by Tom Larsen
“You hungry? What do you say we grab a bite?”
“Yeah, sure, I could eat something. Let’s do it,” he swings around and heads back to town.
“You know what, Frank? I passed a little place out by the interstate. Shrimp, all you can eat. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“The interstate? Okay, why not?”
Keep it going, something will come to him.
“Ever see any of the guys, Har? Herman? Jimmy Fours?”
“Not for years. I lost touch.”
“The last time I saw Jimmy he was in the hospital. Diabetes, I think it was. What’s it been, six, seven years?”
“Long time, Frank. So what, you’re out of the trades?”
“I got into the jewelry business. Importing. I haven’t run a press since Fairmount.”
“Good move, pal. The industry’s dead. Kind of a stretch though, jewelry Frank?”
“Diamonds mostly. Get this, I was in Albany as an expert witness.”
“What, a robbery?”
“Smugglers. Real cloak and dagger, I’m telling you. How about you Harry? You working?”
“I’m on sabbatical, Frank. Set a year aside to do all the things I wanted to do.”
“Hence the Hall?
Harry smiles for the first time all day. “Hence the Hall.”
***
Shrimp Shanty, loud and crowded. They take a booth and order all you can eat. Frank turns out to be pretty much all about diamonds. Harry tunes out most of it, feels himself watching from overhead like a film director. He doesn’t like the feeling, but he can’t seem to shake it. And the shrimp comes but he can’t eat. He can drink okay, three Bloody Mary’s to Frank’s glass of wine, but then he starts getting a weird feeling about Frank. And this place, something wrong with it.
“Cold Harry?”
“What do you mean?”
Frank shrugs. “You look cold.”
“I do feel a little funny.”
“Maybe the shrimp?”
“No, no I’m okay.” But he’s not okay. His heart is pounding and everything Frank says scares him to death. What the fuck is he doing here and what the hell’s happening? Harry can’t seem to catch his breath.
“I gotta get out of here,” he gets up, starts walking, has to get away. Frank throws some money on the table then scrambles after him, catching up in the parking lot.
“Harry, hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I gotta go, sorry Frank.”
“Okay, listen, I’ll drive you Harry. Come on, you’re having a reaction or something.”
Too cold, so he goes with Frank back to the SUV. They drive back toward town, Frank yacking but Harry doesn’t hear him. Scared to death but at least it’s warm.
“That’s probably it, Har. An anxiety attack, my brother gets them sometimes.”
He’s thinking it’s no accident Frank turned up. He knows about Mexico. They’re after him and now Harry will have to go to jail. And Lena too! He misses Lena so much. They’ve gone through hell and now this!’
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the hospital, Harry. They’ll fix you up, don’t worry.”
No hospital, couldn’t stand that. Once he’s in he’ll never get out. He’s going crazy, that’s the only explanation.
“Let me out.”
“You can’t do that, Harry. It’s bitter cold. You’ll freeze to death.”
“I’m serious, Frank. Let me out.”
“Okay, look we’ll pull in here. It’s alright.”
Frank turns into a picnic area half plowed, big lot with benches and stone barbecues piled in snow. Harry’s out the door before the car stops, slipping on his side and into a plow bank. Then he’s up and running past the benches and tables toward the woods, Frank calls after him, but Harry keeps going. So hard running in snow, but he makes it to the trees, stands huffing in a clump of pines as Frank shouts his name. Oh Christ, here he comes, picking his way along Harry’s footprints, with a flashlight and something else. What? Oh shit!
“It’s okay. Everything is going to be alright. Can you hear me, Harry?”
No, nothing will ever be right again. All over for Harry, just like that! He presses up against a tree, watching as Frank draws closer, the flashlight sweeping over the snow between them. Harry hears his heart thumping through his jacket, searches in the snow, finds a fat branch.
“No, Harry. Hey!” the first blow catches Frank’s arm, then one to the forehead and he goes down hard.
“Uh. No! Harry. Please, no!”
Another to the back of the head, solid, like Ted Williams, then a few more. Frank lying still now, blood everywhere, that second one, solid. Harry knows he’s dead. Oh Jesus, can’t catch his breath, head hammering, stands bent at the waist gripping the club in both hands, steam clouds blowing back in his face, this is no dream, this is happening. He’s killed him, Frank Lavin, from Fairmount. But then, oh God no, he’s moving, and Harry has to hit him again, then again. No other choice. The branch shatters at the end, jagged shards dripping and Harry’s wailing now. Head thrown back, arms wide and turning in a circle. Screams it all out then lets fly. Zoom, the club windmills off in a crash of branches.
Has to get out of here, is all he can think. Hears a truck downshift miles off, the SUV running in the parking lot, Harry starts for it, bloody hands, no good, Turns back and squats by the body, just does it before the idea can freak him. Washes his hands in the snow and wipes them dry on Frank’s scarf. Takes the scarf. Takes his wallet. Move. Think. Running through the snow then he’s in Frank’s SUV. Warm, oh God yes. Get going. Move! Harry puts it in gear and swings around, pausing at the entrance to hit the lights.
