The Big Fix!
By RICHARD WILSON
Illustrated by ENGLE
As a drug, uru was a junkie's dream.
As a planet, Uru was paradise. But
combined, the two became a living hell!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity Science Fiction, August 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"I read about a drug called yage.... Maybe I will find in yagewhat I was looking for in junk and weed and coke. Yage may be thefinal fix."—William Lee, Junkie.
I was meeting The Man in a cafeteria on West End Avenue—the rundownpart of the avenue south of 72nd Street where all the garages and autoparts places are.
I didn't need a fix. I'd been off the junk for three months and I wasall right. I was drinking a lot, but that was all.
The meet in the cafeteria was set up by an old connection of mine who'dheard I was interested in this new stuff. My connection's name wasRollo, sometimes called Rollo the Roller because he rolled lushes inthe subway.
Rollo and I had coffee while we waited for The Man.
"He's a funny one," Rollo said. "Not like any other pusher I ever dig."
"You sure he's straight?" I asked. "He wouldn't be one of The People,would he?"
"Nah, he's no agent. Don't you think I can make a cop or a Federal bynow?"
"All right. I wasn't trying to insult you."
We sipped our coffee and talked in low voices. The cafeteria wasn't aregular joint. It might be in time, and then it would be one till itgot too hot, but it wasn't now.
I didn't see the guy come in. The first thing I knew he was standingat the table over us. Tall, wearing a black suit like an undertakeror a preacher, but with a dark blue shirt and a white tie. He had ayoung-old face and his skin was a light tan. Not the tan you get atMiami Beach or from a sun lamp, but as if he had Chinese or Malay bloodin him somewhere.
Rollo jumped a little when he noticed him at his elbow.
"Oh, hello, Jones. Creepin' up on people again. Sit down. This isBarry."
I acknowledged the introduction. I was sure Jones wasn't his real nameany more than Barry was mine. I asked him if I could buy him a cup ofcoffee and he said no, and then Rollo left. Rollo'd mumbled somethingabout business, but I got the feeling he didn't like being around Jonesany more than he had to.
"I understand you are interested in my product," Jones said. He haddark brown eyes, almost black. He didn't talk like a pusher, but youcan't always make generalizations.
"I don't want to score any," I said. "At least not right now. I'm offthe stuff, but I take a sort of philosophical interest in it, you mightsay."
"I could not sell you any at the moment, in any case," Jones said. "Ido not make a practice of carrying it on my person."
"Of course not. But what is it? Rollo tells me it's not the usual junk.I wondered if maybe it was yage."
Yage was something you kept hearing about but never saw yourself. Itwas always somebody who knew somebody else who'd tried it. Yage wasthe junkie's dream. You never caught up with it, but you heard hintsin conversation.
An addict would give himself a fix of Henry, sliding the needleinto the vein, and later, as his tension relaxed, he'd say to hisconnection, "I hear yage is the real kick—they tell me that comparedto yage, heroin is the least." And the connection would say, "That'swhat