An Ice Cream For Henry

ISBN: 978-88-93064-30-9

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1  Cover

2  Author, title and translator

3  Info

4  Dedicated to...

5  ​The Characters

6  Quotation

7  Prologue

8  Chapter 1

9  Chapter 2

10  Chapter 3

11  Chapter 4

12  Chapter 5

13  Chapter 6

14  Chapter 7

15  Chapter 8

16  Chapter 9

17  Chapter 10

18  Chapter 11

19  Chapter 12

20  Chapter 13

21  Chapter 14

22  Chapter 15

23  Chapter 16

24  Chapter 17

25  Chapter 18

26  Chapter 19

27  Chapter 20

28  Chapter 21

29  Chapter 22

30  Chapter 23

31  Chapter 24

32  Chapter 25

33  Chapter 26

34  Chapter 27

35  Chapter 28

36  Chapter 29

37  Chapter 30

38  Chapter 31

39  Chapter 32

40  Chapter 33

41  Chapter 34

42  Chapter 35

43  Chapter 36

44  Chapter 37

45  Chapter 38

46  Chapter 39

47  Chapter 40

48  Chapter 41

49  Chapter 42

50  Chapter 43

51  Chapter 44

52  Chapter 45

53  Chapter 46

54  Chapter 47

55  Chapter 48

56  Chapter 49

57  Chapter 50

58  Chapter 51

59  Chapter 52

60  Epilogue

61  A note from the author

62  The author

Cover

photo by Veronica Louro

Author, title and translator

EMANUELE CERQUIGLINI

Finalist, Il Mio Esordio 2015

AN ICE CREAM FOR HENRY

EIGHT MILLION CHILDREN GO MISSING EVERY YEAR. HENRY IS ONE OF THEM.

Translated by ANDREW FANKO

Info

EMANUELE CERQUIGLINI

AN ICE CREAM FOR HENRY

ISBN | 978-88-93064-30-9

Copyright © (Patamu:52441) 07-12-16 by Emanuele Cerquiglini

https://www.facebook.com/ungelatoperhenry

CERMAN.INFO

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Thanks to Roberta Graziosi and Sarah Verdini for helping me to improve the first draft and for their support, patience, and advice.

Thanks to my old friends Luigi and Andrea, who always want the best for me.

Thanks also to Livia Risi for giving me the details of her “Pizzo Jersey BuyBy” dress, which I chose for Barbara Harrison to wear in one of the chapters.

http://www.liviarisi.com/#!about/cjg9

While conducting some online research into the Second Amendment and the firearms culture in the U.S., I was inspired by a Matti Ferraresi article

entitled ‘ U.S. Army, tutti al poligono’. Published on the Panorama website on February 12, 2013,

http://www.panorama.it/news/esteri/stati-uniti-armi-poligono/

the report describes an Italian journalist’s visit to the New Jersey Firearms Academy.

Dedicated to...

For my mother and father, who protected me as a child, have always supported me as an adult, and have enabled me to embark on a career in the world of fiction. I ’ m well aware that not everyone is so fortunate. We ’ ve had moments in the sun but also dark days, and we ’ ll continue to face those dark days as we always have: without fear. After all, the sun is always there at the start of a brand new day …

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Emanuele

​The Characters

THE CHARACTERS

CHILDREN

Henry Lewis, nearly 11

Joanna Longowa, nearly 11

Nicholas, nearly 11

LAW ENFORCEMENT

Barbara Harrison (FBI Supervisory Special Agent)

Gordon Murphy (Sheriff of Toms River)

Gonzalez (Medford district cop)

Clive Thompson (member of the Secret Service)

Iron (police dog)

ADULTS

Jim Lewis (Henry’s father, a mechanic)

Ted Burton (retired U.S. Marine Corps Major)

Winnipeg “Winnie” Moore (ice cream vendor)

Jasmine Lewis (Jim’s sister)

Robert Brown (Barbara Harrison’s partner)

Zibi Longowa (Joanna’s brother)

Shelley Logan (Jim’s lover)

Miss Anderson (math teacher)

Mr. Johnson (history teacher)

Leland Wright (chief of the Firearms Academy)

Dalton Clark (retired nurse)

Samantha Monroe (Dalton’s wife)

Dalisay, known as Delicious (Ted’s second wife )

Ronald Howard (wealthy gentleman)

Coach Kyrle (gym teacher)

George and Paul (Samantha’s sons)

CHARACTERS FROM THE PAST

Emily Butler, 6

Allison Parker (Emily’s mom)

Luke Butler (Emily’s dad)

Ryan Green (Allison’s second husband)

Richard Harrison, 12 (Barbara’s brother)

Donald Coleman (friend of Barbara’s dad)

Quotation

“ When a man with a .45 meets a man with a rifle, the man with a pistol will be a dead man.”