Not a car on the road back into town. Empty now, everything closed. Harry parks in one of the strip mall lots and wipes down the wheel and the knobs, anything he might’ve touched. He finds a gun in the glove compartment. Not a big gun, but nasty looking and Harry takes it, wraps the scarf around to cover the bloodstains on his jacket. Locks the SUV and crosses the lot, the gun, solid and heavy in his pocket. A long haul back to the lodge but he forces himself, left, right, stepping off into shadows when a car passes, not many, thank God. Couldn’t face anyone in this condition. What happens now? Who has he turned into?
He nearly walks right past the Willows then can’t bring himself to enter, stands in the lot looking in through the windows. Can’t decide what to do, then just opens the door, no one at the desk, thank you Jesus, bypasses the elevator for the stairs, some trouble with the key card then he’s in his room, cleaned and straightened, bed made. The front of his coat smeared in blood, his pants, some on his shoes. What a mess! Wraps the gun in his pants, wraps his pants in his jacket and stuffs it all in one of the drawers. No good. Takes them outside and sticks them in the trunk of the Caddy after getting changed. Stumbles to the mini-bar, claws the door open, grabs one, any one, tears off the cap then pours it down the hatch straight from the bottle.
***
“Hello?”
“Lena? You’re okay?”
“Jesus, Harry, its freezing out here. Where are you?”
“God I’ve missed you,” Harry can’t stop crying, holds the phone away.
“You don’t sound so good. What’s happened?”
“I’ve been a wreck here.”
“I know. I miss you too, Harry. You saw the ad?”
“Yeah, I saw it, yeah. It’s okay then right?”
“It worked,” she says in a whisper. “We did it, Harry. You wouldn’t believe all that’s happened. Where are you?”
“Some little town, I don’t know. Lena, I feel so bad leaving you down there. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s been crazy,” she speaks over vendors hawking produce. “Oh Harry, the neighbors have been so sweet. Everyone’s–”
“They’re looking for the guy. Stevie. On the news, it should have taken them longer. The thing about
his daughter, I didn’t know, Lena. You gotta believe me.”
“We can talk about that later, Harry. I’ll be meeting with the lawyers this week about the insurance.”
“When can I see you?”
“Not for a while yet. If I went off somewhere people would wonder,” she says over sirens screaming Doppler. “I’ll have to set up an excuse. Oh, and about the insurance, Harry, I can’t find one of the policies. It was in the drawer of important papers?”
“It must be on my workbench. Look down there.”
“Also, I need the key to the safe deposit box.”
“What safe deposit box?”
“Oh, I thought we had one.”
“Listen, forget about that. Lena, I’m . . . Jesus, I’m a mess without you. Just tell me you don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I love you, Harry. You know that.”
Aw, what the– snot all over, fuck it.
“You sound sick Harry. Now I’m gonna worry.”
“They’re looking for him, Lena. I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Well gee, it’s not like they’re going to find him.”
“But they’re looking! They’ll find something.”
“What’d you think, no one would ever miss the guy?”
“He told me the operation never worked. It was like sandbagging.”
“What?”
“The prognosis was hopeless, his words–”
“What’s done is done. Try not to worry, Harry.”
“You’re magnificent Lena. You know that. You carried the whole load.”
“Yeah, well.”
“The money’s all yours, baby. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Anything I should know?”
“No!” he bites his tongue.” I, uh . . . no nothing.”
Poor Frank frozen stiff under a fresh layer of snow. God help him.
“Someone wants to use the phone, Harry. I gotta go now.”
“No wait!”
“Call me next Sunday, noon. And send me an address for where you’re staying.”
“I’m sort of moving around.”
“Then rent a mailbox. Call me Sunday. Don’t forget.”
“Okay, but–”
“Love you Harry.”
“Love you Lena.”
***
She hangs up and heads down Christian hugging herself against the wind. Harry’s all fucked up, crying it sounded like. The whole thing has him wrung out, the dead guy, the daughter working on him. He shouldn’t be up there by himself. Only something bad can happen.
An odd phone call, short and jumpy, not what she expected after so long apart. Nothing really got said and Harry sounding like he’s falling apart, not that he doesn’t deserve to suffer. But it chills her to think of Harry all alone in the mountains, like The Shining, Jack Nicholson slipping into madness. Whoa, don’t want to go there!
Lena stops for a Sarcone’s loaf since she’s down here, in line, staring into space, drifting to the buzz of Harry.
“Hey,” a big hand waves in front of her face. “Anybody home?”
“Riley?” she feels her face spread into a smile. “Oh my God!”
“Come on. Can’t be that bad.”
“No, I, it’s just so good to see you!” Real good. Riley Prentiss, from the dancing days, a little beefier with those wrinkles around the eyes.
“Geez, it’s been years Lena,” his kiss on the lips, yum.
“I can’t believe it, you!” she gives him a shove.
“Looking good, lady. How do you do it?”
“You don’t look so bad yourself. How’s Kathleen?”
“Same as always. She should be here. Listen, about Harry, I can’t tell you how hard it hit us.”
“Thanks Riley. Harry loved you guys.”
“He was the best. Look, you in a hurry?” he takes her arm. “Come have coffee with me.”
“Make it a cosmo and you got a deal.”
