Straight Life - Art Pepper [127]
We tried to clean up. We went through an unbelievable scene in the little house we lived in, for four days, taking hundreds of pills. I remember I fell down over a table at one point and broke a lamp and cut myself. Diane would fall. It was a nightmare of falling on the floor looking for pills. Diane had dropped the bottles and they broke. Diane was trying to get out of the house. Right near us was a wash, by Ventura Boulevard, with a big drain like a storm drain, and she wanted to go to this wash and fling herself over the bridge. It would have killed her, and she would have done it, but she couldn't get out the door. She couldn't find the door. She never found the door. I swear to God, she could not find the door.
On about the fifth day I came to enough to see that the poor dog was just terrified and starving. I knew I had to take care of the dog. I had a pain in my arm. I looked down at my clothes and they were covered with blood. I wondered if I had killed her, Diane, in my delirium, to be rid of her. I panicked and ran into the other room, but there she was, alive, lying on the floor amidst the broken bottles. She had cuts all over her from trying to find pills on the floor. I fed the dog, and I realized I had to have some heroin. I was so sick I couldn't believe it, and I had no money, no nothing. I left the house and got into the car.
The car, I'd let it go-no oil change, and I was using cheap gas. And that day, as I was driving to East L.A., I ran into the back of another car at a stop sign. No one was hurt but it ruined my car; both front tires were cut. When I finally finished with the cop, I left it where it was and started walking.
I was in Lincoln Heights when I had the wreck, at Five Points, a little area where five streets come together. I walked to East L.A. and found Rachel and Boy. I told them I was deathly ill and I had to have a taste, but I didn't have any money. They saw what awful shape I was in so they turned me on. I said, "I've got to get something for Diane." That's one of the few times people have come through when I really needed dope. Boy said, "I'll drive you home." He couldn't believe his eyes when we got into the house. The dog was so frightened she peed all over the floor when we went in, and I felt so guilty for the poor dog. Diane was crawling on the floor. Boy helped me put her in a chair. I fixed her, and it brought her back to life. She looked around and told me that she had been trying for days to find the door to get out to throw herself off the bridge.
I saw that I couldn't stop like that. I didn't want to stop. I had completely messed up my jobs now-missed a couple and ruined everything. I was already just about written off by everyone.
About four months after I made that trip on the freeway and just after this attempt to clean up, I went down to East L.A. to score and I ran into a couple of friends of mine, Frank and Ruben, and they wanted to rob a nightclub in Studio City. Both of them were old-timers, been using a long time, and they were pretty sharp.
Frank and I had been friends for a while. I'd scored from him, and he'd helped me out occasionally. Frank made me think of a Mexican Mickey Cohen. He always wore suits, and he had a nice car, the big Thunderbird, which was a classy car at that time. He had a cold look about him; he was an intense person. He wore glasses and was very intelligent, spoke good English, knew his way around. He was really respected in East L.A. in the drug culture.
Ruben was a real relaxed, down-home type cat. Chubby. I don't think he even owned a suit. He wasn't intelligent as far as schooling went, but he was very smart in the ways of the streets and he was smart in the ways of crime. Ruben was very open and warm and friendly, and we really got tight. He was always laughing and a lot of fun to be around.
Ruben's father did landscaping. He had a gardening truck, so Ruben and I used to get together