Big Mango (9786167611037) by Jake Needham

library.”
    “Take the call or not. Makes no difference to
me.”
    Eddie twirled the chopstick in his fingers
for a moment and then arced the white take-out carton toward the
trashcan with his left hand. It hit the rim, bounced into the air
and fell back into the center with a deeply satisfying plop.
    “Okay, I’ll talk to her.”
    Joshua nodded silently and closed the door,
but Eddie didn’t immediately pick up the telephone.
    The brown envelope had been on his desk all
day, exactly where Rupert had put it that morning, and now Eddie
imagined that it was regarding him with a baleful gaze, impatient
for him to make up his mind. The hundred grand tempted him a lot,
he had to admit, and frankly so did the chance to figure out why so
many people thought he knew what happened to the Bank of Vietnam’s
money. But the picture of Harry Austin’s head split open in a
Bangkok street, still vivid in his mind, was keeping his temptation
under tight reign.
    Finally Eddie sighed, picked up the
telephone, and stabbed at the blinking button. “Hello,
Jennifer.”
    “Sorry to bother you, Eddie. I tried you at
home first and you didn’t answer, so I thought you might be at the
office. I guess if you’re working late like this you must be busy,
so I’m sorry to—”
    “Jennifer,” Eddie quickly cut into her stream
of consciousness before she got up to critical mass, “I don’t mean
to be rude, but I’ve got a lot on my mind. Why are you
calling?”
    “I want you to talk to Michael.”
    “I do talk to Michael, Jennifer. I talk to
him all the time. I talked to him just a few days ago.”
    “No, I mean right now. I want you to talk to
him now.”
    “Has something happened?”
    “No. Well, yes.”
    “Okay. Which is it?”
    “He’s got a gun, Eddie.”
    For an instant, Eddie flashed on a picture of
Jennifer and Franklin sitting rigid on the sofa while Michael waved
a pistol at them and announced his demands.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “He’s got a gun, Eddie. Some kind of pistol.
A black one. I found it in his room yesterday.”
    “You searched his room?”
    “Of course not.” Jennifer hesitated. “Well,
he’s been acting funny lately, so I was just looking around. I
thought maybe he was trying out drugs. You know, I just didn’t know
what to do so—”
    “You searched his room,” Eddie finished.
    “Don’t be a fucking lawyer with me!” Jennifer
snapped. “I don’t need a warrant. I’m his mother.”
    She stopped talking and Eddie stayed silent
and listened to her breathe.
    “And you’re his father,” Jennifer went on
after a moment in a calmer tone. “I want you to talk to him.”
    “Have you asked him about the gun?”
    She exhaled heavily. “He said it’s no big
deal; sometimes he takes it to school.”
    “He’s taking a gun to school?”
    “That’s what he says. He claims a lot of the
kids do.”
    “I have a little trouble believing that very
many kids in the Seattle suburbs carry handguns in their backpacks,
Jennifer.”
    “I don’t know how to tell you this, Eddie,
but we live in the real world up here, not in San Francisco. It’s
probably true.”
    After Jennifer had moved away, she got in her
digs about San Francisco whenever she saw an opening. Still, the
thought gave Eddie pause this time. Maybe he really was losing
touch with whatever was happening out in the normal world, out
there on the other side of the wall.
    “Is this some kind of gang thing?”
    “No. At least I don’t think it is. Michael’s
too much of a loner for that. I didn’t think I’d ever be grateful
he inherited that trait from you, but I guess I am now.”
    Jennifer wanted to blame somebody for this
and she was trying hard to target Eddie, even if she didn’t quite
know how to do it in a way that made any sense. He didn’t bite.
    “Where is the gun now?”
    “Michael took it somewhere. He won’t tell me
where.”
    “Well, for Christ’s sake, Jennifer, if you
can’t do it yourself, get Franklin to