Randy White - Dead of Night

My license had been reissued.

I thought of Jobe Applebee, the little man who’d experienced too much chaos during his life. I thought of a good lady who once placed the imperatives of scientific method only after the love she had for her son, and husband. I thought of Tomlinson’s pain… remembered the disgusting vision of guinea worm on the move.

Sitting in that hospital room, I sent a silent message to the perpetrators: You are being tracked now.

LOG

18 Dec. Saturday 18:43 (addendum from a reluctant operative)

Bartram County Hospital.

Premise: Predation is a necessary check that prohibits one species from destroying all others. A society whose moral ideals inhibit its own defense is a society doomed to destruction by those predators it defines as immoral.

… all primate units struggle for ascendance, the weaknesses of many sheltered by the strength of a few. Conventional human conduct-trappings of respect, ceremony, alliance, and ritual-are added later to maintain the comforting illusion of a sentimental, civilized world…

– MDF

I sat thinking dark thoughts, writing in my log, as I listened to Tomlinson, the cheerful drunk, hold court on the phone. He’d already called several island fishing guides-Jeth, Alex, Neville, Doug Fisher, and Dave Case among them. Next he dialed my cousin, Ransom.

When she answered, Laken and I listened to what was by now a familiar, one-sided conversation: “Guess who’s got a fish stuck up his willy. Yeah, it’s me. Who else? Nope. My penis. I’m not kidding. Seriously… a fish. The little fiend went for a swim up the Sunshine Skyway. I’m in the hospital right now.

“No, I’m not drunk. I’m doing mainline morphine, which is like visiting an ol’ war buddy. Makes the wounds seem fun. They’ve got this special machine I plan to buy and keep aboard No Mas…”

I watched Tomlinson tilt his head, listening to Ransom for what seemed like a long time, before he became insistent. “Yes… I told you. They’re gonna do surgery in about half an hour. Listen to me closely: I… HAVE… A… FISH… UP… MY… DICK. Which means no live broadcast tomorrow. Sorry, no can do. In fact, I’ve gone to work with Doc on a special government project. Top secret; can’t say. I’m his researcher and personal assistant. So we may have to tell our Zen students it’s recess time. Go play alone in their own heads for a few months…”

He listened for several moments before raising his voice. “Lady, I’m surprised someone hasn’t dropped a house on you. They don’t make ruby slippers in size twelve?” He looked at me and wagged his eyebrows, enjoying himself. “I didn’t mention my new seafood special. If I wrap Zamboni in a bun, cover ’im with tartar sauce, is there a chance you might get a case of the Tomlinson munchies again? Just for old times’ sake? Doctor says he’ll be standing tall, right as rain, within a couple of days.”

I watched him grimace, then hold the phone away from his ear.

“Here,” he said, “your sister wants to talk to you.”

I took the phone. Waited quietly as Ransom added an epilogue to her heated rant. When she was done, I said, “Some of those words, I’m surprised you know. Some of them, don’t even know.”

In her singsong, Bahamian lilt, Ransom replied, “Oh. It’s you, my brother. Thought I was still talkin’ to that idiot business partner of mine. His Holiness, Mr. Two-Timing Tomlinson. Is what he said true? Does he really have a fish in his thingee?”

I told her, yes, he apparently had a fish in his thingee. “The doctor used a special scope to take a look. She thinks it’s a fish called a ‘candiru.’ ”

“ ‘Candy-roo’? With that skinny boy, I’m surprised it ain’t a damn moray. He say he doan want me to come up there, but I’m bringing my video guys anyway. We got our live broadcast tomorrow. I don’t care what that ganja bum say. Our students will be tuned in, all over the world. He not gonna cost me twenty, thirty thousand just ’cause he caught a fish.”

I said, “That’s between you two. As of now, Lake and I plan on driving the Volkswagen back to Sanibel tonight. But just in case the surgery doesn’t go the way it’s supposed to, I’ve got a taxi on standby. A limo service-” I smiled at my son. “He thinks it’s cool. No matter what happens here, Lake’s flying out tomorrow.”

Ransom said that was fine. If I didn’t stay the night, she could bring Tomlinson home whenever he was discharged. “I thought you was leaving tomorrow, too. Going to Iowa. Does your sweetie pie, the pregnant jock, know you standin’ her up again?”

There’s an antagonism between Ransom and Dewey that I don’t understand. Never will.

I told her that I’d probably leave Monday. “But if there’re complications here, it’ll be okay. Dewey’ll understand.”

“Will she, now?”

“Of course.”

“You big, dumb, sweet boy. Do you realize every time that women in trouble, she come running to you? When there ain’t no more trouble, she’s like a hermit crab-leaves you behind like an old shell.”

“This time,” I said, “it’s different.”

I wondered if it were true.

As I handed the phone to Tomlinson, I felt my son looking at me, eyes assessing. When I’d told him about the limo, he’d shrugged, his expression tolerant. “Not a stretch limo?” His voice said he hoped it was.

“No. Just a car.”

We were alone in the hallway at the time. He’d given me a quick, private hug.

“I’ll get on the plane. Promise. You’re right-Mom wouldn’t let me come back.”

Turned out it was okay for me to arrive in Iowa a day or two late. Or a week late. Or a month late. Whatever I wanted.

Sort of.

After orderlies had wheeled Tomlinson into surgery, I walked outside and dialed Dewey’s number. I’d had so much trouble reaching her by phone lately, I was taken aback when she answered.

“Hello, Doc. How’re all the little fishes doing?”

Chilly. The undercurrent of sarcasm telling me, once again, I paid too much attention to my work, not enough to her.

I said, “It’s good to hear your voice. It’s been a hell of a couple of days. The nightmare variety.”

I told her about Frieda, and what had happened to Tomlinson. The icy tone warmed. But there was still an unmistakable reserve. I got the impression someone was with her, listening.

“That’s so sad! I met Frieda. I liked her. But what you say about Tomlinson can’t be-”

“It’s true,” I said. “He’s in surgery right now. Nothing serious-just uncommon. A parasitic fish from South America. His main worry was that he couldn’t perform. The urologist is a woman, really first-rate. She told him he’d get so much sympathy from the ladies that his tool would not only work, it’d have to work overtime.”

I expected to hear her laugh. Instead, she said, “I guess that’s to be expected. Tomlinson, yeah. Maybe most other guys I know, too. Doc?”-long pause-“He’s your pal. You need to be with him, so don’t worry about busting ass to fly up here.”

In a way, I was hurt. In a way, I was relieved.

I was in the hospital parking lot, security lights showing gray cars, black tires, a few empty spaces reserved for physicians, moths casting frantic shadows on asphalt. Stars up there beyond the glare, an ellipse of planets in line. Or would be in just three days. The winter solstice.

I began to pace.

“I’m not worried about it. I want to be there. I miss you. But I have to make sure Tomlinson’s okay, then-”

“I understand. Friends are important. You take it seriously-it’s one of the things people like about you. Marion Ford, the neighborhood rock. That’s why I’m saying, if you don’t make it for Christmas, it’s okay.”