cuisine
A black curlicue of smoke twists over Crofton. The wheeze and sigh of its fire alarm is just beginning when we reach the
Tamzene
. In the dim light, I can barely make out Charlie Lee running ahead of us. I hear him whooping and shouting in celebration. Behind us the lights of Crofton are disappearing into small yellow squares.
Charlie Lee climbs aboard first, shouting, “Start her up, Kang ol’ buddy! Give her some gas!”
“Don’t do it! Don’t let him on board!” Esmerelda yells, but it’s too late—the engine hums to life just as she, Arthur, and I reach the hull. As we climb aboard, Kang speeds away.
Esmerelda pushes past Charlie Lee and into the cabin. She glares, wicked pissed, at the Birmingham Kid from behind Kang.
“Throw his ass overboard,” she growls.
Kang frowns and glances at Arthur, who nods and signs something at Kang.
Charlie Lee leans against the edge of the boat, gasping for air. The run made his cheeks red, and spread across them is that same psycho smile he was wearing just before the Steak Shack went up in flames. He turns the smile on Esmerelda. “Aw, now don’t take on so, Esmerelda. It was God’s will.”
Crofton disappears around the bend. Cloudbursts of trees pile in on us and this psycho that might blow us out of the water. A few more digits into the phone, a quick story, and all this would have been finished.
I manage to stammer, “What . . . what the hell . . .”
“You’re a murderer,” Esmerelda says in a small voice.
I can’t take my eyes off that green backpack that holds God knows what. I want Esmerelda to shut up. I want to keep Charlie Lee calm until the guys in the white coats show up.
“Aw, hush now,” Charlie Lee says. “There
weren’t
no innocent people in that restaurant. They all run out the front before that bomb went off. You saw ’em.”
Kang continues to steer but glances at Charlie Lee. His muscles flicker.
Charlie Lee looks back at Kang, and he pales. “Now, y’all could throw me overboard, but who’s to say I won’t go to the first phone I see and put in an anonymous call to the po-lice and tell ’em about this here boat?” His cheeks allow a rubbery grin. “Oh yes. I can tell something is up with this here boat y’all are driving. You been looking over your shoulders all day long, and you didn’t pull into Crofton like regular folks. You anchored downstream. And you got a man with a gunshot wound in the hold that none of you seems too anxious to take to a hospital—sinful doctors or no sinful doctors. I dare say ol’ Charlie Lee telling the police what I know about the
Tamzene
and where y’all are is something you definitely don’t want. Which is what would happen, Mister Injun, not long after this here backside punches a hole in that there water.”
Esmerelda cringes and mouths the words:
Native American
.
Charlie Lee grips his bag to his midsection, and that mad scary smile reforms. “Now, the way I see it, y’all got two options. One, you kill me.” He gulps. “Not the prettiest of options by a long shot. Not only for ol’ Charlie Lee, but for yourself, Mister Injun. Y’all will not only have to explain to these here youngins what a cold-blooded savage you are, but you’d have a body to dispose of to boot. Not to mention it ain’t a Christian thing to do. Or option two, you keep on driving this here boat downriver—no longer than just a night and a day—and you drop ol’ Charlie Lee at the first town you come to, and ol’ Charlie Lee will take his belongings, and you’ll never see hide nor hair of him again. So help me God.”
He pushes himself off the side of the boat and kneels, placing his backpack on the deck in front of him. Then he raises his arms up from his sides and spreads them out like wings.
“Lord,” Charlie Lee says, “Charlie Lee is putting his life in Your hands now. Save me from the murderous hands of this heathen so that I may do Your work. Your will be done.”
Kang steps out from the cabin and stands in front of Charlie Lee. Muscles tight, he takes a step toward the Birmingham Kid, but then stops, sighs, and rolls his eyes. He motions for Charlie Lee to stand. Then, slumping his shoulders, he returns to the cabin and takes the wheel back from Arthur.
“Thank you, Mister Injun,” Charlie Lee says. He stands, clutches his backpack to his chest again, and leans on the railing. “And God bless you. God bless y’all, for that matter.”
Esmerelda goes white. She wedges herself into the corner of the cabin and shakes her head.
“I—I don’t believe this,” she mutters. “I mean, hello? We’re, like, gonna let this guy stay here? He’s got a bag full of explosives!”
Shut up shut up shut up.
