Colin Harrison - The Havana Room

"So, Poppy, why did you find him?" I asked. "Were you going for a stroll?"

"I saw the dozer. Wondered what was going on."

"Hey, it doesn't change anything for Herschel," Jay said. "Also, you've got people walking the beach in the morning. Get a couple of kids climbing on that thing, who knows what happens? Poppy is calling the police. I can't lose the deal, man. I mean what fucking difference does it make whether Herschel died over here or over there?"

I could have said that clearly it made a large difference to Jay himself, since he'd driven out of the city in the middle of the night and a snowstorm to move the body, but I saw nothing to be gained by the comment. I wanted out of there, plain and simple.

"Look," said Poppy. He pointed toward the main road. Car lights were coming our way.

"Take the truck," Jay ordered Poppy. "I changed my mind. Go without your lights to the barn. I'll take the Cat myself."

They hurried to their respective vehicles. Poppy unhooked the cable from the back of the big potato truck, leapt into the cab where the door used to be, and rumbled slowly down the road. Jay, meanwhile, unhooked the cable from the dozer, pulled it hand over hand into the bucket, climbed up, again sitting atop the frozen belly of Herschel, and, wind whipping his hair and coat, turned the dozer parallel to the shoreline, keeping the lights off, and rumbled into the dark, the dozer pitching sideways across the uneven ground.

Which left me there with Jay's truck. The lights continued toward me. Across the field lay only darkness, both vehicles having already disappeared. I hurried over the snow, knowing the truck would be spotted. Twenty yards away I hopped over the edge of the sea cliff and lay down, pressing my chest against the snowy sand, the wind raw against my legs.

The car approached, slowed. A police cruiser, its flasher bar off. It turned in a slow circle, lights catching Jay's truck, then stopped. If they found a cardboard box with two hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars in it, then things would get interesting. A handheld flashlight beam shot directly at the driver's window, illuminating the falling snow, moved to the passenger side, found nothing, rubbed over the ground, rested on the license plate. I expected a figure to emerge and inspect the vehicle, but instead the police car crunched forward in its turn, wheels biting the road again, and disappeared the way it had come, red lights getting smaller.

I stood up anxiously, wanting to escape. Where were Poppy and Jay? Maybe the police car had encountered them along the road. I considered stumbling my way down the sea cliff then walking along the shore. But it was bitter cold, the wind from the sound whipping upward behind me. Jay's truck would be warmer, and maybe he'd left the keys in it. I ran over the frozen ground to the driver's door and threw myself inside. Drag your ass out of here, Billy-boy. The keys weren't in the ignition. I checked under the seat. Nothing. In the glove compartment I found an owner's manual, another heavily scuffed baseball, an insurance document (which showed that Jay's coverage had lapsed), an empty ammunition box, and, strangely, a schedule of winter sporting events at one of Manhattan's private schools, with every Thursday night girls' basketball game circled. Random, useless things. I put them all back and huddled miserably in my seat.

Then a figure emerged out of the darkness. Jay in his long coat. I opened the driver's door.

"You see the car?" he asked.

"Yeah, Jay, it was the police."

He sat down in the driver's seat, his face pinched by the cold.

"Why would the police roll up, Jay?"

Instead of answering he closed his eyes and seemed to be pulling deep breaths into himself. "Okay… just a second here."

"You all right?"

He nodded and pulled the keys from his pocket.

"Should I drive?"

"I'll be fine."

"You need more of those pills?" I suggested.

"Let me just-" He got out of the truck, opened the rear door, then lay down.

"Jay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I got this under control… Do me a favor and don't tell Allison."

I reached back and grabbed the keys from him. "I'm taking us out of here."

I guided the truck back the way we'd come, away from the water. The snow had already started to obscure the police car's tracks, and was piling in drifts on the westerly side of the road in fragile crests and valleys. As we passed the large barns, I noticed something I'd missed before, a modest farmhouse set back from the road, a snowy mirage almost, windows unlit, front porch drifted with snow. Someone had lived there once.

At the gate to the main road, the police car was waiting for us, parked craftily so that any escape attempt would land the truck in the drainage ditch. I pulled to a stop and cut the engine, keeping the lights on.

Colin Harrison

The Havana Room

"What's happening?" asked Jay.

"Cops."

He groaned and fell back into the seat.

The policemen opened their doors and walked toward the car, hands on guns, flashlights held up like spears.

"Who's that?" demanded one.

I lowered the window. "Hi guys," I said, worrying about the box of cash behind my seat.

"You taking a little drive?" One of the cops shined the light into the backseat. "Who you got there?"

"This is my friend," I said.

"This ain't lovers' lane, buddy," the cop said. "This is private property."

"It's not like that."

He smiled with a happy sadism. "What's it like, then? I always wanted to know."

"Hey, hey, is that Dougie?" Jay called from the darkness of the rear seat.

"Who you got in there?"

"Dougie," bellowed Jay, "you married that girl yet?"

"Who's that? Jay? Jay Rainey?"

Jay sat up and opened his door, and practically fell into the snow. "Who do you think?"

The cop shook his head, laughing. "Jay, we thought you was the big-city boy now." He shook hands with Jay, then motioned at me. "Who's this?"

"This?" Jay answered sloppily. "This is my lawyer, boys."

"Lawyer?"

"Up town, man. The best money can buy."

The cop shoved his light at my face, making me blink. "You been drinking, too?"

I shook my head. Snow was blowing into the truck.

"You don't mind if I check you?"

"Nope."

He came over, gave me a perfunctory sniff. "You were drinking but it was hours ago, and you had dinner and somebody was smoking cigars or something."

"That's right," I said. "Pretty good."

The other cop laughed. "He can fucking smell pussy in a swimming pool."

"I gotta get back in the car," Jay announced.

Dougie helped him and closed the door. Then he held out his hand. "You got some ID?"

I showed him my license.

"You got something that tells me who you are, I mean?"

I fumbled with my wallet. "This is my old business card."

The cop pinched it from my fingers. "Hey, I even heard of this law firm. You don't work there no more?"

"Uh, no."

"Disbarred?"

"What?"

"Only joking."

"I wasn't disbarred."

"Just want to make sure that you're giving Jay here proper representation, Mr. William Wyeth." He nodded at his partner. "Okay, since the car is not stolen, and since you are not drinking and since the owner of the property is with you, although apparently rather incapacitated, then I don't think we have a problem." He slipped my card into his pocket, however. "We saw lights from the main road, thought people was messing around." He looked at me. "What you guys doing out here this late, anyway?"

"He was showing me the land," I said. "He had kind of a big night and wanted me to see it."

"I heard Jay was selling it." He bent and addressed the backseat of the truck. "Jay, you come back here before the city eats you up, hear?"

No answer came. "Get the local boy home safe, okay?" he said softly to me. "Jay and I go way back. Played some ball together before-" He stopped.