He saw Jerry’s mother in the bed, long since dead.
He saw a hole in the drywall behind, and piles of money inside.
And then he saw Jerry.
And he dropped his gun, and ran across the room.
He started CPR, and radioed for help.
He pumped Jerry’s chest so hard and for so long that sweat was dripping from him by the time the medics dragged him off and took over.
28
Prom
“Wow. Furat, you look so beautiful,” Elena said, as she snapped a picture of her.
Furat grinned. “Thanks. I got tired of waiting so I thought I’d come over and pick Manny up instead. Where is he?”
They looked up at the stairs when they heard Manny call down.
“Ma, can you go next door and tell Furat I’ll be there in five minutes? I can’t get my hair to cooperate at the moment—shit’s trying to fly away or something. I’ve used some of that mousse from your room—it fucking stinks though. I smell like a whore, so I’ve had to put some cologne on my head to cover it up, but that’s burning, so I might have to wash it all off and start over. But don’t tell her any of that. Tell her I’m finishing my stomach crunches so I’ll be ripped for tonight. Or tell her that Thalia started crying, wouldn’t let me leave unless I read to her. Yeah, tell her that—she’ll eat that up, see that I’m all sensitive and shit. Ma, you there?”
They watched Abe kiss his mother goodbye from the car. He walked toward them, a hand over his mouth, wearing his Brooks Brothers suit and his father’s cravat.
He opened the car door and climbed into the back.
“What happened to the bird shit? We were working on that for weeks. By the way, I picked up some more seed,” Abe said.
“My mother made me wash it. Fucking sparkling now.”
“You look nice, Furat. Sorry again, by the way. I know I’m the third wheel,” Abe said, finally taking his hand away from his mouth.
Manny looked in the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes. The driver behind blasted his horn and just managed to swerve around them.
“OH MY GOD. You fucking brought it back. Your mother let you? Holy shit,” Manny said, as he looked at the thick mustache on Abe’s upper lip.
Abe nodded, smiling as he stroked it.
“This is going to the best fucking prom ever.”
“You think Jane will like it?” Abe said.
“Are you kidding? Once she sees you she’s going to kick Dylan McDermott to the curb and drop her panties right there on the dance floor. She’ll be carrying your child by the last dance, mark my fucking words.”
Manny floored the accelerator and pressed the button to open Abe’s window.
He sounded the horn all the way to prom.
Dylan McDermott stood in the center of his group of friends. They’d been drinking most of the afternoon. He glanced over at Jane.
Jane sat at a small table by the door, collecting tickets as people made their way inside, one of the many drawbacks of being Chair of the Prom Committee.
She looked back at Dylan and smiled, though he was starting to annoy her.
“How much longer, babe?” he called out.
She shrugged.
He turned back to his group, loosening his tie. “She’d better be worth the wait.”
They all laughed. They always did.
“You really think you’re going to bang her tonight?” Zac Evans said.
Dylan smiled. “I already booked a room.”
Jane sighed, pretending that she couldn’t hear them, pretending that her date wasn’t such an asshole. She hadn’t really wanted to go with him, but he was popular, and good-looking, and captain of the football team: qualities hard to ignore at high school. Her parents had wanted her to go with Abe, and, if she was honest, a part of her wanted to go with him too, but only as friends. She was much too busy to think about having a boyfriend, and, as cruel as it sounded, she didn’t find him at all attractive. He was too tall, too thin, and too . . . Abe, to be attractive. Still, she had little doubt he would have been a perfect gentleman, and at least she would have been able to relax. Now she’d have to spend all night making sure Dylan hadn’t spiked her drink with booze, hoping to get her drunk enough to accompany him to one of his father’s hotels. She shuddered at the thought, before once again allowing her mind to wander to the end of summer, when she’d leave Tall Oaks behind and head out into the real world. No more Dylan McDermott, and no more bullshit high-school politics.
“What the fuck have we got here?” Dylan said, as Manny and Abe walked up to the desk.
Abe ignored him, self-consciously smoothing his mustache down as he did, but Manny stared straight at him.
“You got something to say, Romero? I thought you’d be wearing your little gangster hat tonight,” Dylan said, smirking at Manny.
Manny shook his head. “No, I left it in your mother’s bedroom. It fell off when I started fucking her in the ass.”
Furat sighed.
Dylan smiled and started to walk over. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Mr. Brown, the vice principal, walking slowly toward them.
Manny handed the tickets to Jane, and held Furat’s hand tightly.
Jane looked up at them, nervously.
“What’s the problem?” Manny said.
“Didn’t you see the notice?” Jane said.
“What notice?”
“They changed the rules. Mr. Brown said that only seniors can attend. It’s supposed to be senior prom.”
“What the fuck, Jane? I asked weeks ago and they said it would be fine.”
Jane looked at Furat. “I’m so sorry. I don’t make the rules.”
“But she’s not even started at the school yet. Come on, Jane, can’t you make an exception? I’ve paid for the ticket and she’s bought a dress.”
“Please, Jane?” Abe said.
