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Dr. Balis:
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Hello, Herb. How are you?
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Mr. Michel:
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Man, when it rains, it pours.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. What happened?
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Mr. Michel:
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My guy Benson gave me some more shit to sell. Things were going great at first, but last week, it all hit the fan.
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Dr. Balis:
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What happened to Greg, your other supply guy?
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Mr. Michel:
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I'm dealing with somebody else now. I'll get to that later. It's long and complicated, and I've got to tell it in order so I don't confuse you or myself, okay?
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Dr. Balis:
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All right. Please continue.
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Mr. Michel:
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Benson got me another set up like last time: a shit load of crystal meth, plus some ecstasy and weed. Then he told me about a party a friend of his was going to. I didn't want to deal with those fraternity snobs again, but he said this was different, just a group of regular folks at a big old house in the hills. The people there were cool, no junior Nazis with an attitude. I brought Lenore--a big mistake. She was so mopey, it was like bringing a big rain cloud.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. Why did you take her with you?
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Mr. Michel:
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Because I though maybe if she'd get out once in a while, she'd actually have a good time. But she was just set to be in a bitchy mood all day. She wanted to go to some church that night, and I said, "Fuck that! I don't want no holy roller living under my roof!"
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Dr. Balis:
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I didn't realize Lenore was religious. Is she Catholic?
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Mr. Michel:
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No, she wasn't even going to a real church, it was one of those anything-goes churches. What do they call them? Non-denominational. It was the anniversary of her brother's death, and she's got to do this thing every year. I told her it was fucking stupid. He died over ten years ago--get over it already!
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Dr. Balis:
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How did Lenore's brother die?
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Mr. Michel:
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Little Lance--God, what a faggy name! Why did they give a little kid a queer name like that? Good thing he died young, because he would have gotten his little faggot ass kicked in school. Sir Lancelot, Sir Fag-a-lot. Anyway, Lance died when he was four. It was some kind of heart problem. Lenore's mom just about died, too. She hasn't been the same since. Wop families really dig their sons.
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Dr. Balis:
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The death of a child can be difficult for any family.
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah, I hear you. But after ten years...I mean it's not going to bring him back. Just get on with your life. But Lenore kept sniveling, saying she didn't want to go even when I smacked her. So I punched her in her big fat tits, that always gets her. She doubled over. And then I threatened to kick her in the stomach if she didn't go, and she gave in. I don't know why she's so worried about the baby. She's not having it.
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Dr. Balis:
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Has Lenore been to see a doctor about the pregnancy?
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Mr. Michel:
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I don't know, I got enough shit to deal with. She's got the medical benefits--CalaCare HMO. She's not a fucking retard, she just acts like one. She can call and make an appointment. And she better do it quick, or she'll be out on that fat ass of hers. Anyway, I dragged her to the party, gave her a beer, and tried to get her to smoke some weed so she'd lighten up. But Lenore just stood there with that look. I got so pissed off, I decided to teach her a lesson.
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Dr. Balis:
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What did you do?
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Mr. Michel:
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I took her by the arm and walked her upstairs. I figured there would be an empty bedroom up there, and I was right. We went into the master bedroom, and I locked the door. I started hugging her and kissing her, pretending to be all lovey and shit so she'd let her guard down. I waited for just the right moment, and then I popped her. I was really cranked--I'd done meth earlier. I was so mad, I forgot myself and hit her in the face a couple of times and then pushed her head against the wall. I don't usually do shit like that--I don't leave bruises where people can see. Her head was bleeding. And ordinarily, I would have stopped, but I couldn't. It was like something snapped inside me. I knocked her to the floor and started kicking her, her tits, her stomach, her ass, telling her what a worthless piece of shit she was. I told her I could buy a better bitch than her! I'm one of the biggest drug dealers in town, I can get all the chicks I want!
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Dr. Balis:
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Didn't someone hear you?
