12. Junk food for Algernon

We haven't talk that night, I told Harrison my headache is back. He made a series of hesitant attempts to provide some care, but I explained that all I needed now was peace.

It had the added advantage of being true. I needed peace, I needed time to think it all over and over again. My lizard brain whined thinly under my overly thick skullcap. Something was brewing, some strange movement of air swirling around me, and I was determined to prove myself more foresighted than Kansas Dorothy was… in not so dissimilar circumstances.

I was laying in my bed, smiling at the connotation and chewing lazily some Lucky Charms from the vending machine. Ah, junk food, finally!.. The hospital diet – nutritious, balanced, and unbearably healthy – was starting to really get on my nerves.

It's not that I'm crazy about food: being crazy about things I am crazy about doesn't leave much room for other mental afflictions. But, you know… well, even those notoriously low-poly hot dogs from Ocean Drive's street stalls would be more than welcome right now. There's something very special about putting on a ridiculous Hawaiian and getting yourself into a night. Not The Night – just one of Miami nights where noone'd see nor care about mustard stains on your clothes, because everyone else is stained, too, one way or another.

I wondered if my Toto next door remembers Miami… He should, shouldn't he? At least the Ice Cream Museum, definitely, that pink dungeon o' fun is hard to forget. Or the shrimp salads at Diced on Ave West. Or Old Florida Creole at Virginia Key. And those chapulines, the delicious atrocity – real crickets guacamoled and spiced to the core; Rita scolded me for trying to give them to Harrison once. What was the name of that Mexican bar at Collins… or was it Biscayne Boulevard? Can't remember.

Just can't.

Where did I buy donuts every morning? What was the place I once ordered some veal hearts with Columbian yucca bread from for our picnic over at Chokoloskee?.. We both had a personal day then, and we spontaneously decided to take the children to 'a new place'. Cody immediately got into a fight with Astor, and Harrison was throwing up the whole trip for some reason, and Chokoloskee, it had absolutely zero tourist attraction value… Right, it was a full-scale disaster, if only I could remember all the details.

And the next week I was so desperate to redeem myself, I dragged Rita to Wynwood, running away from the kids. 'Are we eloping, at last?', she said, and we laughed, and then we were dancing to Kiss Me in that club, sharing mojitos at the bar, and we were eating Caspian caviar, outrageously expensive, and we were looking at graffiti, and we were laughing and laughing and laughing, having the time of our lives.

This I do remember, but so many little things are forgotten.

And so many big ones.

I'd kill for a huge al carbon taco now.

[***]

Despite being this hungry, I slept well. When I finally managed to drag my feet out of the room, Harrison was already waiting for me with a restless half-smile, a pack of Ruffles and a Coke.

"Nah," I frowned, as he awkwardly tried to hand me The Gifts, "Have some pity on your old man."

"What, Pepsi? I'll go br…"

"Coffee, that's what I need. But first, could you buy a toothbrush and toothpaste please? Looks like I've forgotten mine in the hospital, and there's nothing in the bathroom here…"

"Dicks! Yeah, sure. Wait here, okay?"

While he went to surf the machines downstairs, I called Hoopman to confirm that I've settled in alright. I wanted to tell him about the Harrison encounter, but some strange inner feeling stopped me.

That shot in the woods has changed something in me... and it would be surprising if it hasn't, actually. I've revealed myself to Harrison the First, and I was happy to step into his light, as happy as a being, who's spent his whole life in the shadows, can be. But now I felt as if the shadows were calling to me again.

Keeping the truth from the people closest to you is how you survive.

"Who said this dark whirlpool of existence worth surviving?" I muttered leaning on the railing, but Harry in my head continued:

And it's how you protect them if anything goes wrong, son.

Right. Whatever I have to say about Harry's parenting strategies, my own process were obviously fucked up beyond comparison. Now I have another living soul to care of, so it looks like I'll have to redouble the efforts. And caring for a kid has been proven to make me too rush to stay smart, which is what the whole Logan situation has taught me, if anything.

Marveling at my own calmness, I said nothing to Hoop. After a short update on the Federal compensation situation – 'Hold your horses, Jimmy, let the game come to you!' – we said goodbye. I was toying with the idea of calling Lucy, but thankfully Harrison come galloping with my hygiene accessories.

"Here. No coffee, but there's a dining room in the building. You wanna maybe…"

"Yeah, just give me a sec. Come in… it's gonna be a while."

[***]

The dining room at the motel seemed so dubious to me that we preferred to go to a small restaurant across the street. I could walk almost straight, a thorough washing gave me some steadiness.

"Coffee please," I nodded to the waitress, "And… omelet any good? Great, make it two. Ehr, Harrison, you fine with omelet?"

"Yeah, sick! I mean, okay. With bacon."

"Sure. With bacon, thank you, miss."

The waitress left and we fell silent again for a while. I was looking at Toto, Toto was looking at me, we both were doing it as sideways as possible. Then I caught myself on and started counting the cash: my discharge allowance left much to be desired. Well, it'll support me for a while, but…

Us. It'll has to support us. Not 'me'.

You're thinking for two now, Dexter. Not because youngsters are dumb… okay, they are dumb. I surely was. At Harrison's age, all I thought about was my Dark Desire; sometimes Harry and Doris only seemed to exist to let me.

That was a mistake perhaps. My foster father should have been a little less indulgent… perhaps.

In my turn, I, too, was indulgent with Harrison the First. More than indulgent, actually… compelling him to pull the trigger, for quite a painful example. Was I copycatting Harry's mistakes? Again: perhaps.

Ought I to be strict with Harrison the Second?

"Told you, Dad: I've got money," he said.

Right. I was sitting there with a pathetic stack of cash in my hand and a constipated expression on my face. What else could he think, my good boy?..

