August 10th, 1967

At Rachel's shots ring out. Piercing scream downstairs. I run out the door. Wally & Al are coming out of their flats.

"Are you sure that was a gunshot?" I ask Al.

"Yeah!"

We run downstairs.

At Rock’s flat on first floor, we listen, hear nothing, run outside to steps. Kid comes out back door & goes over to Thunderbird, 3 people in it, gets in, takes off.

Trying to read the license plate when a spade comes out of Rock’s flat, sticking a gun in his back pocket. Keeps his hand there, comes outside, very cool, gold earring.

"Somebody got shot!" he says as if he’s surprised.

I’m shaking all over: "Yeah!"

He goes down steps, around corner, gets in blue van. Somebody else driving. They take off.

We come back inside. Al knocks on Rock's door asking him if he’s alright. No answer. Shuffling inside.

"All we want to do is help you, man,” Al says. “We're not the cops. We want to help you before they come!"

Rock: "I'm alright!”

"Have you been shot?"

"Yeah, I've been shot!"

More shuffling. Delay. Finally Rock opens the door. Wearing brown corduroys. He's shot in leg, bleeding.

"I'm alright," he says. "It was just a '38."

He's yelling at his wife inside, telling her to calm down. He shuts the door. We wait outside. Then another guy comes out of Rock's place with wooden cigar box & runs upstairs.

"I cleaned out his stuff," he says, "in case the cops come."

We hear sirens, half-dozen plainclothesmen come to door, waving big flashlights. Everybody panics & runs upstairs. Cops catch me with light, I stop. Go over & open the door. Point to Rock's apartment. Al goes in with them.

Al & I are flinging descriptions of spade at them. A few cops come back out in a hurry to put on alert, some are saying two white guys, I holler one was a spade. Rock gave them wrong description on purpose.

Then the others come filing out disgusted.

"Fuck him," the cop says. "If he doesn't want our help, fuck him!"

I go upstairs. When I get into Rachel's apartment, Wally & Esther & Buck (the guy with the cigar box) are running around crazy.

He's got meth, grass, mescaline, acid & syringes in the cigar box. It’s his sample box. He's a dealer.

He begins to sort the stuff.

"Here, flush this down the toilet,” he says & hands me metal thing that looks like harmonica, claiming it has two joints in it.

"Do you want some mescaline?" he asks Rachel.

He’s handing her some tabs.

"No!" she says. "Just get everything out of here!"

He's having fits because he's been up on something for 24 hours. My first reaction is to just get him out of the apartment. Rachel is amazingly cool.

"We can't just throw him out in the hall," she says. "He'll get locked up."

Buck telling us he just got out on bail the other day for manufacturing meth, the cops know him.

"Well, let's throw the stuff out the window," I say.

Rachel knows better. The cops are all over. They'll spot us.

Buck sitting at the kitchen table, shaking, incapable of speech.

He’s wearing faded plaid pants, tan hopsack jacket. Brown mustache, long reddish hair cut fairly neat. Enough disguise that he can deal with hippies without looking like a cop.

Finally he calms down. Takes off jacket. Short-sleeved shirt. Arm swollen. He was shot last night.

Wally & Esther running around worried the cops are going to come up & bust them for grass in their apartment. They cop out, head back to their place. Rachel & I left alone with this gangster.

Rachel gets all her grass together, but she’s reluctant to flush it down the toilet because she’s holding a lid for a friend. Amazing the considerations people make in the midst of panic.

She & I carry all the junk into the hall with the intention of putting it into the storage closet.

We're putting it in the closet when we hear someone coming up the stairs. Think it’s cops. Terror. It’s only Al. Swarms of cops still one flight down.

Al tells us they got Rock on 5 felonies. Big stash of hash & grass. We leave stuff in closet & go back to Rachel’s.

“Christ, I wish I brought my gun along so I could’ve taken care of that spade,” he says.

Bits & pieces of the story come out. Some definitely bullshit. He tells us he's not dealing. He only stopped by to give Rock's wife a dress. Actually, he’s Rock's supplier.

