Her sister, Minnie DeCosta Hylton, and nephew, Abel DeCosta, a member of the Ink Spots singing group, had lived in the house for more than 40 years before they died a few years ago.
Neither left a will. The Surrogate's Court revoked Mrs. Philips's temporary administrative status on a technicality last year. The city administrator, Bruno Capellini, will try to close the sale of the brownstone in the next two months.
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Hamid took a reporter inside Chuck's Place. Many there spoke freely, but there was no way to check what they said. None of them would give their full names. On a weekend afternoon, the mood at Chuck's Place was as convivial as in a living room of friends anywhere. The group had been swapping tales of drugs and the police and lost loves, and smoking crack for hours. There were few signs of the drug's awesome clout. Most of the smokers' eyes were filmy and red rimmed, and some people were edgy and restless, as if they had stayed up all night.
But nobody wanted to fight. Nobody was raging. There was an undercurrent of excitement and a slightly more pronounced sense of furtiveness.
Ordinary questions seemed prying. Chuck tries to run his place like a business. When a woman takes a paying customer into the back, Chuck expects a percentage, but he said he is not a tough guy.
Unlike those who ran the earliest crack houses in New York, Chuck expects his clients to bring their own paraphernalia and drugs, though he permits them to use his stove to convert powdered cocaine into crack. He also expects a small share of everyone's drugs, he said, "a rock, a piece, enough to hold me for a while. When someone needs a fresh supply, Reggie, Chuck's right-hand man, will run out and buy some down the street. He expects a tip of a dollar or two, and perhaps a small share of the drugs.
Reggie and Chuck worry that a stream of people popping out to buy drugs might attract attention from the police or neighborhood groups already complaining about the crack house. Chuck and Reggie, who are both divorced, say they think of their friends at the crack house as family. When a man or a woman has no place to go at night, Chuck lets that person stay over. When there is food in the house, anyone around gets a plate. A few of Chuck's regulars seemed to have found a way to take crack and cocaine in moderation while carrying on with jobs and other responsibilities.
The well-dressed man who passed the pipe to his friend at the table said he was a case worker at a city agency. James, a year-old practical nurse who carries his crack pipe and accessories in a brown leather attache case, said he had been smoking cocaine for 22 years, distilling his own long before dealers began converting cocaine into crack.
It won't prevent me from going to work tomorrow night, from paying my bills. James looked strong and healthy and he was proud of that: "You wouldn't know I smoked crack, would you? This is my enjoyment. For others, crack has become the well-known unrelenting master, dispensing pleasure at the price of surrender. It is on Kathy's mind from the moment she wakes.
The "thirsties," the haunting desperate need for the drug, shadow her every decision. This day, a smudged knit cap pulled down tight over her hair, she sidled up to a young man at the table and wiggled onto his lap.
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