“I’m sorry. It’s not my decision.”
“Is there a problem here?” Mr. Brown said.
“Yeah, the problem is I asked weeks ago if I could bring Furat as my date and everyone said it was fine, but now we can’t go in.”
“You didn’t see the notice?” Mr. Brown said.
“What fucking notice? Where?”
Mr. Brown fixed Manny with a hard stare.
“I don’t care for your language, Mr. Romero. The notice was posted on the school’s website ten days ago.”
“Who the fuck goes on the school website?”
“Now I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do,” he turned to Furat. “Miss Al-Basri, I’ll look forward to welcoming you at the start of the new school year.”
Furat looked down.
“This is such bullshit,” Manny said.
Furat tried to drag him away.
“What did you say?” Mr. Brown said.
“I said this is bullshit. This is why teachers are all cocksuckers, because you get drunk on your little bit of power. Making up shitty rules that we have to follow, because we don’t have a choice. Well, I have a choice now; I’m done with this school so you know what, Mr. Brown, or should I call you Rusty? Nice name by the way, makes Abel sound good.” Manny winked at Abe, who frowned back at him. “You know what, Rusty? You, and all of the other teachers at this shitty school, can go fuck yourselves. Because if my girl can’t come in, then I’m not coming in either.”
Mr. Brown stared at Manny for a long time, and then smiled—a smile that said “I’ve seen your grades. Good luck in the future.” Then he walked inside, closing the door behind him.
Abe, Manny and Furat turned and slowly started to walk away.
“Just as well. We don’t want terrorists in there, blowing us up,” Dylan shouted.
It was a weak blow, though one which drew plenty of laughs from his friends, and felt like a bullet to Furat.
She thought of her mother, going with her to buy her dress and spending all afternoon helping her with her hair and makeup, even though she didn’t really know what she was doin
g. And her father, taking hundreds of photographs when she finally emerged from her bedroom. And then she felt it, felt it more strongly than she ever had before. That she didn’t fit. That people looked down on her.
Manny turned to her and tried to smile. Then he turned back to Dylan McDermott.
“Me and you. Parking lot.”
They made their way across the grass quickly, toward the half-empty parking lot. Dylan McDermott smiled the whole way down. His friends slapped his back as he slipped his jacket and tie off.
“You don’t have to do this, Manny. We should just go home,” Furat said, gripping his hand anxiously and watching the crowd start to swell as word reached the kids inside the hall.
Manny stared straight ahead, trying to stay calm, though she could feel his hand shake in hers.
She glanced at Dylan McDermott. He was tall and muscular. She gripped Manny’s hand even tighter.
When they reached the parking lot Manny tried to ignore the shouts, the jeers, and the general laughter at his expense.
“Are you okay, Manny?” Abe asked.
“Yeah. I’m good. Just got to remember my training.”
“If anyone jumps in, I’ve got your back, man.”
It might not have been that reassuring, seeing as Abe had once lost a fight to a girl in a wheelchair in the third grade, but Manny was grateful.
He stared at the large circle that had formed around them, watching the other boys; boys who would, no doubt, run rather than get their own hands dirty, baying for blood.
Dylan McDermott stepped away from the group and beckoned Manny over. Manny turned to Furat and smiled.
“If this doesn’t go to plan, tell my mother I love her. Thalia, too.”
She smiled, though he could see the concern in her eyes.
As Manny took his jacket off, he tried to ignore the ripple of laughter and wolf whistles.
“Hey, Dylan. Try not to get distracted by his tits.”
There was a charge in the air, an electric feeling to the warm summer night.
He took a deep breath and tried to stop his legs from shaking. He’d boxed before, but if he was completely honest, he hadn’t been very good. Despite what everyone thought, what everyone said, it was all bravado. He hid behind it often, though he wouldn’t do that now. Now it was time to face up. He swallowed. He was in little doubt that he’d lose, though how badly remained to be seen. He fought the urge to run, then felt Furat squeeze his hand.
“Manny,” she said, softly.
He looked at her.
“There’s one thing I want you to do for me.”
She pulled him close.
“What?” he said, nervously eyeing the crowd.
She leaned in close to him, close enough for him to feel her breath in his ear.
“I want you to win.”
He smiled.
This time she spoke louder, not caring who heard. “Win, Manny, win.”
Manny took another deep breath and turned to Abe, then threw him the keys to the duck-egg.
“Open the windows and put my Rocky soundtrack on. It’s show time.”
Abe ran to the car and disappeared inside.
As Manny stepped forward the noisy crowd was silenced by the deafening sound of trumpets blowing.
Some cocked their heads in confusion, others laughed as Manny started to bounce up and down.
Dylan McDermott grinned, walking toward Manny with his hands casually by his side, a confident look in his eyes.
Manny raised his fists and started to move from side to side.
Dylan threw the first punch, a hard right that Manny saw coming. He just about slipped to the side and the momentum sent Dylan sprawling to the floor.
Dylan jumped back up quickly, anger lighting his eyes.
Manny glanced at Abe who nodded back at him.
