Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [59]
It’s Saturday. They’re both home.
—Hi, Mom.
—Henry! Oh, God, Henry! Oh, God! Oh, God!
—Mom.
—Henry. Oh, my God, Henry.
—Mom! Mom, I’m OK, Mom. I’m. Listen to me, I’m OK.
—Henry, We’re so, just so. People called, and the news, we saw the news, we saw the bar. Oh, Henry, the police and all those people.
—Mom, it’s OK, I’m OK.
—We’ve been so, so scared, Henry. Oh, God.
She cries and can’t get any more words out. I hear the phone being fumbled around and my dad comes on the line.
—Henry?
—Hey, Pop.
—Jesus, Hank, are you all right?
—Pop, oh, Pop.
—What’s going on, Hank? Thank God you’re OK, but we just need to know.
—I know, Dad.
—Oh, son. Jesus, I’m glad to hear your voice.
—Dad. I’m in some trouble here, Dad.
—What is it? What do you need us to do?
—Dad, it’s big trouble.
—The police called, we’re . . . They want to know where you are.
—Big trouble, Dad.
—Tell us.
—Dad, I can’t, but I was there, at the bar and the police, Dad, the police think I did it.
—What?
—Dad, they think I did it, but I didn’t and I needed to call to tell you I was OK and that I didn’t do that. I would never do that, Dad, I would never kill people. But they think I did.
—Why, what the hell is going on?
—I just, Dad, I just fell into some trouble.
—Well, let’s get you out.
—It’s, uh, it’s not that kind of trouble, Pop, and I need you and Mom to just be ready, because I’m not sure how I’m gonna work it all out.
—Ready for what?
—I may, I may need to go somewhere. I don’t know, but I may, it’s big trouble and I may need to go away and I don’t know.
I stop. I can see them standing next to the kitchen counter, my dad with the phone held away from his ear so my mom can listen, leaning against each other.
—What do you need us to do, Hank?
—Just, Dad, I just need you to know I didn’t do it. These people, they did it and, oh, fuck, they, they killed Yvonne, too, Dad.
—Jesus.
—And, Dad, I’m trying to do the right thing, Dad. I need you guys to know I didn’t hurt anybody, no matter what you hear.
—I know, Hank, I believe you.
—Thanks, Pop.
We both go silent for a moment.
—Hank, what about the police?
—Just don’t lie to them. If they ask, tell them you talked to me and tell them what I said, just don’t lie.
—Sure.
Russ is leaning in the doorway, trying not to look at me, but I know he can hear everything I’m saying.
—I got to go, Dad.
—Well, you better say good-bye to your mom first.
—Yeah. I love you, Dad.
—I love you, too, son.
He passes the phone to my mom.
—You get all that, Mom?
—Oh, Henry, how could anyone think you’d do something like that? How could they?
—I just. It’s just a mess, Mom, that’s all.
—I love you, Henry.
—I love you, Mom.
—Be safe, OK?
—I will and I’ll call very soon, just, just as soon as I can. OK?
—Be sure you do. Don’t say you’re going to call and forget. You know I hate that.
—I know.
—We love you so much.
—I love you guys, too, Mom.
—Be careful.
—I will, Mom, I’ll be careful.
—OK. Good-bye, Henry.
—Good-bye, Mom.
The line is silent except for her breathing and I know she can’t hang up, so I take the phone from my ear and push the little END button and the light on the liquid crystal display goes dark.
At the funeral, Rich’s parents had slumped against each other, rocking back and forth. They were alone. They had no other children. Only Rich. And I’d killed him. They didn’t blame me. They didn’t have to. I blamed myself.
I picture my parents at my own funeral: alone, inconsolable.
I will not die. I will not die for money, or even for another man’s life.
I look at Russ and watch him stare at something fascinating on the ground.
—I’m gonna give up the money, Russ. I’m gonna give up the money and I’m gonna give you up, too.
He tilts his head up and looks me in the eye.
—That, like, sounds about right.
At a Duane Reade, I grab one of those prepacked first-aid kits and a couple Ace bandages. My stuff is still in Roman’s car. Russ gets a carton of Camel Lights. At a bodega, we fill two bags with