Ramón Rojo(Gian Maria Volontè)

A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS (1964)

Directed by Sergio Leone

Prologue

A ppearances are not always misleading and monsters do exist. Children need to be made aware of this and shown the world for what it really is – it’s for their own good. Wrapping them up in cotton wool can be dangerous. Dualism exists in this world: understanding good without knowing evil is like denying the existence of free will.

Children need to be told that, although all men are born equal, they are defined by infinite differences that make each individual totally unique. These differences are created by various influences, be it family, schooling, society or geography. They combine to determine an individual’s cognitive, physical, and spiritual development. Shaped by these influences, the individual develops and, upon becoming an adult, chooses how to act. Being able to distinguish good from evil, and acknowledging the existence of evil but rejecting it in favor of a life of good, shows an ability to understand dualism and go through life with more self-assurance and self-awareness.

Human beings have always discussed evil, with each era approaching the topic from different perspectives. Every era has its own evil, which must be acknowledged and confronted rather than ignored.

But is it really an alternative to good? Is it really a choice we can make?

It may just be that evil comes about through being continually deprived or through yielding to something that preys on human flaws. To truly understand this issue, we need to look beyond material answers and seek a more thoughtful and enlightened path.

Only humans as spiritual beings, having achieved a state of completeness, can discern good from evil. If an individual somehow falls short of this state of completeness, discerning good from evil can be difficult, if not impossible.

Dalton Clark was walking hand in hand with his wife as dawn broke. He loved the fresh air of Medford Lakes - it was a great place to be retired.

“We’ve waited so long, dear” said Dalton as they reached the quay. “But the day has finally arrived and we need to be ready. A bit of exercise will do us good, both physically and mentally.” He let go of his wife’s hand so he could untie the clove hitch that was securing the canoe to two wooden fence posts.

Samantha Monroe watched and said nothing. She was used to indulging her husband, a man who years earlier had saved her and brought her back to life. Dalton had listened to her and understood her like no-one else could, not even her sons and her first husband, and for that she would always be devoted to him and trust him implicitly. Dalton was a giant of a man. He wasn’t the most agile, but he had plenty of physical strength and character, and although he wasn’t particularly warm with Samantha’s boys, she knew that behind his gruff and surly exterior beat the heart of a good man who was able to overcome situations that forced most others into submission.

Dalton pushed the canoe more than halfway into the water. Samantha handed him the paddle, and he wheezed as he sat his considerable frame down in the rear of the boat.

“Come on, dear, don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”

Samantha rolled up her linen pants below her knees and stepped aboard the canoe with no little difficulty. Her joints were not what they once were and her back often hurt, but she was determined to float out to the middle of the lake with her Dalton on this fateful day, waiting for everything to fall into place just the way they had imagined and prepared for over the years - well, the way Dalton had prepared for and she and her sons had faithfully accepted. Perhaps today would be the day when all her suffering would finally end and she would avenge what her whole, defenceless family had been forced to endure all these years.

Dalton was sure of things that Samantha was not. He knew of things that others could never have imagined, and most importantly he had solutions which, although disconcerting on the surface, were the only possible course of action and had to be seen through.

‘ There are forces at work beyond our normal understanding of good and evil, and we need to respond to those forces in the only language they understand… You have to accept that, Samantha, if you want to set yourself free, otherwise they will come back stronger than ever and finish the job they started all those years ago: hurting you and your family…’ That was what Dalton would say whenever she showed any hint of doubt, even though she never went so far as to criticize the man for his theories and beliefs. Dalton had already saved her once and he would do so again. Samantha was just pathetic and ignorant and she knew she wasn’t able to understand everything, but she also knew she had to trust in him to give herself and, more importantly her sons, another chance.

As Samantha steadily lowered herself into the front of the canoe, Dalton balanced the paddle across his knees, plunged his giant hands into the muddy bank and pushed with all his might, sending the canoe out into the water.