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Mr. Michel:
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No, there was music playing real loud downstairs. While I was kicking her, I wished I'd worn my cowboy boots instead of these dumb fucking Nikes. Her whole body was shaking, she was crying so hard. Then I pulled her by her hair and tossed her over the bed. I lifted up her dress and ripped her underwear off. That's when I realized she'd been lying to me. She didn't look pregnant, in fact, it looked like she lost some weight. And her pussy didn't smell like there was nothing wrong with it. I know what those infections smell like. She actually smelled good, because it had been so long. I wasn't really horny, but I wanted to give it to her in a way she wouldn't forget. I rubbed my dick hard, pulled it out, and fucked her pussy. Once my dick was wet, I shoved it up her ass. She screamed that time! I pushed her face into the mattress and told her to shut the fuck up. I fucked her ass real hard for a long time, but I couldn't come. After a while, I couldn't even fuck any more, so I pulled out. I was going to smack her around some more, but she broke away from me and locked herself in the bathroom.
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Dr. Balis:
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What did you do then?
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Mr. Michel:
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I tried to kick the door down, and then someone knocked on the bedroom door. I told them it was nothing, just arguing with my old lady, and they left. I decided, fuck it, leave her be. I cleaned myself up in the downstairs bathroom and joined the party.
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Dr. Balis:
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I see. What happened to Lenore?
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Mr. Michel:
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I haven't heard from or seen her since then. She can go kill herself, for all I care. I've done my duty.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm.
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Mr. Michel:
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Anyway, I sold a lot of shit, damn near all of it. I brought more this time. That's really the way to go: if you're going to do it, might as well do it right.
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Dr. Balis:
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How often do you use methamphetamine?
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Mr. Michel:
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Only on the weekend. Usually, I snort it. But my nose was kind of sore lately, so I've been mixing it in a drink or a soda or something. I was in a pretty good mood once I got high, until one of those Berkeley chicks brought me down. I can't stand those chicks. They think their shit don't stink.
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Dr. Balis:
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What happened?
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Mr. Michel:
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A group of us was passing around a bong. I passed it to her and flirted with her a little. I didn't even mean it, I was just trying to get my mind off Lenore. She was smiling, so I figured she was cool. She wasn't wearing a bra, and I could see her tits bouncing under her shirt. I told her she had real nice tits, and she made this face and said, "Thank you," real nasty-like. What is it with these feminists? They can't even take a compliment? To piss her off, I asked if she would give me a titty-fuck, and she got up and stomped out. She even took the bong with her! What a selfish bitch!
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm.
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Mr. Michel:
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After that, the only chick who would talk to me was this really skinny bitch. She had a cute face, but she was a scrawny stick, no tits whatsoever. Her hair was all dried out, too. She led me into one of the bedrooms, I though she wanted to make out or something. Instead, she took this shit out of her purse. She had the works: a spoon, a needle. She was a fucking junkie! That shocked the shit out of me. She looked so young, she couldn't have been more than Lenore's age. She asked me for a light so she could cook her shit. I was so disgusted, I pulled the matches out of my pocket, threw them at her, and headed home.
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Dr. Balis:
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I see.
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Mr. Michel:
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And do you want to know what happened when I got home?
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Dr. Balis:
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What?
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Mr. Michel:
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I searched my pockets and found that I was missing some money. At first, I thought I counted wrong. But I counted again, and it still came out that I was about five hundred short. That fucking junkie must have ripped me off! Junkies are the lowest scum, they always do shit like that. But I made enough money that night, so I thought, "No skin of my ass, it's just a few hundreds." I didn't realize until the next morning, that my cell phone was missing, too. Man, I was pissed! I looked everywhere: in my car, in the house. I searched my pockets. I don't know what the fuck happened to it. That junkie must have taken it, too. And I really need that thing now, so I had to go and buy a new one, a bigger one this time. Those itty-bitty ones are easy to lose because they're so light. This one's bulkier and heavier, I'll always know if it's still on me. Pretty smart, uh?
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Dr. Balis:
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Earlier, you mentioned Greg. Do you still deal with him?
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Mr. Michel:
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Not anymore. He's not the good guy I thought he was. I paid him back half of what I owed him and explained it would take me time to get the rest. He was cool at first, but a week later, he was calling me and bugging me for more: "Where's my money?"
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Dr. Balis:
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You just said that you made more than enough to pay him back.
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Mr. Michel:
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You've got to spend money to make money, Doc. I'm dealing in bigger amounts now. I had to get some equipment, and that costs money. I got a new scale, an electronic one. It cost a lot--I bought it new--but it was well worth it. It gives me the exact weight. I figured it was a good investment, I don't want to give people more than what they've paid for. And I was getting tired of staying up all night, smashing and chopping up the meth into a fine powder so I could cut it. So I bought a grinder, a little gadget that crushes the crystals. I found it in this head shop on Haight Street. It only takes a few minutes now, and my hands don't get tired. I've also been eating out a lot--I'm so busy that I don't have time to go to the store. I'm thinking of quitting this dog shit janitor job and dealing full time.
