was thinking of making some money off it. That’s all.
Gusef nodded. He said, Well okay. You are not stupid. I could pay you.
All right.
Not very much. It is not Spanish galleon.
Well, said Falk. We could work something out.
Gusef smiled. We could.
GUSEF PROWLED GOODNIGHT after closing, thinking about the fish, what he could do with it, trying to weary himself in the dark. He drove his woebegone Cadillac down Shoreline to Pelican Way, past the darkened yards of one-story beach bungalows, beneath the yellow glow of front porch bugbulbs and utility pole-mounted security lights whose bright bluewhite beams cast wild and spastic shadows as they cut the tangled maze of windblown and mosshung live oak branches. He stopped at the Speed-n-Go for gas, filled his tank beneath the hum of mercury-vapor lights, somnambulist seagulls gliding by like memories of his divorced wife and children.
Gusef walked heavily and vodkafuzzed to the cashier, waited in line behind a grizzled shrimper who knew his name. The man turned to him like a shipwrecked fisherman just off the life raft, snaggletoothed and windburnt, and indicated his purchases with one wave of a knifescarred hand, baring a what-the-hell smile.
Chocolate milk, wine, and cigarettes. He winked and stretched forth his turtled neck. It’s gonna be a good night.
Gusef nodded. Yes well one is for belly, one is for hole what is in heart, and one to call forth demons of memory.
The man clapped Gusef’s shoulder and said, Goddamnit, yes. Hank Williams couldn’t have said it better. He waved the sack of wine, milk, and cigarettes as he faded through the automatic glass doors.
Gusef walked to his car and settled into the seat once again. Part homeless wanderer, part feudal baron in exile. He drove past the junkyard across Highway 35, with its rusting cars amidst a thicket of palmetto and swampgrass. Insect smears cluttered his windshield and he cursed himself for not washing it at the convenience store. He circled back around to the Sea Horse.
The parking lot was quiet, but the door to Room 17 was open, a rectangle of light spilling out onto the rusted Nissan parked before it. Gusef stood outside his Cadillac and watched the open door, lit a cigarette, let loose a blue cloud from his mouth. In the office he found one of his employees, Billy Wright, about to eat a bowl of coconut sherbet.
The bossman cometh, said Billy.
Gusef adjusted the stack of magazines on the lobby coffee table. Yes well someone must make sure you do not sleep at desk. Guests do not like to see drool on counter. Or perhaps if I did not visit you would inject heroin with lowlife friends in bathroom.
I wouldn’t do that, said Billy. He put a spoonful of sherbet in his mouth and savored it. We’d at least find an empty room to do it on the sneaky side o’ things.
A clamor outside brought them to the windows facing the inner parking lot. Gusef opened the door and peered out, the bell above him jingling. They could hear a man shouting something unintelligible. Stomping. Slamming a door. He appeared in the doorframe of Room 17 and stepped to the rear of the Nissan parked there, its trunk lid popped open. He removed a cardboard box and lugged it inside, grunting. Gusef and Billy could hear him now. His loud voice shouting, MAYBE JUST MAYBE IF YOU DIDN’T WATCH THE GODDAMN TV SO MUCH YOU MIGHT KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.
Billy leaned close to Gusef. That’s Crawford again, his habit of wife yellin’. He says he’s an oilfield technician? Well, I’m a drummer for ZZ Top. I say he’s a coyote if you catch my drift.
Gusef rubbed one eye into which his cigarette smoke had drifted. I do not like this loudmouth. His woman she deserves better.
Yes, she is a sad one, said Billy. Never trust a man who slaps his wife around, that’s what I say. And this woman? If she was a flower, she’d be a black-eyed Susan.
Many things I regret, said Gusef. Letting him move here is one of these things.
Why not give him the boot?
Gusef shrugged. Where would she go?
They stood silent for a moment, listening to the loud voices, the sound of the wind rustling the palm trees along the parking lot, popping the American flag above the pool, its grommets tinging against the metal pole. A sign on the door read, AMERICAN OWNED.
Billy walked back to his place at the counter, wriggled onto the stool. In front of him was the bowl of sherbet.
Have you tasted this? he asked Gusef. Coconut sherbet. It’s Leon’s idea we should start serving this with every meal at the Black Tooth. Add some class.
Gusef stood in the doorway, silent.
Billy took a dainty sip from his spoon. Frowned. If you ask me, tastes like suntan lotion.
Gusef flicked his cigarette butt into the parking lot and nodded. Well yes perhaps this is good thing. If fatso tourist falls asleep by pool with mouth open, tongue does not get sunburn.
FALK RETURNED to his aunt’s house to get some sleep. There he shared a room with his cousin Leesha. Her real name was Alicia Ann, but she thought the double name too hick, and Alicia too dowdy and dweebish. Leesha was the only person who knew that in bed at night Falk prayed. It was her doing. When Falk’s mother and stepfather died the year before, Leesha’s mother took him in. Aunt Vicky had mixed feelings about this move. She had a problem child of her own and no spare bedroom. Leesha, who slept alone in the smallest room, on the bottom of a bunk bed, wasn’t surprised when he showed up. She knew her mother was a softie, with a weak spot for the orphaned teen.
Aunt Vicky made Falk move in right after the funeral. He said he could live on his own just fine, but she wouldn’t have it. She claimed she’d brought him into her house to keep him from going completely wrong. That evening they were all in the living room, cluttered and cramped, newspapers and remote controls on the coffee table, videos atop the TV, shoes on the shagcarpeted floor. Falk held a duffel bag of his clothes.
She asked him, You and Leesha can share a room, can’t you?
He nodded, his eyes looking away. I don’t want to be any trouble.
Don’t worry about that, said Aunt Vicky. It’s no trouble at all.
You better not toss and turn in your sleep, said Leesha. You do and I’ll end up smothering you with a pillow.
I don’t think I do.
She smiled at him. I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t smother you. I’d probably shoot you. She pointed her hand at him like it was a gun, shooting, making firing noises with her lips.
Alicia Ann? Let him be.
I told you not to call me that.
It’s your name, girl. That’s what you get called when you misbehave. Aunt Vicky gave Falk a wink. Okay then, she added. That’s what we’ll do. Now, honey, why don’t you go unpack your things. There’s towels in the pantry if you want to take a shower. Leesha, you come help with dinner.
Looking again at Falk, who was lugging his duffel down the hallway, Aunt Vicky said, Listen. I’m trusting you two to behave, sharing a room like this. You keep your hands to yourself, you hear?
Leesha said, Mom! That’s disgusting.
Falk tried to smile, seeing the looks on their faces.
I remember being seventeen, said Aunt Vicky. She shook her head. Any funny stuff and you’ll be sleeping outside with the dogs.
Leesha pushed her mother’s back and said, Everyone’s not a pervert. Like you.
The first night atop the bunk bed in Leesha’s room, Falk could barely move. He had never slept so close to a girl before. Leesha was fifteen then and pretty, pale-skinned, with a black teardrop beauty mark below her left eye. Her hair was dyed the color of sunflowers, coffee-dark at the roots, parted on the side. She pinned it in place with barrettes the shape of dragonflies, and highlighted her eyes with dark mascara and blue eyeshadow.