A few minutes later, as the sun rose and its rays began to warm their surroundings, Dalton and Samantha found themselves bobbing up and down in silence in the middle of the lake, listening to the morning song of the birds hidden among the tree branches. The brilliant sunlight glistened on the ripples caused by the motion of the canoe, the only thing disturbing the stillness of the lake

Chapter 1

(day one)

I t was too warm that Friday morning to put his old New Jersey Nets hoodie on under his mechanic’s overalls, so Jim Lewis pulled a not-too-creased denim shirt out of the closet and put it on over the red cotton tank top with two holes in the right side from a clumsy cigarette burn some years earlier.

Jim loved that tank top, even though it was faded and frayed. Wearing it made him feel like he was still young, and he loved the way it showed off his wiry physique, with the pronounced veins under his skin running down his neck and branching off along his arms.

It was more like a piece of body armor, that undershirt. It was part of him: Jim ‘red tank top’ Lewis.

Having worn it all day, the first thing he would do when he got home was wash it by hand and lay it out to dry so he could wear it again, worst-case scenario, in a couple days.

Once he had buttoned up his denim shirt, Jim slipped on his overalls, fastened the suspenders, and put on his oil-stained sneakers.

It was before seven, and his son Henry was still fast asleep in his room.

Jim went down to the kitchen, opened a can of Red Bull, switched on the TV for the morning news, then set about making his usual breakfast of a burger topped with a thin slice of melted cheese.

NBC was showing images of a gay rights demonstration that had ended in a few scuffles between the colorful, peaceful protesters and a small group of skinheads bearing swastika tattoos. One of the arrested skinheads was shouting about the dangers of same-sex marriage, something about it being a one-way ticket to Hell. From the look of his bulging eyes, complete with heavily dilated pupils, it was more likely that the Hell to which he referred was coursing through his veins in the form of drugs. Also under arrest were a handful of fanatical neo-Nazi conservatives who somehow felt the need to defend the anal virginity of others.

Jim Lewis had no time for far-right extremists, who struck him as nothing more than a bunch of hotheaded imbeciles, but he had a genuine aversion to anything that didn’t belong in his own world of heterosexual desires. ‘ Those faggots and dykes, they’ re asking for it. They’ re always gonna wind these people up,’ thought Jim, totally incapable of thinking deeply enough about the issue to understand the importance of demonstrating for the inalienable rights of these people, just because their sexual preferences were different than his own.

By the time the news bulletin had reached the weather forecast, Jim had already devoured his breakfast. It looked like being more of a summer’s day, and that put him in a good mood.

He got up and took his plate over to the sink. Ever since he had been widowed, he had learned that it was better to wash everything up immediately, rather than be left with a pile of dirty, smelly dishes.

The kitchen clock told him it was twenty past seven, and it would soon be time to wake Henry and take him to school.

He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and his son’s favorite cereal from the sideboard.

He set the table, trying to make it look as nice as Bet, his wife, had always done when she was still around.

It was tough for Jim raising a child on his own, but he hadn’t been interested in a long-term relationship since Bet died. He was happy enough with the occasional one-night stand he’d pick up from those long Saturday nights at the Road to Hell. Jim always got free drinks there after he’d restored the owner’s old Harley-Davidson 883, which had been crushed against a wall by a drunk truck driver reversing blind out of the parking lot.

Most people would have written it off and waited for the insurance money to buy a new one, but for Steve Collins that bike was the only thing he had to remind him of his dad, who had given it to him when it he was still too young to ride it as an incentive to work harder at college.

On Saturdays, Jim would leave Henry at his older sister Jasmine’s house. In spite of her ongoing health problems, Jasmine had always tried to be a mother figure to the young boy.

Before going in to wake his son, Jim entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror, stroking the two days’ worth of stubble that had made him look older and more grizzled. He unclasped his suspenders, pulled his overalls down over his knees and sat on the toilet. Before offloading, his mind turned to Shelley, the latest twenty-something broad he’d brought home from the Road to Hell.

He masturbated furiously. He had become kind of an expert at fitting in all the household chores, but there was one thing he’d always find time for: his morning jerk-off.

‘ Shelley, Shelley… we really need to hook up again,’ thought Jim as he pulled some toilet paper off the roll to clean himself up.

“Hey, buddy! Rise and shine!” shouted Jim as he returned to the kitchen.

“Your breakfast’s on the table!”

Henry appeared a few minutes later, looking sleepy but, as always, with a smile on his face.

“You’ll catch cold going round the house topless!” warned Jim, mixing the cereal into the milk so it got soggy just the way Henry liked it.

“But I’m not cold, Dad, it’s warm again today.”

