Kzine Issue 15 by Graeme Hurry et al

Author:Graeme Hurry et al. [al., Graeme Hurry et]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kimota Publishing
Published: 2016-05-23T23:00:00+00:00

PRODUCT

by Richard Mark Glover

I got off the 26 and walked toward the surf, through the sand, peeling off clothes, dodging fat bankers from New York, lawyers from Minnesota. The jeans drop and now I’m in my green Speedos, no longer pro tem, but permanently attached these days. I march on toward water. Showers—you have to be ready. Hygiene’s important, and when you’re living out of a ‘91 Camry, essential. Every little step toward clean counts. The more soap, the easier it is to live in the grunge of the universe, play the ponies and take on ventures. I liked to step out of the cascade of city water, towel off in the sun, admire my parking space and think; I’m clean.

I torqued the shampoo then returned a call to Louie Mavens down in Opa Locka. Mavens had a deal cooking with a shrimper who had a load of dope. Wanted me to drive to Flamingo, the end of the road in the Everglades, rent a houseboat like a tourist and run out to Florida Bay to rendezvous with his friend.

“Louie, one more thing. My Camry’s dead. I need wheels for Flamingo.”

“Jack an SUV—you need something big,” Louie said.

“Let me use your Jag.”

“Sal says you’re the right man but I’m beginning to wonder.”

“Sal set this up?” I asked.

“Got a van you can have. Meet me at Fidel’s on the river at three.”

“Sal, huh? OK. I’ll be there. Ricky, my boy too.”

Ricky called them galaxies, phosphorescent boils between the breakers, schools of shrimp giving off green sparkle in the dark. We’d pull in our throw nets under the Brickell Avenue Bridge, on those rare nights his mother entrusted him with me, make a fire and boil our booty under the moon, smelling the sea and listening to the click-clack of the cars across the iron. I told him shrimp traveled on the surface at night to navigate by the stars like the rusty freighters that passed occasionally under the bridge. I wanted him to know these things, not just the hygiene of the burbs, and that’s why I got the idea to bring him to Flamingo. Of course I had to get it by his mother.

“Susan Marie Knotwood?”

“I told you to never call me that. What do you want?”

“Can Ricky come out and play?”

“A child with a child?”

“Fishing. Can I pick him up or not?”

She used to call me Rick. I go by Richard now. We tried to make a go of it. Maybe we gave up too soon. Stayed out of prison at least. I never could give up the biz. Ran a chemical business front. Not what you think; light metals primarily, zinc, aluminum—food grade for the pet industry, dog food additives. Keeps them healthy. Yeah OK so if they shit on your lawn, you got some blue-white in the soil. No biggee, right? Better than lead.

“Assertive these days,” she says finally. “Have him back by Sunday, no later than seven.”

At Fidel’s, Louie gave me the keys and coordinates. I drank a Bud, Ricky, Mountain Dew.

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