Ian Vasquez - Mr. Hooligan

For Nadia and Duncan,

when theyre older

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Once upon a time, Patricia said, Charles Lindbergh landed the Spirit of St. Louis in a seaside polo field in Belize, or I should say in British Honduras. Which is what they called it back in the late 1920s. That field, you of course know, is where the Princess Hotel and Casino is, and that park, the one out there with concrete animals, swing sets, benches, all those things. Well, just across from the park, on Princess Margaret Drive, theres a bar called Lindys, named after his truly. Its a nice place, Lindys, it has a thatch-covered patio, pimento and hardwood walls, a bank of wooden jalousie louvers thatre always open to the breeze. One of those places where lots of tourists hang out, a weekend nightspot where the locals enjoy a few before going to a club. But whats really interesting about the place, to me, are the photos along the walls near the bar. Old black-and-whites of Lindbergh in the field, in these jodhpur-like khakis, a white man standing tall in a sea of black faces, lots of children in rough-looking clothes, and all the men in suits and women in long dresses and all of them wearing hats, holding their hats down against the breeze.

One second, Roger Hunter said with a smile, sitting up in the hospital bed. Is this how youre going to begin this story? Once upon a time?

All the best stories begin that way, but not all of them end happily ever after. Maybe not even this one.

Okay, fair enough. This tale, is this the one youve been wanting so long to tell me? Is this about the boy you used to counsel?

The boy whos now a man, Patricia said. Who owns that bar, Lindys. Who landed himself into some trouble years ago, long before he bought that bar. What, dont you want to hear my story?

On the contrary, I do. I just find myself wishing that itll be worth the wait. Youve been hinting at this story for years. Giving me little bits and pieces. Now, Im about to hear the whole thing. Why now?

Because its time. I really believe his life is about to change. And because finally telling someone about what happened, what he told meitll ease the burden on my conscience.

So, conveniently, youre telling a man whos dying.

Patricia didnt care for that.

Listen, Roger said, I didnt mean to sound offended.

You dont need to keep reminding me that youre dying.

Pancreatic cancer is a perfectly logical end to life. You who left the convent because of your dedication to truth, its curious how you cant accept the truth. Im dying, woman.

Patricia sighed. Well, you yourself used to say that every counselor needs a counselor.

So what was this thing that our hero did years ago?

He shot a man, Patricia said. Shot him several times.

Roger whistled, reached a bony hand for the cup of water on the bedside table. He drank and wiped his lips. I would think, he said, that qualifies as a story I need to hear.

Let me tell you what happened, then. Because, actually, in a few minutes hes coming by the hospital to give me something and Ill have to go downstairs.

What did you say his name was?

I didnt. When he was young, on the streets they used to call him Lil Hooligan, but now everybody knows his real name.

CHAPTER TWO

Riley James, get your ass out here, we got to go, man.

Riley lifted two bottles of Lighthouse Lager out of the cooler behind the bar and popped the caps. He turned his face to the window and shouted, Hold on, lemme get something, and walked through the kitchen, holding the bottles by the necks in one hand, into his small office. He rummaged through a drawer full of a loose pile of invoices, paper clips, rubber bands, slammed the drawer shut, opened another and rifled through some file folders, shut that drawer, pulled open the one near the computer monitor and peered into it. He said, Shit, and banged it in with the side of his fist.

Stormed outside to check behind the bar. Im coming, Harvey, I swear Im coming, moving bottles of Mount Gay and Bacardi and One Barrel to the side, peeking at the back of the shelf, shifting the tray of clean glasses around for a better view, getting more annoyed.

Looking for this?

Gert was holding up his Ziploc of herb, half an ounce of aromatic resin-sticky Belize Breeze.

Yeah yeah, there it is.

It was on the floor over there, she said. Sure its yours? Ill just throw it out if it isnt. Drugs, you know, being illegal and all.

Gert He walked around from behind the bar, and she handed it over with cool disdain.

Patrons were in here with a little boy some minutes ago. What if theyd found it?

Riley stuffed the bag into the pocket of his jeans and ambled past her out onto the deck and down the short stairs into the sunshine where Harvey sat waiting in the old pickup.

Your wife busted me, he told Harvey, and Harvey laughed and started the engine and aimed north on Princess Margaret Drive.

Five oclock Friday afternoon. Just a light breeze wafting off the Caribbean, but the promise of the weekend was enough to cool irritations, like that moment with Gert. The exciting hustle of Friday and Saturday nights at the bar to look forward to, the jump in sales, and then Sunday, long and peaceful, the only day Lindys was closed.

This was what Riley enjoyedsitting back sipping a brew and cruising through town, the late afternoon light, he and Harvey, just like when they were younger.

Lets see what you brought here, he said, shuffling through the stack of Harveys CDs piled on the seat. Rusted what? He held up a CD.

Root. Rusted Root. Good music, sweet percussion. Drop that on.

Legend, Bob Marley. You still rocking Legend ? Man, thats the equivalent of Frampton Comes Alive every American used to own back in the seventies.

And your point is? Harveys short arm rested on the steering wheel as they made the curve past the old fisheries building and he helped flip through the CDs. How about Burt Bacharach?

Better shut the hell up and watch where youre going.

They settled on playing the radio, the surprises it offered. Riley hung an arm out the window and took a swallow of beer. They were going across town to pick up speakers for the three-man band that was performing on the outside deck at Lindys tonight; heading on a mission like so many others he and Harvey had made since they bought the bar three years ago. Riley had known Harvey since they were about seven years old, the red-faced boy with one short arm who sat next to him one day at the start of third grade and said, My arm looks like this cause when I was a baby I had polio but dont let it fool you cause I can still fight. Laying down a challenge that Riley had never felt remotely inclined to take up. From that day, he and Harvey had been tight.

They passed joggers and a woman pushing a stroller along the promenade fronting the sea. In the distance toward the mangrove isles, a skiff tore through the water, a white swath behind, bearing for the cayes. Instead of continuing the scenic route on Princess Margaret, Harvey had turned left on A Street. Why you going this way?

Well, theres a certain person that I got to see if shes home.

Riley groaned. Now? Really, man?

Yes indeed. If shes back in town, I may be paying a little visit tonight.

Riley looked out the window at the fine two-story homes they were passing, kids playing soccer in a big yard. Careful. One of these days youre gonna get caught.

Harvey looked at Riley. Gert knows I love her. This thing here, its nothing to do with love. Its pure beastly, hot, animalistic, athletic, nasty freakiness, yeaaah baby. See, I admitted it. He slapped the horn and gunned the engine, probably feeling the beer already, having never been much of a drinker.