The Three Fates of Henrik Nordmark: A Novel by Christopher Meades

to buy himself some marijuana.
    The docks were a scary place. Henrik had only ever been there on weekends and statutory holidays when the community fishermen’s fair took over the area. He arrived to find a desolate wasteland of rusted cargo vessels, drunken hobos and random fish carcasses strewn across the pier. The Ferris wheel and cotton candy machines he anticipated, the families strolling around with little girls on their father’s shoulders and boys pedaling Big Wheels, the all-ages fun and carnival games were absent. Even though it was well into the daylight hours, Henrik felt a dangerous foreboding about this place.
    His mission was simple: purchase the marijuana and get the hell out of there in enough time to start work in an hour and fourteen minutes. He wandered around aimlessly for a while, careful not to make eye contact with any of the street people lurking in alleyways, before he saw a lone man sitting on a bench at the end of the pier. Henrik promptly walked over and introduced himself. The man had a long beard and a dark overcoat covered in fishing lures. His red face was partially hidden by his jacket and he didn’t look up when Henrik said hello.
    “Do you know where I might procure myself some Mary Jane?” Henrik said.
    The man turned his head a fraction of an inch. His voice was whispery and full of needles.
    “Do you mean a hooker?”
    “Goodness no,” Henrik said, flustered. “I’m looking for some grass. You know, some reefer.”
    The man stared straight through him. Henrik pulled the orange piece of paper out of his pocket. On this insert taken from the High Times magazine were all sorts of nicknames for the drug. Henrik’s courage received an immediate boost as he was pretty sure he was less likely to get arrested if he spoke in code.
    “Some Indonesian Bud. The Devil’s Lettuce. You know, some Giggle Weed.”
    The man stood up slowly, with some effort. He was barely two inches taller than Henrik but in his dark cloak with its hundreds of hooks and lures, he towered in the air. “Giggle Weed?” the man said.
    Henrik glanced around. The beach underneath the pier was deserted. There wasn’t a single child building a sandcastle or a pair of lovers out for an early morning stroll. The wind whispered eerily in his ear and the rank smell of fish was coated in death. Henrik watched the water churn crisp against the dock and wondered how many bodies had washed up along this shore. Worse yet, how many hapless souls had been thrown to a watery grave from right here at this very spot? He stood absolutely still, too afraid to move.
    “Yes,” Henrik said. “Giggle Weed.”
    The man’s mouth spread into a gray-toothed grin.
    “We all buy our weed at the bait shop,” he said.
    Henrik followed the man’s pointing finger with his eyes. He’d walked right by the bait shop and its Open for Business sign.
    “Thank you, good sir,” Henrik said and hurried off the pier as fast as he could.
    Henrik entered the bait shop. A young girl was chewing bubble gum and standing behind a sign that read “Fifty Worms For Five Bucks.”
    “I would like to buy some Mary Jane,” Henrik said. “And I don’t mean a hooker. I mean Giggle Weed — marijuana or whatever the kids are calling it these days. I have seventeen dollars to spend.”
    The girl pulled a single joint out of her pocket and set it on the counter. She blew a pink bubble and let it pop before pushing the gum back into her mouth.
    “That’ll be seventeen bucks,” she said.
    Henrik tucked the marijuana into the breast pocket of his security guard uniform and headed to work. He was positively giddy, like a schoolgirl with a secret she was dying to share. He stood at his post nodding his head at the business-people who walked by, just as he’d done five days a week for the past twenty years. The only difference was the silly smile on his face. Occasionally when he thought nobody was looking, Henrik would place his hand over his pocket like