Charlie Huston - A Dangerous Man

I wave my hand up and down.

– No bolsa. Por favor.

She undoes the twisty at the top to the stick and pulls the mango free of its plastic bag. Thank God. It would have taken me an hour to get that thing off. I take the mango and offer her a dollar. She takes it. She looks at it, then at me, then she grips her cart and shoves it away. I look at the rest of the money in my hand. It’s bloody.

I look down. Blood is soaking through the knotted sleeves of my jacket, dripping slowly to be sucked up by the sand between my legs. That’s not good. You only have so much of that.

I crane my head around. There is a trail of tiny red spots on the sand leading back to the boardwalk. They might be the drippings from a child’s Popsicle, but they’re not.

The boardwalk is very far away, the music is coming from Rudy’s. How’d I get all the way here? Lucky, I guess. I look down again. The sand had absorbed too much of my blood; it has begun to pool at my crotch.

So, not that lucky.

I look at the mango in my hand. It’s been peeled, slit in rings around and around. It looks like a giant, pale orange artichoke dusted with chili powder. I bring it to my mouth. It’s sweet and peppery on my lips, but I’m no longer strong enough to bite into the soft fruit. It feels heavy. I want to put it down. I try to jam the stick in the sand, but I can’t get it in deep enough to stand upright. It lists slowly to one side until it falls and is crusted in sand.

What now?

Shoes.

Gonna take my shoes off.

It’s not easy, but I manage. Then I tug my socks off. Then I get to push my bare feet deep in the sand. And you know what? It was worth it. My eyes try to close. I open them. My eyes closing now would be a bad thing.

My eyes start to close.

I stop them.

Look for something to look at.

Some teenage girls sit in a circle to my right, all of them talking into their cell phones.

Cell phones.

I shift, and tug at my jacket. It pulls at my wound and I gasp. I feel in the jacket pockets and find Branko’s phone. I go through my pants pockets and find the number.

I dial.

It rings just once.

– Hello!

– Hey, hey, Mom.

– Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh. Oh.

– Hey. Hey. Sorry I. Last night. I didn’t mean to scare you. My phone. The battery.

– I knew. I knew. Henry. Oh. Henry. Henry, Henry.

– I love you, Mom.

– Henry. I love you. I love you so much. I.

– Is Dad there?

– He’s here. He’s.

– Henry? I’m here. Where? Are you OK? Where are you? Are you? What can we?

– Dad. Hey, Dad. Wow. You guys sound.

– What is it, Henry? We. How do we?

– Hey. Hey. I just. I can’t talk. Just. I wanted to tell you. I really love you guys. And.

Mom clucks her tongue.

– Are you drunk, Henry?

– No, Mom.

– You sound drunk.

– No, Mom.

– Well. I. Oh, God.

– It’s OK, Mom. Dad?

– Yeah?

– I love you guys. And. I know. Nothing I did. You guys were great to me. No matter what people say. Nothing that happened. It was all me. And I love you. And.

Mom is crying now. Of course. Making Mom cry is the easiest thing in the world.

– Don’t cry, Mom.

– Don’t be stupid. How can I not cry?

– Dad, tell Mom not to cry.

– Your mom cries at TV commercials.

– Right.

Mom cries for awhile. Nobody says anything. She stops.

– I’m better. Sorry.

– That’s OK.

More of nobody talking. The beach spins a couple times. My eyes try to close some more.

– OK. I. I need to go, guys.

Mom starts crying again.

– Will you call again? Are you OK? Do you need anything? I can send something. What do you need?

– No, Mom, I’m fine. I just. I love you both. And I miss you. Every day.

My eyelids dip. I force them to stay open.

Mom talks.

– We love you, Henry.

Dad coughs.

– Love you, Hank.

– Love you guys. Bye. Love you.

I hang up.

I start to close my eyes.

Stop myself.

If I close my eyes now, I’ll never open them.

I’m tired. My body is too heavy to keep upright. I lean back and let myself drop into the sand. I look up into the bright blue sky. It feels good on my face, but it hurts my eyes. I start to close my eyes. Open them.

If I close my eyes now, I will never open them.

If I close my eyes.

I will never open them.

I close my eyes.

Not a word of the Henry Thompson trilogy would have seen print were I not the beneficiary of amazing good luck, remarkable friendships, and love.

My thanks to Johnny Lancaster, friend. You changed my life.

To Robyn Starr and Simone Elliot, benefactors.

To Cindy Murray, Ingrid Powell, Paul Taunton, Daniel Lazar and Michael Mejias, all of whom have done me great services, and shared a drink or two.

To Maura Teitelbaum, Simon Lipskar and Mark Tavani, coworkers and friends, the ones who showed belief. My debt is great.

Thanks to my readers, those who feel the money was well spent, and those who want it back. It’s nice to know you’re all out there. I am grateful.

I was given special technical assistance in the writing of this book by Anna Isaacson of the Brooklyn Cyclones. She took me around the ballpark and, among other things, showed me where they keep the hot dog costumes. Alas, my suspicions were correct, the race is rigged. Thank you, Anna.

I have been taken in by the Smiths, Farmers and Kressmans. My east coast family. Thank you for the love, and for the young woman in question.

My mom and dad have given me what every child should have, faith, hope and love. All without bounds. If only I had more to give back.

Virginia.

My wife.

My greatest piece of luck.

Stay with me. Make me a better man.

I’ll try to deserve you.

New York City

February 3, 2006