Charlie Huston: Caught Stealing

I get to the checkpoint. I set the bag on the conveyor and watch it slide through. I walk through the metal detector and set off no alarms. I don’t sweat, I don’t tremor,my eyes are not shifty. I am a criminal mastermind. I am cold as ice. The cops and the airport security are barely looking. I have already become a myth to them. No one so wanted could ever make it this far, so they sip their coffee and bitch about their jobs and I stroll past.

I stop at the pay phones. When she picks up, I hear a series of clicks and voices in the background.

– It’s me, Mom.

– Are you all right, Henry? Are you all right?

– I’m OK, Mom. I’m going away.

– Where?

– I can’t say.

– Oh. They’re here, Henry. They want to talk to you.

– I love you, Mom.

– Oh, Henry.

– TellDad I love him.

– Henry.

– I love you.

– I love you, Henry.

First class is nice. They give me a hot towel and I put it over my face to hide all the tears.

When the seat belt light goes off, I go to the can with my bag andunwrap Bud. His breathing is shallow. I hope he’s OK. I pad myself with some towels from the bag so I still look fat and put Bud back in. I leave it a tiny bit unzipped so he can breathe easier. The whole flight, they offer me cocktails. I take a coupleVics instead.

We land inCancún. I’ve never been to Mexico before, but I’ve heard customs is very easy here. When I go to claim my luggage, the money bag is already there, revolving on the carousel.

The customs agent looks at my face and at my passport. He grimaces a little and looks inquisitive. I smile ruefully.

– Car accident.

– ¿Si? Ouch.

– Mucho ouch.

He laughs and stamps my papers.

– Have a nice visit, sir.

– Thankyou.

I’m walking toward the exit. Up ahead there is a small traffic light. As passengers arrive at the light, they push a little button. If the light flashes green, they exit the airport. Red, and they and their bags are subjected to a random search. I push the button.

It’s a very Christmassy kind of green.

The town is about an hour south ofCancún. It’s small, nice. I’m in a bar. The bar is on the beach; it has no walls and is covered by a roof of logs and thatched palm leaves. Instead of a stool, I sit on a rope swing suspended from the timbers of the roof. I sway in a warm breeze and, if I dangle my legs right, my toes drag back and forth in the sand. It is early evening and a thunderstorm is swinging in from offshore. Lightning is crackling over the perfect sea and bathwater-warm rain will soon fall. There are pretty girls everywhere and the stereo behind the bar is playingStevie Ray Vaughn’s “Pride and Joy.” Bud is sprawled on the bar next to me, woozy but awake. The bartenders think it’s very funny I brought my cat, butthey like him. Everybody likes Bud. The pretty girls especially like Bud. I have a room up the beach a little. It has a balcony and a hammock. I stopped by the gift shop long enough to buy some shorts and sandals, took a shower in my room and left the money bag in the closet. Then I took a walk and found this place.

On the bar I have spread out various relics I found in Bud’s bag. The plane ticket I would have used to get home at Christmas.Mario’s card.Ed’s card. Roman’s card. The police photo of Yvonne’s neck. I think about how mad she used to get at me for always living in the past. I close my eyes and feel the sun and the breeze and see the pile of bodies behind the bar at Paul’s.Russ holding Bud.Ed and Paris holding hands.Bolo putting out his arms for balance just before he went down.Roman just wanting me to get it over with.

On the bar they have set out bowls full of Spanish peanuts dusted with chili powder. I take a handful and eat them one by one. They’re good. I hold one out to Bud and he licks the powder off.

I’m drinkingJarritos orange soda. Soon, at 6:00, it will be happy hour. For every drink I order, they will bring me three. At 6:30, they will turn on the TV above the bar and show the satellite broadcast of the Mets vs. Giants, live from New York. I curl my toes and crunch the cool, damp sand. My feet don’t hurt at all. Someone rings a bell. It’s 6:00. I signal the bartender and order a beer.