This chick is always trying to act all grown-up and sophisticated and no-bullshit. She’s going to get us killed.
But Charlie Lee is still super smiley, like we’re all joking. “Esmerelda, what makes you think I’m gonna hurt you?” he says. “Did I hurt anyone? Did you see anyone hurt back there?”
Esmerelda doesn’t look at him. Instead she turns to Arthur, who nods and shoots Charlie Lee a frown.
Like he’s going to do something
! Both of them are pissing me off. Bringing this nut job on board was
their
idea to begin with!
“Well, I put it to you, Winthorpe . . .”
I don’t bother to correct him.
“. . . didn’t it look to you like everybody got out in time?”
I lean against the side of the boat and wish I was still back in Crofton, which is now a yellow glow over the tops of the trees. “I don’t know, Charlie Lee.”
“Well, I think they all got out in time,” he says. “Anyway, it was the Lord’s will.”
“Would you stop saying that, please,” Esmerelda says, continuing to glare at Arthur. I want to throttle her, people. “We’re going to drive you to where you need to go, but would you mind . . . oh,
shit
, man . . .”
Charlie Lee continues to smile. “Maybe you ought to calm down.”
“What’s in the bag, man? How did you do it—plastic explosive or something? Is it safe?”
“It’s plenty safe,” Charlie Lee says. “Y’all don’t fret about it. I know what I’m doing”
“I’m sure,” Esmerelda says. She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. “Well,
why
did you do it, then?”
“I didn’t do nothing,” Charlie Lee says. “
God
did it.”
Esmerelda shakes her head. “Oh for Christ’s sakes. Fine. Why did God blow up that restaurant, Charlie Lee?”
“Oh. On account of that restaurant was serving lobster roll.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I.” He shakes his head. “Those people should have known better—that is an abomination and a sin. That’s why I’m not that concerned whether or not there were any stragglers, you see. It was the Lord’s will.”
“You, like,
bombed
. . . a restaurant . . . because it was serving . . .
lobster
?” Esmerelda says. “I’m sorry, do you have any idea how fucking wacko that is?”
He takes a deep breath. “All right, y’all,” he says. “Ahem:
And all that have not fins and scales in the seas, and in the rivers, of all that move in the waters, and of any living thing which is in the waters, they shall be an abomination unto you: They shall be even an abomination unto you; ye shall not eat of their flesh, but ye shall have their carcasses in abomination. Whatsoever hath no fins nor scales in the waters, that shall be an abomination unto you.
Leviticus, chapter eleven, verses ten through twelve.”
Nobody says anything.
“Shellfish,” he says. “Bible says it’s an abomination to eat shellfish. Them people back there at that restaurant was serving lobster roll. That there is an abomination—a downright sin—and God smote them with my hand.”
Esmerelda continues to stare at him with a wide-open jaw, and says, “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Charlie Lee bristles. “Oh I
am
, am I? It’s in the Bible, ma’am, the word of God! And people all over just flaunt it by serving that stuff up like there’s not a thing in the world wrong with it. It’s an out-and-out sin, don’t you see? Lookee here.” He leans toward Esmerelda, who bounces back to the cabin. “That same book of the Bible, Leviticus. Why, just nine chapters later it says,
If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination
. That’s your homosexuals. Bible says that’s a sin too.
“Few years ago, this wasn’t no problem. But those dang fools there in Washington and in some of the states allow the queers to get married. Can you believe that? I know some fellers—good, God-fearing boys, who are taking care of that abomination.
“Now all over the blessed thing, the Bible, it rambles on and on about the gift of life. Heck, one of the Ten Commandments says:
Thou shalt not kill
.” He smiles again and raises a finger. “Now that there is your aborters, your pro-choicers.
“Now your aborters, that’s even bigger. We been going after them for years. You probably heard of the one feller, that Eric Rudolph. He was taking care of
that
sin, smiting those who offend the Lord, by blowing up the clinics where they murder all those babies.”
He steps toward the cabin and leans inside. Arthur, arms akimbo like he’s a badass or something, leaps in front of Esmerelda and tries to mimic Kang’s most threatening expression.
“Well, now, you explain to me—all of you—why your homosexuals and your pro-choicers are getting their punishment for their sins, and your shellfish eaters are getting off scot-free?”
