Richard House - The Kills

‘I was in some trouble, about two years ago. I have a younger brother and my mother wanted me out of the house.’

Cathy returned from the library and talked through her findings.

‘Two good things. First, an email from Jonnie Watts.’ She read out a portion of the message, repeated the name. ‘Stephen L. Sutler. I didn’t find anything, some people from Cleveland. Nothing in the UK. Less even than Paul Geezler. Speaking of,’ she laid the paper on the table, ‘the man is coming to Detroit.’

Roscoe looked to the paper, turned it about, still couldn’t see what she was talking about. ‘He’s giving a paper at a business conference. Here.’ She pointed out the abstract. ‘Where it says Proteck, it’s a talk about supply chains.’

Roscoe asked what this meant.

‘It means a visit to Detroit.’

Roscoe asked if that was the second point, and Cathy remembered. ‘No. There’s a second message, from boston_adams. ’

Dear Cathy,

I’m not surprised by the news of your meeting with Sue Williams. At every turn HOSCO have sought to absolve themselves of all responsibility. I can confirm that the documents are genuine and from the company. I can’t tell you how I got hold of them. I’m sure you understand. I can’t take this further, but you can make these documents public — I have no objections. I would advise that you act quickly — I’d say you’re right to worry about your husband and those other boys at Camp Liberty. With that in mind I attach two copies of contracts the company have recently issued — note the changes in items 5 through 9.

Sincerely, Bob Adams

* * *

Rem asked the men to gather outside the Quonset. Watts, he explained, had collapsed and was currently at Camp Buehring, where they’d stabilized him, with the intention of sending him, as soon as possible, to hospital in Germany.

‘This is because of the pits?’ Pakosta stepped forward.

‘They think it was a stroke.’

‘Of course they do.’

‘They don’t know yet. I don’t think there’s anything here to cause a stroke.’

‘He looked healthy when he arrived. We were all healthy.’

‘They just don’t know at this point. They’ve done some tests, they’ll do more. It could be a number of things. Stress, or heat, or exhaustion.’ Rem struggled for an explanation. ‘We just don’t know yet.’

‘So that’s it? You’re happy with that?’ And then as a dismissive aside, ‘Your friends don’t do so well, do they?’

Rem asked Pakosta to say that louder.

‘I said your friends don’t do so well.’

Sutler watching from the Quonset said he was sorry about Watts. ‘It’s unfortunate. This next step is crucial. And it’s important that we work together. I need a team to pull toward the same goals now.’ Sutler began to lay out his plan. ‘From tomorrow you’ll be working on the Massive. The pits are closing. It’s over. I’ve organized a team to come from Southern-CIPA.’

Pakosta interrupted. ‘Who is this team?’

Sutler looked to Rem.

‘Do you know who they are?’

‘They’re an environmental safety — I don’t know — I haven’t properly…’ Sutler hesitated. ‘The idea is they’ll advise us on the best way to deal with whatever’s left over.’

‘Is this the same team that went to Camp Bravo?’

‘I don’t know anything about—’

Pakosta asked Rem. ‘Is this the same team that went to Camp Bravo after it was closed? Has he called in the EPA?’

Rem shook his head.

‘Because they didn’t advise on anything. They took samples to see what they’d burned. They were collecting evidence.’

Sutler took his hands out of his pocket and folded his arms. ‘I don’t see what you’re getting at.’

‘I’m saying, if you want your project to go ahead you don’t want to invite the EPA in beforehand. They will shut this place down, just like they shut down Camp Bravo. We should bury the pits ourselves. Dig them out, bury them, get rid of them.’

Sutler agreed. ‘We can do that.’

* * *

Chimeno and Pakosta lingered in front of the showers after the meeting had broken up. Before Rem could settle with Pakosta, Chimeno asked, ‘Why are you letting him do this? He’s taken over.’ With the light on in the Quonset they kept their voices low so they would not be overheard.

‘That’s why HOSCO sent him. It’s his project and we can’t keep the pits open.’ Rem shook his head.

‘You’re kidding, right?’ Pakosta, hands on hips, leaned to the side and spat. ‘You seriously expect us to do this? He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s talking about inviting the environmental agency to inspect the pits for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t have a clue.’

Rem held up his hands. ‘This is something else.’

‘Fuck you it’s something else. It’s not something else. We didn’t come here to get nailed for burning waste.’

Rem leaned forward, his shadow falling across Pakosta’s face. ‘Keep pushing Pakosta. Say one more thing.’

Chimeno tugged Pakosta by the arm and drew him away.

* * *

Back in the cabin Kiprowski said that he was comfortable with the arrangement staying as it was.

‘It would be weird to move into Watts’ cabin.’

‘I think you’re right.’

‘It has all the communications.’

Rem nodded, uncertain where the discussion was heading. Kiprowski folded then unfolded his arms.

‘Sutler could move his office there. He uses comms all the time.’ The boy had a point.

‘There’s no point moving the equipment,’ Rem agreed, and Kiprowski immediately appeared to soften, as if this had been a source of some anxiety.

‘Tell Sutler he can have that cabin. Move him out of the Quonset. We need the stores.’

Kiprowski nodded, clearly satisfied. He’d get right on to it.

Rem waited for Kiprowski to leave and found himself a little relieved also. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d need to reassign Watts’ cabin, and being used to Kiprowski’s presence, he thought it would be odd to be alone now.

* * *

Cathy wrote directly to Paul Geezler and explained that she would be in Detroit the next weekend and wanted to meet him. He might remember that he hired her husband to work in Iraq, and had assigned him duties at one of the burn pits. She didn’t want to waste his time, but a short meeting would be enough. Say fifteen minutes before or after his presentation.

The librarian waited by the desk, impatient to close. Cathy logged off and apologized. She played the housewife in such circumstances, gave a little story about her husband being in Iraq, and could see from the turn of the librarian’s shoulders that she’d ruined the woman’s night, made her feel bad.

‘We open tomorrow at nine,’ she said, a sweet apology in her voice. ‘Tomorrow, then.’

* * *

The work began in earnest the next morning. Sutler and Kiprowski drove out and began to calculate the distances, set up flags as markers first in a broad circle, then, inside this circle, a spiral of posts, and for the first time Rem began to understand Sutler’s dogged involvement in the project. Sutler began to describe the form of the city, the districts, the relation of one sector to another out in the field, plotted with small posts and paper flags. He stood in the centre of the plain and pointed out. There: a centre for transport, there: commerce, there: housing, there: education, there: entertainment. Sutler returned to the jeep to sketch, as Rem and Kiprowski followed his instructions. He drew patterns, spirals, and complex internalized webs, spoke about how the city should be low-lying, with broad avenues and tiered squares. If the desert was formerly green, he would begin with a new system for irrigation. Whole zones would be planted with vetiver, grasses which bound the desert stone and sand, drove down deep roots, made stable environments. Concrete, yes, but also, of much more importance: water and grass.