Richard House - The Kills

‘And no one called the police?’

‘Nobody wanted to involve their insurers.’

Geezler took in the information for a moment, then looked directly at Rem and said he appreciated what Rem had just told him. It took spine to be that direct. People around him barely spoke so plainly. He remembered the debt and said he could help. That is, if Rem wanted his help.

* * *

Rem returned with the money. Cash. He set it on the table to see how it would look. Four fifties — what he was comfortable accepting, given his poor performance. Geezler had wanted to press more on him, had offered it as security for the next occasion, which Rem decided not to take up.

Cathy wasn’t home, and probably wouldn’t return for another couple of hours. Rem looked at the notes on the table and understood that it wouldn’t have made much difference to Geezler how much he’d paid. The only person it made any difference to was Rem, and right now the qualms he’d had about accepting money for a shoddy piece of work seemed beside the point. Two hundred dollars was better than nothing, but in reality, given their need, two hundred dollars wouldn’t make much difference.

Three new messages on the home phone, seven stored. John first then Jay. Mike said you might have something coming up? Let me know.

Rem scooped the cash off the table.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Maggie — 1 new message. Coleman — 3 new messages. Mike — 2 new messages.

* * *

Cathy had collapsed at work, mid-aisle at the Happy Shopper. Looked like a spell had been cast and she was felled, instantly asleep.

‘She’ll have bruises.’ Maggie spoke in a droll voice as if there was a punchline. They hadn’t called an ambulance because Cathy had come to, clear-headed, and said something about not eating, about stress, about how she wasn’t sleeping well.

‘We gave her tea, tea with sugar.’ Maggie called Rem ‘the Brit’, and enjoyed how the reference irritated him. The story had a coda. She wasn’t done. ‘It happened again, at four o’clock.’

The second time could have been serious. Cathy keeled over on the kerb. Outside, smoking, taking a quick five-minute break, and she’d done the darnedest thing, lurched forward like she’d been shot and launched herself into the road. Out before she hit the ground. Lordy. She didn’t even raise a hand to protect herself. Not a mark on her. Nothing broken either.

This time they’d called an ambulance but Cathy had refused to go.

‘We called you. I called. Cathy called.’

‘I was downtown, working.’

‘At least you’re here this time. I’ll drive her back.’

‘Take Ashland. Clark and Western will be busy.’

In the background, Cathy complained. ‘I can drive.’

‘You want a word?’

‘Look.’ Cathy’s voice came extra-loud. ‘They said it was low blood pressure. I didn’t eat this morning. That’s all it was.’

‘Maggie said it happened twice?’

‘Low blood pressure.’

Maggie, now in the background, added, ‘I didn’t eat last night, but I’m not passing out.’ Her voice obscured by Cathy’s shushing.

Cathy had fallen at the wedding and this sounded like the same thing. She’d picked herself up immediately. Or was it immediate? Hadn’t he noticed a pause? Hadn’t the thought occurred to him that she was embarrassed, ashamed to have fallen, and just wanted to lie there, let everything get along without her? Add to this the fact that she clearly wasn’t herself lately.

* * *

Through the door and home Cathy hurried directly to the bathroom, leaving Rem with Maggie. Maggie winced when she saw him, winced again while he clumsily said thanks, with the expectation that she would leave.

‘I’ve been with her all day, and you want me to leave before the good part?’ Maggie drew hard on her cigarette and squinted through the smoke. ‘She needs a friend. Someone on her side.’

Rem dug his hands into his pockets and found Geezler’s business card and cash.

‘You really want me to go?’

‘No. Stay. Tell me what happened.’ Rem minded that he didn’t sound sincere. He could never pitch himself right for Maggie.

‘She won’t shut up about money.’ Maggie took out another cigarette and counted through the remaining pack before looking at Rem. ‘At least you’re here.’ She held the cigarette just free from her mouth.

Cathy stood at the bathroom door, arms folded, ‘Maggie, don’t start.’

‘I’m just saying.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘That’s all. The last time Rem was in Kuwait, or something. What do I know?’

‘This isn’t—’ Cathy tightened her arms. ‘It’s not the same thing. I didn’t have any breakfast. I’ve not eaten.’

‘She wouldn’t go. They wanted to take her to Cook County.’

‘It’s not the same thing,’ Cathy protested. ‘Fainting isn’t a sign.’

Maggie narrowed her eyes. ‘Isn’t a good sign either.’

‘What did the medic say? You saw a medic?’

‘I said. There were two medics. One of them took my blood pressure. I’ve explained this already.’

‘But what did they say about the blood pressure?’

‘That it was low. High or low, that’s all anyone ever says about blood pressure.’

Maggie rolled her eyes, folded her arms to mimic Cathy. ‘How do you know this isn’t the same thing?’

Cathy turned back, defiant, walked to the kitchen. ‘Because that was my thyroid. It’s not the same thing.’

‘Tell her,’ Maggie nudged Rem. ‘She has to get this checked out.’

Cathy answered so quietly she had to repeat herself. ‘Enough. All right? Enough.’

Maggie began to ask more questions, and Cathy returned to the bathroom and locked the door.

* * *

Once Maggie was gone, Cathy came out of the bathroom and told Rem to sit down.

‘I checked the messages from work. Seven messages from Andrew Coleman. What’s going on? Have you heard them?’

Rem automatically answered no.

‘Is he asking for money? Why is he calling, Rem? He doesn’t even make sense. Listen to it.’

‘No.’

‘Are you paying the Colemans?’

Rem wouldn’t answer.

‘Jesus Christ, Rem. Why? They’ll all want money. Who won’t you pay?’

‘There won’t be any more.’

‘Rem, you haven’t done anything for the Colemans in, what, two years? At least? Why?’

‘They’re missing a ring.’

‘Since when?’ She rubbed her forehead to tease out an idea. ‘He works for the police.’

‘He’s not in the police. He works for the office for the Chief of Police.’

Cathy found herself a seat.

‘I haven’t given them the money yet.’

‘But you’ve arranged it. You’ve agreed it. Why is he calling?’

‘I was late paying him. I still have the money. I’ll call him. I’ll settle this.’

Before she walked to the bedroom he thought she paused, something too small to properly register as a pause, but a tiny measurement of doubt, and he realized that she hadn’t asked how much he was paying Coleman.

* * *

Flush with Geezler’s money, Rem took Cathy to the movies. This being their habit, at least once a month, to agree on a movie, Cathy’s preference being the Music Box, or at a push the Art Institute or MCA. For Rem, any Cineplex would do, with comfortable seats, surround sound, and a responsive crowd.

The film was Cathy’s choice, but more to Rem’s taste. She sat stiff throughout, resistant to the violence, didn’t see how it was possible, the entire plot.

The movie was fact, Rem pointed out, based in an honest actual event, a piece of uncontested history.

‘It’s not the facts, Rem. It’s the whole flavour of the thing. OK, so it happened. But how did it happen?’ It wasn’t the event she doubted, but how the event was demonstrated. They — the screenwriters, the actors, the director, whoever — had taken something real and made it implausible.