Riley leads her a block up Ninth Street then down a stairway, through an unmarked door to a private club. Tiny place, guys at a table, nods to Riley. They sit at the bar, how nice just the two of them, mid-Sunday, football blabbing in a back room.
“The thing is, some guys,” Riley shakes his handsome head, “you don’t ever think about it. It can’t happen to them.”
“Then there are other guys.”
“Right! Kathleen’s got an uncle has a stroke every three weeks. Just turned eighty!”
“You look good, Riley. You really do. What did I hear about you? Something in the papers.”
“My fifteen minutes of fame, old news, Lena. I was going to get in touch with you, but I wanted to let things die down. You must have your hands full.”
“It’s leveling off. Sally’s nursing me through it, and my friend Alice from work and really, everyone! I think about people who don’t have that. How do they survive it, Riley?”
“Harry was special, and so are you,” he leans in. “I know it’s none of my business Lena, but you’re okay right? Financially?”
Lena smiles sweetly, “I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
“You know I still remember the first time I saw you. Wagner’s Ballroom, the old line dance, Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs.”
“God, it’s almost embarrassing,” Lena hides her face. “Don’t look at me.”
Riley pulls her hands away. “Please, I want to. You don’t know how good it feels for me.”
“Me, too,” Lena blushes. Creaming her jeans, what Sue-Anne said.
“Just remember one thing. I’m serious about this. If you ever need anything . . . anything Lena.”
“I know that, Riley. Where is Kathleen?”
“Right now she’s at next-door Mary’s,” Riley tells her. “We came up for Marissa’s confirmation.”
“Up? From where?”
“We bought a place on the Chesapeake. Little Cape Cod on the water, the golden years right?”
A fat man bellies through the swinging door and cocks his head their way.
“Cosmos, Tiny.” Riley shakes two fingers. “The Stoli’s, not the rotgut.”
“Cosmos? Do I look like Joe the Bartender?”
“That’s alright, I’ll get them,” Riley slips behind the bar. “Who’s up, anyway?”
“We’re getting clobbered,” Tiny shoots Lena a wink. “Why do we do it, Rile? Every year like the flu, like we don’t remember last year, or the year before. It’s a sickness, I tell you.”
“Hey, Eagles Fever,” Riley shrugs. “Catch it and die.”
“I can’t understand it,” Tiny bounces back from whence he came.
“Harry was a big fan,” Lena smiles to think.
“Tell me about it. We were at the snowball game back in the 80s. Bad call on a last minute drive and a million snowballs coming at ya. The freaking mayor leading the barrage.”
“Tough town.”
“Boo-bird, that was Harry. He liked it when they stunk up the place. Wins? That was bandwagon stuff.”
“Tell me about the Chesapeake Bay.”
“You’d like it, Lena. The Island’s a different world. The slow pace suits me.”
“Sounds good.”
“You’ll have to come down and visit. Kathleen would love to see you. Jesus, we go back Lena.”
“Yeah, way back,” Lena tears up a little. “God, the years get away from you.”
“Here’s to the baby boom,” Riley clinks her glass. “May we bleed the children dry.”
“Oh Riley, remember when you and Harry . . .” and off they go into the 60s. Another round and Lena let’s herself forget about the phone call, Harry and whatever he’s doing, Mexico. This is what she needs, a chance to unwind.
“Aw Jesus, look at the time. I should be getting back Lena.”
“Me too. Gee Riley, you don’t know how much good this has done me.”
“Okay.”
“You need anything, you call that number. Promise me, Lena.”
“I promise, Riley. And thanks.”
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“That’s okay, I have my car. Walk me over, would you?”
Then it’s warm and fuzzy until she gets home. Cop cars at the far end bursting that bubble. How easy to picture Harry cuffed in the back, wide-eyed and sputtering. What he’s like on a bender, listening to him slur, waking late at night to things crashing. Harry facedown at the table or passed out on the bathroom floor.
Lena parks a block over. Stillness settles like a last note played. Cat’s eyes shine in a front window. The cops drive off to worry someone else.
***
Harry drives north, away from the Willows and the mess, past the SUV parked in the lot, right at the light to the lake road. New snow light and fluffy, sky so blue it hurts to look at. His hands shake so bad he can’t light a cigarette. He must get out of town before he does something crazy.
The long night and the minibar, three bills worth at final tally. The phone call still chills him, blubbering like he did. Sunday will be different. She did say Sunday, right? The more he tries to, the more he can’t remember. Monday sounds just as likely, now that he says it to himself. Okay, it’s alright; he’ll call both days.
“Fuck it,” he says aloud. Shakes so bad he can barely work the screw cap, half of it dribbling down his chin and through his jacket. How crazy is this? Drinking and driving, bloody clothes and a gun in the trunk, dead men’s wallets, two, in case one won’t hang him.
He drives all day, coming into Albany at sunset. Albany, for no good reason, because that’s where the road goes. He stops for a bottle and checks into a Motel Six.
***
“Lena?”
“Who?”
“I’m looking for Lena? Blonde? Fortyish?”
“Honey, what you need is some young pussy. Ain’t no Nina got what I can give you.”