"It's not about that," I answered, "We'll manage for now, and then… well, something will come up."

"I guess."

"The universe can be very generous," I reassured him, thinking of the civil suit Fitz promised.

I had some money neatly hidden in a couple of dummy accounts here and there, but I suspected that trying to access it now could be a big mistake: it's entirely possible I am still under surveillance by Taylor, Harken or someone else lurking outside. And my emergency cash stashes were in Keys, and in Everglades, and… shit. I really don't remember – too many tuna sandwiches. In any case, getting to those is also not possible now.

"I won't be a problem for you," Toto said, not very convinced.

"You're not and you'll never be a problem, kid. I have other problems, sure, because it's life. But you're not a problem, you're an opportunity."

He smiled back with uncertain relieve.

The waitress brought a coffee pot and plastic cups.

"Have at it, boys. Omelet's on its way."

"Hey, thanks!" I said as I hurriedly arranged the cups. Harrison took his but he wasn't drinking.

"What's wrong?" I asked sipping, "It's pretty great."

"Yeah… too hot for me," he explained running his finger along the edge of the cup. "I kinda got some stomach problems when in foster care. Nah, nothing grave! Just can't eat hot or spicy or anything like that. I mean, I can, but… you know. Tough."

"Uh-oh. Sorry to hear that."

"It's life," he smiled somewhat shyly.

What, my son imitates me now? At his age, he's supposed to rebel against his parents. I wonder what kind of stress he went through in the orphanage, after living such a sheltered, 'nice and caring' life with Hannah…

"I'll make you pancakes when we get home," I said feeling touched and in fault. "Remember pancakes?"

"Vague. It was all so long ago… But they've burned your home down, haven't they? I've been reading on the Net."

"Pancakes have?"

"No, Dad! I mean that serial, The Dollmaster, and that cop bitch."

"Language, Harrison."

"Sorry. I mean…"

"Hey! I know what you meant. Your old man just got early dementia onset. It's modern America, Alzheimer's all the rage!"

"Funny," he agreed unenthusiastically.

Okay, I urgently need to update my stand-up repertoire for a younger audiences. Think of it, this is the second Harrison in a row with whom I fail to have a normal, lighthearted, farther-to-son dialogue.

The waitress came over with our plates. Good food always lightens the mood. We ate diligently.

Unlike the first Harrison, the Second one knew how to behave at the table. Despite being obviously hungry, he ate without haste, held his fork and knife properly, divided the omelet into neat little pieces… Rita's mother, Gail would've been pleased.

[***]

"God, I feel great at last," I lounged in a booth chair, savoring the aftertaste.

"Me too!" Harrison had finally taken off his hood and looked much more relaxed overall.

I waved for the check.

"Want to have something more, while we're here?"

"Nah, I'm good. It's just reg anyway, not those homemade pancakes."

He was only finishing his omelet.

"You right," I said. "My cabin… I had a cabin for a home. Yes, it is burned to the ground, but we can have a new home soon. Then, it's pancakes, promise."

"That b… Was it that cop woman who burned it, too? The one who almost killed you?" he gripped his silverware so hard his knuckles turned white, "She needs to be punished for all her crimes, Dad!"

"No, no! It was Kurt Caldwell who set the fire."

"You sure?"

"Most probably," I fingerquoted, then dropped the irony, "Who else could it be… Definitely not Angela."

"Doesn't matter! She's… You've lost everything because of her!"

"I've found you, son," I said without thinking, "Besides, it was a small cabin, actually, kinda desolate. I won't miss it much."

The waitress came, and I concentrated on the bill. The prices in the restaurant were almost ¼ higher than I expected.

"What?" Harrison asked, sipping his coffee carefully.

"Outrage," I chuckled. "I won't miss my cabin, but I do miss Iron Lake public catering… and prices."

"Nah, it was only good for you because you knew all the ins an outs there."

"True, partly. But in fact, a lot of things are cheaper there, people just can't pay as much as they do here in the city. Kurt's diner for example... did you know he had a diner? I ate there sometimes, and let me tell you…"

"Tits! The Dollmaster'd a diner, for real? Got any pics?"

"I don't know… why?"

"What's you page?" Harrison said pulling out his cell.

"Page?.. I don't have one, not a very computer guy," then a sudden thought came to my mind, "Want me to show you Iron Lake photos?"

"Sure do!"

I took out my own phone.

"Okeydoke, here we… Ah. Sorry, kid, I don't have mobile Internet here."

"Ha! Use my hotspot. Here, let me show you… Open down this shit. R-right. Now tap the list. That's me! And the pass is 'fuckthegov', all lower, no spaces. See?"

"Stop showing off, you'll make your old man too proud. Ah, I'm just kidding! Thank you."

My cell screen was smaller than comfortable, but soon I managed to find some general photos. Harrison was sitting next to me now, trying to compare these with what he remembered from his readings on the case.

Steady, I thought, steady. Let everything look casual, as unobtrusive as possible.

"And here's the Iron Lake High," I said, clicking another link. "Good school, you'd like it. See? They have pretty solid chemistry classes, if you're ever interested. I was in my school days. Math is okay too. And here's the wrestling team link… page… sub-site? Okay, I told you I'm not that savvy in all those computer mumbo-ju…"

"Oh shit!" Harrison screamed out, his eyes went wide, "Shit, shit, shit! That's him, that's the dick!"

"Who?" I asked, my heart racing. A couple of other customers turned their heads to the noise. "Calm down, please. What are you even talking about?"

Harrison pointed sharply at the screen:

"He's the little shit-stain dick who nicked my rucksack in the foster home! Money, photos, everything!.."

On the screen of my phone, there was the page with portraits of the school wrestling team open. From the central photo, Harrison the First, in his helmet and singlet, was looking at us doe-eyed.