Jenry lets the CD play, then—just as his father is about to repeat his instruction; he’s learned how to time these things—he switches it off and climbs from the hammock. He’s wearing his school uniform, as is Palace. Short-sleeved white shirt, dark blue trousers and matching tie. He shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the wall, the generic pose of the layabouts who hang around Tully’s shop.
“Mama say you had a visit from Annie,” he says in a challenging tone, as if daring Fredo to deny it.
“Change out of them clothes,” says Fredo. “You got to keep them fresh for school.”
Jenry loosens his tie. “I want to go with you.”
Fredo grunts in amusement. “There a long walk between what you want and what going to happen.”
Palace, the soccer ball under his arm, comes into the room, and Fredo tells him to change his clothes, saying he’ll start supper going.
“Why can’t I go with you?” Jenry asks, and Palace says happily, “Roxy Tidcombe already fix us sandwiches over the resort.” He giggles. “Her cat purring for Jenry.”
Jenry gives him a scornful look.
“Go on,” says Fredo. “Change them clothes. Your mama’s got enough to do without washing ’em every day.”
He stretches out in the hammock and closes his eyes, listening to the boys bickering in the back room. Palace: “You the one tell me about Roxy!” Jenry: “Did I tell you to spread the news around, too?” Fredo’s thoughts slow, but he does not sleep, hovering just above sleep’s surface. A breeze pushes open the door, the rusting hinges squeak. Through the doorway, a narrow band of the sea appears to billow like a blue-green scarf drawn between earth and sky. Footsteps behind him, and Jenry steps into view. He asks again about Annie and Fredo, less irritable now, says, “Your mama needs you to help out while I gone. The time come soon enough you going to learn about Annie.”
“How soon?”
Fredo swings his legs over the side of the hammock. “You remember that toy you wanted a few years back? That robot with its eyes light up and it shooting sparks?”
“That were six, seven years ago,” Jenry says defensively. He’s clad in a pair of shorts and has a cheap gold chain about his neck, the links showing like golden stitches against his black skin.
“We told you it were a piece of trash, but you had to have it. And once you get it, it fall apart in a week. The eyes don’t light and the sparks burn your arm. Wanting to know Annie’s like wanting to get your hands on that robot. Ain’t no pleasure at the end of it.”
“So you say. Maybe I feel different.”
“What you want to argue with me for? Your mama need you—that all you gots to know.” Fredo comes to his feet, stretches, then with a sudden movement grabs Jenry by the back of the neck and tickles him with his free hand. “What you going to do now, huh? How you going to argue with this?”
After a brief struggle, which veers between play and actual ferocity, Jenry breaks away. He seems about to smile, but instead glowers at Fredo.
“Back off with the attitude, mon,” Fredo says. “Okay? I got a long night ahead of me, and maybe a long day to follow. I could stand a break.”
Jenry’s expression degrades into sullenness, and Fredo busies himself rummaging in the tool box that sits atop a dresser, searching for a large plastic syringe and a set of lockpicks.
“Roxy Tidcombe, huh?” he says. “That one pretty gal. She what we call back in my day pure glamity.”
“She okay,” Jenry says. “But she holding out on me.”
Fredo grins at him over his shoulder. “And here I thought you grown into a grindsman.”
“Seem like all she want to do is give me a car wash.”
“Well, I wouldn’t complain and I was you. Lots of girls that way at first. They afraid of catching a big belly.”
“That how it were with you and mama?” Jenry asks sneeringly. “She give up her puni straightaway and you never get no car wash?”
Something like anger,
but stronger,
something of the old blood,
Annie’s blood,
surges through Fredo,
and he has to close his eyes
against the sight of his son
until it has passed,
gripping the wooden handle
of the tool box
so hard it cracks.
“Get on down to the café,” he says. “You can ask your mama about the car wash and you got the courage. Take Palace with you.”
“It Friday night, mon! I got better to do,” Jenry says, and Palace, who has obviously been eavesdropping, comes to the door and says, “I ain’t finish my schoolwork!”
“What kind of schoolwork they give you on a Friday night?” Fredo asks.
Palace glances away, a sure sign he’s fishing around for a believable lie. “I got a book to read.”
“Read it at the café,” says Fredo. “Jenry can do your share of the chores. When you done with reading, then you can do his.”
Both boys complain and he says, “I ain’t going to tell you again.”
He stands in the doorway, watching them walk down the hill. Emily’s right, he thinks as his anger fades. Jenry may be already lost and Palace won’t be far behind. Contemplating this, Fredo shakes his head ruefully and spits. As they reach the foot of the hill, Jenry shoves his brother, knocking him off his feet, and starts jogging along the road toward town.
A moonless night; thin clouds reduce what stars there are to a scatter of dim white points. Fredo steals along Treasure Cove’s pier, his footsteps hidden by the slop of water against the pilings. The watchman is asleep on the beach in a cabana chair, his rifle resting across his knees. His dory is drawn up on the beach, the outboard tipped up out of the sand. A fresh creosote smell from the pier overwhelms all other odors. From its seaward end, the bungalows are almost indistinguishable in the dark—vague white shapes mounted against the hill, like lumps of mashed potatoes. Fredo climbs over the railing onto the deck of the cabin cruiser and locates the hatch covering the engine. Using a penlight to see, he picks the lock and slides off the cover. He draws battery acid into the syringe and squirts it into the fuel, repeating the process; then he slides the cover shut and locks it. The door to the cabin is open, and that astounds Fredo. These people must have no idea where they are, he tells himself. He disables the radio and makes a quick search, finding a flare gun and a revolver in a cabinet. He renders the flares unusable and, after emptying the revolver, decides it will be safest to drop it over the side. This done, he hurries along the pier, clambers into the rocks above the resort, and curls up on a ledge to sleep.
He wakes in bright daylight, worried that he’s missed his appointment. Entering the bar, he spots Klose and Selkie sitting by the window, dirty dishes in front of them. They’re dressed in shorts and tank tops, and Fredo thinks that they more resemble a brother and sister than a husband and wife. He threads his way among tables, drops into a chair across from them. With a petulant frown, Selkie says, “We thought you were not coming.”
“I had some business, but I here now,” Fredo says. “You have the money?”