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Dr. Balis:
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I see.
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Mr. Michel:
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And I need some protection now that I'm dealing in larger amounts.
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Dr. Balis:
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Did you buy more firearms in addition to the ones you showed me?
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah, I like to have one under my bed, one in my car, and two on me. I bought a couple of knives, too--you can never be too careful, especially in this city. I also had some work done on my car--you can't exactly transport drugs on the bus. And I made a few impulse buys: a new TV, a VCR, a nigger box. I thought about getting a little computer like the one you have there. I've heard a lot of writers use them. But I don't have a clue how those fucking things work, and they cost a fortune! I'll have to save up for that.
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Dr. Balis:
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So you've spent the money you owed Greg?
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Mr. Michel:
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It was all operating expenses, Doc, part of the cost of doing business: like the rent you pay for this office, the cost of your desk and computer, not to mention those fancy suits you wear, I bet they didn't come cheap. But you need all that shit to be respected as a professional, right?
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm.
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Mr. Michel:
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Greg's usually an easygoing, kick-back kind of guy. But when I told him it I needed one more week, he hit the roof! He said he wouldn't deal with me at all until I paid him back everything. And even then, he wasn't going to give me the shit up front, I'd have to give him the money first. Fuck him, I don't need him. I'm doing just fine without him.
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Dr. Balis:
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Herb, at the last session, you mentioned calling your mother and asking her why she hasn't returned your calls.
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Mr. Michel:
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Yeah, I called her and did what you told me to do: I left a couple messages saying whatever I did wrong, I was sorry, and I'd make it up to her. I said I was worried about her. She finally called me back a few days ago.
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Dr. Balis:
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What did she say?
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Mr. Michel:
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It was weird. At first, she was real nice. She said she went up North to visit some friends and stayed longer than she planned. I knew what that meant--she has a friend out there who grows weed. I asked if she had anything to sell, and her voice changed. She said no. Just like that, "No." And then she said she had to go and hung up on me. I don't know what the fuck her problem is. I'm about ready to disown her.
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Dr. Balis:
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Disown her?
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Mr. Michel:
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To pretend she's dead. To tell people I don't have a mom anymore.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. I'm concerned about your increasing drug use, Herb.
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Mr. Michel:
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Don't worry about it, Doc. I can handle it. I've been doing this shit since sixth grade. I'm an old pro.
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Dr. Balis:
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Herb, I think it might be a good idea for you to go into a treatment program. I can recommend a good one, and your health plan will cover it.
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Mr. Michel:
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Treatment program? What do you mean?
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Dr. Balis:
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A drug rehabilitation program.
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Mr. Michel:
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No fucking way! Man, I shouldn't have told you anything.
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Dr. Balis:
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I can't force you to go, but...
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Mr. Michel:
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You're goddamn right! I don't know who I can trust. I can't even trust you!
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Dr. Balis:
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I'm concerned about you, Herb.
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Mr. Michel:
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You probably get a kickback for every guy you take down there. That's why you want to send me there so bad.
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Dr. Balis:
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No, that's not true. I believe it would be in your best interest to...
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Mr. Michel:
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Look, Doc, I know I'm doing a little too much meth right now and it kind of makes me crazy. But I also know how to stop. I'll just smoke more dope and drink a little more, and I'll be over it. I never liked it anyway, it messes up my thinking. I'll make a promise to you: no more meth from now on, okay, Doc?
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Dr. Balis:
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I think a treatment program is a better option for you, Herb. What you've told me about Lenore is very disturbing. I understand that the drugs contributed to your behavior. I also know that what you've done is criminal and if...
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Mr. Michel:
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That bitch wouldn't dare. She would never go to the cops on me. Thanks, but no thanks, Doc. I'll see you in a couple of weeks.
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Dr. Balis:
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Hmm. Goodbye, Herbert.
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Mr. Michel:
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Thanks, Doc.
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###
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Doctor Balis' Notes on this Session
Transcripts of Herbert Michel's Communications
