get the severity of my situation.

Slash fumbles his pockets and pulls out some quarters. He moves toward the next pay phone.
 
"Damn, Slash. Don’t you dare call 911. They’re gonna bring the fucking cops." My words come out slow and dragging. I feel dizzy. I can barely stay awake. 

Slash dials a few numbers but it seems no one is answering. I can hear him slamming the handset a few times in frustration when no one answers. Then suddenly someone seems to be taking the call.
 
"Man, I didn’t know who else to call. Izzy is...we’re in some serious trouble." Slash’s talking to someone. "Yeah...no he got stabbed... Yes, fucking stabbed stabbed... Like butchered, man. We need a fucking doctor." Then there’s silence. Slash seems to be listening to someone because all I can hear are some “yeahs” and “uhhuhs”.
 
I guess I passed out a bit from either the searing pain or all the blood loss, because when I open my eyes again, Slash is heaving me up. 

"C’mon Izz, stay awake man." He says, smacking the side of my face and dragging me with him down the road. 

"Where’re we going?" I ask, not sure if I can walk all the way to god know where. I feel so drained.
 
"Got an address. It’s a doctor. He’s working off the record." He says and I wonder what kind of doctor would stitch up some fucked up junkie without telling anyone.
 
"I can’t" I groan with pain. "I can't fucking make it."
 
"It’s not far. We just need to get to Chinatown, man." He says. 

I get all my strength together to keep walking. But something seems very odd here. I've been in La for years and never once had a reason to go to Chinatown.
 
"Chinatown? Where the hell did you get that address?" I ask suspiciously. It takes all the energy I have to ask. I mean, yeah. I’m fucked up and bleeding but I’m still not fucking stupid.
 
"It’s a friend of Sixx’s. Said something about family of family of some friend." Then he dares to chuckle. "I bet it’s family of one of his Asian hookers."
 
For a moment I’m speechless. "Nikki Sixx? Are you fucking crazy to trust that motherfucker? God, I bet I’ll wake up without a kidney if I'm even going to survive this shit." I yell at him, finding my voice again.
 
Slash keeps cool. I wonder if it’s because he’s hammered as fuck or if he’s just desperate to get help. 

I have no memory how we actually got to Chinatown, but here we are. We stop at a grocery store and I’m too fucked up to ask but Slash seems to think we’re at the right place. He drags me inside. The Asian lady behind the counter eyes us suspiciously. Just when I was beginning to think this is one of Nikki Sixx’s bad jokes to send us to the fucking wrong place just to let me die. 

The lady gives us a nod and points out to a backdoor. I’m fucking tired and almost nodding out but Slash somehow manages to keep me going.
 
But I know this is it. I’m gonna die from a fucking stab wound in the back of an Asian grocery store. I can’t help a chuckle. This is nuts. Who the fuck thought I would ever die like this? I imagined I’d OD on smack and not die from trying to score some. 

"Nikki-san told us you come." An old Asian says. "We fix you. Come, come." He points out for me to lay down. 

I hesitantly let Slash help me over to what looks like fucking kitchen table with layers of paint peeling from it.
 
Fuck Sixx. Seriously. That motherfucker has a real twisted sense of humor. That Asian guys looks like he’s close to kicking the bucket himself. He looks like he’s a fucking hundred years old. You ever heard about karma? I haven’t. But while the old guy examines my wound, he gives me the full lecture of how karma is going to fuck me in the ass eventually. Trust me, I’ve never heard so much bullshit in my whole life.
 
"You have bad karma, Izzy-san." That Asian guy keeps bugging me with this weird mandarin accent. Wait! Nobody told him my name. "Not good, make bad future. Your karma bad, you never be happy." He examines my wound closely.
"Injury in good place. No damage inside from knife. But damage from Karma."

Slash hands me the last bottle of Jack that’s left, knowing I need it more. I gladly take it from him and take a big gulp, handing it back to him while the Asian guy spreads weird black powder on my wound. He sticks the flame of a candle to it and sparks fly from my skin. It looks like dud firework. I flinch. No fuck that I jump. Like I'm expecting him to set my skin on fire. Wasn't I in enough fucking pain here? I grit my teeth together and moan in agony. That shit stings and burns like a motherfucker.

I jump up. "What the fuck man?" I'm kinda pissed. But I'm weak. I've lost a lot of blood. I probably don't come off very threatening.

"To stop bleeding, no worry Izzy-san." 
Then I see him coming at me with needle and thread. "This karma for your bad."

I don’t want to be rude because that guy is stitching me up but if he keeps talking weird shit like that, I’m gonna strangle him with the next fucking bandage I see. I feel the sting of the needle go through my skin. I suck in my breath a bit.

Slash is eyeing the drug cabinet. Seeing if there's anything worth taking. We still haven’t had a fix yet. Don’t get me wrong, scoring dope and shooting up is still on my junkie priority list. But getting patched up comes first. I can't bleed to death before I score.

"So, how’s that karma thing work?" Slash asks the old man as he picks up a jar of some unspecified pickled object and studies it. I fight the urge to bitch slap him. The guy was finally shutting up with that shit.
 
Asian grandpa gives him a smile. Yeah, I bet he’s happy someone is even listening to him and this crazy talk of his. 

"Very simple," he smiles at Slash. "Good karma, good future. Bad Karma, bad future." He keeps repeating himself. I doubt he knows what he’s talking about. He's older than time and seems a bit crazy.

He stares at me intently, "You Izzy-san...bad karma, bad thing happen to you. You must do good." 

I roll my eyes at so much bullshit. I don;t have time for this shit. I need a fix for the pain. Fuck Karma.

"So we can change our Karma?" Slash asks him seriously. 

I just look at him dumbfounded. God just shut up. Fucking Karma? I'm here to keep from bleeding to death, not fucking turn to some Asian religion like Budism.
 
"Yes, good make up for bad. Change future." The old man says.
 
I can’t help laughing out loud. Please, kill me now Karma! What a load of shit. The old Asian dude looks at me with a serious look.

"Yeah, so now I know why I lost that lottery ticket for over seven million bucks, huh?" I join the conversation with sarcasm.
 
The old guy looks at me, shaking his head. 
"Karma change if you do good. You will see, Izzy-san."
 
I just keep shaking my head. That fucker is not right in the head, believe me. "Sure. I’ll go and make a list of all the bad things I’ve done to change them." I add smugly. 

The old man approaches me and lays a medallion around my neck. "Never take off. It protect Izzy-san."

I glance down to it. It's cool looking and shit I guess. But I have to get the fuck out of here and score! If it helps me score I will wear the fucking thing.

I guess the old Asian knows a junkie when he sees one. "You can change it. Drugs no fix in here," he says placing his wrinkled hand on my chest at my heart. "You must heal here."