Bread (87th Precinct) by Ed McBain

DA’s ear that you were helpful, though I’m not making any promises.”
    The kid looked up at Brown. He was a skinny kid with a longish nose and pale blue eyes and hollow cheeks. He was wearing dungarees and a striped, short-sleeved polo shirt. The hit marks of his addiction ran up the length of his arm, following the veins like an army of marauding ants.
    “What do you say?” Brown asked. “You’re wasting our time here. If you want to talk to us, speak now or forever hold your peace. The sergeant downstairs is waiting to write your name in the book.”
    “Well, I don’t see no harm talking to you,” the kid said. “Provided…”
    “Never mind ‘provided,’ “ Meyer said. “He just told you we can’t make any promises.”
    “Well, I realize that,” the kid said, offended.
    “Well, fine,” Meyer said. “So shit or get off the pot, will you?”
    “I said I’d talk to you”
    “Okay, so talk.”
    “What do you want to know?” the kid asked.
    “How about starting with your name?” Brown said.
    “Samuel Rosenstein.”
    “You Jewish?” Meyer said.
    “Yes,” the kid said defensively. “What of it?”
    “You stupid son of a bitch,” Meyer said, “why’re you shooting that poison into your body?”
    “What’s it to you?” the kid said.
    “Dumb bastard,” Meyer said, and walked away.
    “All right, Sammy,” Brown said, “how’d you get those two decks you were carrying?”
    “If you think I’m going to tell you the name of my connection, we can quit talking right this minute.”
    “I didn’t ask you who, and I didn’t ask you where. I asked you how .”
    “I don’t follow,” Sammy said.
    “Now, Sammy,” Brown said, “you and I both know that two weeks ago there was the biggest narcotics bust we’ve ever had in this city…”
    “Oh, is that it?” Sammy said.
    “Is what it?”
    “Is that why it’s so tough to score?”
    “Don’t you read the papers?” Brown asked.
    “I ain’t got time to read the papers. I just been noticing the stuff is scarce, that’s all.”
    “It’s scarce because the 5th Squad busted a dope factory and confiscated two hundred kilograms waiting to be cut and packaged.”
    “How much is that?”
    “More than four hundred pounds.”
    “Wow!” Sammy said. “Four hundred pounds of scag! That could keep me straight for a year.”
    “You and every other junkie in this city. You know how much that’s worth pure?”
    “How much?”
    “Forty-four million dollars.”
    “That’s before they cut it, huh?”
    “That’s right. Before they put it on the street for suckers like you to buy.”
    “I didn’t ask to be a junkie,” Sammy said.
    “No? Did somebody force it on you?”
    “Society,” Sammy said.
    “Bullshit,” Brown said. “Tell me how you got those two decks.”
    “I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore,” Sammy said.
    “Okay, are we finished then? Meyer, the kid’s ready for booking.”
    “Okay,” Meyer said, and walked over.
    “I been saving it,” Sammy said suddenly.
    “How’s that?”
    “I been a junkie for almost three years now. I know there’s good times and bad, and I always keep a little hid away. That was the last of it, those two decks. You think I’d’ve busted a store window if I wasn’t desperate? Prices are skyrocketing, it’s like a regular junk inflation. Listen, don’t you think I know we’re in for a couple of bad weeks here?”
    “Couple of bad months is more like it,” Meyer said.
    “Months?” Sammy said, and fell silent, and looked up at the two detectives. “Months?” he said again, and blinked his eyes. “That can’t be. I mean…what’s a person supposed to do if he can’t…? I mean, what’s gonna happen to me?”
    “You’re going to break your habit, Sammy,” Brown said. “In jail. Cold turkey.”
    “What’ll they give me for the burglary?” Sammy asked. His voice was quite low now; he seemed drained of all energy.
    “Ten years,” Brown said.
    “Is this a