But the spade wasn't there just to rob Rock. He was in the apartment for a few minutes after he shot him. When I mention this, he doesn't answer me.

I mention I heard a couple shots.

He says one was used to break the door open & one for Rock. Says he hid behind the refrigerator, claims the spade just wanted to rob Rock. But later he mentions that the spade was actually there to kill him—Buck.

We sit there for 3 hours.

Buck's on bed. Rachel's on couch. Me on chair.

Rachel & I numb beyond terror. He wants to listen to some music.

“I’d rather not,” she says.

We know if the cops hear it & come up, we'll get it for harboring a criminal.

"If they didn't have all these stupid drug laws," she says, "this wouldn't happen."

Buck mentions that he knows somebody with a blue van, a heroin dealer, who's in with the Mafia. Trying to bump off competitors. A lot of smack coming into the Haight, some say the FBI dumping it. I don’t mention the blue van I saw take off.

Tells us he’s known Rock for 4 years, saying it as if they’re soul brothers.

"I've been working here for four and a half years now,” he says, “and never even thought of carrying a gun until six months ago. It's getting rougher all the time. The goddamn Mafia moving in. I'm much too lazy to lead an outrageous life like this."

Rachel tells him he ought to take a trip.

He starts worrying about a friend named Fritz who’s supposed to call him at Rock’s place.

"He always says, ‘This is Fritz.’ The cops'll know right away."

I don't understand.

"The cops know him,” he explains. “He got busted in L.A. a couple years ago. They caught him with fifty kilos and twenty guns. Machine guns, rifles, pistols."

He lies back on the bed making himself at home.

"I hope you people don't mind me sittin' here," he says. "But it's a lot better than sittin' in jail."

I ask him why he can't go down if he's clean.

He says he doesn't have any identification—they'll get him for that.

Yet later when he's making phone call, he pulls out billfold that obviously has identification in it.

Wally comes back. Asks us how everything’s going, guilt on his face for copping out, has the balls to ask the guy: "Hey, man, you got any downs?"

Buck tells him he has a few thousand in his apartment. Wally quick to leave, tells us he'll be up late if we need anything.

Buck tells Rachel he'll reward us with some grass.

“We don’t want any,” she says.

It crosses my mind that if we screw him, he might come back & blow our brains out. He might do it anyway just to eliminate any witnesses.

Buck decides to try the stairs. Goes out. I shut the door with a sigh of relief.

"Don't worry," Rachel says. "He'll be back."

We hear a knock. He comes back in. I wonder how I can survive this night.

Rachel & I sit together holding hands. He keeps telling us how much he appreciates our help.

But he shows no real sign of being worried. He's lying back on bed smoking cigar.

"I'll bet I'm the only cigar-smoking hippie in the Haight-Ashbury," he says.

We both have colds & he’s filled the room with cigar smoke but we don't say anything.

He’s grotesque. Sticking his hand down his pants to scratch his balls. There’s a slit in his crotch so the balls are sticking out. Pulls up his shirt, scratching his belly. Breathing heavily. Wheezing. Lots of pain in his arm.

“I’ll bet I’ve got blood poisoning from the gunshot wound,” he says.

Wants to know if the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic is open. We tell him yes in the hope that he’ll go. He belches.

Rachel asks him if he wants a cup of coffee. No.

He wants to call his wife. Takes out billfold with 2 cards with phone numbers. I see the name Bill.

He calls Bill, chick answers, he casually tells her bits of the story. She doesn't seem particularly upset.

We hear 2 cars pull away. Cops leaving.

He asks the chick to take a cab over & ring the bell when she gets here. But Rachel's bell doesn't work. He tells her to ring #4. Hangs up. Lies down again. We wait. Help him on with his coat, wish him good luck.

He goes out. I shut door.

Buzzer rings, he runs downstairs. I see cab on the street, run to top of stairs to make sure he goes. When I come back & look out window, I see no sign of him or cab.

The next night, he comes back when we're sleeping, rips padlock off storage closet & takes all his shit.

» August 13th, 1967 : Love In The Tub