Charlie Lee puts his bag at his feet, crosses his arms, and lifts his chin. “Well now they’re not, y’all. Thanks to the Birmingham Kid. I done smoted twelve shellfish-serving restaurants in Alabama, four in Georgia, and that one there, the Steak Shack of Crofton, was my sixth in Kentucky.”
“That’s twenty,” Esmerelda says.
“So it is.”
Lobster Newburg is one of Jean-Paul the chef’s specialties. The Paste Eaters and I often hung out at the Long John Silver’s at the King of Prussia mall and munched on popcorn shrimp. Just the other night, when Kang had steamed shrimp, I felt more at home than I had in days. Had I only known then it was a sin, I would have stuck with the potatoes. Jesus, it’s all so confusing. You get the same bullies at the Primrose School—in certain hallways it means a Paste Eater’s ass if he gets caught wearing a black turtleneck. But in others, it’s acceptable. I just bet you there’s a different group out there that says you have to eat shellfish, or
that’s
a sin and you’ll get blown up. Religion—it’s the biggest bully there is.
“I didn’t know you couldn’t do that,” I say. “Eat shellfish, I mean. So much is sacrilegious that I just didn’t realize.”
“A lot of people don’t realize, Winthorpe,” Charlie Lee says. “That’s why, before I set off any of my plastique, I yell out,
God is great!
That sends them all scrambling out the exit doors quick as jackrabbits. And, like I say, if any stragglers are there . . . well, that’s God’s will.”
I try to act like I’m interested, but the guy is mad crazy, so I try to sit as far away from him as I can. It’s best to humor people like that. What does fighting with them get you?
But Esmerelda and her new little toady Arthur clearly don’t agree. “Hey, like, how did you
know
that place served lobster, Charlie Lee?” Esmerelda asks. “You didn’t have a chance. You were only in there for a couple of minutes. And it was called the Steak Shack, not the Seafood Shack.”
He unzips the front of his backpack and pulls out a piece of purple paper. “They got it right here on the to-go menu. See? Lobster roll.” He holds it out for Esmerelda, who snatches it from him and goes back into the cabin.
For a little while it’s quiet, and I’m hoping Esmerelda is going to keep her fat yap shut. I watch the woods fly by. So much has happened, and my brain is just not working anymore. Something in my pocket is digging into my thigh—it’s the patch, the one with the snarling cat face on it. I hold it and run my finger along the stitching, staring into the woods and wondering if I’ll be able to sleep at all with a God-freak bomber on board.
Then Charlie Lee leans horrorshow close.“Say,” he says, “what’s that you got there?”
I try to speak, but just then something sucks all the moisture out of my throat. “It’s . . . uh . . . well, I just found . . .”
He puts out a hand. I black out for a second. Now he’s standing there holding the patch in front of that broad, underbite face.
He frowns. “Why, you’re . . .” his voice is all trembly. “You’re one of ’em!”
I feel numb. His eyes skip all over me like a wandering spider.
“No,” I manage to say.
“Yes, you are too, ain’t you? You’re one of ’em!”
Mind reeling, reservoir long since blown to smithereens, I grunt.
Charlie Lee raises both his arms, everything blurs, and my heart pounds in my ears.
But the guy hugs me. Toe-cheese floods my sinuses. Horror and disgust tangle inside me.
“Well, I’ll be!” he says, laughing in my ear. “I certainly will be. I never expected you was one of them!” He lets go. “Are all the rest of ’em—Esmerelda, Arthur, and that Injun—part of it too?” Tears fill the man’s eyes. “Y’all were having fun with me. Pretending you didn’t know the Birmingham Kid. Well, it surely is a pleasure.”
He hands the patch back to me. “Oh, you mean this patch,” I say. “No, I’m not one of . . . whoever. I just found this patch, is all.”
Charlie Lee blinks. Then, the smile slides off his face. “You what?”
“I found it. In the woods up in Ohio.”
He stands and scratches his scalp. “You found it?” he says. “In the woods? You mean to say you ain’t one of ’em?”
“No,” I say. “Sorry.”
He nods and smiles sadly. “It’s all right, Winthorpe.”
Leaning his backpack on the side of the boat, he sits next to me. His smell burns my eyes, and I duck my nose into the remnants of my turtleneck. My own scent isn’t much better, but I find my own brand of unwashed funk, a Campbell’s chicken noodle soup odor, more tolerable.
“First time I seen that patch was about four years ago. I was living at my home in Crawdad, and one day a traveling preacher come into town, and he had a patch just like that.”