He thought of French John, and his mother and Thalia. His family.
And then, when Dylan McDermott took a step closer, he thought of his father—his father who hated him, who had walked out on them when they needed him most.
And as he watched his fist connect squarely with Dylan McDermott’s jaw, and saw his eyes roll back into his head and his legs crumple beneath him, Manny realized that his father had left them for no other reason than because he was a selfish prick.
It wasn’t because of Manny, because even if he didn’t like football, or anything else his father deemed important, Manny could still hold his head up high, because he had stood up for the girl he loved.
And he had won.
After the crowds dispersed, and Dylan McDermott’s friends reluctantly drove him to the hospital to be checked over, Manny stood in the parking lot smiling as Furat held his swollen hand in hers.
They heard light footsteps on the grass and watched Abe jog toward them.
“I know you told Mr. Brown to fuck off and everything, and I know that I came with you, and you can’t go inside, but Jane has asked if I’ll accompany her to senior prom after all. Mainly because you knocked her date out, but part of me thinks that it’s because she likes me too. So I was wondering . . .”
“Just go,” Manny said, laughing.
Abe started to walk away, and then turned. “Manny.”
Manny looked up. “Yeah.”
“That was awesome. You’re awesome.”
And then Abe turned and ran back toward the hall, back to his date, the prettiest girl in school.
“She’s one lucky lady, Jane Berg. If he kisses her, she’s going to feel that thing tickling her lip. Pure silk.”
Furat laughed. “So how was it? How was your moment?”
“I won’t lie. It felt good, but only because you were there to see it. That might be the best thing I ever do, my defining moment. And you know what? That’ll be okay, because as moments go, it was pretty fucking cool.”
She smiled. “Yeah, it was. Pretty fucking cool.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard you curse before.”
“I think you might be rubbing off on me. My parents will be thrilled.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get the prom you always dreamed of.”
“It doesn’t matter. I wish we could have had just one dance together though.”
“Wait here,” Manny said, as he climbed into the duck-egg.
He walked back to her and took her in his arms.
She heard the speakers crackle and then Sinatra filled the parking lot.
“A throwback to my gangster days.”
As the music played, they danced together, slowly swaying from side to side beneath a starry sky.
It wasn’t the prom that she imagined, far from it, but right then, at that moment, she wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
Three thousand miles away, in New York City, James Donnell-King, the editor of National Amateur Photography Magazine, opened another of the competition entry packs, relieved that he was nearing the last of them. He saw that it was from Jerry Lee, in a town called Tall Oaks. He flipped through the pages. He’d have his assistant read through them all in the coming weeks but he liked to open them himself, to feel the first shards of excitement as he turned to the back page, to look at the photograph in the hope that he might unearth something special.
He noticed that Jerry Lee had forgotten to sign it, so he didn’t hold out too much hope.
But then he saw it.
He fell back in his chair, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.
He sat still, almost paralyzed.
And then, because he felt that to look at it any longer wouldn’t be appropriate, he reached for the telephone and asked his assistant to find the number for the Tall Oaks Police Department.
29
The Beginning
Harry Monroe lay in his bed and stared at the small camera on his nightstand. It was surrounded by soft toys—monkeys, lions and other jungle animals—but he could still see it because of the green light on the base. A light he knew let his mommy see him even though it
was dark in his bedroom.
She was sitting on the top step now; he knew that because he had heard her tell his grandmother about it. She’d started in his room, and then moved outside of the door. And then slowly, a step each night, she made it up the stairs. Further and further away from him. She didn’t need to sit there, she could just go straight up. He wouldn’t call out for her, not after she scared him so much the last time he did. And he had only called out to her that night because he heard the street door close. So he had said, Mommy, is that you?
And she had run into his room and screamed at him to go back to sleep. And then screamed at him because of all the mud on the new carpet, even though he could see that she was the one that had forgotten to take off her running shoes. He’d tried to point down at her feet but she had been too mad to notice. So he lay back down and burrowed down under his sheet, afraid to move.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again—he wouldn’t utter a word.
He tried to close his eyes, tried not to peek and see if the nightlight in the hallway was still burning. He clutched Ralph, his comforter, tightly. And then, when he had managed to keep his eyes closed for a long time, he heard the stairs creak as his mother stood up.
He let his mind drift to his father, who he missed so much. And when he thought of his father he worried that he would never come back for him. And when he worried he brought his fingers to his lips and bit his nails.
“Only dirty little boys bite their nails.”
He opened his eyes wide and stared at the camera, his heart pounding and his body starting to shake. He felt the tears building in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare start crying. Go to sleep.”
She sounded mad, mad like she had been the other night when he woke up and felt the warm dampness beneath his body. She had come into his room that night, her eyes wild and red. And she had pulled him into the bathroom, pulled him so hard he thought his arm would come off, and she had thrown him into the tub. The water had been ice-cold and he had felt it bite deep into his bones. He wouldn’t call out to her again. And if she came into his room he would scream: scream loud enough for the lady next door to hear and call the cops again.
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