I have some bad news, but I want to explain it. Your brother Kyriakos and me were going to meet up in Sticky’s last night. I sat drinking, waiting for him to come, but he never did. After a couple hours I left, but I ran into him on the corner at Sixth Street with Cody Faulker. He was wasted, bad. He could hardly stay awake. Beer and bluescaline, if I had to guess. Cody took off and left me there with him. Too fucked up to walk. One of his shoes was gone. I tried to get him up into the streetcar but Kyri wanted to go back to the bar and he fought me.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

He said, “I’m not okay and I’m not-not okay. I’m just…”

His head lolled back against the brick wall.

“You’re just what?” I asked.

“I’m just… just.” he said. “I just am.”

Then his head lolled back and he passed out. He was right.

I dragged him, then, down to the platform into the next E-Tram. It was just three stops to the hospital. I had such a hard time getting him back down the steps that two men who were also on the Tram offered to help. I was so exhausted then that I just let them. One of them took Kyri under the arms and the other grabbed his legs, and then, well Annie, then they ran off into the dark.

I followed them three blocks, but I was too drunk and I fell and they were gone.

They just stole Kyriakos. They just stole him.

I’m going down to talk to a detective at the Freightside Station on Monday at two. Come, if you can, I could use your help.


Letters from Underground