Harlan's Race

mind could hold. And I’d been exposed too. That image of suffering kicked hard at the door to Vince that I’d thought was shut, and locked, for good.
    “Why didn’t you tell me this right away?” I exploded. “If I have it too, I’ve given it to you.”
    Chino shrugged. He had picked up a piece of beach glass and was playing with it. ‘You got swollen glands?”
    “No.”
    ‘You vibe healthy to me. And who knows what I have?” “Did Vince ask you to talk to me?”
    “No.”
    As on the day I saw the dolphins, my wrath collapsed into an eerie silence of inner truth.
    “So that’s why he’s so willing to be the rabbit in your crazy plan,” I whispered.
    “That’s why.”
    A steel-gray twilight was coming on. Chino dropped the glass in the Mexican jar.
    “Listen, puto Marine,” he said. “Vince is no different than me and Harry. The three of us know we’re living on borrowed time. The question is — do you?”
    The vulnerable Chino of last night had vanished. He was now the officer, standing straight. “With you, or without you,” he went on, “we’re going to do the crazy thing. Because the alternative is to go on eating shit. I don’t eat shit. Harry doesn’t. Vince doesn’t. But I’m not ordering you to help. If you do, it’s strictly volunteer.”
    I could feel him maneuvering me. “You fucking sea snake — damn you to hell!”
    “Are you really going to let Vince be out there alone?” I was silent, agonizing.
    “Are you?” he insisted.
    I met his eyes.
    He grinned. ‘What the fuck, Harlan. Break the pattern and be crazy for once.”
    Decision bit deep in my mind like a miler’s spikes. My eyes fell to the jar. I noticed that it was full. Chino read my mind. We grabbed the heavy jar, and wrestled it down to the beach. There, we both went wild, flinging the gems as far out as we could. When the jar was empty, I grabbed a piece of driftwood and beat the jar to pieces. We hurled the pieces into the sea.
    “Time to move to California,” I said.
    “I’ll help you pack.”
    While Chino set the table, I made phone calls. Michael and Astarte were astonished by the decision, but told me I should go. It was 1:30 p.m. in L.A. When I told Valhalla they had a new writer, Paul yelled to the staff, and I could hear them cheer.
    Then Darryl said, “Come spend New Year’s with us.”
    Vince was out. Paul said he’d give Vince the message.
    At 5 p.m., when the two cops came trampling in, the downstairs glowed with candlelight and stove-heat. Good food disappeared into four male stomachs. As Jess lapped up some scraps from the foil roasting pan, the cops talked gay harassment with us, and took the measure of Chino’s intelligence and heart. The last of their edginess faded.
    “So that’s it, then,” said Bob sadly. “That’s it. You gotta
    go.”
    “We gotta,” I said, falling into bay parlance.
    “Harlan’s selling the house furnished,” said Chino. “We’re bugging out tomorrow with a few boxes of stuff.”
    “Houses on the Beach always sell fast in the spring,” Lance said. He was standing behind Bob, rubbing his partner’s shoulders.
    ‘What time you going off the Beach?” Bob asked.
    “About two, so we get to the mainland by dark.”
    ‘We’ll come by to see you off.”
    When dishes were done, the cops headed back to their tiny heater-warmed station. Chino and I went up the spiral stairway and we slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.
    Next morning, we got a dozen empty liquor cartons from under the Casino deck. While I packed up my office, Chino sat reading some of my book.
    “I always hoped you’d write something like this,” he said.
    As I packed personal stuff, I noticed that the gold wedding band had gotten tight. My hands were an older man’s hands now — stronger, nurturing, more capable. Soaping my finger, using almond oil, I wrestled with the ring. After a terrible struggle, it slipped over my knuckle, and I put it in my pocket.
    Steve’s clothes were boxed for a thrift store in Patchogue.
    His tuxedo was still in good shape — I gave it to Chino. The beaded belt would go to Harry.
    “Why do you think I need a tux?” Chino asked. The tuxedo made him look dramatically broader in the shoulders. Jerking the cummerbund, he tested to see how easily it broke away if someone grabbed him.
    “Because you’re going to be a great man. Like your mamita said.”
    The old Bible fell apart in my hands one last time. Chino helped me pick up pages, peering