“You’re right, bud! The forecast says it’s gonna be around seventy-five today. If it stays like this, next Sunday we can take a trip to the lake or maybe head straight for the beach. Which would you prefer?”

“Beach!” cried Henry as he took his first spoonful of mushy cereal.

“Did you remember you need to go to Aunt Jasmine’s after school?” Jim asked, adopting a more serious tone.

“Sure, Dad, I packed my bag last night. Everything’s in there, I’m all set.”

“Good. Look, I’m sorry I can’t pick you up and I’m leaving you with that heavy backpack to carry round, but the Howards need their car by lunchtime and I need to work on Ted’s Jeep first,” Jim said, attempting to justify himself to his son.

“I’m grown up enough to look after myself,” replied Henry proudly.

“You haven’t even taken your elementary school exams yet, there’s plenty of time to grow up!”

“The exams are less than a month away, so you can’t go on thinking I’m just a kid!”

“OK, Henry, we’ll resume this conversation when you’ve done the exams. Enjoy being ten, because I’m telling you things get a lot tougher...” Jim said, unable to disguise a certain level of bitterness.

“It can’t get any tougher than the math test I’ve got today. I hate Miss Anderson. She looks like a fish!” replied Henry, giggling to himself.

“Kid, math was never my strong suit, but you’d do well to learn....at least until you can afford a calculator! Come on, eat up!” Jim said with a chuckle, before turning back to the TV.

Chapter 2

P unctual as always, Jim dropped his son off outside the school and paused briefly to watch as the hordes of five-to-eleven-year-olds entered the main building, their chatter and squeals of laughter creating a familiar schoolyard buzz. It was a sound he liked. It reminded him of his childhood and brightened his mood. Jim stood trance-like among the other parents, watching the moms chatting to one another and daydreaming that his wife was among them, imagining how great it would feel to be there with Bet alongside him, catching up with the other moms and dads before going to work.

It was just one of the many experiences in life that he had been denied the minute his wife had been snatched away from him by the cruel hands of fate. A fate which, even all after all these years, Jim had still refused to accept.

Chapter 3

I t was nine thirty, and the sun filtering through the gaps in the auto repair shop shutters was already a problem for Jim, a guy who could sweat for America.

The Howards’ Mercedes was a genuine antique: a 1954 300 SL with gull-wing doors. It had taken Jim weeks to find an original replacement muffler, and on top of that he’d had to make several secondary repairs. The car parked in his repair shop was worth more than four million dollars, and the job was set to earn him a cool ten thousand. The Howards were filthy rich and Jim had been lucky enough to befriend Ronald Howard at college, long before he married Carol Spencer, a woman who somehow managed to be even uglier than she was rich. Carol was probably one of the ugliest women in the entire United States, her looks irredeemable even with the most advanced plastic surgery, but for Ronald it was always about the money: ‘ There ain’ t no piece of ass can compete with a private jet!’ he’d always say when one of his friends asked how on earth he managed to sleep with that woman.

At Ronald’s request and expense, Jim had taken his business to ‘ Frankie’ s Luxury Car Parts’, whose owner could get his hands on anything and charged accordingly. Frankie had friends and collectors of all ages as clients, and he counted many of the country’s car thieves and junkyard workers among his loyal associates. Frankie actually was the nickname of his great-grandfather Franco, the son of Italian immigrants who came to the United States in 1882. Franco built up his business alone, using methods that were effective if not always legal and ensuring that luxury car parts would provide a life of luxury for all his descendants, including Tommy, who now ran the company and was known to everyone as Frankie, after his great-grandfather.

‘ I don’ t know how much you paid for this muffler, Ronald, but it’s been a real bitch to fit,’ thought Jim, dripping with sweat as he lay under the car.

He could really use those ten thousand big ones. Jim couldn’t afford to take on any employees because he needed to save to put his son through college and to pay his mortgage, which had becoming crippling after the financial crisis.

His was a small repair shop and most of what business he did get came in the form of repairing old clunkers. Clients like the Howards were as rare as hens’ teeth. People with new or luxury cars took their business to authorized repair shops, leaving Jim to deal with his friends or people even worse off than him who would haggle over a twenty-dollar job. Ted Burton’s aging Wrangler, which was what kept Jim busy most of the time, was another story. The Jeep spent at least two months every year in Jim’s repair shop, not because there was anything wrong with it in particular, but because Ted was an old friend and now that he’d retired, he had nothing better to do than stop by once or twice a week to have the engine serviced and chew the fat with Jim.